Tales of
Erogenia
Based
on the online comic created by J.E. Draft.
Episode 2: Journey to
Jinqua
Chapter
8: The
Spell
The crying of sea birds
woke Zenaria. She immediately
noted that someone had removed all of her clothing and that silken sheets
had been placed over her. The
sword wound in her breast throbbed painfully, but she ignored it and threw
back the sheets just in time to see Sir Varden staring across at her from
his own bed. The knight immediately
went bright red, but Zenaria was heartily tired of that
act.
“Grow up, Sir
Knight,” she growled. “I
am a woman. I have breasts and
a cunt. Get used to
it. I’m not going to change
and I’m not going to hide my body to satisfy your prudish
attitudes.”
The knight opened his mouth
as if to make an angry reply, but at that moment several of the young serving
girls rushed into the room carrying food and
drink. They had been apparently
been waiting close by waiting for them to
awaken. Just now, however, there
was something else Zenaria needed to do.
“Where is the privy?”
she asked.
“This way, honoured
one,” one of the girls said, bowing.
She led Zenaria through a doorway and into a room containing a stream
of continually flowing water.
Mounted over it were seats whose function was more than
obvious. Zenaria nodded her
thanks. She had seen similar
facilities in the palaces in Sandak and knew that she was not witnessing
more of Junal’s magic.
Finished her waking rituals, she headed back into the room to find
Sir Varden coming toward her. The
knight was limping a little, testifying to the damage she had done to him
in the duel. She noted that he
was dressed in a flowing robe and he stared straight ahead ignoring her nudity
as she passed.
She entered the room and
sat herself beside the food and drink that had been
provided. She ate slowly, selecting
among the many different dishes provided.
Much of it she did not recognize, especially the spices used on the
meat dishes and the various strange
fruits. However, she found most
of it tasty.
A few minutes later Sir
Varden returned. He said nothing,
not even commenting on the fact that Zenaria had not bothered to put on a
stitch of clothing. Instead he
sat with head turned away and ate in silence.
How long the two of them
might have sat there, with Zenaria stubbornly trying to annoy Sir Varden
neither of them were able to discover, because as the knight was finishing
his meal Junal entered the room.
“So today you have decided to act like spiteful children instead
of angry animals. I should have
refined my spell a bit more to eliminate barbarian
stupidity.”
He looked directly at Zenaria
running his eyes over her body in a manner she would have taken either as
an insult or an invitation if it had been any other
man. She suddenly found herself
wishing she had put something on.
“I have come for your
answer,” Junal continued.
“Will you aid me in ridding the world of
Pulan?”
“I will go,” said
Sir Varden quietly, “If Princess Zenaria will do me the honour of
accompanying me.”
Zenaria looked up, startled,
but the knight was still not looking at
her. “And,” he continued,
“if she will consent to wear some clothes.”
Junal looked at Zenaria
and she nodded slowly. Then she
got up and pulled on a light robe.
“When would you like us to leave?”
“I was hoping today,”
Junal replied. “But in light
of the damage you have done to one another a short delay might be
best. I can use some of my powers
to hasten the healing, but you will still need a few days to
recover.”
“Sir Varden has the
power of healing,” Zenaria
volunteered.
“Alas, I cannot use
the power on myself,” the knight said, “but I could heal the
Princess.”
Zenaria was about to reply
that she needed no healing, but realized that it had taken some effort for
the knight to humble himself.
“I would be glad of that service, Sir
Knight.”
“Let us say in three
days then,” Junal said.
“The good knight can work his healing powers on the Princess
and I shall use my magic to speed his
healing. It will take me some
time to prepare the spell to transport you into the palace in any
case.”
Zenaria wondered what she
had just committed herself to. It
was all very well for Sir Varden to run off to save the world, but she could
think of reason for her to do so.
And there was something decidedly wrong about Junal’s
story. However, it was something
she could not quite put her finger on.
However, having made her choice she would stick with
it. The magician was the only
one who could return her to her homeland and she expected that if she did
not cooperate her chances of seeing it again were very
slight.
“Three
days,” she thought.
She would just have to wait and
see.
As it turned out the three
days were well spent. Junal did
not know the exact location of the artefact powering the spell that protected
the royal palace. Zenaria and
Sir Varden spent several hours studying maps of the palace looking for likely
locations for the artefact.
Fortunately Junal’s intimate knowledge of the palace narrowed
it down to just one or two places, both heavily
guarded. However, the magician
was certain that the element of surprise would give Zenaria and Sir Varden
all the advantage they would need.
“They will not be expecting
an attack,” the magician explained.
“They think me dead and would not suspect me of having the powers
I have even if they knew I was alive.”
“What should we do
with this magical device when we find it?” Sir Varden
asked.
“The artefact cannot
be destroyed by normal means,” Junal
replied. “Signal me using
this magical charm and I will return you
here. Bring the artefact with
you and I will destroy it.” He
held up what appeared to be a medallion with a large ruby in its
centre. “Press the ruby
just so and it will tell me that you have
succeeded.”
“And this
artefact. How will we know it?”
Zenaria asked.
“It is well that you
asked,” Junal replied.
“I would be able to identify it by its magical emanations, but
you will have to rely upon sight.
It has the appearance of a large golden orb about the size of a
man’s head. It is studded
with large diamonds, rubies, and emeralds and will probably be set atop a
golden stand designed to hold it.
The presence of armed guards should also
help. The artefact is guarded
day and night.”
“Now before you go,
I have something for you. Please
follow me.” Junal led them
to a tower that overlooked the sea on one side and his magnificent palace
on the other. From its height
Zenaria could see that the palace was located on an island and that there
was no land in sight in any direction.
It confirmed her suspicions that without the magician’s help
neither she nor Sir Varden had any hope of returning
home.
Junal opened a large
cupboard. “This should help
you on your mission. I think
it will fit even warriors of your dimensions.”
Zenaria and Sir Varden beheld
two magnificent sets of armour. It
was in a style that was unfamiliar, but beautifully made and seemingly contoured
to fit their bodies. Zenaria
wondered how Junal had managed have such armour prepared for them in so short
a time, and guessed that it probably had something to do with his magical
powers.
“It is from this tower
that I will cast the transportation spell,” Junal
said. “As soon as you are
dressed in your armour you may leave.”
Several of the many young
serving girls had followed them to the
tower. Zenaria had learned by
speaking to them that they were what she had suspected, slaves, sold into
service by their parents while still
children. They had never known
any other way of life. The thought
of so many young women doomed to a life of slavery was repugnant, but Zenaria
decided challenging the custom at this time made no
sense. Best to get the mission
over with first and then talk to Junal about
it. She doubted that she could
do much about it in any case, and all of the girls appeared well cared
for. Perhaps they were better
off the way they were although such a life would not have appealed to
her.
Although differently sized
to suit their physiques, the armour was similar in
appearance. It consisted of a
boiled leather cuirass reinforced with brass fittings, and an open-faced
helmet with a metal crest that ran from front to
back. Contoured leather and brass
protected the legs and was cunningly fitted at the knees to allow maximum
flexibility. The armour appeared
to have been designed on the principle that it allowed the warrior wearing
it maximum mobility. It fitted
in well with Zenaria’s fighting style but not Sir Varden’s, however
the knight did not object. Some
armour was better than none and Zenaria knew from experience that he could
handle himself well in a fight.
“This is beautiful,”
Zenaria said as the last piece of armour was fitted to her arms and strapped
in place. It was a more than
adequate replacement for the fine armour she had lost when she had been kidnapped
by the bargemen.
“It will do,”
Sir Varden said. “Now when
do we go?”
“Now,” Junal
said. “Night is upon us
and it will take me some time to work the
spell. You should arrive close
to
Zenaria and Sir Varden held
their places while Junal disappeared down the
stairs. He would work the spell
from directly below them. Junal
had told them what to expect and that the process was quite involved so they
waited patiently for the spell to be
cast.
Slowly a golden glow suffused
the air around them and a sphere similar to the one Junal had used to transport
them from the ruined temple began to
form. Accompanying the glow was
a low humming that gradually increased in volume until the very air around
them seemed to vibrate. Zenaria
saw that the armour she and Sir Varden wore was glowing with a strange violet
light. She and the knight tensed,
sure that at any heartbeat they were going to hurled through space to their
destination. But nothing happened,
the spell seemed to take forever to cast.
Just when Zenaria began to be sure that somewhat was wrong there was
the same disorienting, stomach-wrenching jolt and the tower
disappeared.
An instant later they found
themselves in the centre of a very large
room. Unfortunately it was literally
the center of a room with a high domed
ceiling. They materialized fifteen
feet above the floor and went crashing to the
floor. It would have been a very
rough landing had it not been for the fact that they landed on top of three
guards. There was a thundering
crash of metal as they slammed the unfortunate guards to the marble
floor. Two were knocked unconscious
immediately and the third lay moaning until a blow from Zenaria’s gloved
hand shut him up.
They got to their feet,
swords drawn, certain that they must have been heard, but apparently they
had taken out the only guards within earshot as there were no cries of alarm
and no sound of running feet.
“Where are we?” Zenaria asked looking around the
room.
Sir Varden frowned, apparently
concentrating. “This must
be near the central hall. It
is surrounded by four domed rooms like this.”
“Then we go that
way,” Zenaria pointed, directing the knight to a large arched
doorway.
Sir Varden nodded and Zenaria
began to move off. So far they
had been lucky. Landing on top
of the three guards had been pure chance and she wanted to take advantage
of their good fortune. If they
struck fast and hard they just might pull off the mission Junal had assigned
them. They rushed through the
archway, trying to move quickly but
quietly. Their armour made total
silence impossible, but fortunately the area beyond the archway was covered
with a thick red carpet that muffled the sound of their
movement.
They found themselves in
a long wide corridor that led toward an even larger
archway. The corridor was lined
with what were probably priceless works of art, but other than an incidental
glance, neither Zenaria nor Sir Varden paid the slightest attention to the
furniture. Their eyes were locked
on the men beneath the large arch that even now were moving toward
them.
They wore armour similar
to that provided Zenaria and the knight by
Junal. Their helmets were topped
with a magnificent green crest that added a good foot to their height, but
even so they barely topped Zenaria and Sir
Varden. Zenaria, however, was
not deceived by the size of their
opponents. Her first lover, Tren,
had barely reached her chin, but his skill with the two swords he always
carried matched hers and she expected that men placed to guard the artefact
would be of a similar calibre.
Moreover, there were six of them and they had already drawn their
weapons.
Since there was no point
in remaining silent, Zenaria screamed her battle cry: “For the Snow
Leopard!”
“For Saint Brenna and
the Holy Mother!” Sir Varden shouted, and then they were upon them.
There was a clash of steel
as they encountered the first of the
guards. Zenaria would have preferred
to use her skill to defeat her opponent, but this was not the time for
finesse. Outnumbered three to
one this was the time for brute force.
She caught the first
guard’s blade on hers and without slowing her forward momentum, slammed
full into him driving him back into the two men behind him.
Her charge took her right though
the six men, three of whom were attempting to surround Sir
Varden. It was no time for honour
in combat. She pivoted and drove
her sword into the back of the man facing the knight and then returned her
attention to the first three soldiers.
They had recovered from
her first assault and came at her swords
raised. Relying once again on
her strength, Zenaria brought her blade down in a great arc that smashed
through the guard of the first man and split his helmet
open. The strike left her open
to the other two men, but she drove her foot into one, sending him flying
across the room and ducked to the side to avoid the attack of the
other. She then stepped forward
and used her armoured elbow to smash him in the
face.
She turned to help Sir Varden
who had managed to kill one of his opponents and was driving the other two
before him. With Zenaria at his
side he quickly dispatched one of his opponents by taking off his head while
Zenaria batted aside the guard of the other and drove her fist into his
face.
Neither warrior waited to
finish off their stunned and bleeding opponents – those at least that
needed finishing off. Their mission
was not to kill as many of the guards as possible, but to seize the artefact
and they were now through the second arched
doorway.
The room that they entered
was patterned after the one through which they had entered the
palace. It also was dome-shaped
and larger than the first, being about fifty feet
across. There were three other
entrances to the room and at each of the arched doorway soldiers were pouring
into the room.
Zenaria knew they were in
the right place. The first room
had been lit by large lanterns, but this one needed no
light. In the centre of the room
was the object Junal had sent them to
find. It was situated on a circular
dais about four feet high and ten feet across, and was a jewel-encrusted
golden sphere about the size of a man’s head cradled in a bowl-shaped
stand about three feet high. It
glowed with a strange and powerful light, the many gems sending multicoloured
rays about the room.
Zenaria and Sir Varden
didn’t wait for the soldiers to
arrive. They charged toward the
dais, Sir Varden with one hand on the medallion Junal had given them and
Zenaria with sword in hand. She
dashed past the dais, her raised blade momentarily slowing the encroaching
soldiers who were now just yards away.
Sir Varden leaped onto the dais.
Quickly but carefully he lifted the artefact from its cradle and pressed
the centre gem on the medallion.
There was a blinding flash of light, a loud popping sound, and the
artefact was gone. Sir Varden,
however, and Zenaria remained.
“We have been
betrayed,” the knight said in
disbelief.
“Why
does that not surprise
me?”
Zenaria thought as she swung her sword at the closest
soldier. Aloud, she shouted to
Sir Varden. “We must retreat
to the outer room. There are
too many here to fight all at
once.” She was backed against
the dais, a dozen swords trying to reach her while even more men rushed into
the room.
With a roar Sir Varden leaped
down beside her, his sword creating a ring of steel in front of
him. In spite of their numbers
the attackers all took a step back giving the two warriors breathing
space. It gave them the chance
they needed. Backing quickly
away they reached the doorway through which they had
entered. Standing side by side
in the doorway they prepared to defend
themselves.
The guards swarmed toward
them, but in spite of the enemy’s superior numbers they were able to
fend off the attacks. The narrow
doorway meant that the guards could not come at them more than three at a
time. However, Zenaria knew that
they could not hold off forever. No
doubt there were hundreds of guard in the
palace. They would keep on coming
and she and Sir Varden could probably not kill them
all. And then there was the fact
that so far no archers had appeared.
They could fight off swords; fighting off arrows was something far
more difficult.
There did not, however,
appear to be any choice. Attacker
after attacker came at them until a mound of dead and injured was piled so
deeply on the floor that the attacking soldiers had to pause to clear their
fallen comrades out of the way.
They were under attack by over fifty men with more
coming. Escape was
impossible. A heroic death was
all that remained.
A heroic death, however,
was what every Snow Leopard warrior wished for and in spite of the fact that
Zenaria might have wished to see a bit more than her nineteen summers she
could not think of a better way to die than with sword in
hand. What Sir Varden thought
about the situation she had no idea and didn’t much
care.
By now the floor in front
of the two warriors was slippery with
blood. It worked to their advantage
as they were holding position on the edge of the carpet, but the continual
onslaught was slowly wearing them down.
Breathing heavily, and covered in enemy blood, Zenaria was bleeding
from a dozen small wounds and Sir Varden was in similar
condition. It was obvious that
they could not hold on much longer, but there was no thought of
surrender. She would fight on
until her strength gave out and she was cut down by the enemy
blades.
Suddenly the wall of men
in front of them fell back. Zenaria
expected to see the swordsmen replaced by
archers. If so the time had come
to die.
She stared in surprise as
a single figure stepped forward.
She at once noted his resemblance to Junal in the way that he was
dressed and in the long moustaches that trailed from his upper
lip. He looked down distastefully
at the blood and gore that splattered the floor and then returned his gaze
to the two almost exhausted warriors.
“The time has come to end this,” he
said. He raised his
hand.
Realizing what was about
to happen, Zenaria hurled herself toward
him. Remembering Junal’s
paralysing spell she sought to force the soldiers standing next to the magician
to kill her before he could render her
helpless. Above all she did not
want the humiliation of being taken
prisoner. But she was too
late. Even as she moved within
striking distance the magician gestured.
There was a blinding light, an intense wrenching sensation, as if
her guts were being torn out of her, and then brutal
pain. Zenaria screamed and then
the world disappeared.
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