The Pillaging of an Empire Read online

  He sat by the wall on a low bench. His hands hung in his lap, his expression, as ever, schooled and silent. With the bellows and snarls of the orcs in the next cell, Mina, couldn’t help but observe the contrast, even as her stomach tightened with uncertain anticipation. But he was collared. Bound by magic older than the ruling dynasty of Istanov. He could not harm her, for she bore her father’s blood.

  She carefully unlocked the cell and stepped inside. Ghostheart watched her, his dark eyes filled with that quiet intensity. Only once she stepped inside did she realize he had cast off his loincloth. She froze, stunned at the sight of his thick cock and heavy balls hanging low. Some owners castrated their slaves, but her father had always believed that stifled their savagery. Because of this belief, she had glimpsed many orc cocks while passing through the cages or in the training pits and had been raised to treat them as no different than a horse’s or a bull’s. Still, she could not help but stare at Ghostheart’s thick maleness. She realized he was watching her and she looked away.

  A quick breath and the stink of the fighting pits hit her again with all its foul medley of despair and rage. There was the hot, musky scent that again woke her to the strange feelings in her loins.

  She swallowed thickly, hefting her bucket. “Ghostheart? I’m… I came to wash the wound. Do you know me?”

  The orc slowly nodded.

  Mina flushed a little. “Then…” She cleared her throat, injected it with all the authority she could. “Then… do not harm me,” she commanded.

  The collar around his throat pulsed low with its crimson light. Ghostheart rolled his shoulders lazily, as if demonstrating how easily he could overpower her if he wanted. Mina’s heart fluttered.

  She approached him slowly, still wary despite her command. As she got closer she noted that the wound did look raw, the blood already cracked and drying. She frowned and took the rag from the bucket. Even sitting the orc was nearly level with her. She flushed a little as she kneeled before him and began to clean the wound.

  She could not help but be aware of the orc. Of his powerful frame. The air of tense strength surrounding him, like a trap waiting to be sprung. He did not move, so in control of himself he might have been a statue. The unwashed stench of him washed over her, yet, oddly, she did nor find it so unpleasant. That raw odor of sweat, blood and musk mingled in a way that made her feel warm all over and a blush creep up into her cheeks.

  “You… you did well today. The match,” she said in an effort to fill the tense silence between them. “You don’t much care for the fights, though. I can tell. It’s just… you go through the motions. But you aim for the kill. I saw.”

  She soaked the rag again in the bucket, the water already darkening with blood as she resumed washing his chest, cleaning the wound. “You’re better than all the others in the arena,” she said softly. “You’re incredible, really. I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about it…”

  She flushed again, glancing up. Those dark eyes were looking down at her, unreadable as onyx. She quickly glanced down, then wished she hadn’t, for it brought her attention directly to his cock, standing hard and tall before her.

  Mina froze, stunned for a moment. She suddenly realized her position, kneeling between the legs of the powerful orcish gladiator, her breasts an inch from his thick shaft. Her breathing deepened. She flushed and glanced back up at the orc, but he merely watched her. Intent.

  Something seemed to move her other hand. Something beyond herself. She gently reached out and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He was so large she barely could. She gasped at the heat of his shaft, feeling like it would burn her slim, white fingers.

  “You’re incredible in the arena,” she said softly, her hand beginning to move slowly, up and down, stroking the thickness of his cock. Like all orcs his shaft was marked with a ribbed ridge, a tool to breed. “No one can stand against you for long. My father… if it wasn’t for the collar, you’d have killed him. Wouldn’t you?”

  She saw a flicker in those dark eyes. A flash of light. Her breathing deepened, inhaling the heavy musk that filled the small cell. The danger of him quickened her pulse. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m sorry he owns you. He shouldn’t… You shouldn’t be his slave. It isn’t right…”

  Her hand was moving faster. Precum drooled from the head of his cock, slickening his shaft, and running over her fingers like hot oil. Mina’s hand moved faster. What was she doing? She must be crazy! If she were caught pumping her soft hand on the cock of an orc, her father would lock her in her room until he could marry her away to some ugly minor nobleman. She knew she should stop, but there was no stopping it. Not even for a moment. Her gaze wide an innocent even as she continued sliding her fingers up and down the muscular orc’s thick cock, kneeling between his legs in her finery as she wanked him faster. Faster.

  She became aware suddenly of a low growling sound. She looked up sharply to see Ghostheart staring down at her, his cock throbbing between her fingers. Her heart raced as she saw the beginning of that glow. That flicker of life she saw when he killed Holgor.

  He came suddenly, thick cum exploding from his iron hard shaft. Mina gasped, some of it splashing on her face and some spattering the tops of her youthful breasts. Far more coated her hand, soaking her fingers in the near animal musk of his cum.

  Mina snatched her hand back, flushed with shame. She felt the heat of his cum on her cheek. Unbidden, her tongue flicked out, tasting a salty-sweet droplet of his thick seed. She saw a flicker of something on Ghostheart’s painted face. It was as if she was one of his hapless foes in the pit and he had just dealt her a mortal blow. There was a glimmer of triumph in his savage face.

  Snapped from her stupor, Mina realized how she must look. Flushed, ashamed, she quickly took the cloth and wiped off her face and the tops of her breasts of the evidence of what happened. She hastily cleaned her hand with the same rag before dropping it into the bucket. Ghostheart did not move as she scrambled to her feet and dashed out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

  She didn’t even glance at the other cells as she raced down the passage, leaving the bucket where she found it. Only when she was in the upper halls, where the sunlight peeked through towering pillars did she slow down, her breath easing. She passed by a number of spectators lingering in the stands, the sounds of their voices bringing a firm sense of reality to her. Grounding her. She shook her head, dismissing what happened in the dungeons as something near a dream.

  But a taste lingered on her tongue. A taste she wouldn’t be soon forgetting. Her tongue flicked across her lips, tasting again that hint of Ghostheart’s seed.

  Celebrations

  Mina sighed from the balcony of her family’s manor. Situated on the outskirts of Novrod, it was a grim edifice, almost more a fortress than home. She blinked away the bleariness in her eyes. It had been hard to sleep of late. After what happened in the bowels of the arena, she kept going back to Ghostheart’s battle. She hadn’t been able to look at the orc when they rode from the arena afterwards, Ghostheart’s cage and those of a few other high quality slaves rattling behind them.

  She watched from the balcony as carriages rolled to the front of the manor, other owners, lords and ladies streaming into the manor. A fete had been planned, the cream of owners and a few select nobility invited. Mina always hated her father’s fetes. Even when she had been a child she’d heard the wild debauchery from her room. But tonight things had changed. Tonight, with her eighteenth birthday behind her, she was expected to attend.

  Mina eyed the fine gowns and beaming faces of the guests as they climbed up the steps and into the glow of the lanterns. She sighed again, glancing down at her gown. A fine thing of lace and soft blues. The gown pushed up her breasts in a flattering way and flared about her hips, hiding her feet in its hem. She turned with a swish of fabric and returned to her room in silence.

  The chandelier glowed with candlelight in a blazing halo above the floor. It was a relatively modest party c
ompared to some of Novrod’s usual festivities. The largest celebration was to come soon enough during the governor’s birthday. That was an event that no one would be willing to miss. Mina sighed as she glided through the room, her gown stirring. Her mother was entertaining the wives of a few of the other owners who had come. Her father was absent, readying the quieter, more private celebration.

  “They’ve outlawed the pits in Akrane,” whispered one guest. “It will be the smaller arenas in the outlying cities next.”

  “King Janus is a fool,” hissed the man’s fat companion. “Still young and full of self-righteousness. Mark my words, once their king realizes the coin he’ll be losing to the pits throughout Istanov, fighting will return to Heimsvak.”

  “Cannot part a coin from a Corven,” replied the first man with a chuckle.

  Mina tried to avoid politics. She avoided the young lords who had come to attend as well. Many of them would want to dance or strike up a conversation with her. Whenever she noticed one showing an interest she would quickly make herself busy so as to avoid having to engage the young man.

  She was making a circuit of the room when her mother glided up, the shapely older woman’s face shadowed with her hat. Mina gave a quick curtsy of respect.

  “Mother.”

  “Mina, my dear,” her mother crooned, wrapping her in a hug. “Are you ready, then? It’s quite an honour to attend one of your father’s parties. You cannot know how long we’ve been waiting for it.”

  Mina gave an uncertain smile. “I have been curious…”

  Theresa laughed. Putting a hand to her daughter’s back, she steered Mina away from the dance floor and into a cool hallway. “Well, high time you knew. One day, after all, this shall all be yours. Your father and I expect great things from you and the man you marry.”

  Mina swallowed thickly. “Th-thank you, mother…”

  Theresa gave her daughter a wane smile. Mina’s steps felt heavy as they went down a familiar corridor. The floor was now stone, the heavy brickwork just above the dungeons where her father kept the slaves. Only a fool would leave his prized gladiators anywhere other than their own home. Too many would seek to sabotage a fighter before a match. Mina tried to put the image of Ghostheart from her thoughts. Recalling the powerful orc would do her little good here…

  Theresa pushed open the door, admitting them to a dusky sitting room. Stuffed chairs filled the space, all of them gathered around a curiously risen stage set in the middle of the room. Mina glanced about, catching sight of many of the other high class owners of gladiators. A few were nobility, but many more were the rough faced wilder huntsmen or slavers, they looking uncomfortable in their fine vests and silk shirts like bears in jackets. Conversation was lively, crystal glasses and bottle gleaming as men drank freely, eating occasionally from plates left on the corner walls. There were no windows in the room, the only illumination a number of lamps glowing on the walls, their lights flickering against the red paper in strange, dark shapes.

  Mina followed her mother to a pair of waiting chairs, the older woman sitting delicately in one, settling her hands on her lap. Mina uncertainly sat in the one beside her, half listening to the conversation flying above them.

  “Plans for the governor’s birthday?”

  “Of course, I was invited, after all.”

  “Really? How did you manage that?”

  “Oh, it’s a… special event this year.”

  Mina glanced at the speaker, seeing one of the rough looking slavers. She was as surprised as the wealthy man who had asked the question. The governor was notorious for his upper class festivities, and for him to invite a slaver without title or lands was an event. Mina noted her mother was listening to the conversation, a subtle frown turning her full lips.

  Most conversation revolved around the governor’s birthday or prospects of fighters for the next arena bouts. Mina listened with deep reservations, twisting her hands on her lap and biting her lower lip. She was relieved when her father entered the room. Dressed in a fine jacket with a red cravat pierced with a diamond, he walked into the middle of the room and flashed a grin. Conversation fell off, a feeling of eager anticipation taking its place. Mina shifted uneasily at the change, wondering what it might portend.

  “Gentlemen!” Oslo Gloveless said with a broad gesture. “Thank you for joining me tonight.”

  “As if we would miss it,” Palov, a boisterous owner who specialized in feral monsters, laughed.

  Oslo gave a respectful nod as someone put a drink in his hand. He took a sip, then flipped his hand in the air carelessly. “Well! Gentlemen, after last night’s bout I figured it was high time we had an event. And of course,” he added with a nod at Mina. “This is the first of our little get togethers my daughter has attended.”

  Mina flushed, trying to sink into her gown as the other men in the room murmured a greeting. She gave a quick nod, satisfying her father who turned back to the rest. “And in honour of it, I’ve prepared a treat for you all,” her father laughed “Gentlemen! I would like to introduce… Ghostheart!”

  He gestured grandly to the door and stepped back as it opened. The other men stirred with interest as the orcish gladiator stepped through, his dark eyes blank, his face painted with the white skull expressionless.

  Mina stiffened at the sight, hands tightening on the arms of her chair. Her father grinned, moving slowly about the orc. The differences in the pair were only starker then. Her father, squat, blading, in all his fine clothes to hide the slight paunch of his stomach.

  And the monster. Tall, his form corded with thick muscles, little more than a loincloth masking his cock from the watching men. Mina felt her heart thump in her chest as her father halted before the orc, again looking him from head to toe.

  “Ghostheart here,” he said, voice thickened with a sneer of amusement, “has won me an ample amount of money. Most of you don’t know, but he was taken by a huntress of Ctharne.”

  The other men shifted with interest. Mina lifted her head, brow furrowing with wary curiosity. She hadn’t heard of that either… She glanced at the orc, wondering. That silent clan of huntresses had only been revived in the last century on an island said to have been cursed by the touch of a dark god. Rumors swirled about the women who made their living hunting down the beasts and creatures that lurked in the dark.

  “Of course,” Oslo said with a contemptuous motion at the orc before them, “those depraved women have their own ideas about hunting down monsters. In fact, their ‘rituals’ involve them enthralling one of the creatures by fucking the brutes.”

  There was a ripple of laughter among the men.

  “Precisely,” Oslo chuckled. “But what do they know of controlling these beasts? Enthralling them with their bodies? Ha!” Oslo drew back his hand and slapped Ghostheart across the face. Mina flinched at the sharp impact of flesh on flesh, her knuckles white as she clutched the arms of the chair. Ghostheart didn’t move his face, his expression blank and unreadable as ever.

  “Animals,” Oslo said, giving his hand a subtle shake, “have to be broken. Be tamed. And rumors tell that the emperor has begun conversations with the huntresses themselves. Has hired a few after that… incident a few years back involving the villages in Vostro. That he thinks doesn’t think we can handle these savages ourselves.”

  A low murmur rumbled from the assembled men. Oslo chuckled, looking lazily back to the orc. He lifted his hand, a mark in his palm glowing faintly. “Tell me, monster, who is your master?”

  The collar around Ghostheart’s neck pulsed. “You are,” Ghostheart said, every syllable harsh like it had been dragged from him by chains.

  Oslo grinned cruelly. “That’s right. And you’ve learned your place well enough. All orcs do, eventually. Even these beasts can be taught. But I am a fair man,” Oslo said mildly. “And as a reward for your victory this day, I’ve decided that maybe the huntresses have a point. It’s always easier to control a monster if they’re content.” He raised his voice. “You
can come in!”

  The door swung open. Mina gaped at the woman who strode through it. Her eyes were painted dark and her body shapely. She was naked, her soft breasts capped with dark nipples and hips swinging lazily. That was not to say she was completely uncovered. A crude facsimile of savage paint coated her bare skin in whorls and curlicues, her long hair done up in a savage braid. They looked something like what Mina had heard the huntresses sometimes bedecked themselves with. Protective markings in their hunts against the monsters they sought. But even she could tell the exaggerated exoticism of the paintings was meant more to entice than any arcane use.

  She stopped before the stunned men, her eyes lidded, her stance shifting with the knowing gait of the professional whore. Mina swallowed thickly, already dreading what was to come.

  “Now, my dear,” Oslo said, delighted at the sight. “As you can see, you have before you a brutish monster of a gladiator. Meet Ghostheart. For his reward, I have decided that he might fuck you. Though, quite naturally, he won’t be allowed to actually cum inside you.”

  “Oh darling. You chose a good one tonight!” Theresa breathed, fanning herself lazily as she looked the painted whore up and down.

  Oslo roared with laughter. “Why thank you my dear. I do so aim to please. Now then, Jasmina. Would you be so kind as to prepare your mate?”

  “Of course,” the whore said. She swung about, hips cocking with the movement as she sauntered towards Ghostheart. The orc watched her with disinterest as she pressed herself against the gladiator’s tombstone grey chest. Mina felt a pang of envy at the sight, and also a twist of hard amusement at the sight of the bare moment of hesitation before she put her hands on the orc’s chest. She was afraid of the orc.

  “Now Ghostheart,” Oslo said casually as the whore slipped down the orc’s chest and towards his groin. “I am a magnanimous master, yes?”