The Dark Lord's Lady

The Dark Lord’s Lady

Chapter 1: A Tale of Two Predators

(Or, never eat anything bigger than your own head)


After the onerous tasks of getting his servants started on readying a room and tasking them with finding the storage chests which might hold suitable clothing, Sophorim returned to his room in the tower. While the servants worked, he looked forward to returning to the vision of mortal beauty he’d found in his scrying bowl. However, when he gazed down upon its surface, the image in the bowl confused him. It had gone pitch dark. He knew that the image hadn’t disappeared because if it had, he would simply be looking at the bottom of the bowl. The unchanging and dark image perplexed him because he was certain if she was asleep, at least some light would penetrate her bed chamber though its ridiculously large window. Was she somehow imprisoned? The thought worried him. There was no point in deciding on a woman just to have her snatched away… before he himself snatched her. Then again, the unpleasant thought of her possible death might explain the dark image, but he didn’t want to entertain that just yet.

“Retain the image shown, but pull back,” he suggested to the bowl. Now I’m getting somewhere, he thought as he was shown a curious metallic object which appeared to be moving. At last, he realized she was contained in the storage compartment of a vehicle which traveled slowly up a lonely road. It was as he had imagined—someone was trying to get her first. He caught sight of the male driver of the vehicle and snarled, tilted eyes narrowing in a lupine glare as anger began to course through his body. He had come so close to taking her and was certain this marked the end of her life. Surely no man would transport a woman in a storage compartment unless she was dead, or would be shortly. He watched the vehicle pull off the road and he glanced towards the room’s center. Everything had been ready for the transference spell he had planned on using in a day or two. Unfortunately it seemed he would now have to search again for another woman. Disappointment suffused him as his hand hovered over the bowl, ready to banish the image it contained.

Through his fingers he saw the man get out of the vehicle, looking around curiously as he pulled a knife out of his belt and checked it. Sophorim realized she might not be dead yet. Otherwise, why need a knife for a corpse… unless this detestable villain enjoys carving cold rather than living meat? The thought of that beautiful body cut open for the pursuit of some human man’s outlandish fantasies made Sophorim grind his teeth. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her as she had been earlier, dancing nude in her room almost as if it were for him alone. That memory decided him; he didn’t want to search for another. He’d wanted this woman and he would have her. Besides, his power gave him the right to her, no matter if the other man had gotten her first. Green fire exploded into being, enveloping his arms first and flowing across his entire body in response to his sudden anger. Chanting and trailing flame, he walked to the center of the room where a simple circle was inscribed on the floor. His face drawn into a mask of cold rage, he brutally forced reality to cave and give way within the circle.

A ripple in the air became a door through which he saw a dark forest, where a man pulled a limp figure out of the back of a vehicle. Sophorim immediately stepped through into a strange tunnel, where winds tore at his clothing and hair. As he walked towards the mortal realm, he lost sight of the man as he dragged the woman out of view. Sophorim began to curse inventively and extensively as he wondered how long he’d be traversing the tunnel opposed to how long the man needed until he began to cut her. He already considered the woman his and he was less than pleased someone had tried to steal his prize out from under his very nose. Needless to say, he had never dealt with disappointment well. Whether the woman was dead (which he doubted, otherwise again, why the knife?), the man had forfeited his life due to his temerity. By the time he exited, feeling his boots leaving the shifting path and sinking into the loam of another world’s forest, he had switched to the goblin tongue to complete his stream of invective.

The sudden stream of snarling, slobbering words must have surprised his intended victim, because he heard a gasp in the direction of a copse of small trees and shrubs. Sophorim lost no time in tearing across the clearing in the direction of the noise. A head poked up over a shrub and he had the distinct pleasure of seeing his new prey’s face blanching white as he shrieked in terror. In another leap he was over the low shrub, landing mere feet away from the woman and her abductor, who was still in the process of rising to his feet while wearing an expression of shocked surprise.

The man was mounting a pathetic attempt to run away, but Sophorim pounced on him and they went down in a snarl of thrashing limbs. A knife flashed inches away from Sophorim’s nose, narrowly missing him as he fluidly rocked backward. His own knife was in a sheath strapped to his calf and he doubted his wildly bucking and thrashing foe would give him the time to reach it. His fist crashed into his adversary’s face and he felt a rush of satisfaction as blood spurted warmly over his knuckles, the man’s nose crumpling instantly with a snap. His satisfaction was short-lived however, when the man howled and slashed blindly with his knife, opening a deep cut into Sophorim’s thigh. The pain brought Sophorim back to his senses and his power swelled, sending a blast of green fire exploding between them, stunning the man and knocking him onto his back. Immediately, Sophorim was astride him and pinning him to the ground.

He got his first good look at the human man finally as he sat back to consider a suitable punishment. Despite the fight he’d put up, he seemed to be an older man if Sophorim was any judge. Sweat streamed down his balding pate and graying, dark hair straggled over it in disarray. Sophorim was barely breathing very hard, but the human wheezed, his breath coming in big ratcheting gasps. A thick-featured, red face turned up to him, the slick, wet orbs of his eyes rolled up, searching for any means of escape. Sophorim was certain that if he let him up, the man would flee into the forest and never look back. Not that that was the sort of thing Sophorim planned on doing. He had never been known for a sense of mercy and he was hardly about to start developing one now. In any case, the man’s effrontery for stealing what didn’t belong to him and also causing a wound, albeit minor, upon Sophorim’s person deserved punishment of a special nature. An insult was an insult.

Before the man could regain his bearing, Sophorim straddled the man’s chest, pinning his arms beneath his knees. As his weight pressed crushingly down on the man’s arms, his initial speechlessness was broken and a string of curses and pleas erupted from him. Sophorim sat back and rested heavily on the man’s chest, knowing the inability to breathe would silence him eventually. Spittle flew from fleshy lips as the man began to finally wind down and his curses gave way to demands.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he wheezed. “Get offa me! I didn’t do anything, you weird freak!”

Sophorim smiled slowly and tilted his head at that last statement. His dark voice flowed into the air, smooth and sanguinary as blood. “You tried to steal what was mine and moreover, you wounded me. Me,” he repeated almost wonderingly. “Now all there is to do is decide on a suitable punishment.”

The man’s eyes widened in alarm and he began to stammer nervously, “Now, now I never would’ve messed with her! Sh-she’s your girlfriend right?” His eyes followed Sophorim’s hand as it scooped up the knife from where it had rolled from his nerveless fingers. The entreaties which Sophorim had decided to tune out reached a fever pitch as he brought the knife up, ending in a scream as the knife plunged down, burying into the soft dirt inches away from the man’s head.

Over the sobs of commingled relief and terror Sophorim spoke again. “A cheap blade,” he sniffed dismissively. “It hardly serves my purpose… unlike this.” He pulled a silver dagger from its sheath on his boot and with it, inscribed a rippling pattern in the air over the man’s stricken face. “You like to carve, dead man,” he stated simply. “Therefore you shall.”

Finishing the pattern, he placed the dagger’s tip against his own wrist, opening a small vein. Drops of his blood spattered over the man’s chin and lips as Sophorim held his wrist up. The man sealed his lips and tried to twist away. “Drink,” Sophorim hissed insistently, annoyed with the human who was twisting and thrashing his head back and forth as if elven blood were acid. He brought the dagger under the man’s chin, pricking him and effectively ending his resistance. The man went limp again and Sophorim repeated louder now, “Drink.” A fresh rain of his blood fell as Sophorim pumped his fist. The man sullenly glared up but finally did as he was commanded. His tongue darted out of his mouth, wiping the blood from around his lips and catching the new drops that fell.

It wouldn’t take much blood to complete the spell, Sophorim knew. Just a few drops were required to suffuse the human with enough of his magic for it to work, but he wanted to ensure the spell held for at least three days in the magic-less mortal realm. He’d performed this spell before, but always in the Elflands and never to a mortal. After deciding a minute was sufficient, he lowered his arm and watched the man lick up the last drops of blood. Humorlessly, he smiled down as he pressed the dagger against the man’s cheek. Terrified eyes locked onto Sophorim’s own and he felt the man’s muscles tense, his body going rigid. “When you anger an elven lord, your agony never ends with death… I promise.” He plunged the blade through the man’s eye and into his brain which should have killed him almost instantly, but for a word spoken which completed the spell Sophorim had cast.

Slowly, Sophorim stood and waited for the magic he’d worked to take effect. He didn’t have to wait long. The new revenant rolled over and getting to its hands and knees it tried crawling away into the forest, but for a sharp command from its new master.

“Hold, damn you,” Sophorim barked. Interesting, he thought. The elven revenants he’d once created had only risen and waited for orders, never trying to escape. Maybe human revenants were too stupid to know they were dead at first. His lip curled in disgust as the smell of what the human’s body did when it died reached his sensitive nose.

“Masssster,” It hissed as it looked at him out of its undamaged eye, the other having burst and been pulled out partially as he’d withdrawn his dagger. A trickle of aqueous humor, brain matter and blood still flowed down its cheek, but otherwise the creature would still pass for human. Having forgotten its attempt to flee already, it now awaited his orders. Sophorim smiled to himself. At least its attitude had improved.

Off-handedly, Sophorim asked, “Well, you see your knife there?” The creature cast around, scrabbling in the dirt before holding its knife aloft and turning to the woman who still lay unconscious and disheveled a few feet away.

“Don’t!” Sophorim barked again. “You know what you are to do. Sit down and start cutting.” While imbued with the magic of his blood, the revenant should know his wishes also, but apparently it helped to remind a human one, especially one as stupid as this. Once he saw the creature sit back heavily into the dirt and regard its legs reluctantly, its knife in hand, Sophorim turned back to the woman.

Amazingly, she hadn’t moved but at least he could see she was still breathing. Her clothing was in tatters and he couldn’t figure out why the fight hadn’t roused her. Crouching next to her, he smelled something familiar wafting up from a cloth near her head. Alchemical experience told him what the scent was and the answer for her continued unconscious state. He picked up the cloth and looked around the small clearing. There were the former man’s discarded shirt and jacket lying in a heap next to his knee, so he threw the cloth away and retrieved the jacket, discovering a small bottle in a pocket. He had no idea what the inscriptions on the bottle said but he pocketed it anyway, already familiar with the scent of ether clinging to it. Now he didn’t have to bother ordering more from the apothecary. Turning back to the woman, Sophorim couldn’t resist plucking off the remnants of ruined clothing which obscured her body from him. She was certainly in no position to complain now, was she? He picked her up and held her closely to him, exulting in the soft feel of her warm flesh. His hand closed over one of her breasts and her nipple puckered, hardening and perking up immediately. He would have continued to fondle her happily but for the sudden sound of tearing and chewing behind him, bringing his attention back to the here and now. Annoyed, he cocked his head to the side and listened to the revenant slobber. That sound hardly made the perfect background to which he could map the flesh of his new possession. There was also the matter of his portal, he remembered, which could only stay open so long.

He stood and hefted the woman’s slight weight in his arms to a more comfortable position and turned to inspect the creature’s progress. The revenant sat where he had left it, a gobbet of its own flesh dangling from its mouth as it chewed noisily. Its remaining eye glared balefully at him, but it dutifully continued with the task he had set for it. Sophorim smirked at it, watching the still bloody meat disappearing into its mouth. Once it had swallowed the last bite, it sank its knife into the flesh of its thigh and wincing painfully, cut another strip of flesh off. Oh good, Sophorim thought. Human revenants have at least that in common with elven ones; they feel pain, that being all they’re good for.

As he walked past the revenant, he said over his shoulder to it, “I sincerely hope you’re hungry, because I want you to continue until you’ve nothing left.”

When he returned to the clearing, he saw the door of his making was beginning to fade slightly. Sophorim hurried through it feeling the door shut behind him, the forest melting away to be replaced with the formless mists of the void between Elfland and the mortal realm. Again, the winds of the void ripped at him but now the path beneath his boots narrowed and Sophorim realized he was cutting things too closely. He sent tendrils of green fire racing ahead to brace the door on his side. He was closer than he’d thought; relieved he could see the door, diminished but at least in no danger of closing now. Even so, as he stepped onto the cool stone paving of his tower, he sighed in relief. He released the rest of his power and the door behind him winked out of existence.

He looked down at his newest acquisition. Even disheveled and dirty, she was even lovelier than he had thought when he had first seen her in the scrying bowl. Most of her shredded clothing had been whipped away into the void during the transference and out of curiosity, he slid a finger under a band wrapping around her torso, just under her breasts. It and a few scraps were all that was left of her clothing, so he imagined he had to find something for her to wear. He personally would not have minded letting her have the run of his castle nude but regretfully, something told him she might object. He buried his face into the juncture of her shoulder and neck, taking a deep breath of her scent. She even smelled as good as she looked; however, he raised his head to peer at her in consternation. He smelled drying blood. Running his fingers through her hair, he discovered a small wound on the side of her head. Although it seemed to have stopped bleeding, he needed to stop mooning over her and tend to her instead.

Cradling her body against him, he hurried down the spiral staircase leading to the exit of his tower and kicked open a door, through which he entered the castle proper. Orders were shouted as he stalked through halls and up stairs, servants everywhere jumping to obey. All the shouting and doors clanging must have finally roused the woman from her stupor, because she groaned and one of her legs kicked out, her small foot catching a goblin in the side of his head. Sophorim switched directions, leaving the cursing creature behind and bursting through a door nearby. He placed her on his childhood bed and touched her forehead, speaking a simple healing spell which would close her wound and send her off into a deeper sleep. Servants scurried around the room and soon a fire was crackling away in the fireplace, the dustcovers removed from furniture and a basin filled with steaming water was brought to the bedside. Sophorim dismissed his servants and set to work as they left the room, the last one shutting the door behind her. What little scraps of her clothing that remained were unceremoniously tossed on the fire as he intended on leaving her no link whatsoever with her former world. Then he seated himself on the edge of the bed and bent to the task of washing the blood out of her hair and the dirt of the mortal realm from her body.

Normally, a task such as this would be beneath him and one a servant could do, but it finally gave him the chance to explore her body to his satisfaction. This time, no chewing, lip-smacking revenant was near to interrupt him and he had all the time in the world with no door threatening to cut him off from his lands. Again, he slid a hand over her breasts, reaching the one farther from him he squeezed lightly and teased the nipple to attention. He leaned over to nibble gently on her lips and he realized he must have tickled her when her tongue darted out and slid across his lower lip. The light touch recalled his ache for her and it returned in full force. Heat pooled in his groin and his teeth urgently grazed her lips, trying to get her to do it again. Maybe he could carry her up to his bed, which was much larger than this narrow bed of his childhood, where he could slip in next to her to sleep. In the morning he could wake her, his lips sealed to hers to still her cries as he took the sweet first thrust into her body. Nice thought that, but he reminded himself he was turning over a new leaf. Even though immediately joining his body with hers was what he craved, he was done with taking women against their will. Of course, that restriction only included rape… abduction didn’t count. In any case, he’d had his fill of screaming women. He was going to be decent to this one and she would adore him for it, he was sure.

His impulses finally in check, he clothed her in a simple shift and sank back into his chair beside her. He was bone-weary, completely exhausted and the thickly padded chair was lulling him to sleep. The spell of transference was difficult, needing more time for mental preparation he hadn’t been given. Things had not gone as smoothly as he’d planned. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d had to channel so much of his own energy into spells, rather than relying on the natural magic of the Elflands or that of the Demon Plane. Therefore, it was no wonder he was tired. Still fixed on the woman’s form, his eyes drifted shut as he joined her in sleep.

***

AN: Yeehaw! Sophorim busts out the necromancy! Yanno, this is like a really heartwarming 'boy sees girl, boy wants girl, boy calls on the dark gods, gets girl' kinda story.

Oh look... zombies! Awwwwwwww!

Well, seriously… please let me know what you think so far, as I’ve rewritten parts and am steaming along on the story, after a massive rethink and rewrite.