Chapter 0 - Palace of the Amazon Queen

Palace of the Amazon Queen
Bromm VI
 
              Cool winter winds whipped the surf ahead of Fortune as Bromm stood at the helm. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with black hair and a thick beard peppered with a few thin gray hairs. In his green eyes danced an adventurer’s spirit. Ahead of him lay the Amazons’ city of Skyrra and some well-deserved rest. At his elbow was Serris, Fortune’s first mate. Brushing his curly mop of brown hair from a tanned face, Serris lowered his spyglass and barked commands to a trio of sailors scrambling up the ratlines, then turned to Bromm.
              “Everything looks clear so far. Though I still don’t share your optimism that the Amazons will let us dock.”
              “We have no quarrel with Skyrra,” Bromm said easily. Serris rested his elbows on the rail and frowned. “And yes, I am sure that galley was from Syme. Skyrra has as much love for Syme as you have for salted fish. They won’t care a bit.”
              “If you say so,” Serris replied. He collapsed the spyglass and holstered it in his belt. 
              Skyrra lay in a tidal lagoon that stretched nearly twenty miles from north to south, though the thin islands that formed its western edge were separated from the eastern shore by only five miles of clear, shallow blue water. Passing through one of the four narrow passages into the lagoon, the crew was greeted by the suspicious stares of a group of fishermen repairing their nets on the shoreline. Moving along the gunwale toward the forecastle, Bromm gave them a friendly wave. It did little to improve their mood.
              He reached the bow of the ship and looked down at the sloop’s hull, slicing through the shallows of the lagoon. It was clear enough that he could see the bottom in most places, perhaps five fathoms below, and it was filled with fish. Long, sleek, and silvery, they darted away in great schools as Fortune approached. 
              The distant shoreline of the lagoon was shrouded in a thin white morning fog, though dark wisps of smoke rose above it, marking the location of the town for Fortune’s helmsman. Other vessels plied the lagoon, from small fishing boats to a pair of large schooners making for port. Several miles distant, Bromm could make out the distinctive shapes of Amazon galleys.
              He turned back toward the helm and found a young, dark-skinned sailor named Brand standing there. The man looked concerned.
              “What’s on your mind, sailor?” Bromm asked cheerily.
              “The men have been telling stories, captain. Stories of Amazons.” Brand rubbed his wrist with one hand anxiously, then switched to rubbing his other wrist with the other hand.
              “What kind of stories?”
              “It depends on the man, sir. It’s Caturn, you see… He’s been telling us they are maneaters. Cannibals.”
Bromm laughed. “Caturn is a teller of tall tales, it’s in his blood. Some have a bit of truth to them, no doubt, but the man never lets truth get in the way of a good time. And nothing excites him like putting the fear into you young lads.”
              “So, the Amazons don’t eat men?” Brand asked, relief creeping into his expression.
              “They are fierce warriors,” Bromm conceded, “but they are no cannibals. We come in peace, and they will treat us as guests if we behave.”
              “Are we to trade, sir? We’ve brought nothing special. Caturn said the Amazons have no interest in the breadfruit, and they have plenty of cloth.”
              “Cloth is always in demand, but we’ve come to do more than trade. We’ve come to fuck.”
Brand blanched. “Caturn said they will sacrifice raiders to Arvoran or feed them to their tigers. He said,” the lad’s voice dropped low, “he said that if a man ravishes an Amazon, they cut his member off.”
              Bromm laughed again. “We don’t come to ravish, we come to whore!” he clapped a hand on Brand’s shoulder and guided him back toward the helm. “Amazons hold their own men in disdain. They are weak, shrinking creatures unworthy of mating with the warrior women. Whenever bold, strapping men like us make port, why the Amazons can’t keep their hands off us!”
              “They will let us pay to bed them?” Brand asked eagerly, and Bromm laughed once more.
              “They will pay us to bed with them. My boy,” Bromm sighed, “you are in for a good time once we land. Trust me, everything will work out. We will stay in port for a week or so, fuck every Amazon worth our time, then load up on iron, tin, and hides and make for Torvuls again to reunite with Talish.”
              “Then back to the Ivory Straits?” 
              “Or the Gates of Dawn, or perhaps the Cold North. Once the spring winds blow and the trade fleets sail, it will be good pickings for a band of brave rogues with a swift ship and good fortunes.”
              Brand smiled. His hand went to his neck, where he wore a garnet-studded gold necklace they had pilfered from the neck of a fluyt captain three months prior. “That sounds wonderful, captain.”
              “Aye, it does. It’s no winter in a Torvuls pillowhouse, but perhaps its best we lie low there after our night at the dicehall, eh?”
              “Now that you mention it, captain, I’ve only heard Caturn’s story of what happened. What really occurred that night?”
              Bromm sighed. “In good time, lad. Perhaps tonight, when we’re drunk on Amazon wine, entertaining some cock-hungry warrior women with tales of battle and adventure. But now, I’ve got to bring this old tub into harbor, you see?”
              “Aye, aye, sir.” Brand scurried off into the rigging to join his crew. Bromm returned to the helm where Serris waited. The Amazon galleys stayed far off and Fortune cruised uncontested through the lagoon. By the time they were near Skyrra’s quay, the fog had begun to lift. Manex the helmsman brought the sloop into port easily and soon enough the crew had her moored and was beginning to unload their cargo. 
              Crewmen swarmed into the hold and begun moving crates of cloth and muskets onto the quay, where Amazon clerks checked them and collected the tariff. Bromm found his quartermaster speaking with the harbormaster. Ji was a short man from the far eastern lands, short, wiry, and quite strong. He wore black hair in a long ponytail that hung down his back, and a thin beard and mustache clung to his sun-worn face. He wore a dark blue shirt and white pants, with a narrow-hilted straight sword hanging from his baldric. 
              With brown almond eyes he studied the cargo manifest and nodded, satisfied. The harbormaster, a short, stocky woman in a long robe of many colors, barked commands to her porters who quickly appeared and began loading the crates of cloth onto carts. 
              “All in order?” Bromm asked breezily as he approached Ji. The man nodded.
              “We’ve a spot for it in the warehouse and there will be buyers stopping by soon enough.” He smiled. “We’ll have some drinking money tonight, captain!”
              Another man joined them on the dock. Like Ji, he was a man from the far east, and they looked close enough in appearance to be brothers. Sometimes when asked, they claimed they were. Gan was as strong as his constant companion, but favored the recurve bow over Ji’s love of the musket. Gan also carried a curved saber as his hip instead of the straighter blade. He wore a dark green coat over a white shirt and breeches, bound up by a red silk sash. 
              “That was an easier voyage than I expected,” Gan said with an easy smile. He reached up to scratch at the white scar that cut through his beard. “These Amazons really cast aside their famous ferocity when there’s trade to be done, don’t they?”
              “You’ll see it return tonight once they get your pants off,” Serris joked, stepping up beside Bromm. “I’ll take charge of Fortune if you want to go into town, captain.”
              “There shouldn’t be much to fear,” Bromm replied with an easy look around the port. They were far from the only foreigners here, as the quay practically crawled with sailors stacking crates of goods. The berth just beyond Fortune was occupied by a three-masted barque in the process of unloading a cargo of wine, furs, and amber under armed guard. “The Amazons are good hosts. If anyone is going to make trouble, it’ll be the other foreigners.”
              “I’m not worried,” Serris replied. He rested one hand casually on a flintlock pistol at his hip. “We’re a crew of cold killers who’ve bested the Imperial Armada. What can these sea rats hope to accomplish against us?”
              “Just remember that half our crew are sea rats,” answered Bromm. “Speaking of which…”
              Caturn approached, one arm around Brand’s shoulder as he talked the younger man’s ear off. 
              “…and into the pit they go! I can’t tell you what’s at the bottom of it, but whatever it is, it loves manflesh something fierce.”
              Brand shuddered, and Bromm scowled.
              “Quit your tale-spinning, you old rat,” Bromm barked. “You’ve got the boy seeing dragons in every shadow.”
              “Aye, dragons,” the sea rat exclaimed, his eyes going to the sky as he spun another tale. “I saw one once, off Coldharbor. It was---”
              “Oh, Eldrin’s Breath! There’s no end to your blabber, is there? Come on, let’s go into town and see what the news is. Serris, mind the ship.”
              “Of course, captain. Look, they’ve finished loading the cart.”
              Bromm pulled on his black coat as a chill winter breeze cut across the harbor. He settled his broad red hat over his ears and gathered a small group of sailors. Reminding them to be on their best behavior, they set off behind the cart as its drover began to navigate the streets toward the warehouse. 
              Behind him, Caturn caught Brand looking with wonder at a trio of Amazons standing watch over the dock. They were tall and toned, in bronze cuirasses and greaves with helmets hanging from their hips. All three carried bows of horn and sinew, with long hewing spears resting against the wall behind them. Olive-skinned and dark haired, they were each possessed of a sharp beauty that the lad clearly found enticing.
              “You ever seen an Amazon before today?” Caturn growled at Brand, pulling him along behind the captain. The young sailor shook his head. “Oh, you’re in for it now. These islands are home to the fiercest women you’ll ever meet. I bet you think you’ve met some fierce ones. Perhaps a bar wench who charged you double for rudeness? Ha! These Amazons are something else.”
              Bromm cast an amused look over his shoulder at Brand, who only shrugged helplessly as the old sailor continued his ramblings.
              “I was aboard a ship once,” the sea rat began, “we ran afoul of bad luck, made cheap sacrifices to Eldrin and He caused us to run aground off the Isle of Serpents. We were stuck just after high tide and had all day to wait until we could float again. While we were sitting there, left out on the sandbars like an ugly man’s cock at a holy orgy, the Amazons came for us. They thought we were raiders, see, come to steal them away and sell them to the fighting pits or to the orcs as wives. Must have been a thousand of them, in great multi-decked galleys with the men rowing and the women ready to fight. More than galleys, they were. The big ones would rival a frigate in size.
              “They came at us fast, surrounded the ship and tried to board screaming war cries showering us with arrows and shot. We were scared half to death. Their faces were painted red and black in all kinds of patterns, their galleys and shields were decorated scenes of war, the faces of jungle beasts or lightning bolts. The last was some kind of symbol of their elite warriors. Those were the worst. They are fearless warriors and fight completely naked, tits out and everything. Many of them fought topless, which caught some of our men off guard. Sailors out to sea many months, nary a woman in sight, do stupid things when they see one at last. One man, young and dumb and full of cum, quite like you, actually, climbed up the bowsprit when he saw them coming. The lead galley was captained by one of the thunderbolt women, naked but for her jaguar headdress and cloak of bird feathers. He called out to her, showed her his cock, and she threw a spear right through his heart. Killed him instantly.
              “We fought all day and into the night, trying to keep them off the ship. They climbed through the gunports, up the stern and bow. They killed the captain. The first mate lost an arm. Nearly half our crew was killed before night fell. We had to throw our dead and many cannons overboard to ride higher in the waves and get free with the rising tide. Once we were free, we made for Buccaneer’s Bay as fast as we could, always looking astern and fearing the warrior women in their boats.”
              “Why did they attack?” Brand asked, and Caturn barked a laugh in reply.
              “Because we were there! They live for battle, son. They love nothing more than triumph in battle. A warrior’s status is determined by the number of foes she slays in battle. Or brings back to the temple, where they go into the pits.”
              Brand audibly shuddered, and Caturn laughed again. “So think on that when one of those women is straddling your cock. She might like you in bed, but she’ll like you more as a feather in her headdress.”
              “Caturn,” Bromm barked, “you must have something better to do than terrify the lad with old tales?”
              “Nay, captain. Tales is all I’m good for these days. Tales and sails, that’s me. Did I ever tell you of the time I sailed with the Scion of Sostrum? He was looking for Kalis, you see…”
              “Save it for the taverns. There will be plenty of time for your fibs in the evening, with drinks in hand. You might even snare an Amazon with one if you’re bold enough.”
              “Snare an Amazon,” Caturn said wistfully, “now that reminds me of a story I heard once. About Thoramar, and his feud with the queen of Lykyra.”
              Bromm sighed. Caturn rambled on with his tale of war and deceit, but soon enough they reached the warehouse and the Amazon drover pulled her cart to a halt. From her expression, she had heard enough of Caturn’s tale.
              “An interesting tale,” said Brand as they at last arrived. “Though I’m not sure how much of it is true.
              “All of it, my boy,” Caturn reassured him unconvincingly. The sailors continued talk as they unloaded the cart and moved the goods into the warehouse. When they had finished, Bromm and the warehouse owner agreed on a price and money was exchanged. With their business settled, Bromm turned back to his crew.
              “Alright, lads, let’s get drunk!”
 
              Bromm and the crewmen were settled into a tavern near the town’s main square. His knowledge of the Amazon tongue was poor, but he could read the sign well enough; it read “the Diving Dolphin.” Or at least he thought it did. The tavern was a stout wooden structure, with a high vaulted ceiling and a well-worn wooden floor of a dark hardwood native to the Amazon Isles. Great bronze chandeliers studded with candles hung from the ceiling and the walls bore the mounted heads of the islands’ most ferocious beasts; leopards, crocodiles, catoblepas, thunder lizards, even a basilisk. Below them hung an assembly of helms of orcish make, dented and rent in many places.
              The long tables, for the Amazons ate and drank communally, were growing increasingly crowded. First came the sailors from distant lands, the kingdoms of the Colathan Vale, Zahir, Varayazdh, the Auric Empire, and even some of the far-off lands beyond the Ivory Straits. They crowded at the tables in throngs sharing honeyed mead, good rum, and strong wine made from jungle fruits. The servants brought for them crusty black bread and dried berries to whet their appetites while they drank.
              Bromm was two drinks in already, enjoying both a cup of rum and the story of Broceld, a corsair from Devil’s Rock. The bushy-bearded man stood at one end of the table, his crewmen gathered around his feet, and waved two thick arms in the air.
              “It’s great arms thrashing about, it swept four of my men clean off the deck! There was no fighting a kraken after that, and I took the helm to drive us into shallow waters where it could not follow. But the beast had my beloved ship about her hull, and despite the wind she would not move. I gathered about me my best men and we ran for the longboat. It hit the water with a splash, and we leapt from the deck into the water as the ship’s hull creaked and cracked around us. The other men saw us fleeing and many of them dove overboard as well, but the kraken picked them off one by one. With mighty strokes of the oar and mightier prayers to the gods, we made it to shore and were condemned to suffer the fate of watching my Griffon pulled under.”
              “You were marooned then? How did you make it off the island?” Brand asked over Bromm’s shoulder. The young sailor was straining to through the crowd to see the speaker. Broceld looked down at him with a smile.
              “The kraken moved on after a while, and we took to living on the island. Soon enough, we discovered a colony of mermaids living just off the shore of the island. We feasted with them, fucked them, and they brought us out to sea where we found a fishing ship and rode it back to Queensharbor.”
              “You fucked a mermaid?” one sailor in the crowd called out. “Now I know you’re full of shit.”
              “It’s true!” Broceld called back. “They are the loveliest creatures in all the sea.”
              “You’ve never seen a nereid, I take it?” Bromm called, and the other captain turned back to him.” 
              “Nay, I have never been so blessed. Twenty years on the seas, and I’ve seen it all, but never that.”
              The door to the tavern opened and a trio of Amazons entered. They were young, with the youthful swagger that Bromm had seen in a thousand sailors and soldiers the world over. The leader of the group was a blonde woman with a pretty face and an easy smile. They wore decorated tunics and kilts of thick cloth under many-colored cloaks. Each of them wore a sword belt and a long, straight sword of iron. But their hands were not on their weapons today. They approached the table right away, all friendly smiles. The crowd parted to allow them to reach its edge, where they stopped and looked up to Broceld.
              “Is this where the stories are told?” the leader asked. Her blue eyes sparkled with interest. Behind her, the other two Amazons exchanged amused and interested looks with sailors.
              “It is, but I am afraid you’ve arrived at the tail end of my tale,” Broceld said with theatrical apology.
              “Well, you are sure to have more,” the blonde Amazon replied easily. “Start up another!”
              Bromm leaped onto the table. “Listen well, Amazons, for I’ve got a tale for you. It begins not long ago, two months past. Our heroes, the plucky crew of a ship called Fortune, led by her most daring captain; me.”
              “I’m surprised he didn’t mention that the captain is handsome,” one sailor muttered loud enough for the crowd to hear.
              “I supposed that would be self-evident, good sir!” Bromm replied, and the crowd laughed. In particular, the pretty blonde Amazon laughed and met his eyes. Bromm winked back at her before continuing. “We were off Zephyr’s Rest, anchored in a small cove to take on fish and fresh water from the locals. When all a sudden, my lookout spied a sail bearing down on us. 
              “From her bearing, it was clear she meant battle, and so we cast off as quickly as possible and made for the open sea. In time, she drew close enough to see she was a corvette of twenty guns, flying the Imperial Armada’s flag.”
              “A most feared sight for any sailor!” one of the assembled men cried. Other voices chorused in agreement. “Damnable Golden Armada! Curse the emperor’s name!”
              “We made for the open water,” Bromm continued, his eyes sweeping across the audience’s faces. The blonde Amazon and her companions were watching with great interest and he hoped not to lose them. “Our Fortune is shallow on the draft and handles well into the wind, so we made for the windward reefs.”
              “There’s naught who can outrun a pirate but another pirate!” cried one man and Bromm nodded. 
              “But the corvette had the wind at her back and we had an island in the way. She bore down on us afore we could make it away and soon the thunder of guns roared behind us. Shot streaked the length of our ship, shattering the taffrail and killing my carpenter. The poor man was standing beside me one moment and the next, he was slumping headless to the deck!”
              “A drink to the fallen! Pour one out and say a prayer to Kanaron!”
              “Aye!” Bromm agreed. “To Kanaron and my lost crewmen! For my carpenter was not the last. A half dozen other men were laid low by splinters or shot. And we had yet to make for the reefs so the enemy drew into range for muskets and sharp words!”
              “Ah, the deadliest weapon of a pirate!” cried a Mellisan sailor in the rear of the crowd and the crowd laughed as one.
              “My man Gan, the deadeye shot,” Bromm indicated the sailor, who smiled and raised a mug. “Struck down three of the damnable Aurics with his bow. The enemy replied with a hail of small shot. I was struck in the hand by a ricochet, but none the worse for the wear.” Bromm raised his right hand, where a fading bruise was barely evident against his wrist. “We assailed them with arrows and shot, musket and cannon, but they still drew closer. In short order, they were throwing grappling hooks across to fasten us in place. My brave crew fought hard, sweeping the gunwale with case shot from the guns and hurling more grenades than I knew we had bought. But the first boarding party swarmed across all the same.”
              “A clash of cold steel! The truest measure of a man!”
              “And am never one to shy away! With saber in one hand and pistol in the other, I went into the fray. But I crossed swords with a giant of a man, a Garexian, if my knowledge of the Empire’s peoples is correct. He towered a head and more over me, tall as I am, and hewed his way through the press with a worn and notched boarding axe. When I parried his blows, my shoulder rang and my arm felt as if it were about to fly out of the socket! He pushed me back with a furious onslaught until I was nearly pushed over the opposite gunwale.”
              “Overboard in a fight is the only worse fate than overboard in a storm!”
              “Aye, but I was overboard in neither! I gritted my teeth and struck back with all my might! The giant wavered and I dodged aside. His axe fell and hewed splinters from the deck, and I slashed open his arm. He rallied and struck back undaunted. I fell to the deck and he raised his axe for the killing blow!” Bromm paused for dramatic effect, the crowd hanging on his every word. “But Apliss blessed me that day, for as the giant’s axe fell, my hand closed about the grip of a pistol and I turned it on him and fired! The shot tore through his massive chest and in a spray of blood and bone, he fell!”
              “A giant felled! Hurrah!”
              “It was then I saw that we had nearly reached the reefs. I cried out to the men ‘we are nearly there!’ And they rallied, as I knew they would. We surged forward and drove the enemy back to their ship. With blunderbuss and grenades, we swept them from out decks and cut the ropes. Their boarding planks splashed into the water between our hulls, and we roared in triumph, for it was then that we entered the shallows. Our pursuer turned hard to starboard to avoid running around, and in doing so brought her broadside to bear on our battered stern once again.”
              “A terrible place for any sailor to be!”
              “Aye, but they had been beaten and battered by our battle on the decks. Their guns fired slowly and wildly off target. They scored no more than four hits on us as we fled, and sent no more men to Kanaron. It was a bloody battle, but soon enough we escaped the range of their guns and made it out to sea.”
              “Well fought and well-captained!” the crowd roared. “Another black eye for the hated Golden Armada! A tale a of bravery and derring-do! Three cheers for Bromm and the Fortune!.”
              Bromm, all smiles as the crowd cheered his name, stopped and looked around. The crowd had grown. The pretty blonde Amazon was still staring meaningfully his way and had been joined by perhaps a dozen other Amazons, along with half as many foreign sailors filtered in from the streets. Crowds were gathering, not only around his table but at others throughout the tavern. And behind it all, the tavernkeeper was cheerfully serving up drinks – for a price.
              “A fine tale! Who is next?” several sailors cried, and an eager man jumped onto the table across from Bromm. He was tall and thick, his worn white tunic cut low to show a hairy chest scarred many times over. When he spoke, his missing teeth caused his Auric-accented voice to whistle slightly.
              “Let me tell you a tale of fortune and greed, for long ago I once sailed with a crew in search of Kalis, the City of Wonders.”
              Bromm stepped down from the table and conceded to the Auric sailor. The blonde Amazon across the table took notice and moved her way around the crowd to his side.
              “You tell a gripping tale, captain…?”
              “Bromm,” Bromm offered, extending a hand. She took his broad hand in her own and shook it.
              “I am Turasi, a neophyte of the Leopard Lodge. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her accent was light, which was uncommon among the usually insular Amazons. 
              “You speak the Common tongue well,” Bromm complimented. 
              “Aye, my mother is a merchant and my father foreign-born. I spent much of my life on the docks until I joined the Lodge. Where did you grow up, Bromm of the ship Fortune?”
              Bromm shrugged. “At sea, mostly. I was born to sail, to see the world and all its beauties.”
              “How many of its beauties have you seen?” she asked, sliding a bit closer. Behind them, the storyteller drew a great laugh from his audience.
              “Not so many as I’d like,” Bromm replied, and Turasi smiled knowingly. 
              “What brings you to Skyrra?”
              “I have heard it is a wonderful place to ride out the winter storms. And I have always wanted to see the Amazon Isles up close.” Bromm hoped his previous visits, and their circumstances, would remain in the past.
              “To see its beauties up close?” Turasi suggested.
              “Aye, to see all its beauties up close.”
              “The island’s greatest beauties can be seen upstairs,” she said. Bromm thrust his thumbs into his swordbelt and laughed a great belly laugh. 
              “Lead the way, Turasi!”
              Turasi pulled him toward the stairs, tossing a few coins to the tavernkeeper along the way. An eager smile played across her face on the way up the stairs. Bromm took the opportunity to admire her shapely ass beneath her kilt as she climbed the stairs. When they reached the top, Turasi turned around and smiled over her shoulder at him. She knew where he had been looking.
              The upstairs hall was lit by windows overlooking the street, while potted flowers hung from the ceiling. The windows were open, allowing the sweet smell of the flowers in planter boxes outside them to drift in on the sea breeze. Somewhere outside, gulls cawed. 
              “That room at the end of the hall,” Turasi said, pointing toward the door.
              From the street came the clarion call of a trumpet. Bromm stopped short of the room, Turasi’s hand slipping from his grasp, and leaned out a window. He looked down the street toward the source of the sound. Crowds gathered below him along the street’s edge. Turasi came back to him, leaning out the window such that she pressed her back into his chest and her hips into his, grinding against him sensually.
              But Bromm’s attention was stolen away by another blast of trumpets. From the harbor marched a procession of Amazon warriors, resplendent in their polished armor and carrying their weapons shouldered. Bromm marveled at their discipline as they moved in a lockstep as practiced as that of the dreaded Auric legions. They marched in alternating ranks of spearwomen and archers, followed by a contingent of matchlock musketeers.
              “The queen returns,” Turasi gasped. “And she was victorious!”
              “Returns? From where?” Bromm asked. 
              “She went raiding, but would not say where. But we will know soon enough. Look, prisoners!”
              Behind the musketeers came scores of prisoners, naked and shackled together in files. Men and women marched in their own files, most with heads bowed and backs slumped. Warriors marched to either side of them in loose files, carrying whips and batons to keep them in line. One prisoner staggered, and an Amazon set upon him straight away. The whip cracked, the prisoner cried out, and the crowd cheered.
              “What becomes of an Amazon’s captive?” Bromm wondered aloud.
              “The men who fought well will be sacrificed to Torthun or sold as concubines to the wealthy. The rest are bound for the mines and fields.”
              “And the women?” Bromm asked.
              “They will be put to work, or sold to foreign slavers and the orcs.” Turasi answered without looking, her attention fixed on the procession below, for next came the spoils of war. Carts piled with gold and silver effects, tapestries, richly colored rugs, captured weapons and armor, and crates loaded with all manner of goods. As the carts of spoiled passed beneath the window, Bromm looked into them and saw bolts of cotton and silk, chests of coffee, and ivory tusks. 
              “Look!” Turasi gasped, her finger pointing down the street. Following her direction, Bromm saw a chariot appear, pulled by four horses, and in it stood a proud conqueror. She wore a crown of gold and jewels and wore a gilded cuirass and greaves. Behind her, on a lower step, stood an attendant carrying a spear and shield. Also in the chariot were a bow and a quiver full of arrows. 
              “That,” Turasi declared proudly, “is our queen.” Bromm nodded to himself. The queen was tall, well-muscled, and olive-skinned. Her face was regal, an aquiline nose and thin, arched eyebrows beneath hair of dark gold. She turned from one side of the street to the other, beaming triumphantly and waving with practiced timing to her admiring subjects.
              Unconsciously, Bromm’s hands went to the Amazon in front of him, working their way under her tunic to caress her taut stomach. Turasi giggled softly as she ground her hips against his again. 
              “You are excited by the sight of our queen?” Turasi teased. Bromm withdrew his hand guiltily and felt his cheeks grow hot. 
              “I grow tired of this distraction,” he lied as a cover. “What did we come up here to do?”
              Turasi turned around to face him, her lips mere inches from his own. “You’ve already forgotten, haven’t you? Here, let me remind you.” Her hand slipped past his belt, and she wrapped her fingers around his cock.
              “Oh, yes,” said Bromm suddenly. “That.” Turasi’s mouth crooked upwards. Bromm’s breath came heavily as she began to stroke his cock and he put his hands on her again, the procession below fading from his mind even as the warriors of the queen’s household, resplendent in their polished armor, plumed helms, and colored cloaks passed by, perhaps a hundred of them marched in lockstep behind the queen’s chariot, faces grim and feet tramping in time on the cobblestones. 
              Turasi pulled him away from the window, leading him by his cock, and made for the room. Bromm’s lust began to overcome him. His hands climbed her chest until he grabbed her breasts in both hands. Turasi wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and pulled him close for a kiss. Her lips were warm and soft, and an eager moaned escaped her mouth as they locked lips. 
              Bromm found himself pressing Turasi against the door of their room, or was it theirs? He cared too little by now. He had even forgotten that they came to whore themselves to the Amazons, and all thoughts of payment had fled his mind. Turasi’s hand found the door handle, and they half fell into the room together. 
              Turasi separated from him, unclasping her cloak in one swift motion. Bromm shed his jacket and pulled off his shirt as he kicked out of his boots to stand barefoot on the wooden floor. Turasi’s swordbelt hit the floor with a thud, and Bromm’s followed soon after it. She pulled off her tunic and Bromm bit his lip in anticipation as her big, soft breasts fell freely down her chest. Turasi shook her golden hair loose and it settled about her shoulders in flowing locks, one of which fell down to cover her left breast. She saw Bromm staring and paused, tunic in one hand and the other cupping her breast. She squeezed them together with one hand and laughed at him. 
              Bromm swallowed her up in his embrace, burying his face in her big, pale breasts. Her nipples were soft pink mounds in wide rings of soft flesh, and into his mouth they went. He sucked at them, kneeling before her as he did. Turasi wound her fingers through his hair and moaned with delight. Bromm squeezed her breasts in his hands, exulting in their softness. He felt his cock straining against his trousers and reached down to pull them off. He rose to his feet as he stepped out of them and Turasi used the chance to pull off her kilt. All she still wore were her high sandals that laced up to her knees. Bromm was not about to wait for her to take them off. 
              With his hard cock waving before him, he scooped up Turasi in his arms and held her against him. Her blues eyes danced with delight. Slowly, Bromm lowered her onto his cock. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and leaned back to watch him slide into her. Bromm thrust into her up to his balls, her breasts shaking slightly as she settled onto his cock. Once his manhood was fully engulfed by her wet, shaven sex, Turasi turned her eyes to stare into his own and Bromm began to fuck. She was warm and wet, and her sex welcomed his cock inside her. 
              Holding her by her plump ass, he stood in the center of the room thrusting into her with increasing vigor. He kneaded the soft flesh of her plump ass with his hands, and it shook with each thrust of his cock. Turasi moaned and squirmed on his cock, her big breasts bouncing with each stroke of his hips. She bit her lips to stifle a squeal as Bromm fucked her harder. It was no use, and her muffled squeal escaped her mouth anyway. The sound of it drove Bromm to fuck her harder. 
              Standing in the middle of the room naked with a gorgeous young Amazon suspended on his cock, he suddenly realized they had never closed the door. He could see through it into the hallway, though it was thankfully empty. With a bemused smile and a shake of his head, Bromm turned away and put it out of his mind. 
              His arms were growing tired, and Bromm waddled forward to press Turasi against the wall for support. She pulled herself closer to him, her lips finding his again as they locked in a passionate embrace. Bromm heard the wall paneling creak as he pressed against it, as did the floorboards beneath him. But he did not stop. He pinned her legs back against the wall in a full body press, her sandalled feet shaking in the air by his shoulders. He clenched his asscheeks as he felt his cock nearing climax. 
              Turasi could feel it too. She suddenly broke away from the kiss and lowered her feet to the floor. She planted a firm hand on his chest and pushed him back. Bromm slowed his thrusting and then stopped entirely. He was near to coming. Turasi pulled him out of her and stepped away.
              “I won’t have you coming yet, I’m not done with you.” She pointed authoritatively to the bed. “My turn,” she declared. 
              With one hand clasped about his cockhead to keep from coming, Bromm obediently lay himself down on the soft featherbed. Above him, a simple candle sconce hung from the ceiling. But his view of it was quickly blocked by Turasi’s pretty face as she lay herself atop him. She pressed herself against his chest even as she wormed a hand down between their bodies and grabbed hold of his cock to put it inside her. Bromm wrapped his arms around her and held her close. 
              Turasi began to bounce her plump little ass on his cock as Bromm kissed her lips and neck. Bromm squeezed her tightly in his arms, his cock throbbing as he thrust into her in time with the bouncing of her hips. The Amazon grabbed his head in both hands and held him steady for her to kiss. Bromm contented himself with two handfuls of her ass.
              Abruptly, Turasi broke the embrace and sat up. She threw back her head and let her long golden hair fall down her back, staring up at the ceiling with two palms planted on Bromm’s chest. She let out a long moan of pleasure that Bromm could almost hear reverberating out the open door and down the hall to the tavern’s common room. He looked to the door, half-expecting that they would have an audience, but found it empty.
              Looking back to Turasi, he was immediately seduced by the siren sight of her large, gorgeous breasts bouncing on her chest. Bromm reached up with both hands and grabbed tight hold of them. The feel of her big, soft breasts in his hands was overwhelming, and he lost the rhythm of his cock strokes. Turasi noticed.
              From her seat on his cock, the pretty Amazon looked down at him with amusement as he played enraptured with her bouncing breasts. 
              “What is it about men that leaves them fascinated by a pair of tits?” she wondered aloud.
              “I’ve traveled the world and fucked hundreds of women, but a pair of tits will always get my attention. And, if I may say so, yours is one of the nicest pairs I’ve seen.”
              Turasi laughed and brushed him off, but he could see from her flushed face that she took the compliment to heart. She saw him looking and swooped her pretty face down to his lips again. Locked in another passionate embrace, Bromm regained the rhythm of his thrusts and soon enough felt close to coming. He squeezed her tighter as he came, spurting cum into her sex until he felt it spray out of her and drip down his cock onto the bedsheets. 
              Bromm gave her a peck on the cheeks as his chest heaved against hers. She responded with an affectionate pat on the cheek. Turasi stood up, her wet sex trailing a sticky spiderweb of cum between it and Bromm’s cock. She nearly hit her head on the ceiling above the bed, and braced herself on the soft mattress with one hand against the ceiling timbers. Looking down at Bromm and teetering slightly on the unsteady surface, she chuckled with satisfaction. 
              “You’ve got quite the cock on, Bromm. Nystra Herself would do well to ride it.”
              Bromm gave an exhausted laugh of his own and waved one hand ambivalently. “She knows where to find me,” he gasped. A drop of cum fell from Turasi’s glistening crotch and splattered onto his naked chest. “Damn,” he muttered, “I’m such a mess now.”
              “Let me help.” Turasi knelt down atop him again and extended a long pink tongue. Her blue eyes locked with Bromm’s own, she ran her tongue along his cock and stomach, licking up all his errant cum.
              “When you’ve had your rest, let’s have the tavernkeeper draw us a bath,” she said, and Bromm’s chest heaved in agreement.
 
              In the courtyard before the palace, Queen Kannitara pulled her chariot to a halt. Stepping down from it, she watched her assembled warriors disperse to their homes and posts. Palace guards descended from their watches to speak to friends and hear stories of the raid. They formed tight knots in the courtyard, eagerly showing off new scars or trinkets plundered from the enemy.
              Through the crowd, Kannitara spied the approach of her second, Pythira. The warriors were quick to step out of her way with an apology and a quick bow.
              “Your Grace,” Pythira said with a reverent bow before her queen. “All has been well in your city while you were away.”
              “Good, for all was well with my raid. We lost a score of warriors, in exchange for two hundred captives and much plunder. The foreigners will learn respect for my name.”
              “Most heartfelt congratulations, your Grace. Shall I make a gift of some of the worthiest males to another queen? Syme, perhaps? It might smooth things over.”
              Kannitara rolled her eyes. “We will talk gifts later. For now, have someone take this chariot away and stable the horses.”
              “Of course,” Pythira beckoned to a pair of grooms, who did as ordered. “Also, Lahana wishes to speak with you.”
              “Again?” Kannitara groaned. “What now?”
              “The same, really. She is stubborn, like someone else I know.” Kannitara ignored her remark and looked toward the palace gate, where her Mistress of Spears stood waited. Lahana was once again accompanied by her son, a spindly lad of no more than twenty. The older woman glared down at the queen with hardly restrained disdain. She will always be a problem, Kannitara thought darkly. 
              “Very well,” the queen said with a heavy sighed. “Send her over and let’s get this done with.”
              With a sigh of her own, Pythira fell in behind the queen as they marched toward the palace. Lahana and her weakling son waited just beyond the gate, shaded under the roof from the midday sun.
              “Your Grace,” Lahana began, bowing her head just low enough not to break royal etiquette.  “I must again advise you that it is past time you were married. Without any sisters or daughters, the people fear that we might see another time of strife, should the worst happen.” 
She bit off her final words, as if she thought the worst might not be so bad, after all. After years of dealing with Lahana, Kannitara supposed being dead might be preferable after all.
              “I am young enough yet,” Kannitara replied as she strode past the older woman. The palace’s red roof rose high overhead and she could hear her voice echoing off it as she walked.
              “Your cousin was a young woman as well, but that is what the marauders liked in her, your Grace.”
              “I am not my cousin,” Kannitara snapped back. “Did you miss my procession? I have proven my skill in battle well enough that I need not hear these concerns of yours.”
              “Your cousin won many victories and thought herself strong enough. Until one day she didn’t.”
              “You are Mistress of Spears, Lahana, not the nagging thoughts in my mind. Spit out your offer so I can reject it and be on my way again.”
              Lahana scowled deeply. Her fists clenched beside her and she glared hatefully from Kannitara to Pythira and back.
              “Your Grace, I most humbly propose a match between your royal self and my son, Lahuzzzar.” She raised a hand, and the young man came scurrying over. He knelt on the floor before her, his head stooping low enough to touch the stone.
              “You would do me a great honor, your Grace,” the young man intoned.
              “And myself a great disservice. Look at him, barely strong enough to support all that gold on his chest. How is he to give me strong daughters, Lahana?”
              Lahana had approached her before the expedition with the same offer and received the same response. Kannitara impatiently drummed her fingers on the hilt of her sword as Lahana fought to form the words of a reply. 
              “My bloodline…” her face twisted with fury. “My bloodline stretches back to Queen Zhula herself. You will find no more noble a match in all the Isles than my son.”
              Kannitara rolled her eyes. “Who his ancestor was makes little difference to me. He is a weakling, and I will have no daughters by him. You have your answer. Is there anything else?”
              Without another word, Lahana seized her son by his hair and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, wretch.” The poor lad shot Kannitara a pleading look as he stumbled away in his mother’s grasp, but the queen only sighed. The mistress of spears’ angry footsteps receded until the sound of a door slamming echoed throughout the hall. Then all was quiet.
              “For all her damnable arrogance,” Pythira said quietly once they were alone in the hall, “she is right. You should have an heir.”
              “Not from her son,” Kannitara replied. “And the other queens have not been forthcoming with matches from their own families.”
              “Take a concubine, then. The blood of the father matters little; you are the queen.”
              “A concubine?” Kannitara mused. Pythira’s suggestion was not terrible. “A concubine would not bring an alliance, but a foreign concubine of strong blood would do nicely. Oh, won’t that make Lahana just furious!”
              “Her new pet is what made me think of it, your Grace.”
              “He is a strange man, isn’t he? What do you think she sees in him?”
              Pythira shrugged. “He is tall and foreign. Some women need nothing more than that.”
              “Tall, foreign, and half her age,” Kannitara snorted in derision. “But no matter. Yes, you have the right of it. I think I will take such a concubine.”
              “I am glad to be of service, your Grace.”
              “The moon is in the right phase tonight and I still feel the rush of victory. Are there many foreigners in port today, Pythira?”
              “There are, my queen. They have come to shelter from the winter storms and fuck our warriors for money. It’s the usual for the intercalary days.”
              “Go out into the taverns, then. Find me a strong, brave man who sire good daughters. No… find me three. Then bring them here and I will let them spill their seed in me.”
              “As you command, your Grace.” Pythira bowed and left the hall. Kannitara smiled to herself. A foreign man, strong and brave. That is the answer to my problem.
 
              Leaving the bath with Turasi, Bromm parted ways with the warrior woman and returned to his friends at their drinks. The night was still young, and there was yet the chance that he might find an Amazon willing to pay to bed him.               
              Brand approached him in the hall, shirtless and with his arm around an Amazon who had entered with Turasi. He gave his captain an anxious smile and Bromm nodded approvingly as they passed. Turning to watch them go, Bromm could see the slave brand on the lad’s back. A man’s luck can change in an instant, he mused.
              Descending the stairs, Bromm found Caturn seated at its foot with a trio of younger sailors. The older man was engaged in more tale-spinning, though this time he had his audience thoroughly enraptured.
              “The island is populated with an unending bounty of lusty young girls who eat only cock and drink only cum. Day and night, they frolic in the woods and streams, always searching for some new man to satisfy them. They roam from one end to the other, nude and in sheer silks that tantalize your eye with the sight of their bodies beneath No matter how ugly or haggard a man, they will stretch out their young, supple bodies for his cock. The girls are always ready to fuck, no matter how ugly or fat the man is. And when you’re fucked out, the island’s bounty stands ready to rejuvenate a tired soul. The fattest, juiciest fruits grow on its trees and the water always runs cold and clean in its streams.”
              “It is a paradise brought down to the mortal realms,” one of the men gasped.
              “A paradise?” Bromm asked from the stairs. Caturn glowered up at him from his bench while the other sailors turned around to face Bromm. “Or a lotus dream you had in a dingy Torvuls smoking den?”
              “I only tell the truth captain. I fucked them. I fucked them until my cock ached and my heart felt about to give out. I filled them up to their eyeballs with my cum, and still they wanted more. Begged me not to stop. Squealed under the trees and palms for hours.”
              “Where is this island?!” one of the younger men leaned forward with his hands on his knees. Caturn sighed. 
              “It is a mystical island, and like so many in the sea, it defies attempts to chart it. The islands drift in and out of this world, appearing here and there in different phases of the moon.”
              Bromm laughed. “And so we must take you at your word? How convenient.”
              “Any man will tell you of the Shifting Isles!” Caturn insisted with a darkening scowl. Bromm knew he was right, for he had set foot on such isles before, only to see them turn to mist the next morning.
              “Aye,” he conceded, “but I’ve never heard of anything like what you speak of. Take everything the old man says with a grain of salt, lads.” Bromm chuckled at the younger sailors and turned away.
              “Could we find this island?” he heard one ask as he walked away.
 
              As evening set in over Skyrra, Pythira entered a tavern in the middle of town called the Diving Dolphin. She and her lieutenants had divided up the city into search areas, each charged with bringing back a worthy mate for the queen. 
              This tavern looked promising enough. Many ruder establishments were overrun with the lowest order of scum. Known to foreigners as sea rats, these men were the basest form of life that still possessed enough wits to speak. Perpetually drunken, half-clothed, and possessed of a bestial lust, they were a great nuisance in the ports that had prompted more than one queen to ban them entirely.
              But here, under a roof that did not leak, were what Pythira supposed were the men of quality. Yet even this place was no stranger to debauchery. Some sea rats still lurked in the corners. Other sailors had their shirts off and drew close with Amazons, some of whom were naked from the waist up. Pythira watched one Amazon lead a strapping young sailor up the stairs behind her, bound for a private room above and a good rutting. Thoughts of her queen indulged in the same activities darkened Pythira’s mind. Foreign men lead to trouble, she thought. Bad enough that her grace lets Lahana’s wastrel lay about court, leering at the women and prattling on about sorcery. 
              In the middle of her thoughts, a young Amazon spotted her and approached deferentially. Pythira knew her face from the garrison but struggled to put a name to it. The woman stopped and bowed her head.
              “My lady, might I be of service?” she asked, and Pythira suddenly remembered her name.
              “Turasi, daughter of Nesza, is it?” the young woman nodded. “Are the men to your liking? Don’t be shy, all of us in the palace know why warriors come here.”
              Turasi showed a mixture of shame and relief. “They are, my lady.”
              “Any you would point out as especially worthy?”
              “They are all foreigners, and men at that,” Turasi replied, “But the worthiest among them is that one there, Bromm of the ship Fortune.”
              She pointed to a tall, broad-shouldered, and black-bearded man in a black coat who was seated at a table, in the midst of telling tales.
              “You have tested his worthiness?” Pythira asked and Turasi averted her eyes guiltily. 
              “I have heard his tales of bravery and taken him to bed, yes. Or something close enough to it. And he is a worthy mate, even for one of your status.”
              “Good. That is all I need to hear.” Turasi understood what was meant, despite her rebellious youth, and turned away. Pythira straightened her cloak about her, set one hand on her sword and marched toward Bromm and his table of rowdy sailors. As Pythira approached the table, the black-bearded sailor was finishing his story.
              “What did you do with it?” one of the foreign men asked. 
              “What else can you do with a jewel like that? I sold it for enough money to spend a month fucking in the Black Lotus!”
              The men roared with delight, banging their fists on the table and setting the cups rattling. Pythira stepped up to the table and thrust a finger at Bromm.
              “You, Bromm of the ship Fortune, I would speak with you.” The man did not move, regarding her with curious amusement. His fellows chorused gasps, and Pythira was reminded of an unruly student confronted by her elders when her misdeeds had at last been uncovered. But soon enough, Bromm of the ship Fortune arose and stepped around the table. He was tall, able to look down into Pythira’s eyes, something she was unaccustomed to.
              “What do you wish?” Bromm asked. Pythira misliked his irreverent tone, but the queen’s orders were not to be taken lightly. 
              “I am Pythira, second to the queen Come with me. Her Grace has need of you.”
              “The queen?” Bromm asked incredulously. “What does she need me for?”
              Pythira clenched her jaw and looked around. “Her Grace demands your presence, is that not enough? Your safety is assured, have no fear.”
              “I am afraid I must ask for more than that. Should I bring anything? Anyone?”
              “Just yourself and your discretion,” Pythira replied, but realized she had said too much. The foreigner knew.
              “She wants what all your women want, but without the annoyance of leaving her palace. Very well, I will go.”
              “Then follow, and keep your mouth still.”
              As they headed for the door, Bromm grabbed a short, wiry sailor with the look of an easterner. In the Common tongue, he gave short instructions. “Tell Serris I’ve gone to the royal palace, and to look for me tomorrow morning.”
              Pythira scowled at him.
              “The royal palace, captain?” the sailor asked, but Bromm merely nodded in affirmation and fell in behind Pythira again. “Is that another tavern?” the sailor called after them, and Pythira shook her head in frustration. 
              Outside, she whirled on Bromm and pinned him against the wall. “Did I not say to keep your mouth still?” she snapped.
              “I am a ship captain,” Bromm replied easily. “I cannot just disappear on my men. Still your hand, I said nothing of why.”
              Pythira scowled again and turned toward the palace without another word.
 
              His head full of possibilities, Bromm followed the tall, imperious Amazon through the evening streets toward the palace on the hill. It was a sprawling structure, visible from nearly everywhere in the harbor. It was flat-roofed and surrounded by a wide arcade supported by many red painted columns. Torches burned all along the perimeter, casting a warm glow on its stone walls.
              Pythira set a brisk pace, and soon they reached a wide thoroughfare that cut straight through the city to the front gate of the palace. Carts clattered up and down the street in the evening light, but they all made way for Pythira.
              The cart and foot traffic thinned out as they neared the palace, and the street turned steeply up the hill. They passed the outer wall and entered the palace gardens, where southern trees flowered even in the midwinter chill. 
              The palace walls were covered with frescoes showing the queens and their entourages hunting, making war, and worshipping. The main entrance was flanked by a pair of leopard carvings, and the face of an ancient Amazon queen stared down at Bromm from her perch above the gate. For all her baleful stares, Bromm passed beneath it unharmed and unrattled. Pythira led him into a courtyard where two other Amazons waited, accompanied by Broceld and a tall Varayazdhi stranger he did not know. The courtyard was ringed by a narrow rain pool and a colonnade, and centered around a bronze statue of an eagle in flight.
              Pythira conferred with the other amazons quietly and then turned to Bromm and the other men. “Your weapons,” she demanded. Bromm and Broceld exchanged looks, but the Varayazdhi man handed over his shamshir without hesitation. After silent debate, Broceld reluctantly handed over a pair of pistols and a knife. Bromm unbuckled his sword belt and held it in his hands. Pythira stood in front of him and held out her hands.
              “Your sword,” she demanded. Bromm slowly handed over his prized blade.
              “Be careful with it, it’s quite valuable.” He decided not to mention its enchantment. Amazons were not known to steal things, but it never hurt to be careful. Pythira handed his sword off to one of her guards without a word. Then she took a position in front of the three of them, her hands behind her back.
              “You have been summoned to please her Grace, Queen Kannitara. She requires of you only that you bed her and spill your seed in her. You will then be compensated and sent on your way. None of this is employment or a right to see your daughter when the time comes. Understand?”
              Bromm and the others nodded. It was as he expected, except for the other men. Bromm hoped he would get to go first. He always disliked getting sticky with another man’s sweat and cum. 
              “Though the queen demands you bed her,” Pythira continued, “you will treat her with the appropriate respect at all times. Disrespect her and you will be flogged, or even beheaded. I know how women are treated in your lands, but you are on the Isle of Serpents now. Amazons rule here, and we will not tolerate men who cannot learn their place. Understand?”
              The three of them nodded their assents.
              “Good,” Pythira pronounced. “You will begin showing respect by bathing yourselves before you come to the queen’s bed.”
 
              Lahuzzar watched from the shadows, anger building up within him. The men Pythira led the men into the courtyard’s rain pool and stood watch as they bathed. From behind a tall pillar, Lahuzzar studied the foreigners’ bodies jealously. They were to a man tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular. He looked down at his own slender arms underneath his tunic and felt a tear run down his face. Choking back a sob of rage, he ran to his mother’s chamber in the south wing.
              He burst through the doors without knocking, his vision blurring with tears.
              “Mother!” he cried, bowling over a servant as he rushed into her bedchamber. “She brings foreign men into the palace!”
              His mother was sitting upright in bed with her foreign lover. They were both naked, thankfully half-hidden under the sheets. Lahana scowled at his interruption, but his words moved her from the bed. 
              “What sort of foreign men?” she demanded, stepping from the bed. Lahuzzar was too angry to be scandalized over his mother’s nakedness, but another servant rushed to clothe her in a robe. Her lover simply lay back in bed with a lazy smile on his face.
              “Sailors, by the look of them. The same filthy man-sluts who come to our ports to whore themselves out to rowdy warriors. She brings them here, to the palace, to bed her!” Lahuzzar grabbed a copper bowl from the low table where it stood and hurled it against the wall. It struck the wall with a great clang and clattered to the floor. The good feeling was fleeting.
              “How dare she,” Mother hissed. She shoved her servant away as he tried to close her robe about her. “Bad enough that the arrogant pig refuses you. But on the very night she declines my offer, she brings foreign whores into the palace to rub salt in my wound?!”
              Her servant tried again to close up her robe, but Mother slapped him across the face. He retreated submissively, his face reddening. She stared fury at him, and he lowered his eyes to the floor. 
              “You dare touch me?” she snapped.
              “Apologies, my lady, but I thought you wished to be dressed in front of your son.”
              Mother slapped him again. “I know what is proper! What is not proper is for a queen to be lying with foreign whores!” Another slap sent the servant reeling. Mother snatched her belt from where it had been discarded next to her belt and struck the man twice over the head again. “Stupid whelp! Stupid, stupid, stupid whelp! Don’t ever touch me again! I’ll have you flayed alive and your skin fed to the dogs!”
              “Lahana, my dear,” her lover crooned from the bed, “be reasonable. Your servant only meant to do his duty.”
              “His duty?! Nabolazur, you foreign dog, don’t speak to me of duty. Your duty is to please me, not make pathetic entreaties on behalf of my incompetent servants.”
              “Of course, my beloved.” He slid languidly from the bed and crossed the room to stand nude beside her, his cock swinging between his legs, half-hard. Lahuzzar averted his eyes from the sight. “I only wish to help you.”
              “Help…” Mother sneered. At last, she closed her robe and bound it with the sash. “The only help I need right now is a knife. I’ll put it right through her smug, sneering face, the swine! Bah!” she kicked over a cushioned footstool and Lahuzzar cringed at the clack of it hitting the floor. “A knife!” Mother roared suddenly. “Bring me a knife fit for killing a queen!”
              Lahuzzar blanched. “Mother, no! She’ll have you killed!”
              “Tarnilaen eat her eyes!” Mother roared back, “I’ll do her in first and throw the corpse into His darkest depths! Refuse me? My son?! She will pay!”
              “Lahana, listen to yourself,” Nabolazur soothed. He put a hand on each shoulder and held her fast. “Making enemies of queens is no path to a long life.”
              “Men,” she sneered back at him, knocking his hands away. “You are all cowards. Are all men in your lands like you? I could conquer the world if they are.”
              “Not all,” Nabolazur replied quietly, though a sinister tone crept into his voice. The beaten servant approached cautiously, holding out a robe to the foreigner, who merely brushed it away. “I have talents that put my countrymen to shame. The same talents that brought me to your attention.”
              Mother’s eyes flicked sideways to look at him under an arched eyebrow. “The talents that brought you here are not the ones that keep you here.” She grabbed at his hanging cock and Nabolazur smiled. Lahuzzar covered his eyes with one hand, his cheeks burning hot.
              “Indeed, but you’ve made heavy use of the latter and little of the former. I do not mind our time abed,” he put his hand on hers and made her stroke him between his legs, “but I am first and foremost a sorcerer, and a lady’s amusement second.”
              “Then show me your powers of sorcery. Summon for me a catspaw that will rid me of this arrogant queen.”
              Nabolazur sighed and idly stroked his plaited beard. “Are you set upon this path?”
              “I am. Are you going to do as I asked, or shall I get the knife?”
              “Very well. I will do your bidding.”
              At last, the sorcerer accepted the offered robe and put it on. “Follow me,” he commanded in an insultingly imperious tone as he strode into the next room. There, he seated himself beside his traveler’s chest and drew out a heavy book bound in brass and leather. He undid the clasp and laid it out in front of him.
              “We will find the answer in here,” he announced. He opened the book, and the first page was covered in a foreign script Lahuzzar did not read nor recognize. The sorcerer ignored his curious stares, instead pouring a deep blue powder into three bowls. He then called for boiling water and began to brew a sort of tea for himself. When at last the tea was steeping, he turned to the next page.
              Lahuzzar peered over the sorcerer’s shoulder at the book. One page showed a monstrosity with the head and arms of a man, but the body of a viper. Nabolazur turned the page and Lahuzzar’s eyes were immediately drawn to the image there, for it was of a beautiful woman, seated in the nude with a pair of bat wings unfolding behind her. Lahuzzar felt his pulse quicken and his cock grow hard beneath his kilt. She was so beautiful, so alluring, he dared to hope that the sorcerer was about to make her come real. Lahuzzar wanted to bed with her more than the queen.
              But alas, the sorcerer turned the page again. This time, Lahuzzar felt himself recoil in disgust. The page showed another monstrosity, a grotesque mockery of man and beast. It looked up at him with eyes of cruel hunger, long talons dripping with blood and viscera.
              “Yes,” Mother breathed over Nabolazur‘s other shoulder. “That one will do.”
              Nabolazur smiled. “Step back. This will be dangerous and I would hate for either one of you to get hurt.” 
 
              Their allotted time for bathing passed quickly and soon enough the Amazons rousted Bromm and the men from the pool. Serving men appeared with jars of sweet-smelling perfume, which they applied to the men with impassive faces. Standing naked in the palace courtyard as a dozen or more Amazons watched, Bromm felt increasingly awkward. In addition to the guards and servants in the courtyard, more faces peered from doors and windows around the courtyard. 
              Turning his eye to his companions, he could see they were both alike. All three of them were tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, with thick beards. There, Bromm found the most difference. Broceld, the Wildman, had a beard that was as wild as he was, hairs extending in every direction as if he were a cat struck by lightning. The Varayazdhi man, Phrahat, as he had bemusedly introduced himself, was at the other extreme. His beard was well groomed and oiled, plaited and curled with expert care. 
              “Come,” Pythira ordered with a wave of her hand, and guards fell in around them as she led them from the courtyard naked. They passed a gaggle of serving men and three Amazons watching with amusement and Bromm realized how many times he had seen such a scene before, but instead it had been with himself watching nubile beauties being led to the palace or brothel suite of some fabulously rich pirate lord. 
              They entered a hallway fit for a queen, with richly colored tapestries on the walls and a roof carved and painted to show an Amazon warrior hunting seawolves from the back of a hippocampus. Looking down at his bare feet, Bromm saw that the floor covered in a many-paneled mosaic of an Amazon story he did not recognize. Pythira stopped at a tall set of double doors made from ebony. With both hands on the bronze door handle, she hauled one door open and directed the men to enter.
              Bromm was the first to enter the queen’s chambers and found it opulent enough to be any of the pirate lords’ mansions he had been in. The walls that were not hidden by tapestries were decorated with garishly colored frescoes. The floor was made of varnished panels of tropical darkwood, while the stone ceiling, supported by painted red columns, was itself painted with a beautifully rendered scene of an Amazon queen being crowned by a divine figure who could only be Torthun, the guise that Arvoran wore among the Amazons. A great chandelier of gold and brass hung from the ceiling, its arms sculpted to look like tree branches that held flowering sconces where the burning candles were set.
              The far wall of the chamber was pierced with doors and set with cabinets both large and small, made from both woods native to the Amazon Isles and more distant sources, such as the tall armor cabinet made from white elden oak from the elven forests primeval. 
              The doorway through which they had entered was flanked by two guards in polished silver cuirasses and plumed helms. Two more stood guard ahead of him, behind a set of couches and low tables set with gold and silver objects studded with gemstones. 
              At the center of the grand chamber was a canopied bed with velvet curtains and silk sheets, and in the middle of it knelt Queen Kannitara, her knees spread apart and her eyes dancing with delight. The queen was naked but for her golden crown, her hands cupping a pair of large, firm breasts that hung from her toned chest. Her olive skin was oiled and glistened in the candlelight and her dark gold hair hung loose about her shoulders. Her sex gleamed wet with oil, the close-cut hair above it darkened by the wetness. She smiled as the three naked men entered her bedchamber. 
              “Welcome, playthings,” she whispered in a sultry voice heavily accented with the lilt of the Amazons. “You have done well, Pythira,” Bromm heard the queen say. Her speech was a strange dialect of the Amazon tongue, perhaps one unique to high courts, but Bromm thought he understood well enough. “Beards on all three of them. I like beards.”
              Pythira crossed to the queen’s bed and bowed. “As you commanded, my queen.” She was stiff and stone-faced, but the queen ignored her discomfort.
              “Who should I take first?” she wondered aloud, her eyes wandering over each of them. Phrahat and Broceld were still stroking their cocks to get hard, so the queen’s eyes settled on Bromm. “You,” she said with a pointed finger.               “Pythira, ensure that the others are ready for me when we are finished.”
              With a sigh, Pythira stepped between the other men and put a hand on each of their cocks. Bromm paid them little mind as he stepped past them to the queen’s bed. She beckoned to him and indicated that he should lie down with his head facing away from the others. She then mounted him with her future bedmates in full view while she rode.
              She straddled him with his cock in her hands, her golden crown and its jewels gleaming in the candlelight. Bromm felt as if the world was at his fingertips. She stroked his cock three times, then lowered her sex onto it. Her pink flesh swallowed his cock eagerly, and Bromm lay back as he sank deeper inside her. The queen moaned softly as he penetrated her. She planted a hand on either shoulder and began to ride, her wide hips grinding sensuously on his own and her big breasts bouncing in time with her motions. Bromm watched them with fascination, his hands holding the queen’s wide hands and ample ass. 
              The queen stared ahead at Broceld and Phrahat, who were now standing with their hard cocks in their own hands. They watched the queen’s riding with great interest, hardly needing to stroke their own cocks anymore. Yet Pythira stood there dutifully ensuring that her queen’s playthings would be ready to sate her desires.
Bromm put them out of his mind and turned his attention back to the queen. She was riding harder now, her head thrown back in exultation. He grabbed the queen’s breasts in his hands and began to fondle them. The queen merely smiled at his fascination and Bromm thought of Turasi and her bemusement. The queen’s were bigger and firmer, but he found them equally delightful. Kannitara sat back on his cock, bracing herself with hands on his knees and she bounced atop him.
              He matched the rhythm of her riding with his own thrusting up into her, feeling the smooth softness of her silken sheets on his back as much as the smooth softness of her silken sex on his cock. Bromm sat up, pulling the queen in so that he could kiss her breasts. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he showered her tits with kisses, spreading his legs wider so that he could continue to penetrate deeply into her. She shoved him away suddenly, pushing him back onto his elbows as she rode him vigorously and let her tits bounce freely. The queen moaned with pleasure as she did, her face flushed and her brow dripping with sweat.
              Bromm pulled the queen close again and clasped her to him in his arms, then rolled her over onto her back. Her crown came loose from her hair and fell onto silken pillows, but the queen paid it no notice. Instead, she smiled in delight at Bromm’s fucking, her big breasts heaving with each stroke of his cock. She lay back and released him from the embrace. So released, he propped himself up on his fists and watched his cock thrust in and out of her. He felt himself building to a climax and increased his vigor, hearing the slap of flesh on flesh echo about her grand bedchamber.
              Bromm looked up to Pythira, who stood impassively stroking the cocks of Broceld and Phrahat, then to the four guards, who stood equally impassively, except for one younger woman who sneaked a curious look at Bromm out of the side of her eye.
Bromm often enjoyed fucking for an audience. It was a common activity in the brothels of Torvuls and other ports, done out of voyeuristic exhibition as often as out of necessity in crowded debauches. He thought of his crew, still whoring themselves out at the docks, and what they would think if he could see him fucking a queen of the Amazons. He remembered a night at the Black Lotus with its most expensive courtesans, as his crewmen crowded around to watch her perform. It was only the most memorable of many such nights in brothels from Sostrum to Jalara.
              It was such experiences that were in his mind as he fucked and drew closer to coming. He felt the cum rising in his cock and embraced it. It was why the queen had summoned him, anyway. It shot out of him before he could think to control it, filling up the queen’s warm sex with sticky seed. Bromm thrust several more times as he slowed his pace, then he dismounted and sat cross-legged next to her. The queen sat up on her elbows, looking to Bromm, then over her shoulder to the next two men. 
              I’ve come in a queen, Bromm thought. Add that to the list. He looked down into the queen’s eyes. She lay sweaty and satisfied on the silken sheets, beads of perspiration dripping down her face and chest. The queen idly played with one such bead of sweat as it rolled onto her breast. 
Out in the hall came a thud and the sound of something metal clattering to the floor. Pythira rolled her eyes in exasperation, but the queen was uninterested.
              “Who’s next? Perhaps you, with the curly beard. What is your name?”
              “Phrahat, your Grace,” he said, stepping away from Pythira with his hard cock in his hands. “It is my pleasure to serve, especially one as beautiful as you.”
              Then, from just outside the door, came a terrified scream, a great crash, and a roar that set Bromm’s hair on end.
              Kannitara swore in the Amazon tongue, Phrahat cursed in Varayazdhi, and Broceld’s eyes went wide with surprise. “What the fuck was that?!” he gasped.
              In answer, the doors shuddered under a mighty blow. All inside stood stunned in silence. Bromm clutched a silken pillow to his chest, still breathing hard from his exertions atop the queen. The door shook again and broke apart. A terrible black clawed hand reached through and fumbled about for a hand hold. It was thrice the size of any hand Bromm had ever seen, the Garexian giant he exaggerated for his tavern tale included. 
              Another hole was punched through the other door by a second hand and two evil yellow eyes peered through the gap. The second hand reached through the newest aperture and linked with its mate. Together, the great clawed hands tore the doors off their hinges and into the room stepped a creature of nightmares. It crouched as it slipped through rent portal and extended itself to its full nine feet as it drew into the queen’s bedchamber. Its skin was mottled and black to dark gray, with a wet and leathery look to it. The monster walked on two legs, with two long black arms swinging low beside it almost to the floor and dripping blood as it walked. Blood dripped down its thick, bloated torso. Grotesque feet, webbed, clawed, and tracking blood and some terrible, otherworldly mire with it as it walked, carried it slowly and inevitably forward. Between its legs swung a hideous bloated imitation of a man’s cock, hard like those of the men it hunted. On the creature’s back and thighs, Bromm could see bumps like those of a toad. All of which made sense when he saw the head.
              Two yellow, slitted eyes flicked about the room from a massive toad’s head. The monster’s head was split by a wide mouth festooned with horrible, razor-sharp teeth stained with blood and matted with the viscera of someone unfortunate enough to meet it up close. The terrible yellow eyes flickered across first the Amazons, then Kannitara’s would-be lovers, and finally to Bromm. The monster let loose a sibilant hiss and Bromm felt his legs shake underneath him.
              With a mighty roar that shook the walls around them, the monster seized one of Kannitara’s door guards about her head and flung her into the floor headfirst. She struck the floor with a terrible crash, her cuirass striking the wood and ringing like a terrible silver bell. The other it seized in its massive, clawed hands and squeezed tightly. She squirmed its grasp, her arms and spear pinned uselessly. Bromm saw the trapped spear flex in the monster’s grip. 
              The other two guards rushed forward with spears and shields readied, but they were too late to save their companion. The monster’s fist clenched tighter, and with two terrible cracks the spear snapped in half and the Amazon warrior’s form went limp in its grasp. The monster flung his latest victim aside and bowled over one of the onrushing Amazons with the corpse. The other struck home with her spear, carving a white wound across its left leg but failing to pierce its leathery hide.
              Pythira ran from the bed toward the armor cabinets at the back of the room, while Broceld ran screaming in terror. Phrahat fell back in fear, his eyes frantically searching for a weapon. Kannitara hopped up from the bed and backed away in terrified consternation. Bromm cursed himself as he fought to move himself to safety or the attack. Anything was better than sitting uselessly on the bed.
              The monster batted aside his attacker’s second strike and lunged forward. One great clawed foot came down on the prone Amazon’s head. She screamed a death cry and then spasmed underfoot and went still. But the monster paid her little heed. Instead, its eyes went to the fleeing Broceld and its toothy maw unhinged. 
              From its mouth shot a long, sticky pink tongue that struck Broceld square in the back and wrapped itself around him. The Wildman shrieked in terror as the tongue retracted, yanking him violently across the room and into its mouth. He went in headfirst, his naked legs flailing about as the terrible jaws closed on him in a spray of blood and spittle, and the legs went limp. The remaining guard took an involuntary step backwards in terror. 
At the same time, a terrible stench began to pervade the room, seemingly emanating from the monster’s mouth. It was sulfurous and acrid, stinging Bromm’s eyes and nose. He could see the wavering guardswoman physically shake off the assault on her senses.
              The monster gulped and Broceld’s legs disappeared down its gullet. Kannitara’s last guard caught hold of herself and used the distraction to ram her spearhead into the monster’s armpit. The point drove home, and she twisted, her face a mask of determination and fury masking absolute terror. Black blood boiled oozing from the wound and fell to the floor, where it sizzled and crackled on the wood. The toad creature let out a strangled cry of agony, no doubt choking on the unfortunate Broceld. She discarded her shield to put both hands on her spear as she pushed it further into the monster’s flank, but it turned on her in a fury.
              Its tongue lashed out again, wrapping itself around the guard and immobilizing her completely. The monster’s clawed right hand flashed, and the brave guardswoman was quite literally torn to shreds. But in an act of good fortune, her sword and scabbard, still attached to part of the belt, flew to Phrahat, who caught it by the hilt and drew the blade. 
              He held it in front of him in a fencer’s stance, staring down the monster. Its toad head shook slightly back and forth as it cleaned its claws of the guardswoman’s remains and brushed the mangled mess aside with one toe. Favoring its injured side, the monster lumbered toward Phrahat. 
              Bromm, still crouched on the bed in a state of blind terror, was jolted from his catatonia by an arrow that flashed just past his head and struck off the creature’s thick hide below its eyes. It stopped, those terrible yellow eyes locking in on the archer, who Bromm saw was Pythira. The Amazon had opened her queen’s armory cabinet and armed herself with the royal bow and a quiver of arrows. She already had another arrow knocked and let it fly. 
              This time, the creature ducked low, and the arrow stuck into a thick tapestry behind it. But the shot was not entirely in vain, for Phrahat lunged in and struck the monster’s bony knee with his blade. He broke through its flesh and the sword struck bone. Thick black blood oozed from the wound, but the monster was undefeated. It reached down with its good arm and closed one hand around Phrahat’s neck. He flailed about desperately, but the monster’s grip was iron. 
              Another arrow struck home, just below the creature’s eye and riding up its thick hide to skip off the yellow orbs hard enough to leave a mark. The monster shrieked in pain, batting at the injured eye with its injured arm, which only made it more pained and more angry. 
              That was the end of poor Phrahat. The monster lashed out with the hand that clutched him, slamming his repeatedly into the ground. The wooden paneling cracked under the onslaught and somewhere in the flailing, the man went limp in its grasp.
              The queen, at last stirred from her stupor, ran to the armory cabinet as well and armed herself with a spear and sword. Still naked, she threw the sword to Bromm and shouted “Get up! It’s already wounded, now let’s kill this demon!”
              Bromm jolted into motion as the blade landed on the silken sheets in front of him, staining itself with a pool of the queen’s sweat. He grabbed its jeweled hilt as the queen rushed past him into battle. The broad, straight blade was beautiful but unfamiliar, and Bromm found himself wishing desperately for his enchanted saber, now stowed away somewhere known only to the Amazons. 
              Another of Pythira’s arrows streaked past him, sticking into the monster’s leathery neck as it lumbered forward toward the queen. Bromm cast his thoughts aside and leapt from the bed, sword in hand. The queen was already engaged, her first spear thrust batted aside by the monster.
              Kannitara stabbed at its wounded knee, but the monster grabbed at her with its long arms and drove her back. Bromm’s charge carried him into its reach and he ducked underneath its flailing claws to deliver a blow to its injured knee. The monster turned its attention to him and its tongue lashed out again, narrowly missing him and striking the floor with a sickening wet slap. The stench emitting from its mouth became even stronger, nearly overwhelming even his sailor’s nose. He felt himself gag, but fought down the urge to vomit, as did the queen. She twirled her spearhead again, dazzling the monster before she slashed at its claws.
              It avoided her spearhead, but caught another arrow as the price. This one struck its eye, only to be defeated by the demon’s clear eyelid that snapped up to deflect the arrow. Bromm danced around the creature, slashing at its calves with his blade. The monster’s motions were becoming increasingly frantic. It snatched at Kannitara’s spearhead, narrowly missing the weapon with its claws. Then it whirled on Bromm just in time for an arrow to strike and deflect off its bony skull. Bromm tried to back out of its reach, but that horrible tongue came for him again. 
              He took it full in the chest, the breath being blasted from him by the impact. The sticky appendage wrapped itself around his chest, but Bromm fought his arms out of its grasp. As the tongue began to retract, its progress was halted by Kannitara driving her spear into the back of the monster’s wounded knee. It roared in pain and Bromm slipped from its grip. The monster whirled on Kannitara as it had whirled on Bromm and its tongue leaped out again. The queen, backing away from its grasping claws, was caught firmly. Her arms pinned to her side, she was helpless in its grasp.
              Sticky toad spittle clung to his naked body and the stench still threatened to choke him standing, but Bromm was once again free. An arrow streaked into the monster again, finding its eyes once again. this arrow stuck in the monster’s thick, clear eyelid, distracting it even further. Bromm wasted little time. He darted between the monster’s legs, avoiding the swinging of its grotesque cock, and brought a two-handed sword blow against the monster’s tongue. 
              The foul appendage was cut halfway through, more black blood oozing onto the floor, but the queen was still held fast. Pythira loosed another arrow into the monster’s open jaws, and hit a vulnerable, fleshy part. It screeched in pain and lumbered forward, nearly bowling Bromm over. He struck the tongue with another blow and was rewarded as it tore completely through. The severed end still bound the queen, but she could no longer be hauled into its mouth and devoured. Black blood now gushed from the wound, coating the floor and fouling the wood beneath them.
              The toad demon was now blind with agonized rage. It rampaged forward, crushing a low table underfoot and battering aside a pedestal and vase. They fell to the floor and shattered utterly. Pythira continued loosing arrows into its mouth, but Bromm was torn between helping the queen escape the binding of the severed tongue or attacking the monster.
              He chose the latter and struck at the knee that Phrahat had sliced open once again. He felt the blade hit bone and wondered if he had cut a sinew as the monster staggered to one knee. Three more arrows sprouted from its mouth, and it sagged forward on its hands and knees. Bromm approached cautiously, wary of the injured beast, but Pythira had no such compunction from her safe distance. She loosed two more arrows in the demon’s eyes and they both struck the orbs beneath. 
              Bromm drew up alongside it and looked into its eyes. They stared malice and fury at him, but burned with a sense of recognition. This creature was here to kill him, he knew. With that in mind, he drove the swordpoint into the monster’s neck with both hands and the full weight of its body. 
              The toad demon did not fight it, merely letting out a dying gurgle through its toothy maw, which opened wide to fill the room with more of its hellish stench. Then it closed its eyes, one with arrows still protruding from it, and slumped to the floor. 
              “By Torthun,” Pythira breathed, her arms slumping beside her, “the damnable thing is finally dead.”
              Bromm could only nod in agreement. The demon’s spittle clung to his chest and was beginning to burn. He brushed it away as best he could, but remembered the queen and turned to her. Kannitara had fought her way out of the tongue’s grotesque coils, but was still coated with the demonic spittle all over her naked body. Bromm and Pythira hurried to pry it off and scrape away the spittle before it began to burn.
              “By the gods, what has happened here?” The three of them turned to the door to see ten Amazon warriors standing there, spears at the ready. At their head stood an older woman, perhaps fifty, with a disgusted look on her face.
              “Ah, Lahana,” the queen said in the Amazon tongue, “you are unusually timely.”
              “It would be hard to be late with all this racket,” the older woman replied, nudging the broken body of a guardswoman with her sandaled toe. “A demon? In the palace? The work of a foreign sorcerer, no doubt.”
              “Aye,” Pythira agreed. “And who in the palace has been fucking one such sorcerer for the past three months.”
              Lahana’s eyes went wide. “Stupid, suspicious lackey, I refer to one of the queen’s whores. Probably the one that’s still alive.” Her eyes narrowed as she locked them on Bromm and pointed an accusatory finger his way.
              “This thing was here to kill me,” declared Bromm. “I looked into its eyes and saw hate, for me. Many of us wounded it, but it took special hatred for the queen’s concubines, even the one who ran screaming without even touching a weapon.”
              “Indeed,” Kannitara replied. “This thing was not their work.”
              “Well, it wasn’t my sorcerer’s work,” Lahana snapped back. 
              “We’ll see about that. Guards, bring him here. Dead or alive. And disarm the Mistress of Spears before you go. I don’t want her getting ideas about succeeding where her pet demon failed.”
              Lahana started to speak, but found two swords at her throat. On the other side of the bedchamber, Pythira knocked an arrow to her bow, though Bromm wondered if she had the strength left to draw it. Lahana stood staring hatred at the queen as she was relieved of her sword and spear by the guards. Five of them then left the room in search of her sorcerer. In short order, the queen’s servants appeared and began scraping the demon spittle from her body. They were hardly halfway done when the guards returned.
              “He’s gone, your Grace,” the leader guardswoman answered.
              “He’ll be in port looking to take a ship out of here,” the queen growled.
              “Not my ship, I can assure you,” Bromm declared.
              “No matter,” Kannitara replied with a wave. “Take the Mistress of Spears to the dungeons and send guards to watch the docks. Pythira, you have done well, and I need a bath. Bromm, would you care to join me?”
              “Gladly, your Grace.”
              “Wonderful. Have the servants prepare a room for him. I would have you stay here a while, for I may have some further use for you, Bromm.”