The Knight and the Acolyte
Book Seven: Illusory Passion
Chapter Five: Desert’s Passion
By mypenname3000
Copyright 2016

Note: Thanks to B0b for beta reading this.

Knight-Errant Angela – Halani Desert

Camels moved differently than horses. Their gait rolled, rocking me back and forth as I clutched to the saddle behind its hump. No smooth canter. No proud walk, but a plod across the shifting sands of the Halani Desert.

Hargone fell behind us. The sands started an hour from the city, at the edge of the farmland. It was a distinct boundary when we rose out of the floodplain and into the desert proper. The moisture vanished from the air. The temperature soared. The horizon melted into ripples like an ocean hovered in the sky before us. It all looked the same. Rolling dunes, the sky stark blue. No clouds drifting overhead. No landmarks with which to navigate.

Wind blew from the north. Sand swept before it, blowing off the top of dunes. I covered my face with the end of the turban. It was black cloth, draped over my head, shielding me from the sun’s rays. Thrak and Xera both walked, not caring about the sun. Chaun and Xandra rode side by side, he strumming his lyre while she hummed a song, making beauty together. Faoril had the hood of her robe thrown up to shield her face as she rode bent over, reading from one of her books, not paying attention to where her camel walked.

It was content to walk with the rest.

Aswunt’s servants walked beside the pack camels. They were a different breed from the ones we rode, having two humps piled with goods to trade at the oases with the various desert tribesman. The ebony-skinned desertmen of the Halani were famed for the prowess of their cocks and the beauty of their women.

Minx yawn. She was so small, she stretched back on her camel, her eyes closed, covered by the turban. “Going to sleep the entire journey?” Sophie asked as she perched on her camel in her white robes.

“Beats sweltering,” the halfling muttered. “I’ll just sleep through the heat.”

“Yes,” Sophia said, fanning her sweaty face.

“Watch out for that Farson,” Minx added. “I don’t like the look of him.”

“But his slave…” Sophia let out a purr. “A lamia’s tongue is so rough. Feels amazing licking through your pussy.”

Minx snorted. “Is eating cunt all you think about?”

“It is,” I answered quickly, a smile on my face. “That’s all my concubine thinks about.”

Sophia gave a wicked giggle.

My gaze looked ahead to Farson in his black armor as he rode at the head of the column. He was one of the guards hired to protect the caravan. His sex slave, the lamia, curled in front of him on the camel like a cat, her tail swishing back and forth. She was naked, but her pale body didn’t seem affected by the sun.

There was an umbral nimbus about her, a faint darkening.

“Xera, do you see anything unusual about the lamia?” I furrowed my eyes. The more I studied it, the more I noticed it around her like the rind around a bruise.

“Yes,” Xera said, ears twitching. “Something protecting her.”

“He’s a shadowmancer,” Faoril said, not looking up from her book, her words distant. “It is an arcane art practiced in the Shizhuth Empire. He’s a warleader.”

“What’s he doing here?” I frowned. The Shizhuth Empire was a closed place. Rumors of the cruelty of its rulers, the nagas, had percolated out of the nation. A land of darkness and pain. Lamia were kept as slaves there, given to human males who pleased their naga rulers.

“No idea. Ask him.”

“Exiled,” Minx answered. “He did something bad and was smart enough to flee.”

“How do you know?”

Minx squirmed. “It just makes sense. Why else would he be here?”

“A shadowmancer,” Sophia said, worrying her lower lip. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It’s not a well known branch of the esoteric. It’s something the naga gift to humans. It’s not like magecraft or the shamanistic arts. It cannot be studied but known. An inherent power, like the twinborn witches of the Tuathan. He does not need external totems or power sources to manipulate shadows.”

“Dangerous?”

“Of course, Angela. All power is dangerous.”

Faoril hunched her shoulders, looking down at the book but her eyes closed, thinking. On what? What was she studying? I glanced back at Farson. If he was an exile, then he made his living as a mercenary. I was glad word of our bounty had only just reached Hargone last night. Farson probably hadn’t heard of it. Yet.

He could be a problem when we returned.

“Minx.”

“Yes, Angela,” groaned the halfling. “Trying to sleep. I was up all night, remember?”

“Did you hear anything about Farson among the thieves’ chatter.”

“Nope. It’s a big city. He doesn’t have much of a reputation. Or not one the thieves care about.” Minx sat up, frowning. “Why?”

“Just nervous.” I lowered my voice so only her and Sophia, and Xera with her keen ears, could hear. “If he learns about the bounty, he sounds like he would be dangerous.”

Minx sank back down. “Won’t hear about it out here. We have bigger problems. Like getting into the Mirage Gardens.”

“I have a plan for that. I’ll be the sacrifice. Sophia and I figured it out.”

“Between bouts of your seasickness,” Sophia grinned. “Oh, the efreet’ll have a hard time taming you, my Queen.”

“And where do we make the offering?” Minx closed her eyes. “Do you know?”

“I don’t. Faoril?”

The mage shook her head, still absorbed in her research.

I pondered that as we rode south. It would be a week or more before we reached the deep desert where stories claimed the Mirage Garden lurked. As the day wore on, the sun climbed and the temperature soared. Even Chaun and Xandra fell silent before the oppression of the heat. Only the plod of the camel’s wide feet on the sand and the curses of the handlers could be heard until I found myself riding beside Aswunt.

The merchant stroked his oiled beard when I lifted myself up from my lethargic doze. “You are the ninth group I’ve ever led out in search of the Mirage Gardens.”

“Oh,” I said, my heart beating in excitement. “How did they fare?”

“Poorly. Only two ever brought the appropriate offerings.” His eyes glanced over his shoulder. “Not a problem for you. Very beautiful women you brought. Exotic.”

“Exotic?” I snorted.

He touched his face, his skin a dark umber. “Pale skin is exotic for us. And for the efreet.”

“So two of them made it in.”

“I didn’t say that.” He stroked his beard again, his gold rings flashing in the sunlight. “The efreet left behind a brass lamp, trading one of his lovely jinn for their proffered woman. But they never mastered the jinn, so she never opened the way into the Mirage Garden for them to enter and see its delights, to be guests of Riad.”

“Mastered?”

“Jinn yearn to serve. They need to be seized and forced. They resist all who try to claim them. You have to venture into their lamps. But they are seductive. If you submit to her, well, you do not escape, and the lamp will return to Riad.”

“And the offerings?”

“Kept.” He laughed. “Efreet do not bargain fair. I doubt the price is even worth entry into the Mirage Gardens None have ever seen it. We just have the stories of Riad and his wealth. Ridiculous.”

“I don’t see it being a problem.” I glanced at Thrak, the orc walking back straight, ignoring the sun. Or maybe he just disdained.

Aswunt followed my gaze. “You think he’ll dominate the jinn?”

“Yes.”

The man laughed, rich and mocking. “The jinn are seductive. Only the efreet can ever dominate them. They are compliments to each other. Jinn need efreet, though they hate being controlled, and efreet need jinn though they burn for more pliant vessels.”

“So that’s why he gives away his jinn in exchange for women?”

Aswunt nodded. Then he frowned, staring off at the horizon. It was my turn to follow his gaze. A brown smear covered it, a haze that extended across it. I arched an eyebrow, wondering what could generate such a large dust cloud.

“Not the desert tribes?” I asked. “They could not raise such dust across such a distance. It must extend for miles.”

“No, no, a dust storm. They happen. It’ll probably hit us as we near evening. It will be a noisy night.”

“Dangerous?”

“Not usually.” He tugged on his beard. “Though the tribesmen like to use them as cover to raid caravans.”

“The same caravans they trade with at the oases?”

He snorted. “Yes, the very same. But oases are holy to them. Places of sanctuary. Water is such a valued commodity out here that even the bitterest of enemies will not spill blood within a half-days ride of one. It is a game to them. If they can steal the goods before it reaches an oasis, they win.”

“And you win if you reach an oasis.”

He laughed again. “Only if I trade well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Acolyte Sophia

“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, snagging Minx’s arm.

The halfling thief turned, “With Xera. She’s getting it on with Chaun and Xandra. Sounds like fun.”

The wind howled around us. The strange tents set up, round domes covered in camel hide, rocked as the edges of the dust storm blew around us. The wall of brown was closer. It looked so dense, so smothering. We had to get inside and probably could not leave until the winds died down.

“Nope, you’re coming with me.”

“But…” Minx’s face fell.

“Nope. I want to devour that tiny cunt.” I licked my lips. “Trust me, I’ll make you squeal.”

“She will,” Faoril said, peeking out the tent I was sharing with her tonight. Thrak and Angela were spending the night—my Queen always had those uncontrollable urges for huge cock she had to satiate periodically.

Well, it meant she was missing out on a hot night of lesbian passion. Faoril, at least, had her priorities straight for once.

Minx bit her lip, glancing at Xera disappearing into Chaun and Xandra’s tent. Then a mischievous grin crossed Minx’s lips. “You really think you can make me squeal better than Xera?”

My tongue, pierced with a silver stud, flicked out. “Trust me. I was trained by the priestess of Saphique. For thousands of years, we have perfected the art of sapphic love, passing it down in an unbroken chain of gasping, panting, lesbian sex.

“You will not be disappointed.”

“Bold.” Minx arched her metallic-red eyebrows. “Let’s see if you can deliver then.”

Minx pulled me into the tent. The floor was covered in dyed red felt. Faoril jerked the heavy cover closed and tied it. The sides rippled as the wind hit it. It howled outside, cutting us off from the rest of the world.