Message-ID: <21863asstr$945432604@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: eriadoriii@aol.comnospam (EriadorIII) Subject: {ASSM} Ring of Power Part 7 X-Original-Message-ID: <19991217011114.10868.00001474@ng-ch1.aol.com> Date: Fri, 17 Dec 1999 07:10:04 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, IceAltar Note: This section has grown out of control. I had to split it into three parts. Chapter Five: Life Dreams "Set him on the bed," the man hastened to the confused women. They stared at him dumbly as he approached. The entire scene confused Liselle and she was having a difficult time wrapping her mind around it. Erin, who had more exposure to the extraordinary, dismissed the contents of the room completely, focusing her distrust on the figure that scurried close. The man's appearance did nothing to engender trust in either woman. He appeared human from a distance but as he approached, their doubts increased. He was taller than most humans were, taller even than most elves, though his thin build might indicate some relation to the Fair Folk. He was dressed in plain white robes that covered him from neck to ankle and stretched along his abnormally long arms. His head was extremely narrow and extremely long, leaving little room for features, and completely devoid of hair. His nose was small and hooked and his mouth was narrow and pursed. When he spoke his lips barely moved but the words came out like wind blowing through the trees. But it was his eyes that made him seem alien. Completely blue were the orbs, and without a pupil. Erin caught herself gazing into their depths and she could feel a force like the tidal pull of an ocean draw her deeper. Mercyn groaned and shifted in her grasp, startling her back to herself. The figure in white reached out to help steady the warrior. His fingers were as out of proportion as the rest of his body and Erin thought she caught sight of a sixth finger. Before the man could touch Mercyn, Liselle stepped between them. "Who are you?" The man in white stopped in his tracks, confused. He looked at Mercyn for a moment and then turned his gaze to Liselle. "What do you mean?" Erin pulled back on Mercyn, the effect being to pull the entire trio a step back from the strange man. Something about this place was screaming for her to run. "Who are you?" Liselle repeated. The man furrowed his brows. "I am who you have come to see," his voice betrayed his confusion. "I don't understand," Liselle looked at the man like he was crazy. She flinched back from him a little before continuing. "We saw your light and came looking for help. We didn't know you would be here." A sudden smile erupted from the man's face. "Ah, I get it now. You are teasing poor Falindimar," he lifted one finger and waggled it at Liselle. "That is not very nice. You know I am not very well these days." Liselle was quite convinced this man was mad and Erin was not sure that she disagreed. Liselle stumbled over her thoughts for a moment, unsure how to handle a lunatic. "Luckily for me I can see through your joke," his laugh sounded like a high wheeze. He dug into the folds of his robes and then pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "See, I still have your letter." Liselle ignored the proffered letter and shook her head. Her gaze was wide as she stepped back. Mercyn groaned as he was jostled. "But I can't read," the words were almost imploring as she stared at the piece of paper. "Now you are really teasing poor Falindimar," he admonished the girl. He unfolded the pieced of paper and showed it to her. "Now we both know that that is your signature right there." Liselle found her eyes drawn to lower corner of the paper, where one of the man's fingers tapped the page. The minute her eyes settled on the words everything became suddenly clear. "Of course, how could I have forgotten," a smile replaced the look of caution. "Oh Falindimar, it is so good to see you again." Erin instantly knew what had happened. Her initial reaction was to step away from the man but as she tried to move she found her muscles locked. Sensing the struggle, Falindimar turned his gaze on her. All traces of confusion and insanity were gone as he faced the elf. "My dear, it is good to see you again. You look famished, perhaps you would like some food?" He waved his hand at the table laden with food. Erin, though, could not take her eyes from his. "Oh my, that certainly looks good," Liselle exclaimed. "Let's lay him down and then we can eat." "Yes, why don't you lay him down on the bed," his eyes still held the elf's. Erin's mind screamed in rebellion, begging her body to react, but none of her muscles were willing to respond except for the violent clenching in her stomach. The man in while stretched out one of his large hands and gently laid it on the elf's shoulder. "Here, let me help you." The moment his hand touched her shoulder the screaming in her mind shut off. Warmth spread through her body, covering her in a sense of peace. His touch was gentle yet she could feel its strength. Gently he removed the wounded warrior from around her and guided him, along with Liselle, towards the bed. Erin stood rooted to the spot, even after he removed his hand. She was afraid that if she moved the warmth would go away. Liselle and Falindimar laid Mercyn on the bed and then the man in white turned back to the elf. He waved her forward and indicated one of the chairs. "Come, come. Eat, rest. You look like you could use it," his words were honey and they flowed through her body, causing a shiver to run up her spine. As if reacting to his words, the elf felt a wave of fatigue and hunger surge through her body. The smells that wafted from the table were pleasant and appealing eliciting a rumble from her stomach. Liselle had already sat at one of the chairs and had helped herself to a chunk of roast beef. She dipped it in a small bowl of gravy and then sighed in pleasure. The elf could stand it no longer and rushed to take the second chair. Greedily she snatched a piece of bread and a hunk of cheese, quickly stuffing them into her mouth. Falindimar stood back from the trio and watched the two women dig into the food. Silently he chuckled and then he waved his hand. Instantly the two women slipped back into their chairs, asleep. Falindimar waved his hand again and suddenly their chairs were beds and the women were lying flat on their backs. "Sleep, my beautiful ones," he murmured to the sleeping forms. "Sleep and dream and let us see what presents you brought me." Liselle was a little girl and she sat in the middle of her parents small home. The house was barely more than a shack. The family could barely afford more on the money her mother made occasionally sewing a dress for the Countess or one of the other ladies in the village. Her father had lost his job at the quarry when a wagonload of marble had crashed onto his leg. He had recovered enough to walk but the quarry did not want him back, especially considering it was his drunkenness that had caused the accident. He had tried several other jobs but could hold nothing regular. Now he just spent his days brewing some foul substance in his still and imbibing it until he passed out. The house had three rooms, a large room where the family ate and her brothers slept, a smaller room where her parents slept, and the tiny room where she slept. The main room also contained the stove and the pantry where their meager food supplies were kept. The only furniture was six sturdy wooden chairs, a table, and an old, ratty cushioned chair. Her father loved the chair. He would point it at the open door and sit for hours, watching the life of the village and drinking himself to oblivion. Liselle didn't know where the chair had come from. Certainly it was quite expensive when it was new and the family could never have afforded it so she doubted they had bought it. All she knew was that the chair had always been there as long as she could remember. The only other pieces of furniture in the family owned were the bed and the small armoire in her parent's room and the tiny bed of her own in her room. Her brothers slept on mats of straw that had been set up in the corner of the common room. Liselle's room was little more than a closet, with the bed taking up most of the space, but her mother had insisted that she, as the only girl, be given a room to herself. Liselle treasured the privacy of her little room. Liselle loved her mother. Her earliest memories were of the warmth of her mother's arms. She remembered her mother holding her and banishing the remnants of an awful nightmare. She remembered her mother tending her horribly scraped knee. She remembered her mother lecturing her brothers for teasing their little sister. Her mother had always told her she was special. The other children in the village teased her because her family was so poor. She would run home crying to her mother who would always laugh and tell her how the others were just jealous because she was so special. She loved her mother. On this night the family was just settling into supper, a stew of turnips and a meat that Liselle could not identify, when the yelling started. At first it was just a lone woman's scream; a scream of terror. It was soon joined by another shout, this one in anger. Then another woman screamed, accompanied by a crash and a boom. Liselle and her family just looked at each other, fear evident on the faces of the children. The noises outside grew in volume as more voices were added. A loud whoosh could be heard and then light blossomed in the night as someone's home caught fire, casting flickering shadows through the window of Liselle's tiny shack. "Hodden, go see what it is," her mother seemed calm as she stood and collected her children into the circle of her arms. She glared at Liselle's father as he just sat silently at the table, his head bowed, listening to the screaming. The noise was horrible and Liselle began to cry. Her mother pulled her closer and Liselle pressed her head against her mother's stomach. "Fine, if you are too much of a coward, I will look." She gently disengaged her crying daughter and admonished her sons to remain still. She glared one more time at her husband and then marched over to the window. She peeked through and watched as carnage ensued in the vision. She gasped and covered her mouth and then looked away. She ran back to her children and fell to her knees. She wrapped them in her arms and pulled them in tight. The laughter of men joined the screaming of the villagers. More flames lit the night and more women screamed. Suddenly someone was pounding on the door. The sound caused them all to jump, even their father. The family stood still, unsure how to respond. The pounding on the door brought the terror of the night to their very home and no one wanted to let it in. "Please help me! Please!" a woman's voice, tears mixing with horror, screamed through the door as the pounding returned. Liselle's mother looked at her father, who refused to meet her eyes. "Help me," desperation filled the voice as her body slumped against the door. Her voice lost all its strength as her tears overwhelmed her. "Help me." Liselle's mother suddenly stood and walked over to the door. Without hesitation, she pulled open the door and revealed the village's nightmare to her family. The woman sat against the door, crying. Liselle recognized her as the woman who lived next door. Her son was one of the girl's primary rivals. He would always push her to the ground and make fun of her clothes. Whenever her mother would speak to the neighbor about her son, the woman would only shake her head and act like it was all Liselle's fault. Now the woman sat outside their door, crying and begging for their help. The woman looked up when the door opened, hope blossoming on her face. Liselle's mother bent down and gave the woman a hug. Liselle could see past the two women and had a good view of the village. Men swarmed everywhere, light from the fires dancing off pieces of metal that adorned their bodies. The men laughed and dove in and out of the shadows, chasing the villagers before them. Some of the men rode horses, the great beasts clattering through the village and running over the villagers as they fled. One of the men saw the two women at the open door of the shack and stepped towards them. He was dark and swarthy, tarnished mail clung to his chest and a savage, curved sword was clutched in his fist. Liselle wanted to scream as the man approached but terror froze the muscles of her throat. Her mother didn't see the man as she hustled the neighbor woman to her feet. When she did finally spot him it was too late, he was too close. The man laughed as the neighbor woman screamed. She scrambled away from Liselle's mother and tried to dart past the man. He laughed again and grabbed her by the hair as she passed. With a brutal tug he yanked her into his embrace. He kissed her obscenely and then licked the side of her face with his vile tongue. The woman's screams were cut short as the man's sword blossomed from the center of her back. Her body fell limp and the man pushed it free from his blade, allowing it to collapse into a heap at his feet. He smiled evilly at Liselle's mother who had witnessed the entire scene in shock. Rousing herself, Liselle's mother tried to slam the door in the man's face. Another laugh escaped his lips as he caught the closing portal and kicked it open, sending her mother sprawling. Liselle screamed for her father to do something as the man swept into their shack but he had hidden under the table and curled into a ball, crying. Liselle looked to her brothers but they were as scared as she was. The invader's lips curled into a cruel smile as he watched the family cower. Then he bent and grabbed her mother's hair, pulling her to her feet. "My, my, aren't we blessed," the man's hungry gaze ran up the length of her body, pausing on her heaving chest. He adjusted his grasp and grabbed the neck of her dress, tearing it down the front. Her mother's breasts spilled out, white as milk and as large as melons, each topped with a small, pink nipple. The man laughed again and then he brought his mouth to one of the nipples. He bit cruelly into the soft flesh and then flicked at the hard bud with his tongue. Her mother cried in pain as his mouth surrounded the entire nipple and he sucked savagely. The man stopped ravaging her mother and a victorious grin split his face as he caught the little girl's eyes. Her mother threatened to squirm away from the man's grip but he pulled her closer with a vicious jerk, knocking the air from the woman's lungs. His tongue lashed out again, sweeping a swath along the woman's cheek. He pressed his lips against her heaving mouth and thrust his tongue cruelly into her mouth. Liselle watched, helpless with fear, as her mother struggled weakly in her attackers arms. A horn sounded in the village and the clash of metal against metal echoed in the night. Cursing the man broke the kiss and looked out the door. He snarled and then pushed the woman against the wall. He glanced at the family and spared a sneer for the man who cringed beneath the table. When his gaze settled on Liselle, a different kind of smile lit his face. Another blast from the horn echoed through the night and the man took a halting glance over his shoulder. He looked back at the girl, avarice in his eyes. He took a step towards her but went no further as Liselle's mother hurled herself at the man, her fingers curled into claws and scratching at his eyes. The man threw her away from him, sending her crashing into the wall where she slid to the floor in a heap. Blood seeped from a gash on the side of his face and he swore as he wiped at the blood on his cheek. Liselle screamed as the man stepped towards the fallen woman, his sword poised to strike. Her scream turned to whimpering hysteria as his sword slid home, thrusting through her heart. Her mother gurgled once and then blood flowed from her mouth as her life drifted away. The sounds of combat were louder now and the man stepped towards the door. He paused and looked back one final time. He blew the little girl a kiss and then fled into the night. Liselle was older now. Her mother had been dead for several years and the family had drifted even deeper into poverty. Her eldest brother had started working at the quarry and his money helped, but her drunkard father had gambled most of it away and had drunk away the rest. Her brother had once tried to hide the money from him but her father beat him so bad that he could not walk for days. He nearly lost his job then, but he begged and they let him stay on, at a reduced wage. Her other brothers also helped where they could. They were each old enough for an apprenticeship somewhere but no one wanted to deal with the family. Liselle suspected it was because they thought their father's disgrace was contagious. She supposed they might be right, as even now her brother was beginning to join their father during his evening binges. She had assumed most of the duties that her mother formerly handled. She cooked and cleaned, she shopped and mended. She provided the womanly touch that every home needed though her efforts often went for naught as her father would quickly undo most of her work in a drunken fancy. She was shopping for some cloth when her life changed. Her father had torn her elder brother's only shirt the night previous. He had beaten the boy again for some imagined slight. He often beat his sons but he never touched his daughter. He would be overcome in a mindless rage but when he saw Liselle, all the anger would disappear and he would fling himself around the girl, sobbing into her shoulder and chanting her mother's name. She had just purchased a swath of ugly gray cloth and was carrying it home when the Count's procession rode into the village. Liselle had seen him many times before, as he would often descend from his great castle and tour the villages of his lands. He was about the same age as her father but where the years of drinking had left her father little more than a husk, the Count was still able-bodied and fit. His black hair was just barely dusted with gray and his face was only slightly lined by the stresses of age. The count's face was sharp and his eyes were small and dark, yet they seemed to catch the eye of every villager. He was dressed in golden mail and an ornate sword decorated the side of his saddle. He was accompanied by a guard of ten men, each dressed resplendently in shining mail and astride huge, brown horses, each alike, lances flying the count's pennant, a golden lion on a field of red. On one side of the Count his son rode. He was a younger image of the older man. He was perhaps the age of Liselle's oldest brother though he carried himself with an arrogance above his years. He wore no mail, though his black clothes were fine beyond anything that the villagers possessed. He seemed bored with the whole procession and stared glumly at the sky. On the other side of the count rode his wife, a beautiful woman who instantly reminded Liselle of her mother. Stately, her brown hair made up into an elaborate coiffure and the green of her satin gown rippling like fire in the afternoon sun, the woman would bestow a nod and an occasional smile on everyone who met her eyes. Liselle left the spinner's shop just as the procession passed. She looked up and found her eyes locked with the Countess'. The older woman smiled and then looked at the girl appraisingly. She nodded, more to herself than to Liselle, and leaned over to whisper something to her husband. The Count jerked his head around to find the girl and then called for his guards to stop. He leaned back in his saddle and said something to a man who rode behind him. The man got down from his horse and stepped over to the stunned girl. He was young, though not as young as the Count's son, and his hair was golden yellow, a rare color in this land. He moved with grace and his supple body seemed to flow as he moved. Liselle reckoned him the most beautiful man she had ever seen. "My lady," Liselle flinched at the inappropriate title but relaxed when she heard no mocking in his voice. "The Count wishes you to guide him to your domicile." Liselle was at a loss. She thought herself in some strange dream or even a nightmare. She looked around at the other villagers who had all halted to watch. One look at their faces revealed that they were as surprised as she was. "Girl? Are you well?" The man laid a hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly. His voice did not seem concerned, merely impatient. Liselle shook her head. She was still incapable of words. "Are you dumb?" Now he was worried, though she doubted it was for her. She shook her head again and then forced words from her throat. "N-no, my lord." A smile lit up his face and Liselle thought she was staring at an angel. "Good. Let's clear up some things. First, I am not a lord. You can call me Garin. Secondly, you had best show us where you live and quickly. The Count is not a patient man." Liselle did as he said and soon the procession was before their tiny shack. She looked with despair at the hovel. It was so tiny and so incredibly dirty. She was ashamed to admit that this was her home. She was sure that the Count would just turn around and leave. Her fears seemed founded when she turned back to the Count and the Countess. They were arguing quietly about something and then she cut him off with a gesture of her hand. He shook his head and nodded at Garin. The golden man smiled again at the girl. "Let us meet your parents." Her father was sitting in his accustomed spot, in his old chair, and with the door open. He had slipped into a semi-conscious stupor and had not noticed the group stop before his house. Now, as Garin and Liselle stepped inside, he seemed to sense their presence and wrestled himself awake. He glared at the Count's servant. "What do you want?" He growled. "Good day, sir," Garin bowed, accounting her father more authority than he deserved. "The Count has sent me to inquire as to the availability of your daughter. He would like to employ her as a handmaid for his wife, the Countess." Liselle was as surprised as her father. Instant joy threatened to spring from her chest as she considered the offer. She could leave this place. She could leave the horrible life of caring for her drunken and cruel father. She could leave the horrible memories of the night her mother died. Her mother had always told her she was special and the Countess must have seen it, too. Her hope was dashed as her father barked a harsh, hacking laugh. "You can't have the little tramp. She is mine." "There will, of course, be some recompense for her services," Garin offered. Her father's gaze had wandered to her face. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes as they glazed over. Liselle felt him looking more through her than at her. Softly he whispered her mother's name. He seemed oblivious to the golden-haired man and then he suddenly snapped back to attention, all emotions erased. "How much?" His voice was sly and filled with greed. "Ten gold per month." His jaw dropped and he let out a shrill whoop. "You just bought yourself a whore, my boy. Tell the lord Count that he can mate her with his dogs if he wishes, just as long as the gold keeps coming." He laughed aloud, hacking coughs and streaking tears marring his hysterical fit. Garin stepped back in distaste and gave the girl a pitying look and then a reassuring smile. He turned and walked outside. Liselle followed and had a hard time concealing the happiness that threatened to explode from inside her. Garin related the news to the Count and the Countess. He turned back to the girl one last time before climbing astride his horse. "We will send for you on the morrow." The Countess smiled benignly at her and Liselle could not contain the smile that crept to her lips. Her joy grew to overwhelming proportions but then she caught sight of the Count's son. Her smile faded away and a ball of fear grew in her stomach as she met his cruel and avaricious gaze. -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. 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