Chapter 2

I'm not dead.

Strides-Tall lifted herself up on her elbows, and shook her head in disbelief. "I'm not dead", she said out loud.

"Of course not..."

The chamber was dark, all except for a pool of light, coming from above, that bathed the heap of cushions the elf lay upon, and the voice, smooth and eerie, not human, not elf - not anything Strides-Tall had ever heard before - came from the darkness. "Who are you?", she called out. "Where am I?"

"Your are in my kingdom", purred the hidden stranger, "and I am your new mistress..."

The shadows parted as though they were liquid, and something was rising from them. Into the light came an almost ghostly figure - a woman with powder-white skin and long flowing hair, tucked into the backs of brilliantly shiny black thigh-high boots. From her back rose great bat-like wings, the supporting bones covered in the same pale flesh as the rest of her, whilst the membranes between were a vivid pink, and almost transparent.

Her eyes, too, were that lurid pink colour, and strangely hypnotic.

"I am Mashilahantradar", the winged woman announced. "Spellweaver of the Dyal, Mistress of the Second Circle of The High Cabal."

Strides-Tall was unimpressed, not knowing what any of the titles meant. She kept this to herself, however, knowing it would be madness to anger what could be a powerful and dangerous stranger. A very small number of humans showed a similar deficit of body pigment, and they were generally weak in body, but the elf dared not assume the same was true for this woman's species...whatever she was. Elves were slight in form as well, but those who seemed physically weak usually proved to be powerful where elven psychic powers - elven "magic" - was concerned.

Looking at the woman's wings, Strides-Tall recalled the many legends amongst the humans of Abode that mentioned winged demons and blood-drinking bat-monsters. She had assumed those to be the usual wild distortions of stories about elves, but here, standing right in front of her, was proof to the contrary.

The woman glanced at the floor, and the stone flowed like water, rising to form a seat. She swung a leg over the resulting stool, and sat, wide-legged, upon it. settling down, her wings folding, she pulled a meticulously-folded pair of near-shoulder-length black vinyl gloves from the top of her right boot, draped them over her thigh, and placed her hands on her wide-spread knees.

"Was all that for my benefit?", asked the elf.

"If you like", was the reply.

"Where is this?", she enquired again.

"Far, far away from where you were", the winged female responded. "Do not concern yourself about it. It no longer matters."

"And what does that mean?"

The white-skinned woman sighed. "It means that this is your world now", she said sternly, toying idly with the fingers of one glove. "And you will call me 'Mistress' or 'Lady Mashilahantradar' at all times. You should have said 'And what does that mean, Mistress...?'"

"I'm not a slave", said Strides-Tall sharply.

"Ah, but you are", the "Mistress" corrected. She also picked up her gloves, and examined them more closely.

"What's to stop me from leaving?"

Mashilahantradar flexed her wings, and started to pull on her gloves, sliding into one and smoothing out the wrinkles, then doing the same with the other. All the while, she flatly ignored the elf and her question.

Strides-Tall took a deep breath, and tried again. "What's to stop me from leaving, Mistress?"

"Try", replied Mashilahantradar. "Try, and see...?"

Strides-Tall leapt up, and stepped outside the circle of light. A new circle "budded" from the first, centring itself on the girl, who then started to walk away...

After three steps, the floor vanished under the girl's front foot. She tried to throw herself backwards, but the sudden lack of floor, combined with the disorientating effect of the surrounding utter darkness, mean it was already too late.

Strides-Tall fell only a foot or so, then bands of metal flashed into being about her wrists, and pulled her to a stop, almost yanking her arms out of their sockets. Hanging by her arms, the elf was then carried back to Mashilahantradar by unseen forces.

"Time for you to start paying me back for the expense of bringing you here", said the winged woman, getting up from her seat.

Bands of metal identical to the first pair appeared around Strides-tall's booted ankles, and pulled them apart, stretching the elf into an inverted "Y" position. "Let me go!", she squealed.

"Do you know how much the components for a translocation spell cost, especially for a spell powerful enough to detour around the effects of The Rip?", asked Mashilahantradar. "A fortune, that's how much. It requires ruby chips, gold dust, black pearls - now those are really hard to come by, what with there being so little natural standing water..."

"What do you want from me?", cried the elf.

"Oh, you're already providing that", the winged woman replied. "As for repaying my costs...let's just say there are many options. I could put your sexual company on the open market, but I can't presently afford the spell to stop you getting pregnant, and you're supposed to be here for my pleasure alone. No, this is the best way..."

Mashilahantradar moved behind Strides-Tall. The elf flinched as vinyl-clad fingers traced a path up the inside of her thigh, but they continued upwards when she hoped they would stop.

Strides-Tall let out a shuddering gasp as those fingers reached the softest and most sensitive flesh...

Purring contentedly, Mashilahantradar skilfully stroked and teased that most intimate place on the girl's body, sometimes barely touching her, sometimes rubbing and kneading quite forcefully. Strides-Tall, her body held taut, could do nothing but be carried away on wave after wave of sensual excitement as she grew hotter, and wetter.

"P...please", she whimpered, despite the intense pleasure. "No..."

"Struggle if you want", murmured the winged woman. "It makes for a better vintage."

The pleasure burned deeper, and the elf was reduced to incoherence, gasping and moaning, as the winged woman's fingers worked long and deep into her. There was one last searing surge of wordless joy, then Mashilahantradar withdrew, leaving Strides-Tall to pant for breath.

"Excellent", declared the pale female. "Quite excellent..."

Something narrow, smooth and cold touched the inside of the elf's left thigh, just above her boot, then slid upwards, collecting stray rivulets of the girl's juices. It did the same up her right thigh, then the winged woman stepped back into her captive's field of view, carrying a silver goblet. "This", she said, wiping the fingers of her right hand on the rim of the drinking vessel, "is the key ingredient in what we Dyals call 'Helq'Sha' - the 'Elixir of Vitality'. It is highly prized amongst us, and you, being unique in this realm, may be the source of something very special.

"If our produce proves popular", she added with a gleeful smile, "as I think it will, I can make a killing - release the first batch at a modest price, then announce that it's a limited run, and ask whatever price I like for the rest."

Strides-Tall could not respond. She was too exhausted to speak, let alone hurl abuse at her torturer.

Mashilahantradar was far from finished with her new play-thing. The winged female visited the elf twice a day, five days in every six, to collect more of her "key ingredient", the manacles stretching the girl out at whatever time of day or night the "Mistress" chose. Strides-Tall came to measure her time of imprisonment by these visits, for not once did she see the sun or the stars.

In between visits, the elf was well-treated, receiving fine foods and access to a sunken bath that was almost a swimming pool. She turned none of these privileges away, knowing that she needed to keep her strength up, in case an opportunity for escape presented itself.

Until that time came, Strides-Tall had to endure the visits. Mashilahantradar knew exactly what she was doing - once, she was able to keep her captive at the peak of excitement for at least half an hour, almost too much for the elf to bear. Shortly after that, the visits abruptly ceased, and without them to define her time-scale, Strides-Tall lost her one link to the rest of reality.

The girl was not lost in timelessness for long, for what seemed like a short while after the final visit, Strides-Tall woke to find that her door, usually sealed by magic, had been left open. Cautiously, she approached it, then without touching the door or its frame, silently stepped through.

Straight away, Mashilahantradar's disembodied voice addressed her. "You are now free to come and go as you wish", it said, "but be warned - there are limits. Do not enter any areas with a red floor, as these could contain harmful materials, and are well guarded. If any harm befalls you, it will be of your own making."

"Can I leave?", asked the elf.

"Look out the window. See the world that lies beyond my castle, and ask yourself how wise would it be to step outside..."

Strides-Tall looked down the passage, to the left and right, and picked a direction. Heading off to the left, in the direction of a warm, slightly humid draught, the elf went looking for a window.

Twice, she went past corridors branching off to the left, with red tiles on the floor. Apart from that, the passages looked like any other, with doors of varnished black wood and walls of black, silver-veined marble.

If the trick's in the floor, I can beat that, the elf thought, taking careful note of the ornate moulding, almost a hand-rail, that ran along all the walls from door-frame to door-frame.

The corridor came to a stop at a "T" junction after what could have been a mile or more, and Strides-Tall stepped into the new passage to gaze out across an incredible landscape. Dyed red by a swollen scarlet sun, the land stretching out far below what was essentially a long, covered balcony was completely obscured by leafless thorny plant-growth. Strides-Tall had never seen the like, but now she understood just what Mashilahantradar had said.

"This is Gorlath, throne-world of the High Cabal", announced the "Mistress", from just behind the elf shoulder. "Even we Dyals only venture across its surface because we can fly. To walk through the thorn-forest is to die."

"H-how can anything live in such a place?", asked the elven adventuress, turning to face her captor.

"It barely can", said the pale-skinned Dyal. "Gorlath is one of few worlds to have survived The Ancient Rage intact, but it did not survive unscathed."

"The Ancient Rage...?"

"You, pretty one, are too full of questions", hissed Mashilahantradar, but not in a threatening manner. "The Rage occurred, as far as the records of the time reveal, when The Rip convulsed, throwing its energy outwards. Many realities were damaged by it - ours probably worst of all. Almost every world was shattered, turned into floating shards of life-bearing rock."

The "Mistress" was right. Strides-Tall had questions aplenty. Once again, "The Rip" had been mentioned, and treated as something of great significance, and the elf wondered whether that information would prove useful in the future. To the best of her knowledge, it had no bearing on her primary concern - getting out of the clutches of Mashilahantradar - but she filed it away in the back of her mind for future reference.

Experience had taught Strides-Tall that, sometimes, information could be as valuable as thieves' tools or gold.

 

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