Chapter 41
Zogar
Ersot’s human is fierce and unyielding, but not without reason. Everything he believed was just upturned.
My wise young wife continues to explain all she can to him, while also asking more questions about Saxon’s situation, and I listen without interruption.
Based on their conversation, and what Ersot has told me, this man called Treacher opposes the religious takeover.
I suspect it might be only because he lost power, but it gives me hope that this man could be an ally instead of a foe.
If he proves a foe, I will burn him alive—unless Ersot asks to do it herself.
Based on our discussions thus far, Ersot has mixed feelings about her human.
Based on what she’s revealed, she both admires and harbors resentment toward the human who’s ridden her pommel for over twenty years.
But I sense other conflicted emotions inside her.
I expect every one of my people feels some bitterness toward the human who rides them, and Ersot has always been not only fiery, but highly independent.
Needing to rely on a human—any human—cannot have been easy for Ersot.
Rosomon stays with Treacher, continuing to assure him that he need not fear crossing the veil, while Xendus, Surath and I shift.
She also convinces him that he doesn’t need a rope to mount, but Ersot purposefully digs in her wing’s spike at a very sharp angle to ensure Treacher’s climb is challenging.
The man proves strong and determined, and he gets atop Ersot without his rope, not long after Rosomon climbs atop me. I chuckle as I watch.
“Did Ersot make that difficult on purpose?” Rosomon asks.
What do you think, my love?
My queen chuckles, clearly enjoying my answer.
My human is prepared to face death, Ersot tells me once Treacher is mounted.
Why does he think he’ll die? My suspicions rise. Does he have a plan to trick us?
He fears the Darkness, Ersot replies. He fears Lymbo, even after the queen’s assurances. But he’s willing to die for anything that might restore order to the Seven Kingdoms.
That’s good, I tell Ersot, then relay the information to Rosomon, as we rise into the air.
“Are Surath and Xendus coming?” she asks.
Yes, my love. If Ersot is wrong about her human’s intentions, I’ll be glad to have Surath and Xendus at my side.
“I’m glad,” Rosomon tells me. “From now on, we should keep everyone close.” Her mind drifts to thoughts of her lovers, especially Saxon now she knows how he’s suffering, and her deep love for him stabs into my heart and wounds my pride.
We’ll return to the Light as quickly as possible, I assure her.
With a large exhale, my fire parts the veil. We all fly through and proceed toward the plateau. I can’t remember another time when my powers felt this strong—not even before the Great Separation—and I owe that all to my wife, to my queen, to my love.
Still, I won’t bother taking the time or the energy to create an illusion for Ersot’s human—better he sees reality.
We all land on the empty plateau. Rosomon quickly dismounts and beckons for Treacher to do the same.
The man, still pretending to be brave, is clearly terrified as he slides down Ersot’s barely extended wing, landing hard on the dull flat surface.
Ersot quickly strides away from her human. She shifts, even before Surath, Xendus and I even think of doing the same.
Naked, Ersot strides toward the man. Waves of fury pour off her body that’s even more solid and voluptuous than I recall. Ersot embodies the best of both male and female physical traits. Broad in both the shoulders and hips—all of it’s balanced by a more than ample bosom.
Her human stares at her. “Holy Othrix!”
“How dare you invoke that name! You lied! You worship that pretender.”
She’s going to kill him.
“Stop!” Rosomon yells.
I shift, but by the time I’m in my true form, Ersot has tackled the man, and the pair are wrestling. She’s definitely going to kill him.
“Stop that!” Rosomon yells, and Ersot, her hands around her human’s throat, turns toward my queen.
“Why should I stop?” Ersot asks Rosomon. “This man misled me. He lied to us all. He worships that fraud.”
Rosomon looks confused but then shakes her head. “Treacher said, ‘Holy Othrix,’ but that’s just a saying.” She looks at Treacher, appealing to him with her eyes. “Right, Treacher? You’re not religious, are you.”
“Not any thrixing more, I’m not.” His voice is strangled by Ersot’s hands tight around his throat.
I approach Ersot and her human. “Ersot, your rider may yet prove helpful.”
“If I need one, I can find another human.” Her eyes are fierce. “This one has used me long enough.”
“Then, isn’t it high time for you to use him,” I say as calmly as I can.
Even in this grayness, it’s clear the man’s face is bright red. If she strangles him much longer, he’ll be dead.
“You’re wasting time!” Rosomon shouts. “Both of you. Every minute we spend here in Lymbo is thirty minutes in the Light.”
Ersot releases the man’s throat. Treacher pushes her off him and quickly scrambles to his feet. Once upright, he tries to hide the evidence of his obviously stiffened cock. Apparently, nearing death at the hands of a large naked woman proved exciting for this man. I chuckle.
Rosomon looks up at me and frowns.
Ersot stretches, working out the kinks of the centuries she spent in dragon form, and then crosses her arms over her breasts as she bows her head toward Rosomon. “Apologies, my queen.”
Rosomon tenses at my side.
“Someone tell me what the thrix—” Treacher turns toward Rosomon. “What’s going on? Why are you in color, while I’m all grey?”
“I’m not sure about that part.” Rosomon shakes her head. “I was grey the first time I came here, too. But that’s not important. We need to get back. We need to save Saxon.”