Part 3: Salvation

Chapter 6

The wait for the roads to become passable seemed interminable until, all of a sudden, the weather was warming and the first trade wagons from the south came through. Then we were buying a pony, a cart, packing it with finished but standard wares to sell, or at least provide a cover for our journey. We left at night to sneak me out, and then, finally, I was beneath open sky again, after near enough six months in hiding. With all the distractions, together with the work, I hadn’t realised how I had needed the outdoors. My travelling clothes hid the collar from cursory inspection, so we travelled by day, and I spent most of the first day with my head turned to the heavens, smiling at the clouds through the still-leafless trees.

Our way was not fast, with the last of the melting snow bringing swollen streams our pony found difficult. This did not worry me, however, just pleased to be freer than I had been, and for the promise of true freedom. As we neared Vindfort, this gave way to apprehension: what if he wasn’t there, or failed, or… I tried to manage my emotions, with mixed success.

Finally we arrived. I had been to Vindfort many times, but it was a major city and its stout wall and gatehouses, though inelegant, always seemed impressive and appropriate to the steep valley that surrounded it, where it sat astride the river Abyn. We found lodging for a reasonable rate and, all at once, I was again confined. Only with the collar removed could I truly be free; here in human and elven kingdoms I would be marked a fugitive, suspicious, a liability to my companion, and in the Volu empire I would only be “free” to act as a slave plausibly might.

I had to weather two days of Toandron pretending to just be here for business. With his ongoing generosity I couldn’t argue with this, and finally on the third day he brought news of Odalon. All he said was, “we will visit him tomorrow.” That night I did not sleep.

The mage’s house was in a wealthy area of town, near the lord’s palace, and was large enough to itself be a palace of many a smaller town. I again donned my heavy travelling clothes to make our way there, where we were greeted by a servant who ushered us inside, took our cloaks - I retained my scarf - and offered us tea. Humans serving elves were almost unheard of here, and I wondered at the kind of work he must do. The room in which we took the tea - some of the best I’d tasted outside of elven lands - was the size of an entire floor of Toandron’s house. We drink in silence, until some signal I could not detect caused the servant to leave the room, and a short elf of middle years entered through another door. “Béatan.”

His fine brocaded robes made his status clear, but more significant to me was what he wore on his finger: a simple broad band inlaid with silver and adorned with a small red gem. We both bowed, I deeper than Toandron since I expected to be in this elf’s debt very soon. “I take it you are the… subject,” he asked.

I nodded. “I am Liandra, sir.” I bowed again, quickly.

“Indeed. Your companion has explained your predicament to me, which is quite simple. The remedy however is not. Let us discuss it in the parlour.” He waved gracefully for us to follow him, his movements concise.

We came via a carpeted corridor to a large room lit all around with small, softly glowing orbs, about the size of an egg but spherical, placed in clusters atop pedestals. The room admitted no other light, being windowless. The magical lamps illuminated a wall of bookshelves along one side; the other three were filled with art. The wall opposite the books was adorned with a single gigantic tapestry depicting the first elven King and Queen, Rowan and Raeyenli, kneeling over a baby dragon and surrounded by supplicating figures. The others held paintings ranging in size from minuscule to massive. Behind an imposing desk whose parquetry I could now well appreciate hung a portrait of a younger Odalon, dressed in fashion more typical of human nobility.

He didn’t sit behind the desk but directed us to a cluster of armchairs around a small table. As we settled down, he said, “Let me get straight to the point. I can help you, but you may not like the method. I can’t remove it - as you will know, their technology is designed to resist our magic. The only way I know is to rebind the collar’s master, and have that new master order you to remove it.” I tried to keep my expression neutral and glanced at Toandron. My… friend. Yes, he was my friend. But there was no-one in the world I would truly trust with that much power over me.

“Is there no other way?” I whispered.

Odalon gestured for me to remove my scarf, which I unwound as he answered. “Not in my power, anyway. I have read a few treatises in which reference is made to forcibly removing Volu apparel, but the details are insufficient to replicate that act. If you want to try, Western Elvrig would be the place to go - Finis Vicum or Brandon Vicum.” Months of travel. No certainty. “I sympathise with you, Liandra. What has been done to you is unthinkable.” His eyes traveled the length of my body, but he had the decency not to show his opinion.

Seeing my despair, he went on. “The magic required to reassign the collar is arduous, and I would not be able to perform it for a little while… I think three days from now I could clear my schedule. You have some time to make a decision.” He paused, and then said, with a directness and lack of grace that I could only attribute to years dealing with humans, “I also do not work for free, though of course, for a fellow elf in need, in these suspicious lands, I would make some accommodations.” He named a sum that, whatever his “accommodations” was unspeakably outrageous.

A soft chime sounded and a few portraits swung open to reveal a teatray, which Odalon wheeled over to us. “The procedure I have outlined to you is not risky.” I didn’t point out the obvious risk he was ignoring. “I have actually performed it a few times before. The only time I tried to remove a Volu collar directly the results were unsatisfactory.” Unsatisfactory? “I think all that remains is for you to decide, unless you have any questions?” I shook my head, and looked impassively at Toandron. Odalon stood suddenly and walked into the middle of the room, looking at the huge tapestry. “Do you know what Rowan and Raeyenli had to deal with as one of the first crises of their rule?”

“No?” said Toandron, who mustn’t have paid attention in history lessons.

“A plague or - some say - a curse, which saw almost all elves unable to bear children. It is chronicled that almost all elves alive today descend from one of the thousands of what the King and Queen created from the unaffected women. The Phorálvi, the royal brood sows. I’ve read that there are some few of us today who eschew the noble beauty of our race and have inherited a taste for the thick-set bodies and pendulous breasts that their ancestors had to tolerate in order to produce the next generation.” I realised that Toandron was standing, shaking with rage. I was mortified at the… joke? Implication? Whatever it was I had no idea why Odalon had said it, but he changed the subject without even noticing. “Where are you staying?” He asked, brightly, turning as Toandron composed himself.

When we told him, he balked. “You can’t possibly remain there. Please, enjoy my hospitality until you are able to make a decision.” Without waiting for a reply, he declared, “I’ll have your things collected and transported here. Please, follow me to the guest wing.”

Chapter 7

The decision was, in the end, not difficult for me, so much as uncomfortable. It carried risks, but less risk than the only other available option, which was to continue to search and hope. Odalon seemed tainted by life among humans, but that was a small thing compared to freedom.

The difficult part was Toandron. I had the money, more than enough, in my account with Vamsindur, but that was far to the southwest and was uncomfortably friendly with the Volu. Hence he would have to pay on my behalf, indebting me yet further, and he didn’t want to accompany me to Murmelsgrad after my release, losing yet more time away from his workshop. He was too tactful to say it, but he also didn’t trust me to travel there alone and return to this provincial corner of the northern human kingdoms to pay someone I’d likely never see again. I suspected he’d also learnt of the exact manner in which the mysterious elf at the tavern had got herself into the situation of being put in a Volu slave collar in the first place, and couldn’t be sure I actually had the money or, if I did, wouldn’t gamble it away.

In the end I promised to continue to work for him until the debt was two thirds paid, then I would leave to return with the remainder. He had yet to calculate the exact length of time, but he estimated it would take two years. A short time in the life of an elf, I supposed.

We informed Odalon of the decision and spent the next three days languishing in the guest wing. I was clearly choosing the wrong clients; I had only once been in such rich quarters. Toandron came and went, conducting business and enjoying the city, while I remained confined. I didn’t see anyone else; food arrived to the sound of a chime with no evidence of servants, and Odalon never called on us until the appointed day and hour.

He brought us to a room in the centre of his estate which I recognised as being set up for the casting of magic. The lighting, wall hangings, acoustics, the balanced placement of furniture - it all fostered the perfect mindset for a magic user. He lit incense, invited Toandron to sit at the edge of the room, and bade me strip naked. My cheeks burned as I did so, and I felt their eyes on my lurid body, kneeling on a thin, purple cushion at Odalon’s instruction with my hands clasped loosely behind me.

He withdrew numerous objects from a velvet-lined case, walking slowly around me chanting softly while moving them in complicated patterns - a bronze rod inscribed with writing I couldn’t read, a smoky crystal mounted in a gold frame, a stone which began to glow the more he chanted, others. As he worked, a strong prickling sensation began to emanate from the collar, a magical field which grew in intensity.

With these preparations complete, the room fell silent and Odalon knelt facing me, eyes closed and fluttering in a casting trance. Immediately the sensation of magic filled the room, dense and claustrophobic - such power! The time stretched on, the magic ebbing and flowing, as Odalon completed each stage of his work.

Hours passed - or maybe minutes, it was hard to say - until eventually the magic mostly receded and Toandron was beckoned forward to place his hand on the collar. Now Odalon closed his eyes for just a few seconds before I felt a sudden, momentary pulse, like a headache present only for a fraction of a second, and I knew it was done.

Trembling, acutely aware of my vulnerability, I got to my feet. I didn’t dare meet his eye, just whispered, “thank you.” But the command to free myself, to unlock the collar, to undo these months of hiding, shame and misery, did not come. I raised my hands to it in anticipation, but felt only the smooth unbroken band which would only split and release me with Toandron’s voice.

When I did raise my gaze, I realised that something was wrong. The voice came not from Toandron and, when it did, it opened a pit in my soul that I felt would swallow me forever. Toandron was frozen in place, his eyes roving wildly.

The voice, when it came, was quiet and assured and suggested trained authority.

The voice, when it came, was casual yet carefully worded, betrayed much practice.

And the voice - Odalon’s voice - was telling me that I would be loyal to him, would not attempt to escape or harm him, would put his interests before my own, so long as my basic needs were met.

I sank back to my knees, a wail escaping my lips that became a howl until a “shh!” from him - from my master - silenced me. He walked back to a chest, retrieving what looked like a necklace - a charm on a silver chain - except the chain wasn’t looped. The charm’s workmanship was clearly Volu.

He held it suspended in front of Toandron’s face, which though frozen, seemed to take on a look of desperation. Odalon begin to speak to him. “When you saw Liandra’s desperation you were overcome with sympathy. You agreed to pay for her freedom.” As Odalon poured lies into Toandron’s ear, the charm seemed to vibrate with energy, light playing over his now fixed eyes. The terror I thought I saw in his face was gone - his jaw had slackened and mouth fallen open, only his eyes remaining alert. “You touched the collar to assume mastery of it, instructed her to remove the collar and saw it split. She ran to embrace you in gratitude and then you parted ways. That’s the last you saw of her.” Odalon palmed the charm, turned Toandron and walked him to the door, then returned.

He walked around me slowly, brushing my skin with his fingertips. I flinched from his touch. “Stand up,” he said, and I did, before I could think about doing so. He stroked up the side of my body, gentle as a breath, his fingers moving up over my swollen breast, the nipple stiffening in involuntary response. “Now, how shall we begin? I believe you wanted your magical ability back, yes?” I looked at him skeptically. He moved behind me and took both breasts in his hands as he whispered, “just think, a collared mage. I’ve never had one before - and I’ve had a few unfortunate collared individuals pass through here as I said. Yes, this will be particularly delicious I think.”

Coming in front of me again, smiling in a way that chilled me, he said, “you can work magic again, Liandra, but only at my instruction.” The despair I felt merely deepened, and felt an increasing detachment from what was happening. “And to begin with, I want you to turn yourself into one of those brood sows of old - my own phorálf. Dumbly I began to obey, sitting, putting myself into the necessary trance state and beginning to chant. As I did so he clarified his vision.”Wider hips. More sensitive and receptive. Able to climax many times. Soft. Docile.” He knew as well as I that I couldn’t literally achieve the last requirement, but I had to try and interpret what he wanted. I wondered if he’d ever done this to someone himself, if this was a recurring perversion of his, or if it only occurred to him after seeing me, after realising he could have me wreak such a corruption on myself.

Another hour passed in focus as I brought about his changes, the factors which had helped Odalon take over ownership of the collar and me now aiding my self-violation. I’m not sure my mind could have survived intact if it had been fully present, so wrong was what I was doing to myself. Instead of being directed at myself, my revulsion was abstract, as if watching it happen from afar. The strangest sensation of my body changing, forgotten in the months spent in hiding, flooded me. My thighs thickened and my typical elven musculature was smoothed by a thin but soft layer of fat. I felt my face subtly remap itself - not so that anyone would mistake me for another, but to give an impression of passivity - an almost imperceptible drooping of the eyelids and a relaxation and softening of the lines of my mouth. I awaited the… other effects of the magic.

My awareness returned - mostly - to the room. The ambiance, so effective for magic, lent itself well to the role of boudoir when paired with the cushions. Odalon was naked, a sculpted backlit form in the low light. My gaze was drawn unnaturally to his erection and I immediately felt some influence beyond what I had wrought on myself. It was with gradual realisation that arousal kindled and built inside me, and I understood that some enchantment on him was driving me inexorably to climax, growing from nothing to burning incandescence in mere moments, until the mounting waves of pleasure crashed over me and I came, gasping and shuddering and twitching with the force of it.

As I recovered, I realised Odalon was next to me and wondered if the same thing would start to happen again, but felt only a background arousal and the occasional aftershock. He drew me to my feet and turned me around, where a large heap of cushions had appeared from somewhere. “I do like to make a good first impression,” he said as he led me to them. “That was very quiet… Did I tell you to be?” he mused as he lay on the plush spread. I nodded in response and he said, “well maybe it’s good to keep you quiet… except that I like to hear your pleasure, so stay quiet apart from sexual sounds. Make those loud.” He leered. Instead of further directing me explicitly he took advantage of the collar’s control of my higher faculties, commanding me, “be the perfect slut, the only thing more important for you right now than your pleasure is mine.”

The collar took hold of me and swept me along, grasping his cock with one hand and mauling my tit with the other. It was the first such touch since I had been forced to make myself “more sensitive” and it was immediately noticeable, a powerful current running from my nipple straight to my pussy, and I immediately moaned out loud as it clenched, and I felt liquid squeeze out and coat my inner thighs. Odalon chuckled. “Just like that!” he encouraged, and I pushed him down into the cushions and mounted him with a hunger I almost felt, thankful, of all things, that this time I was fucking an elven dick. Even before I sank onto him I could feel its enchantment working again - that not-quite-natural build of arousal and pleasure that made me lose control straight away, ripping a scream from me as I pinched both nipples and squeezed around him, moaning like an animal.

But then I was fully impaled and fucking him fervently, lewd grunts and squeals escaping from me as I bumped my clit against his pelvis with each thrust, half driven by his directive to be vocal, half by the undeniable pleasure this body and his magic was feeding me. As the sorceror grew closer to his own climax, he flipped me over and started fucking me into the cushions, gripping my enlarged hips, my tits spilling out to each side of my body. I realised I could feel something unusual as his breath grew more ragged, tinged with groans - a kind of pressure, inside me yet outside of me, building and pulsing. And then he was coming, slamming into me and grunting as he unleashed, and I realised that the pressure had burst too and I was feeling his orgasm as a physical thing. It drove me to greater effort until moments later my pussy was clamping around him and I was screaming out my own climax.

I was unsurprised that he didn’t soften. Such an enhancement was barely even a taboo amongst elven mages, unnoticeable next to the other ways Odalon had enchanted his sexual abilities. He grabbed my hip again, slender fingers sinking into yielding flesh, and flipped me face up, plunging back into me eagerly. His eyes searched mine hungrily as he fucked me, slowly but powerfully. “I love watching the war,” he husked out, “the fight as it plays across your face. You wish it didn’t feel good, yet it just does, doesn’t it? It’s the best fucking you’ve ever had, isn’t it?” In response I just moaned, compelled to mash my huge tits with my hands. “With each passing moment,” he continued as another orgasm overtook me, turning me once more into a shaking, whimpering mess, “I can see that part of you losing a little, and the part that wants it, that craves each climax, that accepts your rebirth, gaining.” I came again, helplessly.

I felt the truth of it, too. With each successive orgasm, as the climaxes grew nearer together until they almost blended one into the next, I found my aversion to following his directions fading. Was it really so bad, to lose myself in the pleasure?

And lose myself I did. Not to the point of welcoming it, but, as we fucked in every position and arrangement, I found myself a passenger in my own body, dragged from climax to shuddering climax until, hours later, my body gave up and I passed out.