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Rules | Entry Summaries | First Round Rankings | Elimination Round!

THE STONE PRIEST'S WIFE
By Dan Head

I.Alaira's Date

"Well, how do I look?" Alaira asked. She held her hands away from her sides
and turned to show off her dress. It was the red silk number she'd bought
with the proceeds from their last job, and it hugged her waist nicely. The
slit up the side showed her legs to their best advantage.

"You look great," Belle replied. "You always do. Not that it's going to
matter."

"Gods, Belle, do you have to be such a downer?" Alaira asked. She turned on
her heel and started back towards the Trainer's Area. "Modor appreciates
me."

Belle hurried to catch up. "Modor appreciates everyone with a nice set of
legs," she replied.

"Oh come on!" Alaira said. "That's not fair. Modor's had it pretty rough.
But in his heart, he's just like everybody else. He wants to be loved."

"By everyone," Belle answered.

"No. By someone who loves him back," said Alaira. "I'm his friend. That
means something to him. He just hasn't realized how much yet."

"Maybe," Belle said. She sighed. "I mean, yeah okay, you're not just
another one of his fight groupies. I know that. And I know he cares about
you. But that won't change who he is."

"And that's why we have to hurry," Alaira said. She smiled and then pushed
her way through the double doors that marked the entrance to the Trainer's
Area. Save for the occasional fighter packing up his gear, the room was
deserted. In a way, it was sad. The promise and the anticipation of the
night's violence had gone out of the place, leaving only the wreckage of men
trying to pick themselves up in its aftermath.

Alaira was athletic more than buxom, and though she knew she would never be
classically beautiful, she also knew that what she'd told Belle had been
true. Modor did appreciate her. She just had to make him see how much. To
that end, she'd worn her hair combed over to one side and lightly curled,
just the way he liked it. Happily, the curl seemed to be holding despite
the locker room's humidity. Of course, there was little she could do about
the scar on her right cheek, but then again, Modor had scars, too. That was
one of the reasons she liked him so much.

She took a moment to straighten her dress and to make sure that she was as
presentable as she could be, and then she opened the door to Modor's private
training room. She frowned. Modor was already deep in conversation with
someone. Alaira's heart fell. She shook her head.

The hussy talking to Modor was barely more than a teenager. She was also
clearly rich. Her translucent silk robe made that abundantly obvious, as
did its cut. The robe made little effort to hide the girl's obviously
well-fed figure, and it was barely long enough to be fit for polite
conversation. To make matters worse, the girl was young enough that her
rich girl's diet hadn't yet gone to her hips. Alaira hated her for that.
She might have taken the girl for little more than a provocative innocent
were it not for the way that the girl's fingers trailed down Modor's bicep
and across his chest as she spoke. As it was, the girl's eyes were just a
little too large to be convincing.

Suddenly Alaira inhaled sharply. She recognized the girl! By the Gods,
Alaira thought, what is Modor thinking? Thankfully, Modor saw Alaira at
that moment and cut short his conversation short. He touched the girl's arm
and she turned. She smiled and waved. Despite herself, Alaira waved back.
A moment later, the hussy was gone.

"You're insane. You know that, right?" Alaira asked when she and Modor and
Belle were alone.

Modor sat down in his favorite wicker chair and leaned back. His smiled
said clearly that he knew he was always right. "Insane is such a strong
word," he mused. "I am... aroused."

Alaira pointed back towards the door. "Do you know who that was?" she
asked.

"Of course," he replied. "Don't you?"

Belle interrupted. "I thought that guy had you beat out there tonight," she
said.

"Oh come on," Modor answered, seemingly exasperated. He turned to face
Belle. "You know me better than that."

"You keep dropping your left, and eventually somebody's going to make you
pay," Belle said. "Even the great Modor Ulgoth can be beaten, you know."

"You just want to see me lose," Modor replied, "but it ain't gonna happen."

Despite herself, Alaira laughed. It was indeed hard to imagine Modor losing
a fight. He stood nearly seven feet tall and was clearly more than human.
Bent, cornered ears and a single protruding incisor spoke clearly of an
infernal heritage about which he himself rarely said anything. Yet for all
that, the man, if a person with a pure-blood demon in his ancestry could be
called a man, had a ready smile and the kind of chiseled musculature that
made women swoon. Plus, his prowess as a prize fighter and as a mercenary
captain gave him a notoriety that many found attractive. Alaira knew she
shouldn't have been surprised to find Modor already engaged in conversation
when she arrived, especially given that he'd triumphed in the ring earlier
that night, but knowing a thing and being emotionally prepared for it were
different propositions. Knowing that she should have been prepared didn't
make the actual discovery of a romantic rival any less disappointing.
Still, as Belle had pointed out, Alaira was Modor's friend, even when she
wasn't his lover.

"You must know that Cindar Belam isn't going to be happy when he learns
you've been ogling his newest trophy wife," Alaira said.

Modor settled into his chair and put both hands behind his head. "By the
time I'm through with her, my ogling will be the least of Belam's concerns,
trust me. I dare say that he'll be more than merely unhappy... if he ever
finds out."

Alaira shook her head. "When are you meeting her?" she asked.

"Tonight." He shrugged. "It's a new moon, and she seemed anxious."
Alaira grunted. Without thinking she said, "I should go with you."

Modor sat up abruptly. "Do you want to?" he asked. He smiled again. "I'd
thought to make it a tête-à-tête, but the lady is a bit of a vixen. I'm
sure she'd be up for something more."

Alaira blushed and looked away. "That's not what I meant," she said.

"Are you sure?" Modor asked. He got up from his chair and cupped Alaira's
face in his hands. She tried not to enjoy it. "I think she would like
you," he said, "And I would love to share her with you." He paused for a
moment and then added, "That's a lovely dress, by the way."

Alaira's blush deepened, and she pulled away. But even as she did so, she
knew that a part of her wanted to go with him. Modor would need help
getting into Belam's compound, and she could provide that help. And more to
the point, Alaira didn't want Modor to forget about her while he was off
playing with a newer, younger strumpet. Alaira could well imagine the size
of Modor's ego after he'd had his way with half of Belam's harem. Despite
his vow of celibacy, Cindar Belam, the High Priest of the Stone God in the
City of Brega, was reputed to possess one of the finest collections of
female flesh in the entire Empire. Cuckolding such a man would please Modor
to no end.

"Fine. I'll go," Alaira said at last.

"You will?" Modor asked.

Belle slapped her forehead. "I can't listen to this. If either of you need
me, I'll be with Xarian."

It was easier for Belle, Alaira knew. Though Belle had been with Modor for
years, she and Modor never been intimate. Modor had found Belle when she
was a teenager at a monastery of the Bull God at the base of the Alacian
Moutains. Alaira didn't know why Belle had chosen to leave the cloister and
follow a half-demon to the port city of Brega, but she knew that their
friendship was a central facet in each of their lives. Still, it was
difficult to imagine a more mismatched pair. Where Modor was beautiful,
Belle was bizarre. She was whip-thin, and she shaved her scalp bare except
at the base of her skull where she wore a ponytail of dirty red hair tied
closely in a knot. The effect was disconcerting, especially when coupled
with eyes that protruded nearly out of their sockets!

And yet, none of that made it easier for Alaira to meet Belle's disapproving
gaze.

Modor came to Alaira's rescue. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and
said, "Buck up, kiddo." He pointed at Belle. "This heathen doesn't
understand the value of a night of a thousand pleasures. That's not your
fault."

"Whatever you say, Boss," Belle replied. "At least Alaira can help keep you
from getting caught. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not find you
hanging from the gallows tomorrow morning." Belle looked at Alaira. "If
you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"Yeah," Alaira replied, "Thanks."

II.Journey To Cindar Belam's Harem

The city of Brega lay along the southern half of the Empire's western shore.
Located at the mouth of the Silver River, the city dominated the largest
harbor in that part of the country. It was thus both a major Imperial
trading port and an important cultural nexus. A dazzling spectrum of goods
and persons therefore flowed through Brega to destinations both in and out
of the Empire. And while it was true that there was occasional violence in
the streets, these skirmishes were more often related to business deals gone
wrong than to the eternal struggles inherent in an area where several
nations lived in close proximity. Though racial and cultural tensions
bubbled just below the surface of Brega's communal consciousness, the city
itself had been an important trading port since long before it had been
amalgamated into the Empire by Lahaeresh III. It was cosmopolitan in a way
that most of the rest of the Empire wasn't and couldn't be. That was what
Alaira liked best about the city. In Brega, one could find everything.
But there were limits. A polite half-demon wearing all black and carrying a
five-foot goblin-steel bastard sword that he affectionately called Fang was
one of those things that was odd enough to give even Brega's worldly
citizenry pause. On any normal day, Modor would have simply plowed his way
through the city's Market District with reckless abandon. He'd have drawn
some angry stares, but at the end of the day, he would have been just one
more impolite sell-sword in a city teeming with soldiers-for-hire. However,
the site of giant Modor Ulgoth dressed in all black and acting sheepish at
the slightest nudge made even the most disinterested observers take notice.
Alaira was therefore hardly surprised when a pair of City Guardsmen peeled
off from their post and began to follow Modor out of the Market District.
Of course, that meant they were also following Alaira since Alaira was
walking with Modor, but fortunately for everyone, Alaira was considerably
less noticeable than was Modor.

Alaira didn't want to leave Modor to his own devices, but she saw little
choice. Thus, a few minutes after she spotted their tail, she asked Modor
to wait for her before he went into Belam's compound and then dropped back
behind him. The guards predictably passed her by and continued on after
Modor. She considered killing the guards on the spot and hoping that the
night's darkness would hide the deed, but ultimately she decided that
incapacitating them would likely arouse less suspicion. So long as no one
noticed their absence, Alaira thought it likely that the pair would not even
report that they'd been mugged. She struck from behind a moment later, long
before either of the guards had realized they were in danger. She then
pulled their limp bodies off into an alley shadow where she splashed them
with a bottle of cheap whiskey that she kept for just such occasions.
Passersby would see a pair of drunken Guardsmen. That was hardly an
uncommon sight.

Half an hour later, Alaira stood before the gates of the Stone God's
compound trying hard not to be annoyed. Modor hadn't waited for her. In
fact, he hadn't even attempted to hide his entrance! Instead, he'd simply
shattered the gate's lock with his sword and then nearly brained the
attending gate guards when they came to investigate. She frowned. The
compound's walls rose perhaps nine feet on either side of a massive wrought
iron gate, but while that suggested several methods of entry to Alaira, the
fact that Modor hadn't waited for her made the point irrelevant. She was
glad that Modor hadn't killed anybody, but it was a minor miracle that the
alarm hadn't been raised. Modor hadn't even shut the gate behind him! She
had half a mind to leave him to his own devices right then and htere, but
the clumsiness of his entrance made her fear for his safety.

With a shake of her head, Alaira shut the gate and pulled its heavy chain
back in place. She then pulled a wire from her hair and wrapped it around a
link from either side of the chain, tying the links loosely in place
approximately the way the lock must have held them before Modor smashed it.
Alaira then pulled the lock back into place and secured it with the wire.
Her quickie repair job would never stand a close inspection, but it might
pass muster until dawn. With that done, she dragged the two unconscious
guards around the corner from the main gate and splashed them liberally with
the same cheap whiskey she'd used on the city guards. If the Gods willed
it, that would be enough to make them hold their tongues about the whole
incident.

Alaira vaulted the walls a moment later and considered the rest of the
compound. A row of hedges flanked a reflecting pool directly in front of
her. Beyond the pool stood a marble-domed cathedral with the manse and a
low building that was presumably the servants' quarters, also carved from
solid marble. Alaira didn't know which building housed the harem or even
where Modor had arranged his liaison, but she didn't think it would matter.
She knew she'd be able to find Modor if she simply looked.

A few minutes later she was perched on the roof of the manse watching as
Modor "sneaked" towards a small but lavishly decorated building adjacent to
the servant's quarters. That must be the harem, she thought. She smiled as
she watched Modor try to climb onto the building's second story balcony.
She couldn't hear him cursing, but she saw him stomp in frustration after
his second attempt to climb up the building's drainpipes. Alaira laughed.
Then a soft ripple of laughter joined hers, peeling out into the night from
an open balcony door, and Alaira was no longer amused. A rope-ladder made
from tied bed sheets snaked down towards where Modor stood in growing
frustration. Then the girl in the silk robe appeared on the balcony. Her
name was Karissa, Alaira remembered.

Alaira sighed again and started to get up to go join them, but she stopped
when she saw Modor take Karissa into his arms. Alaira stood for a moment
grinding her teeth as she watched them kiss. This wasn't what she wanted.
She didn't want to end up alone, but try as she might, she couldn't
reconcile herself to the idea of watching Modor make love to another woman,
either.

It wasn't fair! She'd looked damn good in that red dress, and if Modor
couldn't see it, then he was a fool.

Suddenly, Alaira needed a drink.

* *

Belle was surprised when Alaira walked into the Gilded Goat later that
night. She could tell that her friend was upset, but Alaira waved her off
before she'd even gotten close enough to ask what had happened. Instead
Alaira walked over to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. This was
tossed back without so much as a shiver. Alaira then climbed atop one the
inn's central tables. Belle watched helplessly. Every eye in the house was
upon her.

"There ain't a real man in this entire place," Alaira declared. She spat.
"Who's gonna prove me wrong?" Several rough looking men started to get up.

Alaira pointed to one with her empty shot glass. "You think you can drink
me under the table, big man?" she asked.

Belle sighed. Then she headed to the bar for another round. If Alaira was
bent on self-destruction, the least Belle could do was to help the process
along.