Winebearer

They had left the cart a short distance from Moonspore's rickety pallisade wall. It sat just off the main horse-track, shadowed beneath one of the huge, pale fungi from which the village took its name. Smaller mushrooms clung to the ailing defenses and buildings beyond with equal vigour, sinking their tendrils deep into the crumbling stone and wood and turning the air damp and clammy with spores. Only a handful of figures stirred beyond the gate. Tired fungus-cutters slouched down the street towards the inn, unnoticed by the decrepit guardsman dozing atop the wall.

Winoa swallowed, shouldered a knapsack containing her few belongings, and set off down the track. Its three occupants paid her no notice at first. And why should they? From a distance she was just one more hunched figure, swaddled in a rough, hand-woven peasant's tunic, her pale, pretty features and bob of blonde hair lost in the shadows. They spoke quietly amongst themselves, their scaly features illuminated by the flickering glow of a smoke-twist. Kobolds, Winoa thought.

The cart came by every month or so. Moonspore lay within the territory of a powerful witch, who sent it with a handful of her minions to ensure taxes were collected and any messages she had for her people were delivered. Its flat rear was piled high with bundles of straw, food parcels, stone and other raw materials, topped off with the neatly-wrapped packages of mushroom flesh which comprised Moonspore's tithe. Two strong oxen were harnessed to the front, grunting in their harnesses beneath the driver's perch. They pawed at the ground, eager to be away.

Winoa couldn't blame them.

There were two others besides the driver. One stood at the rear of the cart, fiddling with an ill-fitting iron helmet as the last parcel was loaded aboard. As soon as it was in place he pulled a knife from his belt and cut it open, then shaved off a long slice of mushroom and snapped his reptilian jaws closed around it with obvious relish.

"Perks of the job, eh?" he said to his companion with a chuckle. "First pick of anything the townies have for us. That's the rule, right?"

Even from a distance, Winoa heard the third Kobold's disapproving growl. Sat atop the cargo, he aimed a stout kick at the thief's head, knocking his helmet off and sending the other Kobold tumbling to the ground.

"Perks is what the Queen gives you, Likiwit," he rasped. He was older than the others, his ash-grey hide gnarled and scarred from combat, with piercing yellow eyes and fangs that would have put a rocktiger to shame. "So show some respect. Don't go stealing."

"It wasn't stealing, Greyscale, honest! It was, uh, testing! For poison!" Likiwit protested, his thin, reedy voice carrying clearly down the road. "You knows what mushrooms is like, boss, half of them are - 'old up, who's that?"

Winoa froze as the three Kobolds turned to lock eyes on her. They were lanky creatures, like little crocodiles dressed up in faded black uniforms and battered tin-pot armour, with large wary eyes and a perpetual aura of restlessness. Tribes of them had existed in the badlands for centuries, where they had eked out a pitiful existence at the edge of civilisation, squabbling with each other and the human settlements there for enough scraps to survive.

Then the witch had come. She had recruited hundreds of the creatures as servants and soldiers, alongside nearly anyone - or anything, if the stories were true - willing to pledge themselves to her banner. Winoa eyed the three warily, swallowing down the tight knot of anxiety in her chest, and approached the one who had been named Greyscale. He watched her carefully from atop the cart, his nostrils flaring, content to hold his silence and let her make the first move.

"What'chu after, girl?" Likiwik interposed, flicking his tail back and forth and awkwardly pointing a cut-down pike at her chest. "We's was just about to head back to the castle. You's could be, uh, interruptin' royal business by coming up to bother us. That's a crime, you knows."

She glanced at Greyscale. The older Kobold's expression hadn't changed. He reminded her of a trio of mercenary adventurers who had passed through Moonspore years back; veteran soldiers, too grizzled by conflict to be truly afraid of anything, but too paranoid to discount it until he was sure there was no threat. Winoa carefully set her knapsack down and raised her hands to show they were empty.

"I want a job."

Likiwik looked nonplussed. The driver snorted and went back to his smoke-twist. Greyscale, however, raised one of his scaly brows thoughtfully.

"You want a job, eh?" His voice was low, like gravel crunching underfoot. He hopped down from his seat and took a step forwards, taking her in with an appraising gaze. "What kind of a job?"

"Anything you'll give me," Winoa replied. Greyscale clicked his tongue, drumming his claws on the side of the cart. He was taller than the other two, almost five feet in height, possessed of a wiry strength and an intensity in his eyes that made her shiver. Most Kobolds were cowardly creatures, thieves and salvagers who avoided violence whenever possible. Greyscale looked as though he thrived on it. "It can't be worse than working the fields here," she added.

"You might regret saying that. Queen Tenebra expects a lot from her servants. A lot of them can't handle it." Greyscale leaned closer, his lips pulling back in a snaggle-toothed grin. "Won't lie; she's a good mistress, pays well, quick and free with her favours when the mood takes her. But she's got her eccentricities. You're not afraid of the stories that they tell?"

Winoa blinked and pushed a lock of blonde hair away from her face. "People call her a witch, and I've heard that she bathes in the blood of virgins and eats children so she can steal their youth. But that can't be true because you're Kobolds, and old McAllister always told me that Kobolds can smell danger on the wind and are smart enough to start running before it arrives. And you work for her," she added pointedly. "So she can't be that bad."

Greyscale held her eyes for a few long heartbeats. Winoa held her breath, forcing herself not to be cowed by the Kobold's penetrating gaze. She could almost see his mind at work, chewing over angles, possibilities, dangers and rewards.

"You've got no trouble working with other races?" He said at last, picking something out from between his fangs as if to illustrate the point. "We don't get many humans up at the castle. Lot of our folk, mostly. Goblins too, and stranger things besides. You ever seen a demon before?"

Winoa shook her head.

"You will. Big on religion?"

She scoffed and glanced contemptuously back torwards Moonspore. The village's rotting church hall loomed in the distance, half-consumed by the towering fungus which had erupted from its bell tower. "Not so much."

Finally Greyscale let out a snort of laughter and nodded.

"Alright then," he said, snatching up her knapsack and tossing it onto the cart. "Can't promise nothing, but I reckon the Queen'll give you an audience at the very least. We'll take you back and see what she says. If the answer's no, you can sleep in the dungeons until someone's available to bring you home. How's that sound?"

"Like it's the best deal I'm going to get." Winoa clambered up after her belongings at sat them on her knee. "You won't regret this, I promise."

The Kobold chuckled as he followed. "I won't, but you might. Zhrek! Get us moving!"

There was the snap of a whip and the cart lurched into motion, rattling and squeaking as it turned away from Moonspore and began the long journey up through the mountains. Winoa watched in silence as Moonspore slowly retreated into the horizon, finally becoming lost from view as they entered a dense forest of bleak, scrubby trees. She stared at the point where it had been for a few more seconds before turning her back to the little hamlet with a contended sigh. Likiwit and the driver - who's name she learned was Tizok - sat up front, while Greyscale slouched at the head of the cart, his back resting against their perch and his clawed feet propped up on the cargo.

"So, what put this idea in your head?" He asked. Though his heavy-lidded gaze still followed her wherever she went, Greyscale's expression had softened. He chewed the end of an unlit smoke-twist as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Like I said, it's not often we get humans asking to serve the dread lady in person. Most of 'em come begging for some favour or another. You running away from something?"

Winoa glanced down at her hands. "I don't see how that's your business," she said. "I'm looking for work, that's all."

Likiwik took a sharp breath and glanced fearfully back over his shoulder. Greyscale tipped his head to one side, an unwholsome grin on his face.

"It's my business because I'm Queen Tenebra's - well, the titles change so much. But you can think of me as her viceroy. Her military advisor. War-leader, flag-bearer." His grin broadened. "End of the day it's my job to keep her friends alive and her enemies dead, and that means if she takes you on, your troubles becomes our troubles. So out with it. Or you can get off here and find your own way home."

Winoa sighed. She had hoped to avoid this. Already she could feel warmth spreading across her face. "It was - there was a scandal. Moonspore is very traditional, and - there isn't much there except the mushrooms. I wanted to earn some money, more than I was getting waiting tables at the inn. Maybe enough to move into one of the cities. So I - well, I - "

"Joined the ranks of barmaids up and down the land who serve customers at the table and in the alley?" Greyscale interrupted. Winoa pursed her lips, feeling the blush of embarrassment spreading from her cheeks to her ears. The Kobold opened his mouth to reply but was swiftly cut off.

"It's so stupid! What else was I going to do?" She snapped. The old argument lept to her lips, as fresh and furious as when she had angrily presented it to her enraged father. "Marry some toothless mushroom-picker, pump out a brace of kids and then go fat and old and senile? Bat my eyelashes at the mayor's son and spend the rest of my life staring at soggy mushrooms all day as some kept woman? I'm not going to be - to be lambasted for wanting more than that out of life!"

"Besides," she added, her voice fading as the surge of anger dimmed. "Once news got around, nobody would give me a second look. Not even the men I'd - entertained. Hypocrites," she snorted. "My Da was on the verge of shipping me off to a convent. I don't know if this Tenebra is a queen or a witch or worse, but she's got to be better than that."

When she next looked up, she found Greyscale nodding thoughtfully. "Well you've got the fire, that's for sure. And an open mind." He clicked his tongue. "That'll count in your favour. Tenebra ain't got much time for prudes, not unless she thinks they're funny or too useful to replace."

He let out a raspy sigh and settled back. "Don't much sound like that'll be a problem though. You might as well get comfortable, girl. We've got a way to go yet."

---

The castle was enormous. It jutted out from the rocky crags which surrounded it like a broken tombstone, slab-sided and terrifying in its immensity. The wind carried strange, undulating shrieks and cries down from the mountains as lightning flashed across a sky heavy with bruised clouds and circling avian predators. The three Kobolds hissed and sighed in relief as the looming fortress came into view, obviously happy to be home. Winoa had to fight not to shrink deeper into her tunic. At least it isn't the convent, she told herself.

Small cairns lined the winding path up the mountain, each topped with painted rocks, hand-made jewelry and other nicknacks. Likiwit explained they were offerings left by the tribespeople who lived in its shadow and worshiped Tenebra as a goddess in the hopes of drawing her attention. Patrols of Kobolds, Goblins and other creatures Winoa had no name for saluted Greyscale as they passed.

As they drew closer, though, she could see the fortress was not as barren as she had first thought. Angular markings covered its outer walls, too regular and too deeply carved into the rock to be some quirk of geology. Shadowed figures moved behind windows set with brightly-tinted stained glass, while torches burned along its upper ramparts and illuminated the huge oak and steel gate which awaited them.

"Alright. Here's our stop," Greyscale rasped as the cart trundled inside. What little light there was in the badlands had long faded from the sky, and the courtyard beyond was largely lost to shadow. Teams of underlings descended on the cart like locusts as they were hurried inside, stripping the cargo and hurrying it away to places unseen. "Queen Tenebra's holding court, so we'll take you straight to her. Won't take her long to decide, it never does."

Tenebra's castle might have been barren from the outside, but within its cold grey walls was very different. Lavish drapes and carpets lined the corridors, worn in places but still stubbornly displaying their faded grandeur for all to see. Mismatched chandeliers and candelabras filled the halls with light, while a myriad of voices raised in laughter and argument echoed from the rooms they passed by. Winoa tried to count the number of languages she overheard, but swiftly gave up. Her head was spinning; it was too much to take in, too quickly.

The corridors became wider and grander as they progressed towards the main hall, and Winoa soon realised she was sweating in her tunic. She had always imagined a castle would be cold, but there was a warmth in the air that seemed far too comfortable to come from the candles alone. When she asked about the source, Greyscale just smirked.

"It's an enchantment. Keeps things nice and comfortable. When you see what some of the serving girls here wear, you'll understand."

Winoa just nodded, still trying to find her bearings. Less than two days ago, her world had ended at Moonspore's outer walls. The idea she might aspire to anything better than a life amidst its dank, fungus-infested streets had been a glimmer of a dream. But now? Her heart raced, and with every step they took towards the main hall, the urge to grin became harder to resist. Now she was surrounded by the kind of luxury she could scarcely have imagined in her youth.

The thought was driven out of her head as they turned a final corner and came face to face with...something. It was huge and blue-black, with the rough shape of a man, albeit once twice the usual height and many times as broad. He stood before an ornate redwood door carved with an ethereal woman's face, two arms holding a greatsword that could have hacked a warhorse in two at rest while a second pair of limbs clasped meditatively over its chest. It turned its blunt, antlered head towards them, two dark little eyes twinking with intelligence above a shifting mess of finger-sized mandibles, and raised one of its secondary arms in greeting.

"Ben," Greyscale nodded respectfully. "All quiet in our absence?"

"Quiet it has been," the creature replied. "Dare I say, unusually so? It is unlike our mistress to linger in stillness for so long. But, ah, who is this? A newcomer to our estate?"

It - he - stooped down on one knee. Winoa's gut clenched in fear, but she forced herself to meet the creature's eyes. They were almost human, she realised with a sudden jolt. "I'm - Winoa Gerhart," she said. "I'm here looking for a job."

"Then you come here under more auspicious circumstances than most. You may know me as Syr Benedict Cervus, Queen Tenebra's first knight, captain of her guard and sworn protector." Benedict extended one of his secondary hands in greeting. It was still large enough to engulf the hand Winoa tentatively offered, which he brushed gently against his rough brow in the way a man might kiss a lady's hand. "Will you be taking our guest in, Greyscale?"

"Nah. I'm gonna go ahead, make sure Tenebra's ready to receive guests first." The Kobold shot Winoa a sideways grin. "No point throwing the girl in at the deep end if she's already entertaining."

"As you will," Benedict said. Greyscale nodded and slipped past, opening the door a crack and vanishing through. Ben rose with a clatter of chitinous plates and returned to his position, his antennae twitching towards the portal behind. Winoa watched him carefully, but it was impossible to tell what the giant beetle-man might be thinking. Beyond his eyes and bipedal stance, there was nothing remotely human about him. She shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of her rough tunic.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Benedict chuckled. "Be at ease. You will see many strange things here if the Queen takes you onto her staff, but fear not. She has a way with people, and even the most lost and tormented of souls can find a home within these walls. A girl as pretty as yourself will have no trouble." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It might be welcome, perhaps, to have another human upon the grounds. As a touchstone for those of us who are less than we were."

"At ease. Okay. Ease." Winoa took a deep breath, fighting down her nerves. "How should I address her?" She asked suddenly. "Greyscale mentioned there were titles, and that the changed all the time, but he didn't say what they were."

"Ah, a thorny subject. The Queen is a creature of..." Benedict paused, his mandibles shifting silently for a moment. "Whimsy. She freely alters our titles to suit her moods. The duties are rarely altered, only the term she attaches to them. Some two months ago I was the High Carnifex. Now, if I recall correctly, my title is Lord-Protector."

He looked down, his eyes twinkling with something Winoa thought was amusement. "In truth it matters little so long as you speak to us with respect. And if you have any doubts about how to speak to our Queen, no matter what mask she wears, never have I heard her take offense to 'mistress' or 'my lady'."

Winoa nodded her thanks. She was about to open her mouth again when a strong, lilting female voice rang out from the door beyond.

"Benedict? Dear heart, do send our new guest in. I'm rather eager to see what Greyscale has for me."

"Aha. Well, it doesn't pay to keep one's lady waiting." The Lord-Protector stood aside with a chitinous rattle and opened the door. "Best of luck, little one. I shall keep what fingers I have crossed for you."

Winoa nodded and crept past, wincing as the door slammed shut once more. The main hall opened up like the mouth of a cave, vast and dark. A long red carpet stretched out into the gloom beyond the entryway, crawling up the steps which led to a raised dias set against the far wall. At its peak sat a graven throne, atop which Winoa could make out the slender form of a tall, regal woman, her features lost to the pervasive shadows which haunted the echoing chamber.

"Come forwards. Let me see you."

The voice came out of nowhere and seemed to linger in the air for far longer than it should have done. Winoa quailed, her blood turning to ice. Once past the fortress' bleak exterior, it had seemed almost welcoming; full of light and colour and beauty. But this dark place left her shivering despite the lingering warmth and wondering what manner of being she had come to pledge herself to.

She took a hesitant step forwards. A low, womanly chuckle echoed out of the darkness, rich and full of amusement. Behind the throne Winoa could make out two other figures; the first must surely have been Greyscale, though the other looked human.

"That's it. A little further. I won't bite."

Slowly Winoa made her way down the carpet. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she saw the walls were lined with towering statues. Each depicted the same woman locked in what at first seemed to be mortal combat with a variety of strange and terrible beasts. Some Winoa recognised from stories she had heard as a child; orcs, saurians, minotaurs. Others were beyond classification, appearing as little more than heaving mounds of teeth and tentacles.

It was only as she reached the foot of the dias that Winoa realised the figures were not fighting, but embracing. Their cold stone faces were locked in grimaces of ecstacy rather than fury, their limbs grasping rather than grappling. But in each the female figure reigned supreme, leaving her marble and granite partners humbled and submissive before her.

The moment Winoa placed her foot upon the first step, the world exploded. Braziers built atop the dais and by the feet of each statue roared into life, gouting forth great plumes of sorcerous green fire that filled the chamber with sound and light. Winoa screamed and jumped back, protecting her face with her hands and scrambling for the entrance.

When an attack failed to manifest, she slowed; when she heard the woman's riotous laughter at her back, she halted. Winoa glanced over her shoulder to see the figure atop the throne sprawled backwards and howling with amusement. "Did - did you see that, Francis? She almost leapt right out of her skin! Oh I knew she would fall for it, the first time always gets them!"

The flames swiftly died down and lost their unholy tint, now crackling merrily in their iron cages. Queen Tenebra - for it could be nobody else, Winoa assumed - regained a portion of her composure and sat back straight again, though it was clear she was fighting to keep a smile from breaking out across her sculpted face. She wore a long, black gown, slitted so deeply at the thighs and chest it was reduced to little more than a silky black V-shape which covered her breasts and trailed down enticingly between her legs. Greyscale stood next to her smirking, while the second figure - an unusually lightly-built orc - shot Winoa an apologetic look and rolled his eyes.

"She very nearly hit the ceiling, dreadful one," the orc said. "But I dare say you permitted her to enter for more than just a practical joke?"

Tenebra sighed. "Of course, of course. Winoa, I believe? Greyscale informs me you're looking for work."

"Yes ma - my lady," Winoa said. She turned and approached the throne once more, offering the dark queen at its peak a curtsy in greeting. "I'm a hard worker, I'm honest and not squeamish at all. I don't mind what work you give me so long as it pays a decent wage and doesn't have anything to do with bloody mushrooms."

Tenebra rubbed her narrow chin thoughtfully. "Indeed? Come up here. Greyscale tells me you worked at the inn?"

Winoa glanced sideways at the Kobold, wondering just how much he had told her. His return look was perfectly expressionless, leaving Winoa to push ahead blindly.

"That's correct, my lady," she said, nervously climbing the steps as Tenebra beckoned her closer.

"So you know how to mix drinks? Serve customers to their, hmm, satisfaction?" The other woman's eye twinkled. "And you're literate, yes? You can read and write?"

"Yes, my lady. To all of those."

"Hmmm." Tenebra reached out as Winoa came before the throne, catching the girl's chin between her thumb and forefinger. She turned her head this way and that, examining Winoa's face from every angle. "You're a pretty thing, that's for certain, and possessed of a suitably adventurous nature. The clothes will have to go, of course, one should never display lillies in a broken pot. But yes, I think we can find a use for you."

Winoa's heart leapt. "Really? Thank you, my lady, I promise you I'll - "

"Ah, ah, ah." Tenebra held up a long finger and pressed it to Winoa's lips. "Not just yet."

Seizing a handful of Winoa's clothes, Tenebra pulled the girl closer. "Tell me something," she whispered. "Tell me what it was like, with those men outside the inn. What did you feel? Did you enjoy it?"

Winoa swallowed. Only inches away, Tenebra smelled of brimstone and lavender. Her icy features were alight with a sudden and terrible passion, her eyes burning with hunger. Her mind raced, struggling for an answer, becoming tangled in all the lies she had told her father in the hopes of mitigating his outrage. A small gasp slipped from her mouth as the dark queen tightened her grip and drew her in closer, until Tenebra's black-painted lips almost brushed her own.

"Be honest. With me, with yourself," Tenebra said. "In this place of all places, you don't have to hide from such feelings."

"I - I liked it. I loved it," Winoa gasped. "The way they looked at me, the way they were so desperate to have me over their wives and girlfriends that they would throw down money to do so. The feeling of them inside me. Their taste in my mouth. Even though I knew people would be angry if they found out." She blinked, surprised at the words coming out of her mouth. "Maybe even because they would have been angry. It felt good to - to spit on their obsession with purity. I think I would have done it even if I didn't need the money. It felt good. What other reason do you need?"

Silence reigned. Winoa felt like something had been lifted from her shoulders. She watched Tenebra carefully, waiting for a reply, content to enjoy the strange new feeling of contentment which had settled upon her.

"What reason indeed?" Tenebra smiled and released Winoa, then guestured to the orc. "There will be a place for you here, I think. Francis, see that our guest is quartered and instructed in her new duties. Find her some new clothes while you're at it, would you? We'll start her in something sheer and white."

She reclined in her throne, steepling her fingers and scrutinising Winoa over their delicate peak.

"You shall be my winebearer."