Ahh, finally something new, especially for my TF fans but for anyone who wants to read it of course :)

A somewhat long-ish tale of a young man who gets a lot more than he bargained for when he goes out looking for a stray horse and winds up getting mixed up with creatures with a strange agenda and an even stranger herd of racing beasts!

It's a bit on the long side, I know. And I know, the title sucks. Comments and critique are welcome as always!

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Night had settled on the moor rather quickly, and the mist had settled down onto it not long thereafter. For a brief hour or so after nightfall, the waning crescent moon had lent its light to the night, but the fog had swallowed it as it drooped near the rolling hills in the distance and had given the mist an eerie, unnatural glow to it. Even after the spooky glow had abated, Richard still felt nervous and exposed; he didn't really believe in all the superstitious stories about spirits or demons or worse, but even a rational young man like himself responded to the innate fear that this sort of landscape evoked in men.

So when he saw the faint light in the distance, bobbing in his direction, he could not help but to feel a knot of fear welling up in his stomach. He had hidden his own light as soon as he became aware of it, draping a heavy wool cloth to blot it out, but he had already been made out. Crouching, he reached down to a crude dagger on his hip, closing his hand around the bone handle; somehow, it failed to feel reassuring at this moment. Words like puca and fairy-fire ran through his suddenly excitable head, and he wondered if his blade would be any use against the threat that approached.

Still Richard held back. At the last second a shape resolved itself in the eerie mist-light: human, female, familiar. He cursed quietly under his breath as he felt the tension fleeing from his muscles. "Edythe. What are you doing here?"

He pulled the wool away from his light, sputtering in the darkness before it flared back up to a bright flame and illuminated the young woman approaching, ghostly pale in the mist. "Richard! I could be asking you the same question. Do you know how late it is?"

Richard closed his eyes and turned his head away from the approaching woman, breathing an anxious little sigh. His body was still a bit worked up from the brief fear that he had felt, and it was making itself known with a shudder along his back. He wasn't about to let her see that, of course. "I know how late it is, Edythe. The last thing I need is to have you come out here looking for me."

"Richard." She stopped just at his side, resting a delicate hand on his shoulder before she pulled her own cloak tightly around her form with a shiver. The mist was beginning to make the night feel as cold as it was heavy. "You were expected back here an hour ago. I was worried."

"You shouldn't be out here," he answered, perhaps a little more sharply than he meant to.

She shook her head at that. "No, and neither should you. The moor is a dangerous place, Richard, and moreso at night."

"I'm aware of the dangers," he said, allowing his tone to soften some. "I know what I am doing out here. I know where the bogs are, I know where I should and shouldn't be. I don't know that you can say the same, Edythe. You could have been hurt ..."

Again she touched his shoulder, peering at him over the lantern that she held. "Be that as it may, Richard, there are worse dangers than the bogs in the moors at night ..."

"You're not telling me that you believe in all those old fairy tales?" Richard felt a prick of guilt at the pit of his stomach - not ten minutes ago, he had been letting himself think of those very same old fairy tales, had let his imagination begin conjuring up mischievous elves or goblins or worse. "You should know better than that, Edythe. You aren't a child anymore. Besides. Returning to my father without his horse would be far more dangerous than anything hiding in the moor."

Though he was dead serious, the young woman responded with a light, airy chuckle. "Oh, Richard, you are too afraid of your father. He would prefer to lose a horse to the bogs than to lose his son."

He grunted inwardly at that. "You don't know my father."

"Still." There was a long moment of silence, as she looked back over her shoulder in the direction of the village, hidden away behind a hillock, any hint of its light having been absorbed by the mist. "So you are still looking for the lost horse. There's no way you will be able to find that horse, not in this dark, not in this mist."

"You might be right. I'm still not going back empty handed," he said, squaring his shoulders some and looking back to her with a little frown. "It's slow going, but I can still track, even in this dark. If I have to stay out here all night, then I'm going to stay out here all night."

She answered with a soft sigh. "I can't convince you to come back, can I."

Her question was more a statement, and it was correct. He let another quiet moment pass before he broke the silence again, turning away and no longer looking at her. "You can't."

"I won't try then. Just promise me you'll come back safely, Richard."

There was the sound of a shuffle behind him, but Richard held his ground for a moment. When he finally turned to address her again, he was slightly surprised to see that she had already been swallowed up by the mist, the evanescent light of her lantern dimming as it plunged into the distance. He almost called out after her; he almost felt compelled to follow, to make sure she made it back to the village safely, but he knew that she would be fine. There were no real dangers between here and the village, and already she was moving in the right direction. Clearly, she knew where she was going.

Somewhat angrily, he kicked at the ground and breathed a sigh. Evil sprites or otherwise, he really did wish he was back at the village. If not for Edythe's sake, at least for his own. She meant well, he knew. She would make a good wife, his mother had told him, and it was all but a foregone conclusion that she would one day, indeed, be his wife. Even if it was not really what he was looking for.

"Damned horse," he breathed out into the mist with another curse.

Amazingly, as if the beast had been merely sitting in the darkness and waiting for him, the horse called out in an anxious whinny just beyond the reach of his lantern. The wet pop of hooves against the ground could be heard receding into the distance, and Richard was suddenly on his feet and following as quickly as he could. "Maximus! Maximus, it's me boy!"

The horse did not respond, and, if anything, seemed to gallop more quickly into the distance. Scraggly brush clutched at his legs as he tried to keep up, but the sound grew quieter as it faded away into the mist. Again he called out to no avail. The horse would not listen.

Then his energy gave out. The earth beneath his feet was growing wetter and wetter, more marshy as the horse's galloping took him farther from the village and closer toward the bogs, closer to danger. Richard spit out another angry curse, doubling over and sucking in a deep breath when he saw lantern-light bobbing its way out of the gloom once again. Scowling, he shook his head and called out. "Edythe, look, I told you that I wasn't coming back until ..."

Suddenly the rogue stallion let out an outlandish, terrifying scream that was cut short in the same instant that the bobbing light in front of him flared in bright blue and went dark. Richard felt his heart leap up into his chest, reaching for his dagger and dropping his lantern in one motion. The flame sputtered briefly as it landed in a small puddle, flickering out and leaving him in an oppressive, suffocating darkness.

"Maximus?" He whispered tentatively into the darkness, half hoping to hear the horse galloping back in his direction; he was answered with nothing but silence. Not another sound could be heard, not the croak of a single frog, not the chirp of a single insect. The silence was unnatural.

Another flash of blue lit the night to his side, and Richard wheeled around with a little gasp. He held his dagger out in front of him, shaking violently as the light weaved and bobbed in his direction, nearing in absolute silence. His heart felt like it had leapt up out of his chest and into his throat, pounding noisily in his ears and threatening to cut off his breath. In a panic, his mind tried to figure out what could be happening. Once again, thoughts of fairy-fire and worse ran through his head.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the light vanished in a flare of blue, silent and cold. Richard was shivering, though, and he realized that he was sweating profusely in spite of the cold. With his own lantern extinguished, the acrid scent of its smoke still teasing his nostrils, he was entirely blinded; not so much as a single star managed to penetrate the gloomy fog that had closed in around him. A wet splash sounded in front of him, and he realized that it was his dagger - he was shaking so badly that it had simply fallen from his grip.

Then there was a third flash of light, this time just behind him, brilliant enough to cast his own shadow on the mist in front of him, ever expanding and gigantic in front of him. With a gasp, he turned around and tried to get a look at what was going on, but the light was so close, so bright, that he had to shield his eyes from it. He was only able to vaguely make out a pair of shapes moving in front of him, two men perhaps.

It was only after his eyes were able to adjust to the light that he was able to tell that they were not men, at all. He still could not make out anything except for the most basic of details, but when they were silhouetted against the flaring light, he was able to make out at least one detail that made his blood run cold. The "men" standing before him were horned.

"Demons," he said with a startled gasp, stepping backward and reflexively making the sign of the cross. "Demons," he repeated, his eyes growing wide with fear and panic. Surprising himself with a sudden, terrified scream, Richard turned away from the blaze of light and ran.

He would not make it far. Brilliant blue light filled his vision, left him blind and incapable of seeing anything in front of him. Some unseen object tripped him up and he went falling forward, flailing, tumbling into the ground before him. He was expecting more wet, sodden soil but instead found himself rolling upon dry, springy grass. Splaying out on his back, he opened his eyes and was confused to find himself gazing up into a bright, sunlight sky.

And then there were the demons. They did look roughly like men in shape, but were covered in blue hair from their head to their toes. They had strange, pointed faces and big yellow eyes, and atop their heads each of them bore a single horn. Each of them were clad in strange clothing, shiny fabric that seemed to cling closely to their hairy bodies. They stood only slightly taller than him, yet somehow managed to look monstrous, frightening, wicked.

The nearer of the two creatures held a strange metallic looking cord in one hand, leading back to another strange metal collar that was latched around the neck of a horse - his father's horse, Maximus. The big stallion was in a panic, rearing back and bucking, foaming at the mouth and eyes rolling into the back of his head.

It would have been enough to send him into a panic as well, the sight of the big beast frightened out of his wits like that, but the sight of the second demon had caught his attention - or rather, of the demon's steed. Though it was not quite the size of the stallion Maximus, what it lacked in pure stature it made up with its frightful appearance. It was some kind of great, green lizard or salamander of some kind, terrifying serpentine body held low to the ground on four powerful legs, long powerful tail lashing out behind it, rows of wicked sharp teeth visible even from where he stood. As if the creature sensed his fear, it gazed at him directly with its terrible slitted eyes. Clawing at the ground in front of it, it tore up huge chunks of sod and earth, and then it reared up in front of him, screaming out a ferocious "Rrraaaaawk!" right over his head.

"Demons!" Richard wailed the single word out as the world spun around him and he blacked out.

#

When Richard opened his eyes again, he was surprised to find Edythe sitting nearby, staring at him from where she sat upon a grassy slope. It was daytime, the sun shining brightly overhead, illuminating her auburn-brown hair in a way that made it seem to light on fire, almost dazzling to his eyes. Clear blue eyes watched him without blinking, eyes whose gaze he had long become accustomed to, accustomed enough that he knew something was very wrong. Her gaze was more than simply dispassionate; it was practically soulless. "Edythe?" He sat up from where he was sprawled on the grass, his voice croaking softly.

"Edythe? Yes, Edythe is what you call me," she said, somewhat flatly, canting her head in an unnatural fashion as she continued to gaze at him. "You may call me Edythe."

Richard frowned, looking around him suspiciously. It looked like any good English countryside, gently rolling hills awash in varying shades of green, the hallmark of summer, but even that seemed wrong, for summer had long begun to wane and much of the green had begun to give way to grayer winter colors. Again he looked at the woman in front of him, who looked, for all intents and purposes, exactly like Edythe, yet was not her, not any more than this summer landscape was any landscape that he knew. "You are not Edythe."

"I am not," she responded, without hesitation.

"Then who are you?" Richard stood, eying her cautiously.

"I am a bio-mechanical construct designed to facilitate communication with you."

Richard frowned at her and gaped in confusion. "What is this language you speak? German?"

She canted her head to the side, a gesture that looked uncomfortable, and then spoke quietly again. "I am an artificial life form, made in an image that was deemed pleasing to you, as you have reacted to our natural form with much fear."

Most of the words simply went in one ear and out the other, the strange language as well as the odd, stilted words sounding unnatural and wrong in the woman's ears. Richard crossed himself again, reflexively, taking a step back. "What sort of witchcraft is this?"

Once again, she tilted her head, her eyes going unfocused, her voice falling silent. Finally she focused her eyes upon him again and spoke once more. "I am a doll, so that others may speak to you and you will not be afraid."

"A doll!" Richard felt like he were about to swallow his tongue. Images of demons from the night before were still vivid in his head, and now the thought of some doll that looked like Edythe speaking to him, controlled by some force he could not see, was almost too much for him to bear. "This is unholy witchcraft ... God have mercy on my soul, please take me from this place," he said, dropping to his knees and crossing himself repeatedly.

The doll continued to speak to him dispassionately. "There is no witchcraft here."

"All magic is witchcraft, all magic is of the Devil," he protested, quivering on his knees.

"There is no magic here."

Richard looked up again with a little gasp, shaking his head. "There is no other theurgy to give voice to a doll ... this is the work of the Devil ..."

Abruptly, the monster that looked like Edythe went silent, her arms falling to her sides limply and her head lolling to the side. He stared at it for a long moment, expecting it to begin speaking some kind of wicked incantation once again - if not to outright jump up and suck his soul right out of his chest, perhaps turning him into some kind of doll as well - but it did not move. After several moments he worked up enough courage to step forward, reaching over and giving it a poke. It responded only by falling backward, bending over its back into a lifeless heap.

"If you will not speak to our doll, will you speak with us?"

The voice came from behind him, and Richard turned around startled. Fear began to rise rapidly in his chest again as his eyes lit upon one of the demons, standing several paces away, apparently trying to appear less than threatening. Richard just shook his head, however, backing off and beginning to shake. "Demon ..."

"We are not demons," the creature protested, softly.

"Demons," Richard repeated, shaking his head, feeling his eyes beginning to go wide. "No creature on Earth speaks as a man, save for demons and their spawn ..."

The creature shook its head. "But we are not from your Earth."

At that the young man swallowed down a gulp of air, his eyes widening all the more. "We ... are not on Earth? This is no Heaven ... have ... oh, God have mercy on me ... demons, demons, this must be Hell!" He fell to his knees and let out a long, low cry. Richard had no clue what he could have possibly done to merit an eternity in Hell. Would it even be possible to repent, if he were already condemned?

"No ... it is difficult to explain ... it is a world that occupies the same space as your own Earth, yet is different ..."

The explanation went completely over Richard's head, if he were even listening at all. He was still half convinced that he had somehow been whisked away to Hell in the presence of these demons, even if Hell turned out to be a place rather more pleasant than he had been led to believe. Falling to his knees once again, he wrapped his arms around his head and tucked it down in against his head, whimpering lightly.

He tried to remember what he had heard of demons before. Servants of the Devil, of course, sent to Earth by their nefarious master to trick the unfaithful into all manner of sin, stealing their souls away from all that was good and holy, steering them away from the correct path. To be certain, Richard was far from pure, and he knew it, but he was also certain that the same statement applied to any young man his age. If he had been condemned to damnation for his various peccadillos, then certainly the vast majority of all men in the world were doomed to the same terrible fate; not even the priests and bishops were so pure.

Then, too, this hardly seemed like Hell. He had heard a number of definitions of the place in his relatively short lifetime, but none of them included verdant green hills and the gentle kiss of the summer sun. Looking up tentatively, he allowed his eyes to scan the landscape in front of him, running over the gentle, fertile curves of the hills that line the opposite side of the valley in which he found himself. A pleasant little rill slowly spilled its way down the hill at his side, down toward a babbling stream not so far in the distance.

No, it certainly didn't look like any kind of Hell he could think of.

Yet still, the strange creature that stood in front of him still brought the word demon to the fore of his mind. Steeling himself, he looked at the creature head-on. It had dark, featureless orbs for eyes, making it disturbingly difficult to tell where it was looking, but Richard was fairly certain it was looking at him. As he looked at it now, it seemed somehow less frightening, less demonic than it had previously - its horns were short and blunt, its features dispassionate and nonthreatening, yet it was still a monster. He could not think of what these demons might want with him; the question found its way to his tongue. "What ... what do you want from me?"

"Your help."

The answer made no sense to him. Puzzled, he allowed himself to sit up a little straighter, no longer hugging his knees protectively to his chest, but Richard was still guarded. "My help?"

"The Great Race is nigh," the monster said, launching into an unexpected explanation. "My brother and I are entrants in the Great Race; we are riders, we are racers. Long have we scoured the many planes for suitable steeds: faster, stronger, smarter, able to endure greater stress and even greater distances. Now we have come to your plane, your world, and we have witnessed your horses, and they interest us. They are fleet of foot and able to bear riders of great stature, yet they are fearful, panicky creatures. They will not bear our kind."

A plaintive squeal could be heard to the side, and Richard turned instinctively to look. To his surprise, he could see Maximus once again, being led along on a strange metallic leash by the other demon creature. The horse was clearly upset, stamping at the ground, rearing back and trying to pull away, but the creature that had him would not let go. "Maximus!"

Forgetting his own fear, Richard suddenly tore off in the direction of the agitated, frightened horse. He ran right past the other demon creature, which merely stood and watched him pass without any hint of emotion, and threw his arms around the big horse's neck. The poor creature had been worked up into a lather, his hide slick with sweat, but Richard did not shy away. Instead, he began to stroke the side of the horse's neck, calling after him with a soft cooing sound. "Whoa, whoa, calm down boy! It's me, Richard! Calm down boy ... I'm here ... I won't let them hurt you ..."

It seemed to be working, as the agitated horse began to calm down, the agitating squealing giving way to a calmer nicker. He was still breathing heavily, his big chest rising and falling enough to practically move Richard out of the way, but he was beginning to calm. Richard, too, felt calmed by the horse's presence, something solid and tangible and familiar. Even the scent, familiar to his nostrils, helped to ground him so that he did not jump out of his skin when a voice spoke up behind him.

"You are a beastmaster among your people."

He turned and looked over his shoulder, the second of those demons standing close, still holding the strange leash in its hand, staring at him dispassionately. Richard merely gaped back at the monster in confusion.

Again it spoke up. "You have mastered this beast; it obeys you. This is why you were brought to us. We require your skills and your talents. We need you to calm this beast, that it will bear us in the race."

Richard's eyes widened unbidden. "You mean to keep Maximus!"

"If the beast proves suitable to us, yes. It can outrun our own mounts, at least for short distances; we have been unable to test this horse for its endurance."

"You can't have him!" Richard turned, clutching the horse by the neck in a protective fashion; the horse nickered back to him gently.

The demon continued to stare at him with no hind of emotion, though it did seem to cant its head lightly to the side. "You mean to deny us this beast?"

The young man merely stared. "He is not yours!"

The strange blue demon turned to look at its companion, staring at each other silently for a moment before it turned once more to address Richard. "We have already taken the horse; it is here, and this is our demesne. You, too, have already been taken from your plane. You cannot return without our permission."

At that, he felt a strange, prickling sensation along the back of his neck, a rising fear that was just now taking shape in the back of his mind. He remembered that he was, indeed, powerless against these creatures, these demons. "I ... I am a prisoner?"

"Lesser creatures are not prisoners. They are property." The demon issued the statement without any hint of malice or anger, but the choice of words was a blow of its own, almost enough to make Richard stagger back. "However we do not wish for you to serve our needs unwillingly. We are nothing if not sporting; we will propose a contest."

Richard swallowed reflexively. "A contest?"

"Prove yourself worthy with your riding beast. It is swift, but are you? Defeat my brother in a race and you will earn the right to demand that we return you both to your plane." At that, the creature turned and pointed at a hillock in the distance, presumably the objective of such a race.

The proposition made the hairs on the back of Richard's neck tingle. He vaguely remembered hearing tales that demons were often striking up deals with the unwary mortal, promises of some kind of great reward at the risk of losing one's soul. Was this to be his downfall? "If I fail?"

The demon did not betray any emotion. "We will earn the right to make a demand of you."

The chill on his neck became an icy grip along his entire spine. He reflexively hugged himself even tighter against the horse, which seemed to sense his fear; big Maximus began to nicker gently, reversing roles and now trying to be the one to calm another. The open-ended nature of the challenge was just what he feared. Certainly the demon would demand his soul if he lost.

It did not help when he saw his opponent's mount. The other monster, standing still, breathed a little whistle that was answered immediately by what sounded like a low, raspy chirp, and then the strange lizard-mount came trotting from a little stand of trees nearby. Richard could see that his original assessment had been slightly off; the beast was more stocky than it was slender, less serpentine and more solid, yet it was still unlike any lizard he had ever laid eyes upon. It was more like some kind of dragon out of some horrible myth, held low to the ground but moving at a terrifying rate across the terrain, coming up to stop next to its inhuman master. The beast gave a short little "Kerrr-awwk!" call, butting its head firmly against the demon's side, which responded by grasping a hold of the pommel of a saddle that was already strapped around the beast, hauling itself fluidly up on the great lizard's back. The lizard responded by calling out exultantly again, pawing at the ground in front of it in a fashion that could only be described as eager.

"Well?" It was the other monster, the one holding Maximus' leash. "Will you accept our challenge?"

Again he swallowed, feeling himself shake. What choice did he have? "I accept," he said weakly.

"Then mount your steed. The challenge begins immediately."

Everything seemed to go hazy as Richard nodded and complied. By some stroke of luck, Maximus had already been wearing a saddle when he had escaped and it was still atop the horse's back. The saddle itself - a gift from a wealthy passing merchant whose life his father had saved - was the best to be had, stirrups and all. Hooking his foot in the nearer stirrup, Richard hauled himself up atop big Maximus' back, leaning forward and breathing an anxious sigh. The horse began to stamp nervously as the demon and his lizard-mount approached. "Steady boy," he found himself whispering.

He was unprepared for what happened next. The demon still standing spoke a single word : Go.

With a shriek, the lizard-mount reared up and then tore at the turf beneath it, darting off toward the hillock in the distance. Richard found himself staring, wide-eyed and gaping, before he realized what was happening. "Maximus! Go boy, go!" He screamed as loud as he could, reaching forward and slapping the horse on the side of the neck, prodding him with his heels, and the horse responded with an eager, frightened whinny before he took of with all the speed and vigor that he could muster. Richard was nearly torn right off the stallion's back; he had to hang on for dear life to keep from being dismounted.

Then the entire world became a blur. He wasn't riding Maximus as much as he was simply clinging to the big horse, squeezing his eyes shut and crying out in a panic. Somehow, the horse seemed to sense the urgency of the situation, for he required no further urging or guidance, galloping across the landscape with a tremendous thundering of hooves against the ground, his sides heaving and expanding beneath Richard's legs. Time flew in a whirlwind around him, and when he finally dared to open his eyes, he realized that the horse had already covered half the distance to the hillock. Perhaps it was not as far as it had looked.

The hope he felt in his chest began to falter as he scanned the countryside in front of him, hoping to see some sign of the blue demon upon his unholy steed. Had they really gotten that far ahead? He did remember seeing the creature tear across the countryside at a rate that was astonishing for a beast of its build, but it couldn't be that fast, could it?

Would his soul be forfeit just like that?

Then he heard a terrifying sound, another blood-curling "Kerrr-awwk!" echoing through the air, but to his astonishment, he realized the sound was coming from behind him. Daring a look, he glanced over his shoulder to see the other demon, urging its steed on not too far behind them, the reptilian horror trotting across the landscape with its maw half-open, baring rows of sharp teeth for him to see and wearing a look that Richard could only describe as hungry. He felt a cry lodge in his own throat as he looked away and hugged Maximus around the neck again.

Incredibly, he realized that the terrifying beast was driving the horse; Maximus was not galloping to his destination out of any sense of duty, but out of sheer terror of the beast that was all but nipping at his hooves. Whichever was the horse's impetus, Richard didn't care. He realized that they were coming up to the base of the hillock, just ahead of them. Their destination was nigh. It would only be a hard push up the side of the hill and then they would win. they would be free. "Come on boy, come on! You can do it!"

Just as they reached the foot of the hill, his eyes caught on the sight of what looked like a small paddock to the side, one they would pass just next to. As they came to the paddock, his eyes widened when he realized it held perhaps half a dozen of the strange lizard creatures, which had been basking in the sun. Seeing their approach, two of the foul beasts reared up on their legs, darting for the side of their enclosure, calling out a raucous "Kerrr-awwrr-awwwk!" that made Richard's blood freeze.

Maximus did not freeze - he panicked. Screaming in terror, the big horse suddenly reared up on his hind legs, pawing furiously at the air. In a panic, Richard flailed for the horse's reins, crying out loudly. "No, Maximus! We're almost there, boy, calm down ... we're almost ..."

Then the world around him went spinning in wild fashion, verdant green trading places with brilliant blue, over and over again. Richard realized he had been bucked clean off the horse, thrown clear and was now tumbling down the foot of the hill. He felt his arms wheeling about him wildly, his head crashing angrily against the ground again and again, but somehow he didn't care. Even as he came to a rest on his back, watching his horse flee in terror out of the corner of his eye, he found it hard to care.

He had lost. Already, the lizard bearing the demon was most of the way up the hillock, vanishing out of his sight. He had lost. Even when his breath returned, even after the dizziness in his ears faded away, he remained lying there on his back, unmoving. He had lost.

Some time had passed before he heard a voice, but he could not bear to turn and look at it. He could already recognize it as the voice of the demon. "Your horse is quick on foot but quicker to panic. It is not suitable for the Race." There was no hint of emotion in the voice, but somehow Richard imagined he could hear gloating in those words. "You have failed the challenge. You are now subject to our demand."

This is it, he thought to himself. He tried to lift his hand so he could make the sign of the cross over himself, but his arms were too heavy; they would not move. Perhaps it meant his soul was already sold to the Devil. Perhaps the damned were barred from ever again making that holy gesture. He cringed when the demon spoke again, making its pronouncement, putting voice to his damnation.

"Your horse will become a part of our herd, will join our stable. He will lend to us his swiftness and his strength. That is our demand of him, and it will be answered. You are the beastmaster. Yours is the power to bring calm, and it is this power you will lend to us. Your horse brings with him panic and fear. This you will undo. This is our demand of you, and it will be answered."

If he were more lucid, Richard might have been astonished to hear the demand made no mention of his soul, but the young man was already too far gone; his mind was so giddy with fear, that he may as well have simply passed out.

#

If Richard's soul had really been sold to the Devil, at least it had been done so in a civilized fashion. He hadn't been mistreated in the least, at least not so far as he could tell. His memory since his failure the day before had become somewhat hazy, but at least he could recall being hauled up off the ground, led past the paddock full of bizarre lizard-beasts, and toward what he would best describe as some kind of farm there at the foot of the hill. The buildings themselves were wildly unfamiliar, creations of stone and glass and metal that looked as if they ought to be impossible to build, but somehow the general layout of the buildings was enough to evoke hints of ideas as to what role they played. He saw what he thought must be a stables, a barn of sorts, and what must qualify as some kind of house.

It was to that building that he had been led. The demons - if that was what they truly were - had led him to a small room within the building, an unnaturally square room with unnaturally square doorways, and a bed that was, itself, far too rectangular to look like anything real he had seen. It was incredibly soft, however, and he had to fight off the urge to simply pass out and sleep when he had been deposited there.

After a short interval, another one of the blue-haired creatures had brought him a bowl of some kind of stew, something with meat and vegetables that were entirely unknown to him. For a long time, Richard simply left the bowl off to the side, afraid of what might happen to him if he were to ingest the strange concoction, but time and hunger had a way of dulling such suspicions. When the light seeping through the window had begun to fade, he was no longer able to hold out. The stew had tasted neither particularly good nor particularly foul, but it had certainly been no poisonous concoction. He felt more whole and nourished after eating it than he had in a long time.

The blue-haired creatures had droned on at length about who they were and what they were doing, but little of it stuck in Richard's addled mind. They had repeated their story about some kind of Great Race, a contest held only once in a great while, perhaps a lifetime, something the pair had devoted their existence to. They spoke of traveling many worlds in search of the perfect mount, seeking on the best qualities in hopes of securing their victory. The time of the race was drawing ever sooner, and they feared their preparations hadn't been enough. What if another had already found horses and tamed them, or worse, something swifter yet?

Little of it made any sense to the young man, however. He began to slip into something of a stupor as they switched topics and began to rattle off a list of duties that he would be expected to perform. He would essentially serve as a stable-hand, watching after the ghastly lizard-mounts, cleaning their stalls, feeding them, releasing them into the paddock and herding them back in. He would also work on easing the fear that his horse felt, train him to accept the strange blue riders, as well as something about helping to train the others. He would learn how to handle the lizard-mounts, or something to that effect. He could remember only little of it.

Finally he had been allowed to sleep. It had been a blissfully dreamless sleep, a deep and satisfying sleep that left him feeling refreshed the next morning, almost unafraid of his situation. Still, when they had led him outside, through the stables and toward the paddock, he could not help but to begin to feel anxious.

The lizard-mounts had all been released from the stables, and were for the most part stretched out in the sun, basking. There were perhaps half a dozen of the beasts, all fairly similar looking; stocky, strong-looking creatures with green scales the color of emeralds, some of which took on a slightly pointed look at various locations along their jaws or their joints that make them look slightly spiky. Basking in the sun as they were, the creatures seemed to pay him little attention, but Richard could not help but to think that each one looked quite capable of eating him.

He was led past the beasts and toward the edge of the paddock, where the blue-haired beast opened a gate and led him out. Tethered to a tree nearby was another of the lizards, slightly larger than the others, wearing an ornate and extremely unusual looking saddle upon its back. The creature regarded him with a snort. "The alpha of our herd," the blue creature said quietly, walking up to the lizard and giving it a small pat on the side. "The strongest of the herd will be the one to carry me in the Great Race. He is the strongest, the fleetest, most clever of the lot. As your horse joins the herd, he will share his speed and his talents with the rest. Should he prove himself the strongest, then he shall take his place as the alpha of the herd, and he shall bear me during the race, instead."

It made little sense to Richard. He knew there would be no way Maximus would integrate into a bastardized notion of a herd like this. The big lizard beast snorted again, almost derisively. "They are a hard-headed lot, however, and at times loathe to obey and rein themselves in. This is where you come in, beastmaster."

Richard cringed at the appellation, which the blue creatures seemed to have taken to using. "I don't understand."

"Our steeds lack intelligence. They are too far driven by their instincts and passions. If they are to prove successful in the Great Race, they must learn to be more obedient, they must learn to be trained. It is you who will instill these traits into the herd."

Again he blinked in confusion as he stared at the lizard, which continued to gaze at him almost skeptically. "I know nothing of these creatures."

The blue-haired creature stared at him dispassionately, as it - he - always did. "This is why I have brought you here today, beastmaster. You are to be granted the privilege of riding my alpha. None may do so without my permission, and never again after this day will you be given the opportunity. Relish it while you can. While you have mounted my steed you will learn his ways, learn to communicate, learn to control. You will return when you have familiarized yourself with him, and through him become familiar with the rest of the herd."

He nearly yelped when the blue beast unexpectedly stepped forward and grabbed him by the middle, lifting him up with surprising ease and depositing him right on top of the lizard. The big beast beneath him snorted in irritation, pawing at the ground, but the blue-haired man was nonplussed. Without a word, he reached over and unfastened some kind of latch that was not familiar to Richard, nor did he have any chance to study it. As soon as the tether was undone, the lizard beast shrieked eagerly and nearly leaped out from under him.

For the second time in as many days, Richard found himself clinging desparately to the mount beneath him, leaning forward and clutching at it. It was not like his horse, however. The scales along the creature's neck were smooth but stiff, warm but unyielding, nothing like the soft assurance of a horse's hide. It did not run as fast as Maximus, but its gait was strange and unfamiliar, and he had to fight to keep his ass in the saddle. He felt like his mount was moving too much side to side, jarring him back and forth, making his teeth clatter in his jaws.

But then they broke free of the little stand of trees, and were suddenly galloping across a beautiful, open plain. The beast beneath him was clearly in his element, calling out a cheerful "Pawr-raawr-raawk!", rearing its head back in adulation and darting eagerly across the landscape. The sheer thrill of the ride was infectious; Richard, for as frightened and uncertain as he still was, could not help but to feel the joy of the wind rushing across his features, the bright sunlight at his back, the sight of the green earth rolling out beneath his feet. With wide eyes he gazed about the landscape, found his death-grip on the creature's reins loosening, and soon found himself mimicking the creature in a way, throwing his head back and letting out an energetic whoop.

For a moment, he forgot who he was or where he was. He forgot that the creature beneath him was a scaled monstrosity; he forgot that those who brought him here were hideous demons, or something of the kind. He forgot he was Richard, and for that moment he was merely a rider atop his steed, the uncertainty in his posture melting away as he quickly felt at ease. The motions of the lizard trotting beneath him translated into a fluid rolling of his shoulders. The wind rushing around his ears became as his breath. He reached down and patted the lizard on the side of the neck, and the creature responded with a cheerful snort, rearing its head up briefly and tearing across the countryside.

Then they were confronted with an obstacle, a short but steep bluff cut into a hillside by the stream running at its foot. Richard felt himself coming down from his brief high, but the lizard beneath him did not hesitate. It scampered across the stream, splashing chilly water about with abandon, emerging on the other side and running headlong at the steep incline. Richard gasped as the beast slowed but did not stop, and then its claws were digging into the hillside, finding purchase among the rocks and roots beneath the surface, hauling its way almost straight up the hill. He found that he had to lean forward and practically hug the beast around the neck to keep from spilling backward and tumbling toward the stream below. His heart thudded in his chest as he felt himself at the verge of panic, but the lizard was unafraid. Without missing a step, it continued to scale the bluff as easily as any gentle slope.

Suddenly they crested the bluff, the lizard leaping forward and leveling out. Richard was not prepared for the sudden change of angle, however, and was still leaning forward as much as he could. When the world suddenly went straight around him again he did not straighten up with it and, with a loud cry, found himself tumbling forward right out of the saddle. Once more he found the world gyrating about him wildly, greens and blues and the bright yellow of the sun spinning about at crazy angles.

When he came to stop, he found himself sitting awkwardly on his knees. The lizard was standing nearby, looking down at him with in impatient glare, pawing at the ground and grunting. "Ugh ... wait, wait," he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head, trying to ward off the little dizzy spell. He heard another sound, another irritated sounding grunt and growl but he didn't open his eyes, shaking his head again and gasping. Finally he opened his eyes, and was surprised to see the creature had moved, standing right in front of him.

"Ahh!" he cried out softly at the sight, throwing his hands out in front of him and in doing so, threw himself back to the ground. The creature stamped at the ground next to him, stepping in close, looming over him and crying out in a loud, terrible voice. "RRAAAAWK!"

Richard found himself suddenly terrified. With a meek scream that was lost beneath the creatures shriek, he pushed himself away and got up to his hands and knees, pulling himself up to his feet and preparing to make a run for it, to where he did not know. But as soon as he found his feet, something solid struck him at the back of his shoulder and he was bowled forward, throwing his hands up in front of his face again to ward off the fall.

In confusion he scrambled forward, crawling across the ground, hearing irritated grunts and growls following right behind him. In a panic he looked over his shoulder, seeing the lizard just behind him. He tried to find his feet, but as he did, the creature leaped forward, tucking its head and butting it firmly against Richard's back. With a grunt of his own, he fell forward, flat on his face.

Another terrifying screech pierced the air, this time right over his head. Though he dared not look up, he could see the creature's forelimbs now at either side of him, big claws with terrifying talons piercing into the earth beneath it, tearing out little divots as it pawed angrily at the ground to either side. He realized the creature was now standing over him. He remembered rows of sharp teeth, and the fear of being eaten. Terror seized him as he tried to claw his way forward.

The creature did bite down on him, enough to make him scream, but not enough to hurt - in the fog of his panic, he realized that the teeth were not piercing his skin. The creature uttered out a throaty, angry sounding growl as it dragged him back beneath its bulky frame, still pawing at the ground at either side of him.

"Help," he cried out to nobody in particular as he felt himself being dragged like that, trying to scramble away, but unable to. The creature finally released its grip on him, but instead squatted down and pressed its bulk over his back. Richard gasped as he felt his chest compressed, trying to figure out for the life of him what was going on.

Then he felt a strange kind of jabbing at his leg behind his knee, as the big creature began to grunt and growl atop him. It seemed to alternate between squashing him to the earth and making as if to let him go, but each time he felt he had a chance to escape its weight was there again, pushing him to the ground. The weird stabbing at his leg continued, joined by a strange, rhythmic scraping against his woolen breeches. When he had an opportunity, he craned his head back to see what was going on.

He could do little more than gape when he realized the big creature was trying to have a go at him. A big pointed cock was dangling between the lizard's legs, and it proved to be that which was jabbing and grinding against his thighs, the creature grunting almost in irritation as it clearly was trying to mount him. Richard breathed out a strangled cry, half in disgust, half in fear. Clothed as he was, he knew the lizard's efforts would be futile; he feared what might happen when the creature was denied what it sought.

"Help!" He cried out again, louder, trying to pull himself away, but the creature would not permit it. With growing frustration, it prodded at him all against his legs, a few times uncomfortably against his backside, each time as futile as the last. He considered reaching up and trying to push the beast off him, or perhaps trying to kick him in the cock, but feared that might upset it further. He desperately hoped someone would come to his aid, or that perhaps the creature would simply give up.

Against all odds, however, the creature did find what it was looking for, in a fashion. The tip of its cock, slender and pointed, found a tear in his breeches near his knee, hooking beneath the fabric and getting lodged there. Breathing an excitable grunt it arched its back some, jabbing its hips ever quicker and harder as it thought it was mounting the poor human beneath him. Richard could only cry out in fear and revulsion as he felt it, slick and hot, wedged against his bare thigh beneath the fabric and forcing its way forward. The hole tore open wider as the creature forced more of itself inside but somehow the fabric held, and soon he could feel that hot, slick flesh grinding inward against his thigh, pressing ever further along his thigh.

The young man could do nothing but gasp and cry. He tried pulling himself forward but he couldn't move. The creature over him showed no signs of stopping; rather, the little jabs and thrusts it made with its hips only grew stronger and more prominent. To his further horror, Richard felt the creature's erection had pushed in deep enough that it now pressed just beneath his hip, and was beginning to grind and rub against his balls. It seemed to stop there, the lizard having hilted himself in that fabric, and was eagerly thrusting away.

All Richard could do was cry. He didn't know how long it lasted, but soon the creature was calling out an eager, anxious "Krrrawr-AAAWK!" before its whole body shuddered over him, and he felt sticky, hot fluid beginning to fill his breeches, more than enough to coat his balls and his own cock, spilling out against his thighs before it began to seep into his clothing. He could only cry as the creature finished itself, abruptly jerking its hips away - leaving a wider whole in his breeches, seeping the mess it had left behind. He could only cry as he realized, in the midst of that foul mess that it had left behind, that he was as hard as a rock himself.

"It is their weakness, as I have said. Too quick to indulge their passions, they are difficult to control and quickly forget their task. This would be a disaster in a race."

The voice over him startled him, and he rolled on to his back with a gasp. Reflexively he reached down to cover his nethers with his hands, as if he might somehow hide the growing stain in his clothing from the dispassionate eyes of the blue-haired demon creature. "You ... you let it do that to me?"

The response betrayed no emotion. "He is the alpha. It is his nature to assert himself over those who he finds to be weaker than himself. Why would I stop him?"

Richard felt himself growing red in the face. "Because ... because ..." Words would not come to him, for there were no words to describe just how angry, just how horrified, just how violated he felt. The reek of the lizard's seed was growing sharp in his nostrils, making his eyes water further, mixing with tears already shed, but he could find no words.

"Come," the demon said, stepping to the side and hauling itself atop the lizard, the beast looking as calm and tranquil as it ever had. "You have duties to attend to."

He watched, shaking, as they trotted away, leaving him to walk. He considered staying there, or perhaps even running away, but then he remembered that they still had Maximus. He couldn't leave his horse here, among these beasts, especially now knowing what he knew. Swallowing his pride, Richard hauled himself up to his feet and began to follow, grinding his teeth and seething. It wasn't as if he had any other choice.

#

It only took him about an hour to decide that he was, indeed, in Hell. The sunny skies and the green grass at his feet must have been some kind of mockery designed to make his suffering that much worse, the outward appearance of being a place more like paradise than perdition, but in the end it was little more than a veneer over the truth of his situation. The sticky fluid in his pants that was slowly drying into a thick, tacky mass against his thighs was a constant reminder of that.

He wasn't even sure of what sin he had committed, what wrong he had visited upon the world to deserve this kind of fate, but it was the only conclusion that he could reach. The sharp tang of the scent in his nostrils had abated since he had begun to follow the demon-creature on its lizard, leading him along at a pace that was undoubtedly leisurely for the steed but taxing to his tired and abused legs, but it was still there to serve as yet another constant reminder of the indignity that he was forced to suffer. Richard was silently grateful that he had been clothed at all, and wondered if he might not be so lucky the next time such a punishment was served.

The demon had not been outwardly brutal with regard to what had happened, but had simply remained cold, distant and dispassionate with its featureless, expressionless eyes. It had made things quite clear; Richard would not be spared that kind of indignity again. He would be forced to try and fight the randy beasts off again in the future if they decided to have another go at him, and he knew full well that was a futile prospect. Thought not as large as a horse, they seemed every bit as powerful, and he could still feel reminders of those sharp teeth in his shoulder.

After about an hour, they came back to the compound at the base of the hill. Somehow he had missed seeing it as they approached, did not recognize that particular hillock, and did not know how much farther it would be until they rounded a bend in their trail and suddenly he could see the paddock before him, the half-dozen or so lizard mounts ambling about lazily in the sunlight. He hung his head as the demon began to speak up again, telling him that the hour was at hand for herding the beasts back into their stable, that he was now expected to see to his duties as a stable hand. The thought of being stuck around these monstrosities any longer was a reminder of his punishment. It had been the last thing he had to hear to convince him that he was suffering only the beginning of what would probably prove an eternal punishment.

His eyes remained fixed to the ground as he heard the demon dismounting from his lizard, leading the creature over to the gate in the paddock. He heard the gate open with the squeal of metal against metal, and then a loud, anxious snorting caught his attention. He knew that it was the mount, he knew it was that beast, but somehow he felt obliged to look up and see what was going on.

Not far from where he stood, he could see a pair of those creatures inside the paddock engaged in a rut. One of them was held low to the ground, tail held up high, its head leaning back and calling out a series of strange little squawks and grunts. The other, slightly larger beast had simply hauled itself right on top of the other, pinning it down, growling in a fervent manner as its body thrashed and pounded again and again and again. He almost voiced his revulsion at what he saw when the demon released its grip on the alpha male, who called out an angry sounding grunt and tore across the turf, right in the direction of the mating pair.

The male who had until then been busy with his conquest looked up, snarled and hissed, but as soon as the more dominant male arrived the creature immediately dismounted. There was a brief scuffle as the males snapped at each other, kicking up clods of dirt and sod and soil, tails slapping at the ground in what had to be some kind of fighting display, before the lesser of the two growled out a final syllable of frustration, backing away slowly, and finally scurrying off to the side of the paddock. The alpha male, triumphant, leaned its head back and snorted out a brief "ka-wraawk!" before turning to the conquest, still splayed out on the ground and receptive. The male then took his place and began slaking his need.

Richard grunted as well and averted his eyes. "Are they always like this?"

"It is their way," the demon said in its flat, almost disinterested voice. Richard was vaguely aware of the fact that he was now being led along, in a fashion, herded into the paddock, waiting there with his hands hanging limply at his sides until the gate closed with a brief rattle, and then the demon led the way back toward the stables. "Those who are stronger will sate themselves upon those who are weaker. Their order of precedence is sorted out by themselves, without our intervention. The alpha male has his way with the others, freely, at his discretion. There are few who try to challenge him, but they fail. They will then only be allowed to mount another at his pleasure. Here, he has asserted his authority and will be the one to plant his seed, not his rival."

The description sounded painfully logical and straightforward, but the thought of it still turned Richard's stomach. It was the sort of wanton sexuality that existed only in lurid tales, he thought; no beasts that roamed the earth were so vile and depraved as to run around rutting in this kind of fashion, and certainly none were so unrestrained as to relieve themselves upon a hapless human being. These creatures couldn't be natural in the least.

"There are others that are content with their position, unwilling to challenge another. These are the ones who give and serve freely. It maintains balance," the demon explained. Richard wasn't terribly interested in hearing what the blue-haired monster had to say, but at the very least its voice served as something of a welcome distraction to the rhythmic scraping of scale against scale that was growing louder as he walked, the feral grunts and groans that were becoming all too obvious in his ears.

At last the scene came to an end, much to his relief, as the alpha male called out loudly into the air, grunted, and was finished. The creature simply dismounted its conquest, then, scampering across the paddock and toward the stables; the demon let out a warbling sort of whistle and the rest of them responded by getting up from wherever they were lazing about, making their way obediently toward the stable at that point. Richard found himself unable to keep from looking at the creature that had been submissively giving itself to the alpha male slinking in his direction. To his disgust, he realized that it wasn't even a female, itself.

"What is wrong with these beasts?" The question was whispered mostly to himself, and the demon did not seem to take notice of it at all, or if it did, did not provide an answer. It was just as well to Richard, who would not be interested to hear the detached and dispassionate response, more useless information that would only serve to make the young man feel more disgusted, more depressed, or perhaps both.

He was shocked when he felt a firm impact against his shoulder, turning and finding himself briefly face to face with the male he had assumed was a female. For a brief moment, Richard feared that this lowly creature was now interested in asserting itself over the one living being weaker than it was - himself. He almost choked on the thought of being abused again, right here, in the middle of the paddock.

The creature, however, responded with a meek little "gwrrrrk" sound, tucking its head in and butting it lightly against his shoulder. Richard blinked in startled confusion as the enormous lizard breathed out a throaty rumbling sort of purr, dragging its cheek roughly against his shoulder and his chest. The gesture seemed almost affectionate to him. "Go on," he breathed quietly, pushing his hand into the creature's head and shoving it away, taking a few steps back to distance himself from the beast.

It did not relent, not that easily. It kept its head ducked down low but shuffled in his direction, once again nudging his shoulder and starting to roughly nuzzle against his chest, going so far as to tuck its head up under his arm and force him to hug it around the neck in a fashion. Richard protested with a little sputter, still feeling rather unsettled from what he had just witnessed between the creatures, but this one was persistent. For a brief moment, he forgot that he was in some kind of strange, twisted hell, forgot that these creatures were undoubtedly some kind of demonic spawn, and lost the heart to push it away a second time. Without thinking about it he began to gently stroke its neck, his palm brushing over the thick, smooth scales with ease, causing the beast to again thrum and rumble against him, vibrating his whole chest.

Then the young man decided that he had had enough. Gently but insistently he unhooked his hand from around the beasts neck, softly nudging its head away. Before he could fully dislodge himself, it turned its head lightly and regarded him with one of its eyes, a green-gold slitted orb that looked every bit as reptilian as he supposed it ought to look, but he was shocked to see that eyes like those could communicate so much emotion - the strange lizard-mount was giving him a look so soulful that he felt himself shaken to the core.

As he found himself forced to gaze back into the creature's eye, he felt something click in the back of his head. Though the eye itself was as good as alien to him, the expression there was becoming frighteningly familiar. Richard's eyes began to widen as the creeping familiarity grew at the edges of his conscious mind, and he felt himself recoiling lightly. He had seen that eye before, he knew that expression, he knew that look. He opened his mouth to speak, but was almost afraid to speak the word. "Max ... Maximus?"

The creature responded with what sounded like a gleeful little trilling "a-grawer-rawer-rawwk", pawing at the ground with its forefeet, stepping in closely and playfully headbutting him in the chest again. Richard found himself beyond dumbstruck - was it even possible? His jaw was slack, shaking lightly as the beast continued to headbutt him and breathe out those cheerful little sounds, its long tail beginning to sway and wag eagerly behind him, wearing an expression almost like a smile. "Mother of god ... Maximus ... is that really you?"

When the answer became abundantly clear in those happy, green-gold eyes, he felt as if he had been punched in the chest. Richard stumbled backward, away from the giddy lizard-mount, gaping and shaking his head; for a moment, breath refused to come to him. Just as he felt on the verge of passing out, he witnessed the creature in front of him pawing at the ground, eagerly and happily again, before turning around and facing the other direction. Maximus, if it were truly him, leaned forward and rested his chest against the ground, hiking his nethers up and exposing himself for all to see. Richard's heart sunk, falling to his feet as he could not help but to stare at the lizard's abused undertail, gaping open from the abuse, still leaking a little trickle of milky looking fluids from his previous encounters, the scent of probably more than one of the foul beasts wafting across the air to Richard's nostrils.

"Ah, even now, your beast remains subservient to his master. He is desirous that you take your place upon him, assert your mastery over him. A wonderful beast; already, this desirable trait has been shared, spreading among the herd."

Richard's vision suddenly went red. He felt a tension clutching at his body as his fists balled up, and he turned slowly to regard the blue-haired demon, staring at him dispassionately as he discussed what was going on with no hint of emotion. "What have you done?"

The demon simply stared at him blankly. "It is as I told you before. He is now a part of the herd. His speed and his obedience are now a part of the herd, as well, as are his less desirable traits. They will soon be of less concern; that is why you are here, beastmaster."

Quivering, he pointed a finger angrily at the horse-cum-lizard, his arm shaking in the air. "Look at him ... look at him!" Such a proud beast, reduced to some kind of horrid little creature, and worse than that - some foul beast eager to be mounted by any and all that would offer it. He could not think of a worse offense to visit upon such a creature, innocent of guile and sin.

"He has chosen his role in the herd. He gives of himself to the others - but it matters not. When they join with the others of the herd, their traits are shared, whether they play the role of aggressor or ..."

He had heard enough. Something snapped deep inside of him, something that was unable to abide by this kind of injustice. Whatever sin he had committed, whatever trespass had earned him his place in this particular little hell, Maximus was innocent of it. There was nothing that could justify the horse's fate, nothing that could make it excusable. Suddenly he imagined his hands closing around the demon's throat, suddenly he could imagine slaying it right here where it stood. He did not stop to think if it was even possible to kill a demon in his own demesne, but he didn't care. With a deep, guttural cry, he launched himself at the beast, blinded by his rage and his passion, reaching for that neck that suddenly looked so scrawny and vulnerable.

His revenge would never come. Before he could get his fingers on the monster, before he felt that wretched, furry neck between his angry, righteous fingers, he ran in to some kind of force he could not see, solid as a wall but nothing that he could see. His ears rang in his head as he reeled back from the collision, tripping over his own feet and stumbling, crashing onto his back so hard that the wind was torn right out of his lungs. His vision went almost black, becoming narrow little tunnels through which he could see nothing other than sunlight and clouds rolling overhead. His ears rang like angry hornets, and a strange, metallic flavor stung him at the back of his tongue. Richard suddenly found himself wondering if it was possible to die here in Hell, and what would happen to him if he died here.

Nothing so kind would happen to him. Slowly his vision returned to him, and he found himself once again able to draw breath, gasping where he lay on the ground. He became aware of an insistent nudging at his cheek, the lizard that had been Maximus nudging him, probably concerned, trying to make sure he was ok.

Richard could do nothing but lay there and cry. Once he was able to start breathing again the tears began to flow, his vision dissolving into a blur of tears, a wild mix of blues and greens and yellows that seemed to all melt together. The sun felt warm on his skin as he lay there, the grass cool on his back, but there was nothing he could do other than lie there and wonder what was really happening.

Some time had passed before his eyes began to dry enough that he could see once again. Maximus had left, as had the rest of the strange lizard-beasts, but the blue-haried demon had not moved from where it stood. Richard's mood darkened again as he set his eyes firmly on that dispassionate visage, staring at him with those soulless, empty black eyes. "It is time to attend to your duties."

He wanted to spit. He wanted to leap up from where he was and attack the beast, but he knew that it would be futile - whatever force had prevented him before would do it once again, but it could not keep him from imagining. In his mind's eye he saw himself strangling the life out of the beast, beating it down to the ground, watching it beg for mercy.

In reality, he could do nothing more than comply.

Once again he found his mind in something of a haze as he followed, downcast, confused and angry. He wondered to himself if he might not be able to escape, what would happen if he found a way to evade their attention for long enough to run. Would these lizards be capable of tracking him down? Would they be able to find him wherever he went? He had already seen the magic that they were capable of, stealing him away from the foggy moor and into this lush summer landscape in a blink of an eye. Would they be able to whisk him away from a distance?

His little reverie was broken as he found himself stepping through a pair of broad iron doors, more like gates, that were thrown wide open for the moment. It was the first time he had seen the inside of the stables, and he was surprised at what he saw. His father did not have much in the way of a proper stable, as Maximus had simply been kept in what amounted to a stall of his own, a rickety structure of wood lashed together with rope. This was worlds apart - the floor was made of some kind of unpolished stone, as were the walls, rising far above his head. There were a series of stalls on either side of the structure, enclosures made of metal that looked identical, one to the next. On the far side of the stable from the entrance was a larger space where he saw several bales of straw, implements that looked vaguely like rakes and hoes, and other objects he could not readily identify.

To his surprise, the stalls were all empty. Glancing back around him, he saw the lizard-mounts were currently milling about a smaller enclosure just outside of the stables, several of them gazing inside with curious, slightly eager expressions. He thought he could make out Maximus among them; he had to look away in something like shame before the poor creature realized he was looking.

"You will first clean their enclosures," the demon said, leading him past the rows of vacant stalls to where the various tools were located. "Our steeds are clean and do not sleep in their waste. You will remove their waste, and then remove their bedding; it is old and time to change. Each enclosure will receive two bales of straw for their bedding. When you are done, the steeds will come to their enclosures. They know where they belong. My alpha has his own enclosure, the others share."

Richard felt numb as he listened, glancing at the shovel in front of him. It was unlike any shovel he had seen, the blade wide and shiny, the handle smooth and white, having no wood grain at all. Curiously he reached for the implement and picked it up, feeling his fingers glide smoothly over the strange handle, too cool to be wood, too warm for steel, and strangely light. Briefly, he considered whether or not he would be able to use the tool as a weapon. Would the beast have enough time to react before the blade of the shovel smashed its face in? Would the strange force stop him?

"When you are done, ensure the enclosures are locked. You will carry a single bucket of water to each of the enclosures and pour it in to their watering trough. The water comes from this spout," the beast said, in its strange monotone, reaching for a spout that stuck incongruously out of the wall. The demon twisted a lever above the spout, and to Richard's surprise, water began to splash eagerly out of the spout and splash against the floor.

"Witchcraft," he whispered, under his breath. The demon went on with his explanation, pointing out a chest that was filled with food for the creatures. He was to distribute it to them evenly. Once they were all fed, he would be finished with his duties for the night. The demon did not wait to see if he had any questions, and did not ask if he understood. In the space of a breath, Richard found himself alone.

In the relative quiet of the stables, he found his mind far too busy with thoughts, plans for escape, plans to attack his captors, plans he knew would not come to fruition. Numbly, he hefted the shovel in his hands, astonished at how light it felt. Shuffling, he made his way in to the nearest stall, glancing around. It was a simple enclosure - a pile of straw, obviously used as bedding, tucked away in one corner, while a little pile of waste was in another. Richard cringed at the sight and the smell. These beasts were carnivores, and he could tell. Swallowing his pride, he set to the task.

With a detached, methodical efficiency, he cleaned the stalls of the rather foul smelling waste. Locating a tool that resembled a pitchfork, he set upon the used bedding. It was tedious work, hauling the dirty straw back and forth to a waste pile outside of the stables, the lizard steeds watching him with a strangely fascinated look, their heads following him back and forth with each trip that he made. The first few times, he was leery of their gazes, but he quickly grew numb to that, as well.

Then he faced the bales of straw, piled neatly up at the back of the stables. With a bit of a sigh, he reached his fingers around the twine that held the bales together, a strange kind of cord that felt slick an unnatural to his fingers. Hefting the bale, he cringed as the twine dug into his palms. The bale was heavier than it looked, the twine too thin, and his strength already sapped. It took him only a moment to deposit the bale in the nearest stall, shaking it apart and discarding the twine, but already his hands were sore, raw red lines showing across his palms. Cringing, he rubbed them together and glanced around to see if he might find a pair of gloves among the tools.

He did find what he was looking for, but was instantly dismayed. The gloves looked to be about the right size, but they lacked a finger - obviously they were made for the demons' hands, not his own. He couldn't recall exactly how their hands had looked, but the gloves he saw bore only three fingers and a thumb. Cringing a little, he pulled one of the gloves over his hand. He was able to make it fit by holding his two smaller fingers together and wedging them into one of the fingers of the glove. It was not especially comfortable, but it would work.

It wasn't the strange form of the gloves that upset him, as much as what they were made of. The leather was supple and flexible but strong, emerald-green in color and scaled. He had seen scales just like those, on the necks of the riding lizards, and the thought made his stomach turn. Maximus was more than merely a workhorse, more than merely a farm implement - the horse was a friend, a companion, practically a part of the family. The thought of cutting one's loyal steed apart, using them to make crude leather instruments, was so tasteless to him that he almost could not bear to wear them. Only the angry welts already forming on his palms convinced him to pull the crude gloves over his hands.

Vile as they were, they did indeed do the job. The scale leather was thick enough to protect his skin yet thin enough that his hands did not feel overly encumbered. The rest of the job went by quickly enough, one bale following the other. Sure enough, just as he had been promised, the lizards began to meander into the stalls as they were prepared, taking their places in a languid fashion. The alpha was given his own stall, but the others entered in pairs. Richard sighed as he shut the gates behind each one; his heart especially heavy as he shut the gate behind his dear Maximus, the maligned beast crooning at him happily even as he locked the gate at his rear.

The remainder of his chores went by in a blur. In other circumstances, he might have been amazed at the strange spout that gushed water as if it were a spring unto itself. He might have been even more amazed at the strange chest that was cold on the inside, somehow keeping the cuts of meat - whose origins he did not recognize - nicely chilled as he doled them out, dropping the large slabs of flesh into the food troughs attached to each stall, much to the delight of the lizards, who gulped the offerings down with gusto.

At last, he was done. Night had fallen, and the inside of the stalls were mostly dark, save for lamps that were set in to the walls, casting an unnatural, steady and unwavering. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, running the back of his forearm against his sweaty brow.

He was still wearing the gloves. With a little scowl, he hooked his fingertip under the cuff of the glove and tried to peel it off, but it would not budge. He grunted a little at the effort, tugging at the cuff, but the glove was stuck fast to his hand. The other was equally stuck as well - his hands seemed to have swollen some during the night, probably from the physical labor, and had swollen to the point that the leather now hugged his hands tight. Squeezing his fingers into fists, he could hear the leather creak, but it would not loosen. Spitting a tired curse, he hung his head and shook for a moment.

Just another little insult added to injury, he supposed.

With another heavy sigh, he began to shuffle his way toward the exit, head hung low as he passed the stalls, curious gazes peering out at him from behind the closed gates. Somewhere along the way he passed Maximus again, but he could not bear to lift his head and look. It had, after all, been his own fault that the poor horse had been dragged in to this little hell, this twisted existence, and himself twisted into a monstrous version of what he once was. He had no clue what sort of fate Maximus would enjoy in a place like this, but the strange gloves now stuck on his hands were a reminder that these steeds had other fates than merely running races.

If there were only one thing he had to accomplish, freeing his friend would be that one thing.

His thoughts were abruptly brought to a halt when he came up to the gate to the stables, now firmly shut. Richard did not remember having closed it, and stared at it in confusion as he reached to open it, only to find the latch would not come undone. His eyes widened a little as he shook at the heavy gate, panic beginning to rise in his chest. "Hey! Hey, someone closed the gate ... hey! Let me out of here!" His voice rose as he felt increasingly frightened, shaking the gate again. "Help!"

There was no answer. It only took him a moment to come to the conclusion that he had been locked in here, intentionally; memories of the strange but soft bed in the other building filled his mind. It was too good to have been true. With a resigned sigh, he dropped his gloved hands and stepped back from the gate. He realized that one of the stalls was empty, in spite of having two bales of straw for bedding there. They had intended for this all along.

Richard once again realized that he was without alternatives. He was tired of crying, tired of feeling defeated, so as he made his way into the empty stall, he refused to cry, refused to let himself get too upset. Pushing the gate closed behind him, he stared at the pile of straw tucked in one corner of the stall, big enough for him to curl up on, but doubtlessly anything but comfortable.

Before he could ponder how he would try and get comfortable, however, a startling crash of metal against metal sounded at his side, and he could not help but to cry out briefly in surprise. Mere inches away from him was a big reptilian head, one of those lizards grunting and snapping at him. With another cry, Richard stumbled backward and onto his arse, throwing his arms up in front of his face to ward off the attack that he feared was coming, but it never did. Slowly, incredulously, he pulled his arms away and looked up at the startling sight in front of him.

It was not the alpha, but one of the other creatures, perhaps the one he had seen violating Maximus earlier in that day. It had hauled itself up high, its forepaws clutching at the top of its stall, leering over him with a series of noisy little grunts and whines. The sides of the enclosure rattled noisily as the creature bucked its hips wildly, it's cock standing out between its legs and piercing the air in front of it, waving lewdly in the air in front of him. It took him a moment to realize what was going on - the beast wanted to mount him. Perhaps it was the reek of seed that was still staining his clothing, or perhaps it was merely their unholy nature.

"Foul beast," he spat, grasping at the shovel that had been conveniently left in the empty stall, standing on his feet again and swinging it at the grunting creature. It was quicker than he thought, however, snagging the shovel by the handle in its mouth and pulling it clean out of his hands, thrashing it around and then throwing to away to the side. The beast leered at him with a hot, hungry stare, continuing to hump dryly at the air, grunting and growling in frustration for several moments before it abandoned its effort, dropping down to all fours and slinking back to its bedding, where it laid down and simply stared at him.

Richard stared back, gaping. He crawled across the floor on all fours, snagging the straw bedding in his arms and shoving it across the stall to the opposite side of the offending beast, far from it's probing erection and burning gaze. He curled up on the straw with his back to the beast - luckily, the stall he was now facing was empty.

Once more he found himself hugging his knees to his chest, his mind beginning to reel with what was going on around him. He closed his eyes to ward off the sights, pretend he was back in his own home, in his bed, but he could not close his ears from the sound, could not keep the scent that was burning his nostrils. He couldn't shake the truth - he was not at home, he was not in his bed, he was not even in his own world. He was surrounded by strange beasts, beasts who were interested in little other than strange, lascivious behaviors, led by blue-haired demons who seemed intent on breaking his spirit with their dispassionate stares and emotionless voices. He couldn't escape the fact that he was still a prisoner in this strange, unnatural place.

It took him ages to fall to sleep, and when he finally did, it was not into the embrace of a good night's sleep - it was into the clutches of strange, twisted and unreal nightmares.

#

Before the sun had come back up, Richard had been torn from his sleep by the call of nature. Blinking into the darkness that was still surrounding him - save for the vaguest hints of violet and indigo kissing at the sky, visible through the thin windows of the stall where he found himself - he shuddered with the sudden and powerful urge to piss.

It wouldn't do to relieve himself up on his bed of straw, of course. Groggily, he dragged himself out of his crude bed and toward the other corner of the stall. There was still a little pile of straw that had been left in that corner from the night before; leaning forward, he sniffed at it briefly. It was slightly damp and had a clean, earthy scent to it. It would do.

With a little grunt and a sigh, he reached forward and began to claw at the little pile of straw, spreading it out a bit, making a little space where he could relieve himself and then bury it under a little pile of straw when he was done. Satisfied, he crawled around the pile till his nethers were hovering over the impromptu toilet, squatting down some, and then he let himself go. Relief spread through his loins as the pent-up pressure from the need to urinate gave way, letting a pleasant little shiver run down his spine.

Suddenly, he realized something was very wrong. Instead of hearing the wet spatter of piss on the ground beneath him, he felt a cloying warmth spreading out from his loins, upward toward his belly and downward over his thighs. A flash of clarity ran through his mind, and he looked down to see the faint out line of a dark spot spreading through his trousers. For half a second he was confused as to why he was wearing clothing, at all; then he was more confused by the fact that he was pissing on all fours, squatting down like some kind of beast.

With a little yelp, he pushed himself back and rolled on to his back. Instinctively he reached for his trousers, fingers fumbling to work them off, pull them off and get rid of the piss-stained clothing that was already beginning to itch on his thighs. It proved to be more difficult than he thought, his fingers still a bit numb and unresponsive from sleep, and in his fumbling he wound up ripping the cloth, tearing the breeches off more than taking them off. At the very least, he was free of the heated itch of that spreading piss.

It was the gloves, he realized. His sleep-addled mind remembered that he had passed out with the clumsy gloves still fast on his hands, and that undoubtedly was making it difficult for him to do anything. With an irritated grunt, he reached down to his wrists, feeling for the cuff of the glove on his left hand so he could pull it off. To his frustration, he could not find it, his fingers flailing clumsily around in the relative dark. Twisting his head down, he found himself staring in confusion at what he saw.

The gloves seemed to have somehow grown during the night. He was certain that he remembered them being short gloves, coming only just past his wrists, but in the dim morning light they seemed to stretch nearly to his elbows. In a hazy confusion, he groped at his arm closer to his elbow, feeling for the edge of the glove, trying to find purchase where his fingers could slip between the leather and his skin and start to pull them off, but he couldn't. His fingers still felt fat and clumsy, and the gloves seemed to be almost pasted right on to his forearms, impossibly tight up against his skin.

Richard squinted in the dim light and grunted lightly again, peering at his flailing, clumsy hands. Something seemed wrong, something seemed off. The night before, the gloves seemed relatively crude, the seams roughly stitched and fitting his fingers all wrong. Now he could spy no seam, no thread. The tips seemed to come more naturally to points, and he could swear that he made out talons there. He knew he hadn't seen those before.

They also seemed big, far too big. His hands had swollen up the night before, to the point that he couldn't remove the damned things, but this morning they seemed to have swollen even more rather than going back to their normal size. Incredulously, he eyed the strange gloves hugging his forearms, his eyes going up to the edge where he could see his skin once again, but he still could not make out where skin ended and leather began. In fact, the closer he looked, the more his eyes adjusted to the light, the more it looked like his skin simply gave way to a series of overlapping green scales.

Again he tried to flex his fingers, but they did not articulate the way they did, folding in only clumsily in on themselves. He also noticed that he did not hear any creak of leather. Curiously, he reached down and dragged them against the ground, hearing the scrape of claws on stone. Feeling the scrape of claws on stone. His claws.

Richard let out a startled little cry at the realization of what was going on. He drew back from his disfigured hands, falling on to his back again, but as he did his arms flailed oddly in front of him, as if the elbows did not want to bend normally, his joints feeling odd and stiff. He also realized, in that instant, that he was being watched; there were two pairs of reptilian eyes staring at him through the gloom, and beyond them there were yet more. Quiet little snorts and grunts could be heard in the distance. They almost seemed to be waiting.

Crying out again, he hauled himself up to his feet and headed for the gate to his enclosure. As he found his feet, he suddenly felt strange, almost top-heavy, and stumbled forward in an awkward, clumsy manner, his arms wheeling stiffly in front of him before he crashed noisily into the gate, clutching loosely at the metal with his swollen, disfigured hands, barely able to hold himself up. "Help! Help me!"

He didn't wait to see if his cries for help would be answered. Arms moving stiffly, he grasped and felt around for the latch that held the gate closed. He could see it there, he could see it right in front of him, but as he tried to grasp at it, his fingers simply would not cooperate. They flailed helplessly at the latch, bouncing against it, scraping at the metal, the gate rattling loudly as he hung against it and shuddered, but he could not get a grip - he could not open it. The entire time he continued to cry out in a panic.

More of the lizards were peering at him through the dim morning light, blinking slowly from where they relaxed, watching him in an unhurried, patient fashion. He thought they looked strangely predatory.

The sound of metal rasping against metal caught his ear, and he turned toward its source. The gate, the main entrance to the stables, was being opened from outside. It had to be the demons. They must have heard his cries. Strangely, he found himself glad to know they were approaching, and as soon as he saw the dispassionate visage of one of those blue-haired beasts looking in his direction, he began to cry out with renewed vigor. "Please, please help me! Something is happening to me ... something has gone wrong ... please, you have to help me!"

The creature approached, gazing at him with inky black eyes, features still betraying no emotion, though when it spoke, the words - if not its tone of voice - seemed to belie something approaching frustration. "You are too loud," it said, simply enough.

He shook the gate inadvertently, trying to keep his balance, still feeling oddly top heavy. "I'm sorry, but please, I put on these gloves, last night, and they are doing something to me," he said, his mind reeling and beginning to give way to panic. "Help!"

It was only then that Richard realized the demon was holding something in its hand. He eyed it briefly, trying to figure out what it was - it looked oddly familiar in a fashion, evoking some kind of memory that he could not quite put to thought, but at the same time was as unfamiliar as anything else in this wretched place. A strange assortment of shiny metal bits and pieces held together by straps made of some material that he could not place. His panic subsided only slightly as he found himself curious about the object. "What ... what is that ... something to help me?"

"You are too loud," the beast repeated, coming to the stall right in front of him and staring at him for another brief second before moving, and when it did, it moved with unnatural speed. Richard instinctively flinched, tried to draw back, but before he fully realized what was happening, he found the straps of the device were being looped around the back of his head, conforming snugly to the contours of his skull, around his ears and his jaw. A metal bit, shaped somewhat like a spoon, was wedged unexpectedly in his mouth; he feared he was going to choke on it, and even gagged.

As quickly as it begun it was over, the straps somehow lashed tightly together, the whole contraption flush to his head, the flat metal spoon-like part pressing firmly on his tongue so he could not speak. He tried to cry out in panic, but his voice only came out in a muffled, half-strangled "mmmmf!"

The demon then stared at him dispassionately again. "Now, you will not be too loud." Without betraying any hint of emotion, it turned away and headed for the far end of the stables to begin its work for the morning. Richard was only vaguely aware of what was going on, hearing the strange spout being turned on and the water beginning to flow as he lost his grip on the side of the enclosure and fell clumsily to the ground once again.

Writhing on his side, Richard reached up to try and dislodge the strange contraption from his head, but wound up only clawing at his face to no avail, his fingers too thick and inarticulate for so delicate a task, and the straps were far too tight upon his head. Though he could still breathe, the pressure of the device upon his tongue still made him fear he was going to choke, still brought panic just beneath the surface of his mind, half a breath away from suffering an outright attack. Anxiously he tried to spit it out, tried to move his tongue out from beneath the metal, tried to work his jaws in a way that might loosen it up, but it held fast.

At last he gave up. Lying on his side, his chest heaving as he had nearly been panting in fear, he could do little other than look on in disgust at the disfigurement of his hands, gazing at the floor tilting sideways through his vision. Off in the distance, he could again see the lizards in the next stall over, still huddled in against their straw beds, still gazing at him with that eerily hungry, patient stare. He wanted to cry out at them in revulsion, as well, but the only sound he could manage was a strangled little gurgle.

The demon seemed to have all but forgotten about him. He could hear the sounds off in the distance, the strange creature filling up the bucket of water again and again out of the magic spout, dumping water in one trough after another. Soon the sound was replaced by a wet slap and a thud, the sound of chunks of meat being dropped into the feeding troughs, much as he had done the night before, as well. Slowly the sounds grew closer as the beast worked its way along the stalls, the dull thud, thud, thud growing louder in his ears. The mounts in the stall next to his became slightly agitated, glancing back over their shoulders in the direction of the sound, and then back to him, as if they were torn, unable to decide where their attention should be fixed. Hunger eventually won out; as the thudding came to an end, they finally pulled themselves up from their resting positions and made their way over to the feeding troughs, out of his sight. He could hear the hungry growls, the random clang and click of claws against the steel of the troughs, the wet sound of flesh being torn with sharp teeth and swallowed down.

He saw the blue-haired creature out of the corner of his eye, passing the gate to the stall and heading for the entrance to the stables. Richard tried to call out again, beg for help, beg to be released from this stall and what was going on, but again he managed little more than a strained gurgle. If the demon heard him, it did not give any indication. The rattling sound of the gate being closed was all to obvious to his ears; it had a strange sort of finality to it that made his spirits sink even deeper than they had been.

Richard might have wept, if he could bring himself to care. As his spirit faded, the will to do anything, crying included, left with it. At last he felt truly defeated, lying naked on the stone floor of a stall, some bizarre implement of torture fastened to his head and holding his tongue at bay, his hands and arms warped and disfigured by some kind of terrible, unholy magic. His arms felt tight, and he pulled them instinctively in against his chest, curling himself into a fetal position. The grunts and snorts of feeding beasts echoed around his ears and then went silent as they finished, leaving him to hear nothing but the anguish of his own thoughts in his head.

For some time, he simply remained there, curled up on his side, unmoving and uncaring. Even when he began to feel the first hints of pain, the first creeping clutch of an ache spreading through his skull, he tried to ignore it, but it soon became insistent - a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to increase and tighten with each beat of his heart. It was a headache that rose up suddenly and rapidly, soon leaving him feeling as if he had been hit over the head with a club. Groaning, he reached up and tried to clutch at his head in his hands, even though they would not cooperate.

In the midst of his ache a new sensation became obvious. The little bits of metal that were attached to the straps around his cheeks, the ones that held the metallic spoon-like object firm against his tongue, had already been digging uncomfortably into the corners of his mouth, but as he lay there they seemed to clutch at him more firmly, pulling the corners of his mouth back, slowly but inevitably, into a kind of weird, distorted grin. With a new rush of panic, Richard realized that, by some unseen force, the straps of the device were tightening around his head, squeezing his skull, bringing about the unwelcome pressure, the angry pain that was beginning to ring in his head.

Feeling a bit more panicked, he again reached up and tried to claw at his head, tried to pull the straps off, but he could not get any purchase on them. He whined loudly in spite of the tug of the metal against his lips, realizing that it was moving - he could feel the little metal bar on each side dragging against his teeth, clicking against his canines, pulling back, then against his molars one by one. The tightness in his skull made his head ache, growing with each heartbeat. Soon he found himself almost incapable of taking it, his whole body splaying out on the ground, writhing, clawing at the ground beneath him with a dull scratch of talons against stone. His voice sounded out from his throat in a low, pained groan, but if anyone heard - no one responded.

He was certain he was going to die, or at least be made to suffer this intense pain for the rest of eternity. This had to be the pinnacle of his punishment, the true fate that he was to suffer here in this strange, personal little hell. The rest of it - being forced to see his horse turned into some kind of lascivious little beast, his hands warped into monstrous appendages, locked away in a stable full of weird reptilian creatures that continued to watch him with a strange, hungry fascination - had merely been smaller injustices, insults to soften his spirit, leading up to this raw physical torture. Throwing his head back, he cried out a weird, strangled scream that sounded alien in his own ears. The strange device on his head was surely going to crush him.

Then there was a loud snap that reverberated in his ears, and suddenly the pressure on his head all but vanished. For a brief second Richard thought that the straps on the device had failed, that they had grown so tight that they simply snapped apart, sparing his skull, but then a new, strange sensation grew right at the hinges of his jaw, a kind of fiery soreness that throbbed deep within the flesh. He could feel the hard metal bits had pulled his lips all the way back, pushed in right past his teeth and had settled in against his bare gums in the back of his mouth. He didn't have to think long to realize that the snap he had heard was his own jaw dislocating, the pain radiating through his jaw now enough to let him know what had happened.

Still the lizards in the stall nearby stared, unmoving, silent save for the occasional snort or whuffle. Their gazes remained fixed, unwavering, expectant. They looked like they were waiting.

Richard closed his eyes to banish the vision. He was aware that he was now breathing a low, long groan, pausing only long enough to breathe in, but the reflex was automatic; for all he cared, he could lie there in silence until he had passed away, out of all existence. The throbbing pain in his jaw, in his temples, at the back of his head all seemed to resonate in his head, wrapping him up in a fog that made him feel sick, yet somehow deprived him of the bliss that sleep - or even death - might bring.

The pain did not recede but it seemed to have leveled out, just enough to leave him in that haze of pain. It made it difficult for him to think, made the passage of time begin to blend together. He had no idea how long he lie there groaning in pain, writhing, claws scraping and scratching at the ground, his feet kicking behind him and scattering little clumps of straw around. There was nothing he could do but writhe and soak in the pain, naked, and totally hopeless.

It wasn't until a curious smell had manifested itself that he was able to do anything except linger in that confused fog of hurt. Richard didn't know why he found himself so curious as to what the scent was, nor why it compelled him to open his eyes again and look around, but the urge was as strong as it was sudden. He felt dizzy as he tried to roll back to his back and try to pull himself up - he still felt oddly top-heavy, and just as he began to get his feet beneath him, he collapsed forward into a pile. He tried two more times before he abandoned himself to his condition, lying flat on his belly, reaching one disfigured hand out in front of the other and pulling himself forward, crawling like a beast. The idea made him want to shudder.

Still, curiosity about the scent drove him. He found it was strongest near the gate, the door to his enclosure, and as he dragged himself there, he had to pull himself up off the ground, lifting himself up on his hands and feet, leaning forward and peering into the little metal trough built into the side of his stall, where the scent seemed to be coming from.

He peered into the trough and was somewhat surprised to see a slab of meat lying in the bottom of it, the same meat he had been forced to feed to the lizards the night before. His mind, still foggy, had trouble wrapping itself around the fact, wondering why the strange, blue-haired demons would have left any meat in this stall, where there was no lizard to eat it, when that thought suddenly came to his mind again, a mental image of lizards helping themselves to slabs of raw meat. For some reason he felt immensely jealous of this slab, the piece in his own stall, and immediately dipped his head into the trough to snag the piece with his teeth and haul it out.

It fell from his jaws with a wet slap to the stone floor in front of him, but the scent was now strong in his nose. Reaching down with one of his disfigured hands, he pressed down against the piece of meat, holding it down with his weight, and leaned in to snag it in the side of his jaw. Clutching at the meat, he yanked his head back and tore a sizable chunk of the meat off, threw his head back, and let it drop back into his throat. The meat went down his eager gullet, Richard realizing then that he was enormously hungry, and with a feral sort of gusto he tore into the remainder of the meat; it was gone in a matter of a few greedy gulps.

The sound of metal scraping against stone caught his attention, and he peered back out of his stall. He realized that the main gate to the stable was opening again, and his mind began to sharpen, come out of the haze a little bit again. He was somewhat confused at his own behavior, why he had torn into the raw meat, but he supposed it was an artifact of his hunger - and realizing that his captors were coming seemed more important to him. Not one but both of the demons walked into the stable and looked right in his direction with their expressionless eyes. Richard pushed himself forward, forcing himself to overcome the top-heavy sensation that he felt, hauling himself up on the side of his enclosure and clutching the top with his unwieldy hands. At last he would have a chance to speak his mind, and opened his mouth to give them a tongue-lashing.

He almost fell over when the only sound he heard was an angry, excitable "Ker-awrrr-awwwk!"

The demons did not seem to notice at all. One of them began to walk in his direction, the other stopping to pick up a saddle that was hung on the wall near the entrance before following his companion. Richard looked around in confusion for the offending lizard beast that had interrupted his tirade with its cry, but he could find some. Again he opened his mouth to speak. Again, he only heard the raucous cry. "Rawww-awwwk!"

That was too much. In confusion, Richard let go of the enclosure and fell back to his forearms, stumbling back into the enclosure. It was only then that his eyes caught motion out of the corner of his eye, his head snapping to the side to see what it was. He realized it was his own reflection, somewhat distorted in the metal trough that held his water, but it was his reflection nonetheless, staring right back at him.

His body was dirty, smears of dirt over his skin, his knees scraped up from the stone floor of the enclosure, bits and pieces of straw stuck to his naked form at various points. It was a little startling to see, but it was nothing at all compared to the face blinking back at him. Big, green-gold reptilian eyes blinked in time to his own blinks, the slender, lizard-head cocking to the side to get a better look as he tried to see what was going on. Dull green scales spilled out over his neck, blending seamlessly with the scales that had worked their way up his arms and to his shoulders, where the green abruptly gave way to flesh. The odd contraption on his head had changed, indeed; though it looked different, it had all the elements of a bridle that he was only too familiar with, straps hugging the sides of his head neatly, attached to the bit in his mouth, attachment points for reins, fit perfectly to his head.

To a lizard head.

Richard screamed out a frightened "rrrrrrrwwwwk!" and stumbled back, away from the reflection, falling to his side and flailing his arms into the air helplessly. To his surprise, both of the blue demons were there, standing over them; they must have made their way into the stall while he was looking at his own reflection. They were startlingly fast, one of them suddenly upon him, rolling him to his stomach and holding him down, while the other knelt at his side. Richard reacted with a spike of fear as he was held down, thrashing and trying to pull away, but he could not move.

The demon with the saddle dropped it on his back. He could feel the weight of it pressing in against his spine as it was immediately lashed to his body. A harness of sorts, different than anything he had seen used on a horse, pulled around his sides and latched to a sort of breastplate that dug slightly into his chest, while a second part, a flattened leather-like device with a wide hole in it was draped over his backside, lashed in some fashion to his thighs. It all happened in the space of a few seconds, and the equipment was tightly strapped to his body. The demons released him, then, and stepped away.

He felt incapacitated, unable to do anything but lie on his side and writhe as he watched them walk out of the stall in a rather nonchalant fashion. To his surprise, they left it open, and he tried to get back up and follow - his body refused to comply. The saddle on his back threw his balance off, the straps around his body tugged him in odd ways, and he was left there to thrash against the ground. He watched in a strange mix of horror and curiosity as he heard the other stalls being opened, seeing the lizard mounts file past his stall, one by one as they made for the exit, each turning to look at him for only a brief moment.

One of them paused and gave him a slightly wide-eyed stare; was it Maximus? He couldn't tell. He didn't get a good look, and his mind still felt unfocused and hazy. The last one to pass him also stopped and turned to stare at him, with a gaze that was much different, more severe, almost even threatening. It had to be the alpha.

Then the saddle dug into his back again and demanded his attention. It was large and uncomfortable, built not for his size but the size of a horse, or those riding lizards, and it wobbled from side to side as he shifted against the ground. Small metal bits, rivets perhaps, dug into his skin and immediately began to feel raw, the straps on his back tightening a little. Immediately it brought back painful memories of his head being crushed in the alien bridle, and he let out a startled, frightened snort.

Dear god ... someone please help me ...

Richard's entire back shuddered and twisted in an unexpected spasm, the saddle and the straps digging into his skin again and grinding against his nerves, wracking his frame with pain. He tried to curl himself into a ball, hugging himself into a fetal position, but the straps would not allow it, the saddle would not allow it. A series of little cracking, popping sounds echoed through his ears as he felt his body hit with another wave of pain, the sensation like his backbone was being pulled and stretched, the vertebrae snapping as they tugged apart, yet he remained whole. He let out another inhuman cry of pain, yet it did not stop.

The odd loop of leather-like material then dug into his backside, clutching him with surprising force, enough to toss him forward and leave him to claw helplessly at the floor beneath him. So powerful were the spasms of pain running through him that his claws were beginning to etch lines into the stone below him.

Once more, the strange hazy sensation began to cloud his mind, the pain pushing his consciousness into the back corners of his head head. It was something of a relief; he wasn't able to think about the pain so much, beginning to feel a bit detached from his own body. Somehow, he was able to turn his head and look, eyes widening as he saw what was happening. The straps were not tightening at all, but rather, his body was swelling and stretching. The scales that had made their way to his shoulders were spreading relentlessly down his body. The little leather ring at his backside was clutching his hips as they changed shape, his flesh beginning to bulge through the opening, pushing its way into the beginnings of a tail.

Richard realized what was happening, at least in an oddly detached way. He was being changed, transformed into one of those beasts. In a way it began to make sense - there was no way that a simple farmhand like himself would know the first thing about taming these creatures. The demons had told him that Maximus had been made a part of the herd to bring his better qualities to them, and perhaps this was their way of stealing his own qualities. Whatever they were.

He also found it strange that he was able to think about it so level headed, that he was able to take his change in stride, but he also realized that there wasn't any other way around it, was there? It was what the blue-haired demons wanted of him; he supposed that, in the end, it wouldn't do much good to cross them. They'd get their way, one way or another.

Usually, it was more pleasant to cooperate.

He still hurt; his body still ached, but he managed to keep himself quiet. It wasn't as if he couldn't take the pain, if he tried hard enough. A strange sense of curiosity wanted to keep his eyes open, wanted to look back as his body continued to stretch and swell, his knees cracking as they twisted and his legs began to rearrange, and it slowly became more and more comfortable to remain there on the floor, curled up slightly, and let the changes come over him as they would. It wouldn't take too much longer, at this rate.

When it was done, he opened his eyes. The pain had fled his body, but there was still a strange ache that he could feel, in his feet, in his legs, in his joints. He looked down at himself, his body having filled out to fit the harness that he was in. The saddle was now well balanced upon his back, the straps snugging to his muscles as if they had been built specifically for him. His feet, all four of them, held himself up easily as he rose up off his belly. Stretching, standing, made the slight ache in his muscles feel a little better but it was still there. He had to get rid of it.

Gazing toward the exit, still left open in front of him, he realized he had an idea of how he would do it.

#

Sunlight had always felt good on his skin, but Richard discovered that it had an especially delightful effect on his scales. As he wandered his way out of the stables, he glanced over the other mounts, splayed out in the paddock in various stages of sunning, and he instantly realized why they were. He felt a slight urge to join them, to find a spot to go lie down, stretch out in the sun and absorb the warm rays, but he still felt the ache in his legs and his loins. No, lying in the sun was not quite going to cut it.

The grass beneath his feet was springy and it felt delightful. He could feel his talons dig lightly into the earth, the smell of broken grass blades and damp, rich soil rising up to his nostrils and making him feel a little giddy. Almost instinctively he pawed at the earth beneath him, dragging his claws against the grass and leaving little divots, the scent of soil growing stronger in his lungs. The feeling of moving, dragging his feet against the ground, was delightful. It made the ache retreat just a bit. Yes, Richard knew exactly what he needed.

He felt his hindlegs quiver at the thought, digging his feet into the ground a bit, and then he coiled his muscles, releasing the tension in an explosion of motion. The speed at which he launched himself, tearing across the landscape, was surprising even to him, the earth becoming a green blur between his feet as he darted forward. The sensation was natural, incredible, liberating. The tightness and ache in his legs fled as he ran, his feet digging into the ground, clutching at it for half a heartbeat before pushing away, darting forward, ever faster, ever quicker, ever more ebullient. He couldn't help it; he leaned his head back and cried out a jubilant "rweeerawwraaawk!"

The edge of the paddock rushed up at him too quickly though. With an awkward shift in his pace, he almost tripped himself up and fell, but managed to stumble into an ungraceful stop, clods of dirt and little pebbles and chunks of turf flying around in front of him. It was startling and refreshing all at once. He gnawed at the bit in his mouth, gazing out past the fence, the open and unhindered hills and valleys beyond the paddock. He yearned to feel them rolling beneath his feet. He had to get out there.

Something massive crashed into his side, however, catching him completely off guard. With a startled cry, he was literally picked up off his feet, falling to his side and tumbling over and over, his legs flailing and clutching till he finally was able to right himself. Before he could get his bearings there was another crash of something heavy at his back, an insistent pressure on his hips forcing them down, collapsing his hindlegs and making him squat. An angry snorting and grunting sounded out behind him, claws scrabbling at his hips.

Snapping his head back, he saw the alpha there, big and threatening and wild with raw power. The creature had already climbed up on his back and was trying to clutch him around the middle, pull him beneath the other creature, the alpha leaning in and starting to snap at the air over his neck. The male was already jabbing his hips into the air, the scent of his erection sudden and sharp on the air.

Richard instantly knew what was happening. He was the newest member of the herd, and the alpha was here to put him in his place. He could see the rest of the herd, mostly relaxed and lazing, watching with something like feigned disinterest as their superior was about to repeat the process of "welcoming" new members of the tribe and asserting his virility. Images of that same male rutting so eagerly on his dear Maximus flashed through his head, and a rush of anger snapped at him just as urgently as the alpha.

He clutched at the ground in front of him and pulled, while kicking his hindlegs back at the same time. He had to wriggle and shake himself violently to dislodge the male, but after a brief struggle he succeeded. The angry snorts and grunts behind him increased in pitch, and scrambling, he turned himself around to face his aggressor. The alpha responded by rearing back, throwing his maw open and showing off rows of sharp, wicked teeth, making sure that he could see his throbbing erection beneath his legs, a display meant to say one thing and one thing only. You are mine.

A brief shudder ran down his spine at the display, and he momentarily felt cowed. The alpha was huge, he was strong and powerful - he was the alpha for a reason. A weird desire to submit began to rise up in his chest, an inclination to obey and follow commands. He could feel his tail thrashing behind him, the base of it starting to hook and arch a little. It would be so easy to just turn around again and present himself. It would be over pretty quick, and then he'd be left alone.

But then another thought crossed his mind. He could still see the hills and fields undulating in the distance, wide open countryside that was just begging to be trodden under his swift, racing feet. Right now he wore the saddle, and he knew that only one steed would e out there, practicing for the race, free to run where he wished. That one steed was the alpha. As soon as he accepted the beast beneath his tail, he could forget about racing through those hills.

He remembered Maximus again, eager beneath the male. It made his blood boil. Richard steeled himself, breathing out a deep, low growl, and then raised his own head, flashing his own teeth in defiance. Not this time.

The response was as swift as it was vengeful. The alpha threw himself forward, and before Richard could react, the beast crashed against him in a flurry of scale and muscle, knocking him from his feet once again. He reacted by snapping his jaws but caught nothing but air, and then he could feel sharp teeth digging into the side of his own neck, the alpha getting a hold of his hide. He cried out in surprise in pain, but the alpha was undeterred - the big creature was already tugging at him, pulling against his skin with his teeth sunk in.

Richard would not give up so easily. He might not have the advantage in size or stature, but there was something he did have. His mind might have been muddled and hazy but he could still think. He could still plan ahead. He knew what the alpha was trying to do, was trying to frighten him, subdue him, and make him submit. This wasn't a battle to the death. It wasn't about inflicting pain, so he would not let the pain deter him.

Swinging his tail around as hard as he could, he let it crash firmly against the alpha's side. It stung, but had the desired effect, as the larger creature was knocked off balance. He did not hesitate, swinging his tail again, a little lower, catching the alpha by the legs and cutting them out from beneath him, forcing the larger creature down to the ground. Jaws were still clamped on his neck, and Richard was tugged earthward, but he knew he couldn't allow that. Kicking his feet into the ground and pushing back, he forced himself out of that grip, stumbling back several paces.

The alpha did not hesitate, either. As soon as the big male found his balance, he launched himself forward again, more aggressive, talons spread and menacing. Richard did not meet the attack head on, sidestepping and swinging his tail around in one smooth motion. It was enough to catch the beast off guard, bowling him over and giving Richard the upper hand. As he watched the other male tumble before him, he went on the offensive, leaping forward with his own forelegs out in front of him, clutching, grabbing, scrabbling.

Talons caught scale and he realized the alpha was beneath him. The bigger male was not still, thrashing on the ground and already trying to find his feet, while Richard fought to hang on, digging his talons in beneath scales, finding purchase there. He pushed himself forward while tugging, and suddenly found that he was on top of the alpha, dangling slightly from his side. The beast beneath him cried out angrily, leaning his head back and snapping, but caught only air.

Richard realized that the alpha was not going to leave him alone, was not going to relent until he had asserted himself, until he had spent himself upon Richard's backside. There would be one other option, though. He could already feel the rush of heat in his loins, could already feel the heady swell between his legs. Hanging on as tight as he could, he tried to haul himself up on top of the alpha, feeling for the first time scales brush against his erecting shaft. The rush of testosterone through his veins made him giddy.

The alpha, realizing what was happening, began to fight back even harder. The big beast was bucking beneath him, flailing from side to side, trying to twist its body and dislodge him, but Richard did not let go. His talons were still hooked beneath those scales; he was off balance but his grip was sure. The alpha leaned back and snapped at him, missing again, but Richard returned the gesture. With a lighting reflex, he leaned in and bit down, his jaws finding their mark - the male's neck was held fast in his jaws.

He reacted with a wild bucking and an angry, violent growl, but Richard would not let go. The beast beneath him was nothing if not a mass of undulating muscle and protesting scale, but he was on top. He had the upper hand. Instinct kicked in as his hips began to push and prod, feeling himself nudging against scale here and there. The alpha was trying to keep his tail held down, pressed against his backside, trying to block the way. Richard breathed out an angry growl and tightened his grip on the male's neck, sinking his teeth into that hide. He felt the snap of scale being pierced; he tasted the iron tang of blood on his tongue.

Suddenly the male beneath him relented. The thick tail blocking his way shifted to the side and his path was unblocked. The next rock of his hips forward found the mark, his tip hooking under the alpha's tail, nudging into the tight opening. The reaction was immediate, Richard feeling the overwhelming urge to grip tight and arch his back, pushing his hips forward, demanding his way beyond that tight entrance, and then he was in.

His flesh engulfed in slick tight heat, he could not resist the urge to breathe out a feral growl, but he dared not release the mating grip that he had the alpha in. The other male, slightly larger than himself, leaned his own head back and cried out a strange, defeated sound, almost mournful, before leaning forward and pressing his chest into the earth, hiking his hips forward and presenting himself to the victor. Richard did not hesitate to take what he was given, his hips already jabbing and thrusting forward, forcing himself in deeper and deeper, claiming his prize.

The sensation was unlike anything he had known before. He did not have to think about what he was doing at all, his body reacting as if he had done this a hundred times before, pounding his hips in and out and driving himself deep beneath the male's tail. Already he could feel himself swelling down there, eager flesh grinding against submissive flesh, spurting little lines of precum that only made the way slicker, easier. He could catch hints of his own scent on the air. Looking forward through hazy eyes, he was aware of the rest of the herd watching now with rapt attention, some of them even standing at attention as they witnessed something unprecedented. Richard called out a confident, powerful bellow in their direction. They returned it with trilling little calls of their own.

It didn't last long. Instinct had forced him in as deep as he would go, his tail thrashing behind him as he gave in to the need to rut. He could feel a burning in his loins as something within him rose to a peak, the tension building rapidly and suddenly. He did not fight it back at all as it snapped all at once, and he buried himself in as deep as he could go as his shaft throbbed and swelled within the alpha, spurting out thick jets of his sticky seed. He could not help but to throw his head back and breathe out a loud, triumphant cry as he mated the creature beneath him, exultant and jubilant. He was alpha.

As soon as it was over, the defeated creature beneath him dislodged itself and scurried away without so much as looking back. Richard felt himself drop to the ground with a little grunt, watching his conquest make a direct run for the rest of the herd. Picking one of them out at random, the former alpha simply bowled the other male over and mounted him in one smooth move, grunting out angrily as his hips began to gyrate, trying to restore some of his bruised status. Richard would allow it, for now.

Still others of the herd approached him, somewhat meekly, snuffling at the air and regarding him carefully. One of them stepped closer, dipping its head submissively and nuzzling up against his shoulder, breathing a quiet little "gwrrrrk". He had never really known Maximus' scent before, but now it was obvious to him. He responded with a friendly rumble of his own, and watched with some sense of curiosity as Maximus wriggled happily, took a step away and turned around to present himself, eager for his master, his alpha.

Though he had just spent himself, Richard again felt the swell of need rising in his loins. Never before would he have considered his beloved horse in this kind of manner, but now he could almost taste it, the rasp of the male's scales on his underside, allowing him to be more languid in his pace, more thorough in his breeding. He took a tentative step forward, snuffling at the willing creature.

But then his eyes caught the rolling hillsides again, and he remembered. He still wore the saddle on his back. He was the alpha now, he was the one who would be chosen for the Great Race, and he was the one who would be galloping eagerly around the hillsides. His eyes caught sight of the blue-haired creatures then, near the entrance to the paddock. Breathing a reassuring little grunt at Maximus, he trotted eagerly toward his keepers. There would be plenty of time for that, later.

Expressionless black eyes greeted him as he pulled up to his rider, but he realized that they weren't quite expressionless, after all. He caught a slight glint, a hint of something like a smile, as a soft, blue-haired hand came up and stroked him gently on the side. "Ah, as I had hoped ... you are not so driven by your passions that you forget your duties. You are a fine addition to my herd, my alpha."

The blue beast then hooked reins up to his bridle, and grasped hold of the pommel in the saddle, swinging himself up and over Richard's back. The weight was not so much, and somehow the way it felt with those legs at his sides, squeezing him lightly, was right, encouraging, liberating. The gentle tug at the reins, the bit gently digging in against his jaw, was just enough direction that he needed. The gate was thrown open in front of him, and the open landscape beckoned. With an eager and happy cry, he dug his claws into the ground and launched himself forward, and at last felt free.