The annual carnival at this sophisticated and urbane court has commenced. He watches the thronging, laughing multitude with hooded yellow eyes, men and women, male and female - all circling, making acquaintanceships, shattering old friendships, moving onto new. The Sith Lord watches as alliances, both political and personal, are made, unmade, renewed and cemented.

As he watches, so he, in turn, is watched.

There is a priestess sitting at the edge of the carnival. She is attentive to the mood of the court, she also watches the making and unmaking of friendships and affairs, watches the dance, who will stay with whom when the glamour of the night fades?

She watches Lord Khameir Sarin, Palpatine's Aide and she divines he may be Sith, this sorcerer who has come to the court, for what purpose she is yet to divine.

She watches Lord Sarin.

She covets him.

She desires his body.

She wants to kiss, stroke, explore the delights hidden under his tunic. Those delights hinted at by his grace, his lithe walk, the way he moves. All manner of things she wants to do to him, and all manner of things she wants in return.

The priestess, Linona, is very beautiful. Her skin is a soft gold with deeper gold dapples, her eyes; deep green, her limbs; long and straight, her hands; slender and smooth with long black talons. Her lips are soft and full, a luscious red, tempting like ripe fruit ready to fall. She is tall, regal, moves with power and purpose, reclines on the couch smoking the narcotic stick with an easy elegance.

The dress she is wearing would tempt many a man to fall from grace. It is the same colour as her eyes, sparkles and glitters with a subtle iridescence as she moves, now hiding, now revealing her charms. She wonders, does it affect this Aide? Does his heart beat faster and his blood surge as he gazes upon her beauty?

The mild narcotic drifting through her veins causes her mind to drift as she imagines disrobing this dark warrior with his lethal grace. First, she will undo the clasp to his pleated cloak, and it will slowly slide over his broad shoulders, down his arms, drop to the floor.

Next she will undo his belt, remove the weapon clipped to his right hip… Ahh, his hips…

Linona thinks of how those hips might move against her own. Absently her hand moves down her thigh as she inhales of the pleasant smoke. There is a task to be performed she reminds herself, the finding out of threats and hidden purpose, the divination of evil intent to her home world and the Prince of it, her master. Quickly she tests the mind of this guest, and finds no wrong intent. He is only a witch then.

Only a witch.

Only…

Drifting… Imagining… The tunic will be next.

How will it be fastened? Clips or clasps? Buttons? Hidden ties? Whatever these fastenings, she will undo them slowly, starting at the top where the tunic crosses over his throat, over the soft and dark skin which leads to his broad chest and shoulders. She will caress this dark triangle of skin with her lips, gently kiss and lick with the tip of her tongue as with her fingers she undoes the garment.

Stroking it from his body she will uncover the superb physique beneath, the firm muscle, the corded sinew, the taut skin, gliding under her fingers like the softest ebon silk. Or will his skin be coarse and rough, abrading her own skin, making a pleasurable sensation against her? How is this skin patterned with the red and the black?

Her mind devises swirls of black upon red, puts them on this semi-naked Lord, places black along each muscle, jagged stripes along the ribs. Her hands will surely follow each of these patterns; her fingers will trace the designs over his chest, down his powerful arms, and around his waist.

Lord Maul continues to study the assembly. He waits for his Master, Lord Sidious, who parades his identity as Senator Palpatine of Naboo. As he continues to search for where the power truly lies in this court, he becomes more aware of Linona, hears her thoughts upon his person, and listens to her lustful imaginings.

Linona uses the Force. She thinks her mind and thoughts are cloaked, but she is barely tutored and young in power. She continues her fantasy as she inhales the smoke. In her mind, her warrior is but half-naked, so she moves her hand to his belt and her nimble fingers search for the fastening in the soft leather. She dreams she cannot find it so she dreams he smiles, kisses her, and unfastens it for her, stepping out of all his remaining garments as he removes hers.

The reverie continues as she sighs to herself. Her hand twitches as in her mind she places her hand under his erect member, cupping it in her hand. She then strokes delicately upward, takes the head between finger and thumb and teases, moving the soft and silken skin. She imagines his sighs of longing for her, his closed eyes, and murmurs of delight as he presses her mischievous hand to his body.

She will touch him everywhere, exploring the delights of him softly and delicately like a first love. She will move her hands over his flat stomach, to his hips. She will sink to her knees and pleasure him with her lips and tongue, make him shudder and sigh with her touch and caresses.

Maul stares fixedly at the swarming multitude. At first he is amused, then astounded at the effrontery of this priestess. As she broadcasts her thoughts about his body, he fills with anger.

She continues. A sigh. How will he respond to her she wonders. Will he ravage her like a beast? Will he use her roughly, take her from behind, force her pliant and eager body to his will? She reflects that she might like him tethered to her bed for her own eager hands and lips to work on unhindered while he strains at the bindings in ecstasy.

The bindings now occupy her thoughts. Leather tethers covered in black or red velvet? She will not chain his waist; she wants him bucking into her fiercely as she rides him. Or perhaps she will chain him at the waist and study his body as it flexes and strains toward her. Perhaps she will do this first and then remove the chain when she has sampled the strength of his desire for her.

As she reflects on his more intimate attributes, his length, his size, his shape, whether he tastes salty or sweet, Maul seethes with rage. His anger now knows no bounds. Still he searches for those who wield power on this world, finding a soft-spoken general loved by his troops, a haughty lordling full of vanity and lust for power. Linona is meanwhile lost in reverie.

Until Senator Palpatine approaches. He smiles his pleasant and wily diplomat's smile, greeting and nodding to new allies and new enemies alike, and stands at Maul's side The Aide bows in greeting of his own, makes a small comment, and reports on what he has discovered.

Palpatine surveys the throng as he listens to Maul's murmurings, makes his targets, and assigns Maul his tasks for the following day. He hears Linona, eavesdrops on her designs, and vastly amused, glances quickly at Maul, who glares back at him.

"You have not marked her as ally?" askes Palpatine, as Linona now imagines herself tethered comfortably to the bed as Lord Sarin gratifies himself upon her.

Maul does not condescend to answer this question, which he considers a touch rhetorical.

"You have considered taking advantage of her co-operative nature, Apprentice?"

Maul sighs in exasperation, snaps his mouth closed and stares into the distance.

As Linona considers the possibility of this Lord pleasuring her with his mouth, using his sharp fangs upon her breasts, making painful bites and drawing a little blood, Palpatine's eyes suddenly glitter a little, spark with interest. A spark of desire surges within his jaded loins.

"A woman after my own heart, a seeker of more subtle delights than simple rutting. Anyone can rut, Apprentice, even you did once upon a time." Palpatine says these last words coldly and looks speculatively towards Linona as Maul makes a blank and unresponsive expression, hiding within himself thoughts of his consort and their joy in one another.

"Let us use her co-operation, Apprentice. Arrange it," commands Palpatine, eager to assert his dominance over his pupil.

"Then give me a chain, Master."

"Nothing easier, Apprentice, and make it soon. I thirst for entertainment of this sort, and require a little diversion."

Later that evening, Sidious shows Maul a box he has retrieved from a hidden place, and partly unwraps the outer covering of scarlet cloth. A fine dust swirls gently in the sun as the cloth is disturbed, the motes dancing in the clear air.

He partly opens the box, shows Maul the chain and pendant. Any powers the bauble may possess are hidden below the skin of the metal, awaiting an adept to re-awaken them, although both the Master and the Apprentice feel the slumbering sorcery pulsating within.

"The chain will bind, and the pendant will immobilise, Apprentice. These ancient things will work separately or together, but they are long disused and must be re-awakened. You must give them life, feed them your rage, your anger. Enmesh it within the very atoms of their structures, the very planes of the crystals, forge your hate into each and every link."

Giving Maul the closed box, "As always remember, the use of such relics require purity of mind and body, Lord Maul."

Then Sidious smiles a little devious smile, looks into Maul's eyes.

"We will greatly enjoy this priestess, but remember that a little life in a women, a little struggle, adds spice to the encounter."

Maul is pleased, bows his thanks and murmurs them also, as he holds this fine-wrought thing named Nek'Hemet.

As he leaves, Sidious calls him back. "A gift for the lady - to enchant her until we meet," he says, pressing a small object into Maul's hand.

The finely wrought chain lies in its open box of precious wood, a relic from the long lost days of the Sith Empire, when the power that was the Sith glory reigned supreme in the galaxy. The chain sparkles a little in the dim light, lies coiled innocently upon its bed of rare silk from the outer world of Teijsa. The box itself lies upon its outer wrapping of the same silken stuff, spread carefully upon a low table.

The box and the precious contents have not been used for very many years. They have lain in a secret place, perhaps a temple on Korriban, perhaps a locked cupboard or hidden closet on Coruscant. The dark has kept the colour in the silk, the red of it glowing brightly like fresh blood spilt but a moment before.

Maul has fasted for a full two days and meditated for much of this time. He has bathed in ritual manner before touching this holy thing, and he works his magick unclothed. His mind is pure and sharp, but his anger remains. Incandescent rage boils and seethes like a river of molten rock beneath his calm demeanour.

In reverential manner, he removes the chain from the box with his left hand, holding the sigil pendant under one upturned palm. The pendant itself has awesome power, and must not be defiled by the touch of the uninitiated. He detaches the pendant from the chain and places it respectfully back in the box, which he closes. He then places the chain on the silk, folding the lengths of it evenly and sits back, regards it, meditates upon it.

He considers the quality of the chain, the length, the colour. He reflects upon the fine workmanship, the intricacy of the strangely fashioned links, the shapes of which curl back upon themselves and confuse the eye. He picks up the chain and threads it through his fingers, listening to the sound, a muted 'chink', a soft susurration. Under his eyes the chain grows in size, expands to fill his vision and his senses until there is nothing else but a glittering and sparkling chain.

Cupping the chain in his hands, Maul softly breathes upon it, his sweet breath warming the chain a little. He speaks to the chain and commands it by its secret name, Nek'Hemet, and breathes upon it some more.

The chain trembles a little, then shivers. It stirs the Force, asks Maul what he wants of it.

Cross legged, head bowed over the chain which he still cups in his hands, Maul continues to breathe upon it until the chain starts to writhe and shake.

"What would you have me do, Master?" questions the chain, link squirming against link.

"Bind for me, Nek'Hemet." Says Maul, bringing the chain closer to his mouth to breathe more closely upon it.

"I will need more than your breath," whispers the chain. "I need life..."

"You will have blood, that is life," says Maul, as he places the chain in a small silver bowl cleaned with sweet fresh herbs. He reaches for a sharp knife, cleaned in a similar fashion as the bowl and sharpened with a new whetstone, and shows it to Nek'Hemet, then makes a swift cut in the palm of his hand. The blood wells up and he squeezes the hand over the bowl until the chain is covered with his thick dark blood.

As the blood covers it, the chain writhes and starts to move. The speed of the movement increases until Maul picks up the bowl and catches one end of the chain and restrains it.

Nek'Hemet protests, tugs and pulls, tries to escape his fingers in the slippery blood.

"Be still!" commands Maul, and it becomes so, except for the occasional loop which sullenly breaks free of the surface of the congealing blood only to sink slowly back again.

Submersing himself totally in the Force, Maul swims among the eddies and pools of it, sips at the darkness, and reaches out for the newly awakened life in the chain, pushing his mind through the dark flows of the present and diving into the pool of blackness that the chain has become.

"Nek'Hemet." whispers Maul, using the language of the ancients who forged the chain. "Bind for me. Bind fast, and bind true."

He works his fingers along the chain, touching each link with his mind as he does with his fingers, diving under the skin of the metal, following the skeins of power wrought by the forge, sliding along the planes of the crystals imbuing them with a strange life. As he does this, the volume of blood shrinks, diminishes, until at the last link, the blood is consumed in full.

Taking the chain out of the bowl, Maul encloses it within his two hands and touches the enclosing fist to his forehead. As the chain writhes and quivers in its cage of red and black fingers, he instructs it, commands it, makes it bow to his will, then whispers to it persuasively with cunning words. He makes promises of sliding against firm young woman-flesh, caressing silky thighs, and straining against pouting breasts.

When the chain thirsts to do its work, he rises from the floor, and winds it three times around his waist before fastening it. He wears the chain for three days. When these days have passed, during which time Nek'Hemet grows its power, taking it from Maul's body, he replaces the chain in the box.

An audience?

"Lord Sarin craves an audience Madame," whispers the kneeling servant discreetly, "and he sends you this gift for your delectation."

"But a small thing for your amusement," says Maul, leaning over her shoulder. He has walked silently around the back of her small throne unseen, makes her jump at the sound of his soft hoarse voice so close to her ear.

"You have anticipated my answer, my Lord. How can I deny you now?" she replies as he walks around to stand uninvited at the side of her. She looks askance at his dark figure, largely hidden by his voluminous pleated cloak.

Maul stands in his customary manner, his hands folded in front of him, looking down at her expressionlessly. She turns her face up to look at his face, and he makes a small courtly bow, which she finds most charming. Her heart starts beating very fast at the proximity of this man she desires so much, and as she stares at him, she plays with the small wrapped object to distract herself.

"Do you not desire… " he says lingeringly, ".. to see what a Sith Lord might bring you in celebration of your beauty?"

Sith Lord? So he is a Sith, but she had not dreamed he was also a Lord of such. A powerful being then if he is a Lord. She has heard of Sith and their strange appetites - a little shiver runs up and down her spine.

Knowing its target is close, the chain squirms around Maul's waist and sings its own need to him. It tightens and loosens as it tries to reach Linona. He commands the chain to be still, be silent, as Linona composes herself.

"Such generosity, Lord Sarin." She looks up at his face again and smiles as he smiles. His pupils are points of black in the centres of the golden irises. So close to him, she easily sees the ring of red fire round the edge of the iris, which gives him a feral and savage look. So savage he appears, she wonders for a fraction of a moment why she is attracted. As he crosses his arms and arrogantly half-sits on the arm of her throne, leaning towards her, assuming an intimate manner, she is reminded.

The smoky black wrapping decorated with silver swirls falls apart easily in her almost trembling hands. Maul leans closer during this operation, and his head is close to hers, his pleasant sweetish breath blowing against her cheek. She finds he has a slight musk, a scent that reminds her of leather, and a spicy wood. It makes her nostrils flare in appreciation.

The silver string is caught in the wrapper, and she tugs at it gently but ineffectively. He leans closer and slides a sharpened claw through the string, cutting it quickly and efficiently, almost brushing her hand as he does so. His black claws are long she sees, and sharpened as if they were weapons. It comes into her mind that they are indeed weapons, as are his horns.

This will make their encounter more exciting she imagines, and she catches a lascivious look in his eyes as she glances up to thank him for this small service. Might a Sith Lord perform a greater service for her she asks with her eyes?

When the remainder of the wrappings are removed, the gift is revealed to be a tiny bronze figurine, the detail very fine and exquisite, beautifully rendered. The patina suggests venerable age and respectability. The subject suggests a most healthy lust and an indulgence in an ancient pastime.

Linona puts a hand over her mouth and laughs in delight at the tiny female figure tightly bound with diminutive chains, each link clearly apparent. The figure might have been caught at the moment of ecstasy as it arches its back, expressing total surrender and abandon in the expression on the perfect face.

"The companion figure has been lost…" murmurs Maul. "Such an activity cannot be adequately expressed by a solitary figure such as this."

The chain mutters its dissatisfaction at its own solitary state and tightens warningly around Maul's waist.

"But such an activity might be expressed in life by devotees of this art." She suggests, turning the tiny figure in her hand that she might see all aspects of it.

"The bindings themselves are an art-form Madame.," suggests Maul, as the chain becomes more agitated. Linona brings the figurine closer, examines them minutely, breathing more quickly as her excitement mounts.

Linona strokes the figure. "She is beautiful. Such enjoyment in her expression, my Lord. Do you think the artist rendered her faithfully in this regard?"

"She is indeed beautiful…" murmurs Maul he touches the straining thighs of the bronze woman gently. "Does her beauty not reflect her enjoyment of this sweet pastime? See how her mouth expresses her wonder at the sensation she feels, see how her eyes are closed in ecstasy at the joy of this moment."

Maul touches the face of the bronze woman, his hand almost touching Linona's.

Almost.

He falls silent and clasps both hands in front of him, and looks into her eyes. She pulls her gaze away from his and stares at his hands as her imagination stirs, imagines being bound by them, touched by them.

"Where does one find such… beauty?" she asks.

"In such a moment perhaps." replies the Sith Lord.

"Perhaps a Sith Lord could create such moments…"

"Most assuredly Madame." The chain mutters and chitters its desire to bind the eager priestess, twists and strains at Mauls waist.

"And when might such moments be created?" she wonders aloud, turning the figure again in her hands.

And an assignation is made, a night is agreed…

As she watches Maul's retreating figure, Linona reflects that he has not touched her. His breath has drifted over her cheek, his hand has nearly brushed hers, he has leaned close. Yet he has not touched her. No matter. He will, she thinks.

The matter and manner of dress has caused her much deliberation. She has decided on gold tissue, a shimmering garment which seems attached but fleetingly to her body by some mysterious means, a long tunic cunningly devised, cut cleverly to reveal as it moves and shifts about her form.

Linona opens the door to her chambers, and leads the way in for the dark cloaked figure standing there. She had not thought that Lord Maul was so great in stature, and wonders momentarily…

The door clicks shut with a 'snick' of a final nature which seems to echo faintly around the room. She turns with an inviting and lascivious smile which slowly fades as the room suddenly chills, becomes cold and icy, makes her shiver. The cloaked figure is not Maul, but whom?

The figure makes no move, yet she senses a growing menace and a ripple of fear sweeps discomfortingly around her as a swirl of darkness flutters at her back. The figure raises its head and looks at her from the depths of the all-encompassing hood.

Slowly, teasingly, it is Lord Sidious who removes his hood with a soft smile, his piercing blue eyes gazing upon her with affection, delight, and anticipation. Pushing one sleeve back he reaches into a pocket of the cloak and retrieves a long sparkling chain fashioned of a rare and precious metal, and runs it through his fingers, from one hand to the other.

The fine chain makes a tiny sound, a metallic susurration as it pours into the palm of his hand, and again as it runs into the palm of his other hand. The sound becomes louder and is hypnotic, it fascinates her. She watches the sparkling metal as it loops around the supple fingers, hears the sound as it falls into the hand, until the sparkling metal is all that she sees and the chinking sound is all that she hears.

The chain becomes longer. As it lengthens, it assumes a motion and flow of its own, winding and gliding smoothly of its own accord around the fingers which smoothly manipulate it, guide it. The Sith Lord gazes more upon the Priestess, smiles benevolently and draws his hands apart slowly, holding the palms towards each other. The chain moves back and forth still, defying gravity, and begins a snapping movement, clicking with increasing force into his hands.

As Sidious holds his hands upwards, the chain flows still from the cups of his hands, back and forth, and begins a vicious whipping motion that snaps with a loud 'crack' into the calloused skin of his hand. Skin that is hardened by years of weapons training with the lightsabre. Skin that does not feel the snap of the chain.

Mesmerised, she does not move as Sidious throws the chain at her along the floor of the chamber. Neither does she move as the chain slithers round her ankles, encompasses her knees. Neither does she resist as the chain twines round her thighs like a lover, snares her arms and pinions them with a cold caress. It settles around her neck and tightens teasingly, giving a sharp little snap against her neck making a tiny painful weal.

The sorcerer glides towards her, undoing the clasp of his long and voluminous cloak, then dropping it to the floor. He is naked and he walks to her, making no sound on the soft carpet…

Sidious is a warrior. He is fit, he spars with his Apprentice, trains avidly with the lightsabre, but he is not Maul. No red, no black, no beautiful pattern, no lithe and easy grace of youth. But, bleached skin, grizzled hair, and a waist thickened with the years.

Unable to move, resist, or flee, her gaze travels the length of Sidious' rampant body with horror, knowing fully in her mind his purpose, and his intent upon her own body.

"Come my dear," coos Sidious, elegantly and smoothly reaching his hand to her. His hand sparks with the Force which dances on his fingers, promising pain and pleasure both. Likely, pain for her and pleasure for him.

"Show me your bed. We shall dispense with the wooing." And he takes her imprisoned hand, strokes it, raises it to kiss in a charming old-fashioned way, the chain moving aside for his questing fingers.

Linona struggles a fraction. "Where is…" she manages to say before he painfully pinches her breast, and stops her mouth with a kiss. Such a kiss. He takes his time, savours her lips and tongue, sighs a little, bites a little As he kisses, he runs his hands over her body, stroking the chain aside and removing her few garments. He touches everywhere, lightly, fleetingly, most intimately, and her nerves respond with alacrity, sparking over the boundaries of pleasure just into pain. She is aroused and alarmed by this.

Sidious stops, smiles beatifically at her. He takes her head gently and tenderly in his hands.

"My Apprentice is celibate my dear. He has pledged his body to the Darkness. All pleasures of the flesh are banished, abjured, and for him - of no interest. But I? Aah, I am a different matter. I revel in them, enjoy them avidly, practise the arts of, aah, love, ardently. You desired a Sith and we would not disappoint you. We two shall enjoy each other enormously, you are as generous as you are beautiful."

So saying he picks her up and holds her trembling body close, then walks to her bed-chamber and places her lovingly on the bed. Linona whimpers, her mind beginning to unravel with fear.

He stands by the bed a moment and feasts his eyes on her chained and struggling body. He licks his lips delicately, rubs his hands, and gestures impatiently at the door.

When he bids Linona a fine good morning, and thanks her for the sport they have enjoyed, he places the counterpart to the bound bronze woman on top of her, slotting the lusty male figure into its appointed place.

Then he sets it rocking, as it does until she finds it later.

The morning after the carnival, there is a parade, a procession of gaudy floats and fluttering banners. The gathered crowd cheers as numberless archers march briskly past, followed by sword-bearers, ion-canon pulled by lumbering beasts of burden, and pretty girls throwing flowers.

The parade is in honour of Senator Palpatine, who stands beaming and smiling to the assembled multitudes on a small dais decked with bunting. Lord Sarin stands behind the left shoulder of his Master as befits his position as Aide and bodyguard.

"And Linona?" murmurs Maul, seeming casually as he busily notes details of the passing parade on his datapad.

"She lives," says Sidious, eyes far away, reliving recent pleasures.

And such pleasures. Such exquisite pain, the sobs of fear from her as he feeds upon it. Sidious dreams a little more, generously allowing his Apprentice a tiny glimpse of Linona bound to her bed with a most beautiful fine chain of exquisite workmanship. She is screaming, her back arched in terror as he approaches her, as he…..

Maul shudders discreetly and allows himself a little smile. Then he chuckles to himself. The parade ended he snaps the datapad shut, and smiling triumphantly, clasps his hands behind him, stands comfortably, and prepares for the long speeches to come.

© Dark Lady - 5 November  2000