An Oath to Mida

10 A slave to males—and another escape lost

When Ceralt awoke with the new light, a warm fire blazed in the hearth, and falum bubbled in the pot upon the metal rod above it. Little sleep had come to me through the darkness, so with the first faint touches of red to the skies, I had arisen and seen to the fire. Once the falum had been set to cook, I had crouched beside the fire and sought to warm myself, yet the chill refused to be chased from my bones. It clung steadily with icy fingertips, and even wrapping my arms about myself had not helped. I shivered in the faint glow cast by the fire in the corner of the hearth, letting my mind follow the grain of the wood floor I crouched upon. Though I wore not even so much as my clan covering, it seemed that a great weight fell all about me, holding me in place and making breathing difficult. I knew not what ailed me and cared not, and the grain of the floor whirled my gaze about and held it.

I heard Ceralt stir in his furs and yawn, yet there was no need to look toward him. He would see me easily where I crouched, and should there be a thing he wished, he had only to speak of it. The slave he had taken would obey his wishes, completely and without refusal. There was little else his slave might do.

“Have you built a fire already, varaina?” his voice asked, heavy with sleep. “And can that be falum I smell, ready to warm my insides and chase the drowsiness from my eyes?

Indeed you are quickly becoming a woman among women, giving me pleasure in my circle choice. Bring your lips to me now, so that I may taste their sweetness before I partake of the falum. ”

Ceralt had spoken, and his slave had no recourse save to obey. Slowly and with effort I rose from my crouch, dropping my hands from my arms, and returned to where he lay in the furs. Upon his back, he looked up toward me and raised his arms, a smile touching him as he awaited obedience. I knelt upon the edge of the furs and he drew me to him, raising my face with one hand so that my lips might be his. As strongly as ever, my lips were taken, and his body, warmed in the furs, felt as though a fire burned beneath his skin. I shivered again from the great contrast between his flesh and mine, and he drew his lips away to frown at me.

“You feel as though you were made of ice,” he said, his arms bringing me farther within the covering pelt. “Why did you not don your garment when you arose? Do you seek to fall ill from the cold you have not as yet become used to? Must everything be told you before you will behave properly?”

Again he seemed angered with me, yet I felt no urge to defend my actions. I had been ordered from the covering, and had not been given leave to replace it. A warrior might have overlooked such a thing; a slave did not. I lay quietly in his arms, not meeting his gaze, and his hold about me tightened.

“Ah, Jalav,” he sighed, putting his hand to my face so that he might stroke it. “It is indeed fortunate that you have fallen to me, for you have not the sense to see for yourself. After we have warmed the ice from you, you will dress before serving the falum. I will not have you so chilled again.”

We lay unspeaking for a number of reckid, the stiffness slowly leaving me, and then Ceralt’s hand moved from my face to my body. I attempted to hold to the thought that he had made a slave of me, sought to keep my body as uncaring as my mind, yet the blood of a warrior is not to be denied. In no more than a short while, I again moaned to his caresses and writhed in ecstasy beneath him, taking no more than what he gave, begging for the stroke that went deep within me. Ceralt found himself amused at my writhing, and rested his hands upon my hair in such a manner that my body arched up before him, open and at his mercy. He slowed his thrusts and bent to touch his tongue to my breasts, and my screams rang out loud enough to break the clouds from the skies. When he deemed himself at last done with me, a full two hands of reckid passed before I was able to rise from the furs.

The falum had cooked itself to too great a heat to be eaten at once, therefore Ceralt, too, was able to dress before taking sustenance. He sat upon a single pelt, having knelt me before him, and fed upon his own falum before turning to mine. As upon the fey previous, I was fed the entire potful by him, and the grin he showed as the falum was gulped and swallowed by me taught that shame still had the ability to touch me. The humiliation of a Hosta warrior being fed by a male was great indeed, and Ceralt’s amusement over my discomfort sharpened it considerably. Although the male ordered me to see to the cleaning of the dwelling before donning his body fur, I was not displeased to see him go.

In some manner, the fey was endless. I knew naught of seeing to a dwelling such as that, and after having replaced the falum pots and lenga furs, knew not what might next be done. The weapons upon the wall might have been oiled and polished, yet I had been forbidden the touching of them. I walked from one end of the dwelling to the other, from side to side and window to window, yet found naught which might fill the time or raise my spirits. Deeper and deeper I fell beneath a heavy cloud of hopelessness, as heavy as the clouds which covered Mida’s skies beyond the windows. The fey was dark and unappealing the trees unmoving in the windlessness, the cold a waiting, stalking thing hanging just beyond the warmth of the fire. I shivered as I looked out upon the dark, frozen ground and colorless village, and became unusually aware of the bareness of my feet. The wood beneath them held the cold without, yet sure knowledge of the cold seeped between the boards in an attempt to enter. I hurried from the window to crouch by the fire, and freed my mind to wander where it willed.

The return of Ceralt startled me, yet I should not have been surprised. He bore a cut of meat for the mid-fey meal, and voiced his displeasure over my having disobeyed him. No cleaning had been done within the dwelling, he insisted, and his anger grew higher the more he looked about. I remained in my crouch in the corner of the hearth, understanding naught of what he said, and my silence and position seemed to turn his anger to fury. With a long, rapid stride, he fetched a length of leather, and I was coldly informed that he had not forgotten my disobedience of the fey previous. That, together with my current disobedience and the fact that I crouched rather than knelt, convinced him that my punishment had too long been neglected. The strokes of the leather were painful and humiliating, and once the punishment was done, I was ordered to see to the meat. I replaced my covering as Ceralt strode from the dwelling, and then saw to the cooking of the meat. I well knew that Ceralt’s light eyes had blazed hot with his anger, yet at no time had I attempted to meet his gaze. I returned to my corner once the meat had been set above the fire, and knelt there with head down and arms folded about myself. There was a longing within me for the Ceralt I had once known, a wish that I might have bid him a final farewell before being taken by the male with his features and name, yet such a thing was no longer possible. I now dwelt among cold possessions in a dark, strange room, and the male I had known was no more. The pain this other male gave throbbed upon my body, and I bent further toward my knees with the knowledge of my loss. No Ceralt, no warriorhood, no honor, no dignity, no freedom, yet I remained enchained through having given my word. With all else lost, was there aught to keep me from being forsworn? I no longer had the honor I strove to preserve, therefore what was to keep me from fleeing to the eternal darkness? Mida cared not, Ceralt cared not, and even I had ceased to care. Why, then, this great reluctance to break a word which had in truth been stolen from me? I had only to walk from the dwelling and take to the woods, and soon the cold and children of the wild would end my pain and humiliation forever. The thought was endlessly tempting, yet in Mida’s name, I could not cause myself to rise from where I knelt. All that I had lost had been taken from me, and I found that I could not, of myself, give over the small vestige of honor remaining to me. My head bowed farther and touched my knees, and I moaned with the pain I caused myself, yet I could not, of my own doing, be forsworn.

When Ceralt returned, his provender awaited him upon a wooden square, set beside the fire to keep the warmth from fleeing. I knelt again at the corner of the hearth, my eyes upon the flooring, lacking the interest even to look up. I heard him pause before the hearth where the square rested, and then his steps came again till his fur leg coverings were before me upon the flooring I studied. I made no sound nor movement, and he crouched before me to take my face in his hands.

“You have no knowledge of the cleaning of a halyar, have you?” he asked, a strange softness to his tone as his eyes searched my face. “I should have known this without Lialt’s having thought of it, yet it had not occurred to me. ???I thought you merely disobedient.”

There was no call to reply, therefore I remained silent and unmoving in his hands. His eyes continued to search my face, and a kind of pain had entered the light gaze. At last, he shook his head.

“Very well,” he sighed, removing his hands. “We shall speak no more about it. After we have eaten, Tarla will show you what needs to be done.”

He rose and went to his provender, taking a metal prong with the board, then seated himself upon a lenga pelt to feed. I thought I felt his eyes upon me where I knelt, yet his interest or lack thereof mattered not till he bade me come and kneel before him. Bits of his provender were pushed to the edge of the board, and I was directed to take them and feed upon them. I took them reluctantly and fed as was required, yet even the fact that the bits were more undone than the balance of the meat gave no taste to the feeding. I had no wish to feed and no hunger to quiet, and the meat was like stones being forced upon me.

With the meat consumed, Ceralt again went about his business, leaving me naught to do save clean and replace the square and prong, and then return to my place by the hearth. I knelt there perhaps a hin before the appearance of Tarla, who entered quickly yet shyly, then paused to remove her body and leg furs before approaching me. Her words began warm then grew concerned, her eyes grew large and troubled, yet even when she knelt before me and pleaded for a response of some sort, I found I had no further store of reassurance to tap for her. Though she wept and held me about, asking after what disturbed me, I could not find the words to ease her pain. My own pain was too great to put aside, too deep to overlook, and the child Tarla would have to deal with her fears and lack of understanding herself. She wept a short while, greatly disturbed, then dried her eyes and began to explain the why of her being there. I was to learn that which she had to teach me, and so I did, yet it served only to fill the time of the fey. The doing was useless and demeaning, fit only for the hands of a slave, a far cry from the duties of a war leader. I followed her about with cloth and a thing termed broom, and thought no more about the past than of the present.

Tarla stayed no more than a pair of hind, and when she had gone, I began the last meal of the fey. Further meat had been brought by Ceralt the last time he had come, a thing I had not known till I had seen it upon the hearth, and Tarla had lifted a number of boards in the floor to show me the whereabouts of the vegetables Ceralt had mentioned the fey previous. Though the need was painful, I asked Tarla the favor of cutting the meat into smaller pieces for me, a request I instantly regretted. The small female sank to her knees and wept so heartbreakingly that it took many reckid before I was able to quiet her grief. I had not understood what touched her so, yet between her sobs I was given to understand that she knew of the manner in which Ceralt held me, and knew, too, of the restrictions imposed upon me. That I might be bound so tortured and outraged her, and she tearfully demanded to know why I did not refuse his bidding no matter the consequences. That I had withstood the blows of a heavy lash no less than three times was firm in her memory, yet she could not reconcile the memory with the fact that I seemed to fear a mere hiding. I knew of no way to explain how one’s sworn word binds one more tightly than the heaviest of chain, yet the need to explain was taken from me. Tarla saw the slight trembling of my hands at my own memory of the lash, and immediately asked my forgiveness thinking, no doubt, that it was Ceralt whom I feared. I saw no reason to deny her thoughts, gave her thanks when the meat was cut, and then saw her upon her way.

Water, vegetables and meat all went upon the fire, accented by the presence of an herb called vemis. The vemis I had found among the dried grass which the vegetables lay upon, and I knew not whether city folk were familiar with it. A pale yellow was the vemis, so pale that it sometimes seemed white, and one usually found it growing wild deep in the forests. Vemis had a sharp, unpleasant taste of its own, yet when combined with other edibles, it enhanced the flavor of all. I had no wish to partake of the stew I prepared, yet knew that Ceralt would have me swallow the stuff whether I wished it or not. Perhaps the vemis would do enough to make the provender palatable, yet somehow I doubted it. I had as little interest in feeding as I had in that which Tarla had taught me.

The darkness lay over all parts of the sky when the door opened again to admit others. I stood by a window despite the chill and gazed out upon the vista of dark trees against a darkening sky. So often I had seen the darkness fall, each fey of my life it had occurred, yet now I felt a kinship to this ending of light, this entering into a new cold and dark. Once, a warrior of mine who lay dying had asked after the darkness which slowly descended upon her. As the light of the fey lay near to its highest, she had had no understanding of why such a darkness should come, yet I had known and I had explained the matter to her. She had reached the dusk of her life among the Midanna, and the next new light which shone for her would illuminate the glory of Mida’s blessed realm. She saw how fitting it was to depart in darkness, and happily continued on to the blessed realm with a smile upon her face. I envied that warrior now, her place at Mida’s side secure, an eternity of pleasure and battle before her. I, who had once been Mida’s chosen war leader, had now no hope of the glory to be had by the lowliest of warriors, and the chill felt through my feet threatened to enter all of me, threatened to send me shuddering to my knees, pleading for understanding and pity. I held to the wall of the dwelling with one hand, clenching the fist of the other hand till blood ran from the palm, demanding silently of my frenzied mind just who I would beg pity from. Who was there who would not laugh with scorn to see the former war leader Jalav upon her knees begging pity? The sight would be laughable indeed, even had there been one to whom I might kneel. No, there was naught Jalav might do, and naught she might say, and no more than the will of Ceralt to lie before her. The warrior Jalav was no more, and the woman Jalav would never be.

The sound of more than one set of footfalls meant little to me, for I thought that Lialt again accompanied Ceralt, yet my thought proved to be wrong. I raised my head and turned from the window, and a bellowing laugh sounded at the surprise which must have shown so clearly upon my face.

“Perhaps you thought never to see me again, eh, wench?” laughed Telion, his hand upon the shoulder of a grinning Ceralt. “I must admit I had my doubts about arriving here, yet here I am and still unfrozen. Or mostly unfrozen, though there is a question about certain of my extremities. Ceralt, my friend, may I have the use of that loveliest of fires?”

“Certainly, Telion,” Ceralt replied with a chuckle, striking the large, red-gold maned warrior upon a fur-covered shoulder. Telion, though still clothed in the short covering of a male of the cities, had wrapped about himself a badly cured lenga pelt, yet one which had undoubtedly kept the deep cold from him. Having received Ceralt’s approval, Telion strode to the hearth with no further delay, and turned himself back and forth before it, opening the pelt he had put about himself so that the warmth might penetrate to his flesh. Despite the jesting tone he had taken, his skin bore an unhealthy pallor and was peeling, speaking of the sort of journey which had brought him to the village. He had spent no more than a moment by the fire before he moved to inhale more deeply above the pot of stew.

“By the gods, Ceralt,” he exclaimed, nearly leaning into the pot, “I have rarely smelled anything to equal that. After so long a time with naught save what little game I could find, I feel absolutely no shame in asking whether I might share your feast.” He turned his head then, and grinned at Ceralt where he stood. “However, I must warn you that should you refuse, I shall eat the entire thing myself.”

Ceralt laughed and shook his head, then went to stand near the second male at the hearth. “My friend, I shall not refuse you,” said he, a seriousness tempering the lightness of his tone. “Truly, I had forgotten the pleasure your company brings, and now am able to realize how great a loss it was. I welcome you to my village, and offer you all that I possess, to share as only brothers do, till the fey the Serene Oneness parts us once more.”

The laughter left Telion’s broad features, and he straightened to look upon Ceralt with an odd expression. “I came to share your battle, brother,” said he, throwing off the pelt so that he might place his hands upon Ceralt’s shoulders. “I knew not what battle you might be facing, yet I knew my place to be by your side. I cannot stand beside you against Galiose, for he and I were once brother warriors, yet in all else my sword shall drink beside yours.”

“It is a thing I had earnestly wished for,” Ceralt replied, placing his own hands upon Telion’s shoulders. “I recall speaking to you of the quest which would take me from Ranistard, yet I had no more than a hope that you would follow. Was the trail I prepared adequate to your needs?”

“The trail you prepared?” Telion echoed in outrage, withdrawing his hands. “It seemed more like a trail you destroyed! Do you think me a hunter like you, man? I am a warrior, and above such things! Or, if you prefer, to the left or right of them, a thing I found most often to be the case on my journey here.”

“I regret your hardship,” Ceralt laughed, “yet perhaps I may make amends. Seat yourself there, Telion, and we may share the meal you find so attractive.”

Telion moved toward the pelt Ceralt had gestured to, the pelt upon which Lialt had fed the darkness previous, and Ceralt himself took his own pelt. Ceralt had nodded toward me where I stood, therefore I moved to the hearth and prepared to give the males their provender. Telion’s eyes had followed me as he settled himself upon his furs, and he took no more than a moment to voice his thoughts.

“So you have indeed reclaimed her,” he said to Ceralt, a deep satisfaction clear in his tone. “When I heard that she had escaped the city, I feared she would return to her own lands, and you all unknowing of her destination. How did you happen upon her after Galiose ejected you? Or did she come seeking you?”

“The wench would not have the sense to come seeking me,” snorted Ceralt, moving a bit upon his furs. “I found her in the woods beyond Ranistard, she having first been found by others of those savage wenches, and she seemed so near to death as hardly worth the wondering. Spears had been used upon her in some savage rite, and her blood had marked the ground more clearly than the rains. We may thank no other than the Serene Oneness that she now stands before us, for my brother Lialt, who tended her, had not thought she would live.”

“And yet, she does live,” mused Telion, his eyes upon me as I turned from the hearth with two full pots of the stew. “And not only does she live, but she serves you without refusal. This is not the Jalav I remember so clearly.”

Ceralt, too, had his eyes upon me as I approached him, and a faint smile touched his lips. “She is quickly becoming the Jalav I have always desired,” said he, taking the pot which was his. “It is merely a matter of knowing the needs of a woman and using them to train her to obedience.”

Ceralt’s words had no further power to cause me pain, yet when I moved to Telion and gave him his pot, the male warrior’s eyes had narrowed upon the streaks of blood still visible upon my hand, and a frown shadowed within the narrowness of his gaze, to move immediately to my face. I avoided his eyes with what was now practiced ease, and returned to the hearth.

“I see,” Telion replied quietly, his amusement at my fate well hidden. I stood before the fire, caught by the jumping of the flames, the dimness of the room and the sounds of feeding a soft frame for the fire’s setting. After a moment or two, Ceralt’s voice came to draw me from the depth of the flames.

“Jalav, the stew is excellent,” said he, a good deal of pleasure in his tone. “I would venture to say that it is nearly the best I have ever tasted. Fill a bowl for yourself now, for you have truly earned the fruits of your labors.” He paused till I had reached down a pot and moved toward the stew, and then his voice came again. “How do matters proceed in Ranistard, Telion? Have any decisions been made upon the question of the strangers?”

“I know little more than I knew when last I saw you,” Telion replied about a mouthful of stew. “I attended no further meetings after your ejection, yet others informed me that the controversy still raged. Some wished to greet the strangers as deliverers, some wished to attack them on first sight, and others, like Galiose, still refused to commit themselves to a position. Galiose, I know, is deeply concerned over what weapons the strangers may bring to bear upon us, yet I am sure he will stand with us should it come to a battle.”

Ceralt was silently considering Telion’s words, therefore was I able to give myself no more than a taste of the stew, which I carried to the hearth corner. As I knelt beside the hearth, I saw Ceralt shake his head and sigh.

“I find myself capable of no such beliefs,” he said to Telion, his eyes hooded in the dimness. “I have always felt that Galiose must be assured victory before he will commit his forces, and these strangers will allow no such assurance. We may find it necessary to stand without him.”

“Then there is sure to be a battle,” Telion concluded, his provender momentarily forgotten. “When last we spoke, you thought it possible that a battle might be avoided.”

“There is still such a possibility,” shrugged Ceralt, “yet the possibility grows fainter with each passing fey. It is for such a reason that the journey must be undertaken as quickly as possible, before the battle becomes totally unavoidable.”

“I understand little of this,” Telion muttered in annoyance, shaking his head. “This journey you speak of, and the coming battle—how might one depend upon the other? And where does the journey take you?”

Ceralt consumed what provender remained within his pot, then put the pot to one side. Telion’s eyes were soberly upon him, and he met the other male’s gaze with a soberness of his own.

“Many kalod ago,” he began, “our village had a Pathfinder of unusual sensitivity and range. The man was able to read the Snows with uncanny accuracy, giving warning of impending events much further into the future than any before or since him. He prowled the Snows almost constantly, risking the danger of being unable to return, returning with everything he could to be considered and interpreted. And then, one fey, he stayed too long upon the Snows.”

Telion had begun feeding again, yet his movements seemed without conscious thought for his full attention was upon Ceralt.

Ceralt sighed and stretched out upon his lenga pelt, and resumed his narrative.

“Others of the village, knowing of the Pathfinder’s penchant for courting disaster, looked in upon his halyar, and finding his body untenanted, worked feverishly toward drawing him back. At long last they succeeded, yet his spirit was dangerously low and his body had begun to malfunction due to his mind’s long absence. It became clear to all that the Pathfinder would soon be no more, yet before he could be mourned, he regained consciousness enough to speak.

“There was a time of great danger ahead of all people, he informed those about him. Not only the Belsayah, but all upon our world would find their very lives threatened. A journey would have to be undertaken by a Belsayah High Rider and his choice of others, and one whose sign upon the Snows was a hadat must accompany them, else the journey would end in disaster for all. The hadat sign was unarguably female, and the journey’s destination was unarguably clear—the black altar beneath Sigurr’s Peak.”

“The black altar!” Telion breathed, his eyes unusually wide. “It has long been said that any who find the black altar may ask the aid of Sigurr the Terrible—if they dare—yet I had always thought the matter to be a tale to frighten women and children. Could there be truth to such prattle?”

“There is indeed truth to it,” Ceralt replied somewhat sourly, “and a good part of the truth lies in the danger awaiting any who attempt to use the altar so. It is no simple matter of approaching the altar and stating your needs, you may be sure of that. Risgar, the Pathfinder who first spoke of the journey, lived long enough to give a good number of details, yet the manner in which the altar may be approached is not one of them.”

“So you seek an alliance with Sigurr,” Telion said, keeping the eyes upon Ceralt as he finished the last of his stew. “Somehow, the suggestion does not surprise me. And the female hadat spoken of—it can be none other than Jalav. What if she had not lived?”

“Then we soon would have joined her,” Ceralt replied, moving his eyes to me. “I have delayed the journey, perhaps too long, yet it was necessary that she regain her health and strength. The spear wounds were not the only things which required healing, and should Galiose and I ever again face one another, he will learn of that which stands between us.”

Ceralt’s voice had grown so soft and cold that it caused a shiver in the very air about us, and Telion too, seemed oddly disturbed. Again I recalled the touch of the lash, cutting my flesh amid the fury of Mida’s tears, bringing agony and agony again with each new stroke, and the pot I held nearly fell from nerveless fingers. Galiose, aye Galiose. He it was who had given me to Nolthis, to be used and beaten and taught the beginnings of hatred for males, and he it was who might now be counted among those I hated. I had hoped one fey to be able to face Galiose across sharpened metal, yet now my hate must fester and turn my insides rotten with frustration, for never would I find the matter done so. Another male had captured me forever, and never again would Jalav be free.

“Galiose is scarcely in need of further troubles,” Telion put in with a clearing of his throat, drawing Ceralt’s eyes from me. “He finds difficulty enough in dealing with Ranistard’s newest citizens—and their bitter blood enemies, the Hosta. Ranistard seems more like a battleground than a city, and Galiose curses the fey he allowed the wenches within his walls.”

“I would have thought the Hosta to be less of a problem with Jalav removed,” Ceralt remarked, rising from the furs to fetch the skin of near-renth and offer it first to Telion. Telion took the skin and drank from it as Ceralt reseated himself, then passed the skin back with a grunt.

“It is Jalav’s removal which has caused the most difficulties,” Telion said, shaking his head. “The wenches were wild with fury when Galiose had her lashed, yet their rage turned insane when Galiose was unable to produce her and prove that she still lived. The men who had claimed them found controlling them impossible short of tying them hand and foot, and such a state tends to make normal life unwieldy. Many of the Hosta were punished without mercy, yet they continued to rage and resist. At last, the men demanded that Galiose produce Jalav to calm the fury of the other females, and Galiose promised to do so. When Jalav escaped over the walls, Galiose raged for feyd, yet it all came to naught. The Hosta believed that Jalav was no more, spat upon the men who swore she had escaped, and turned their fury upon the Silla wenches, whose arrival had begun the entire thing. At the time of my departure, two Hosta and seven Silla were in need of Phanisar’s skills in healing, and the rest had been confined without exception to their respective places of dwelling.”

“And what of Larid?” Ceralt asked, as he returned the skin to Telion. “She could not have accompanied you, I know, and I thought you might have chosen to remain with her.”

“I thought long upon the decision I made,” Telion nodded, his eyes sad, “yet I could come to no other conclusion. Larid carries my child within her, and I will not have my child born a slave to strangers. Had I remained with Larid, I would have ultimately lost her, and the child as well. I know not how I know this, yet the conviction is strong within me, too strong to be ignored.” He paused to drink deeply from the skin, then regarded Ceralt again. “In any event, Larid now resides in Nidisar’s house, furious with me for riding off, and furious with Nidisar for continuing with Fayan’s punishment. Fayan now heartily regrets having asked for Nidisar as a slave, and grows wide-eyed if he so much as glances at her. I doubt that it will be much longer before she carries Nidisar’s child as Larid carries mine.”

“Nidisar was too patient with that golden-haired wench,” Ceralt observed, a grinning. “Had he refused to allow her coldness with him, he would not have ended her slave, however briefly. Savage wenches look upon gentleness as weakness, and are quick to do as they please in the face of it.”

“Perhaps,” Telion agreed with a shrug. “Larid has never had more than a hiding from me, yet she has learned that there are times she must obey me. She raged and screamed when I left her with Nidisar, yet she made no attempt to disobey my wishes, and bid me farewell with a heat I will not soon forget.” He, too, grinned well, and moved his eyes to me. “Once a man has tasted a female warrior, other females fade from his memory forever. I enjoy much heat in a woman, and a Midanna’s heat is easily aroused and not soon quenched. Do you find it the same, Ceralt?”

“Without a doubt.” Ceralt laughed in agreement, his light eyes glinting in the fire’s glow. The two males each looked upon me, attempting to humiliate me with their laughter, and I felt my lips tighten with hate even as my blood began to stir. Males cared naught for what was denied a Hosta, so long as their needs were seen to.

“I believe I see traces of the old flames in her lovely eyes,” Telion chuckled, enjoying my anger. “She was ever one to blaze up in fury, and likely will continue so forever.”

“She will not blaze up in fury,” Ceralt said, rising again from the lenga pelt. “She will remain docile and obedient, for she is allowed nothing more. Telion, my friend, there are many things I must see to before the journey may be begun. Rest yourself here, for you are to share my halyar, and make free with whatever you find here. You have been many feyd upon the trail, and your needs cannot have been seen to. I shall not return till very late, therefore Jalav’s use is yours through the darkness. Jalav, serve him and obey him. Telion, we shall speak again come the new light.”

In just so casual a manner was I given to Telion, and then Ceralt took his body furs and left, giving me not so much as a single glance. I gazed at the wooden pot in my hands, wishing it were possible to break the thing to bits, hating as I had never hated in my entire life. Because of Ceralt, I knelt a slave in a male’s dwelling, bereft of all I had ever earned, no more than a possession to be handed about to others, plagued by a twisted need which turned me helpless to his touch. Once I had wondered at the possibility of one being so cruel as to take another’s honor and yet fail to take their life as well, yet I wondered no longer. Males called this cruelty mercy, and termed it an honorable thing. So much for the honor of males.

“Jalav.” Telion spoke from beside me, so close that my head jerked in surprise over not having heard him approach. He crouched before me, his light eyes fully disturbed, and his large hands forced the wooden pot from my fingers, ending my attempts at its destruction. He threw the pot to one side, and sought to draw me closer to him, yet I could not bear the thought of his hands upon me. He would take me as the others had, shaming me in my weakness, showing me again that I was naught when beneath a male. I snarled and fought his arms as a hadat fights the ropes of a trap, yet he would not free me, nor allow me to free myself. Many reckid I fought him, till I had neither strength nor breath left to call upon, and then he held me still against his chest, stroking my hair while making soothing, meaningless noises. He made no attempt to put me to my back, and I could not understand what thing he sought.

“Jalav, calm yourself,” he murmured, his hand still astroke of my hair. The cloth of his body covering was now unfamiliar to me, yet it seemed much softer and warmer than the leather I had been held to of late. My cheek sought more of the warmth, my body relaxed with a shudder, and Telion’s arms tightened even further, yet I knelt so for no more than a moment before recalling that this was a male who held me. Males were the enemies of warriors, those who sought the destruction of warriors, those who coveted a warrior’s freedom. Males were those who took a warrior’s pride, but not her life. The recollection stiffened my body once more, and Telion released me so that he might look closely upon me.

“What occurs here, wench?” he demanded, his fingers hard upon my arms. “What has come to pass between Ceralt and yourself that you are no longer as you were?”

He gazed upon me soberly, awaiting a reply, his red-gold hair of a male warrior’s length disarranged in its leather binding from my struggles. I looked up at him, envying the limitless strength of his large, hard form, hating the knowledge that I might easily be bested by him, and found no reply that might be spoken.

“Answer me!” he snapped, shaking me somewhat. “By what means are you bound so to Ceralt?”

Almost did I sneer at such a question. Was I to inform him of the nature of the chains another male had upon me so that he, too, might attempt their use? Ceralt would inform him soon enough, and there was no need for me to make the time shorter. Telion looked down upon me, and nodded in annoyance.

“So your stubbornness, at least, remains intact,” he growled, displeasure strong within him. “If you will not speak to me, there is little I may do other than accept Ceralt’s offer. Remove your garment and present yourself to me.”

He released my arms then and rose from his crouch, then returned to the lenga pelt upon which he had been sitting. The firelight flickered from the hearth as I slowly rose to my feet, looking away from the male and his anger. Was I to believe that he had had no interest in my use before the anger had touched him? Such was foolishness, for Telion had used me before, glorying in that which he had done to me. Much hate had he shown when, as sthuvad to my clan, he had been refused the honor of use by the war leader, and his desire for me had ever been great. Why he wished such a belief in me I knew not, yet his purposes had not been accomplished. I removed the belt of copper and loosened the garment’s ties, then drew the confining thing off over my head and dropped it to the floor to one side of the hearth. My life sign, swinging between my breasts as ever it had done since first I had become a warrior, took my attention, and after a brief hesitation, I grasped it in my fist and tore the leather from about my neck. There was little reason left for its presence, and Midanna do not believe in useless adornments. I dropped the life sign beside the garment which I so despised, and turned then to face the male who awaited me.

Telion lay upon his pelt, propped up by one elbow, drinking from the skin Ceralt had given him, not looking up at me till I halted before him. The back of his hand wiped his mouth as his eyes took me in, a slowly growing gleam belying his earlier words. The sight of my body pleased him, a thing which did not please me, yet I did no more than fold my arms across my breasts and attempt to quiet my anger.

“Kneel,” he said abruptly, pointing to the floor before him as he rid himself of the drinking skin. There was little I might do save obey him, and when I was on my knees before him, his hand came to my face.

“Do you still refuse to speak?” he asked, his eyes searching my face. “You are truly a tempting morsel, wench, and there is no need for me to resist the temptation.”

When no more than silence greeted his words, his hand left my face so that it might touch my body. I sought to ignore the caressing of my breasts and thighs, yet in no more than a handful of reckid, I writhed about upon my knees before him, unable to escape the touch of his fingers, unable to resist the demands of his desire. I bent over his probing hand with a sob, shamed beyond endurance, and he grasped my arms and drew me to the lenga pelt beside him.

“So Ceralt has rechanneled your desires as I have done with Larid,” he murmured, his hand again at my body. I moaned and threw myself about in his arms, and his laughter was stinging for all of its softness. “Such a thing is not easily done, yet the results are well worth it. I shall have some use from you, and then we will find the source of your disturbance.”

In no more than a moment he had entered me, and his use was as strong and demanding as Ceralt’s. I had long since abandoned all attempts at resisting him, for the affliction which was upon me would not be denied. I cried out again and again with the delights his use afforded me, and only when I had attained release and lay panting in his arms did the shame return to me. His manhood retained possession of my body, and I knew he would use me again and again till the smell of his satisfaction was too heavy to escape, too thick to be easily wiped from me. I lay bare beneath him, my sweat and his covering my body, yet he had retained his covering so that my degradation might be more complete. I recalled the time of his use in the Hosta home tents, recalling as well that the presence of his covering had afforded him little comfort. He alone had felt degradation then, yet the memory did not wipe out his presence from above me, nor the slow, throbbing reawakening of his desire within me. He held me possessively in the strength of his arms, and chuckled as my body tightened about his presence.

“So much lovely heat,” he observed in amusement, touching his lips to my hair. “And I had thought Larid quick to respond and ever eager. I will see you well attended to, little hanchuck, but I will first know what has taken the spirit from you. When not in the throes of desire, you seem as lifeless as Sigurr’s Peak itself. ”

His eyes looked down upon me, refusing to be ignored, and his body again making me his slave. I threw my head about in misery, knowing my shame would be increased were he to force me to speak, yet his purpose would not be denied.

“Speak to me!” he demanded, thrusting hard enough to draw a gasp from me. “I will know what thoughts twist about in that black-haired, female head of yours! Why does it seem that you have not slept in feyd? Why does your palm bleed as though your fist has been too tightly clenched? Why do you obey Ceralt with not even a murmur? Why does it seem as though you long for a thing which has been placed beyond your reach? Why?”

The pounding of his questions and his body were quickly growing beyond my control to resist. I sobbed as he used me, clutching his arms as I sought to hold the words within, yet I knew that the words would flow forth as rapidly as Telion claimed his slave-due. His light eyes shone in the firelight, hardness and determination clear even in the dimness of the room, and suddenly it came to me how the unattainable might be attained. Telion, a male, broad and powerful in his strength, had once been sthuvad to Hosta. Were his memories as bitter as Ceralt’s, the final freedom would surely be mine. I moaned as his manhood went clear to the center of my inner being, and raised my back a handspan from the lenga pelt.

“Telion, no more!” I cried, clinging to his arms. “Do not force me to speak!”

“You will do as I command,” he returned, thrusting me flat to the pelts again. “I will be obeyed by the wench I use.”

“Mida take you!” I screamed, struggling in fury. “I ask only to see the fey when you again lie tied in a use tent! I will spit upon you then, and order the drug fed to you without stop!”

“Do not speak so,” he growled, his grip tightening upon me as his eyes went strangely cold. His voice was very soft, yet trembled in an unexpected way.

“It was I who first named you sthuvad,” I gloated, then laughed in unabandoned delight. “Had I known how pleasing you would be to my warriors, I would have called for the Hitta and Helda as well! When next you taste of the sthuvad drug, I shall not fail to assure their presence!”

“Be silent!” he whispered, a rage growing to fill his mind and choke him. His face twisted from its familiar lines, near insanity outlining over-bright eyes, and it seemed as though I were held in bands of metal. My fingernails dug deeper into those bands of metal, and I laughed again, more mockingly than before.

“Yes, it was I who decreed your use by warriors!” I pursued relentlessly. “It was by my word alone that you were thonged to stakes and made to give pleasure, forced to serve your betters! And I shall see it so again, Mida take me if I do not!”

“Never!” he rasped, the trembling taking all of his body, the madness bright in his eyes. “Never will I be forced to feel such shame again! Never will I forget the shame of the first time! And you! You were indeed the one who caused it!”

His arms left me as his hands went to my throat, the madness completely in possession of him. Though I truly wished for the surcease of everlasting darkness, I could not help but claw at his hands as they tightened about my throat. His fingers pressed against the flesh of my neck, and his voice came strange to my ears.

“You, the savage female who was the source of my debasement,” he muttered, his fingers tightening more and more. “You, the she who laughed at my captivity and use, the she who sneeringly refused me her body when the thought of her use was all that kept me from screaming out the agony of body and soul! You laughed then and you laugh now, yet I shall take the laughter from you forever!”

A roaring had filled my ears, and his face swam about in the rippling of my vision. I scratched feebly at his choking hands, all strength having left me, yet even had I been possessed of all my strength, I could not have loosened his metal-thewed grip from my throat. Even in airless, choking pain, I knew my victory, and I exulted as the darkness rose up to swirl me in its midst.

A silence filled with no more than the crackling of a fire came to me first, and I knew not why such disappointment should grip me till I realized where I lay. Again I opened my eyes to the dimness of Ceralt’s dwelling, and the bitter knowledge that I still lived forced a moan from my lips. My throat ached from the fingers which had gripped it so tightly, yet the grip had not been tight enough. I was still in possession of the burden of my life, and the darkness of the raftered roof above me was no darker than my hopes of freedom.

“Why did you do such a thing?” Telion’s voice came, and then his face was before me as he leaned closer. “I nearly took your life as a result of that taunting and I fully believe that that was your purpose. Why do you wish to find death?”

I stared at his pained and bewildered face for a moment, then rolled to my side upon the lenga pelt, rose to my feet, and walked to the hearth to gaze down into the fire. Telion had once been the one male upon whom a warrior might look with the least displeasure, yet even he had taken my use with satisfaction, seeing naught amiss in placing me beneath him. His great hatred for his own captivity had not given him insight for my own hatred, for he felt it proper that a female be held by a male. How was one to speak to such a male, how might one describe the torture of imprisonment, when the one spoken to gave full approval to such imprisonment? I crouched before the fire and drew my hair about me, grasping its ends and holding them up before my bowed head. In all things I had been thoroughly shamed, yet even the final death was to be denied me. What more could be done to add to my tortures? What more?