Chosen of Mida

8 Captivity—and a tale is told

Awareness returned as quickly as ever, yet the comfort I felt urged me to remain as I was, stretched out at ease upon a smooth, thick cloth. I opened my eyes somewhat to gaze lazily about, seeing first one part of a strange room, and then, more rapidly and more open-eyed, the rest. I sat up and looked all about me, frowning at the thick, soft green cloth beneath me and all across the floor, at the white walls and ceiling, at the yellow curtains fluttering at the two long, open windows which stood in the wall to my right. Carved wooden platforms stood about the floor at various points, and upon the walls were hardwood candle sconces, the candles unlit in the brightening light of a new fey. In the wall to the left, was a door, dark carved wood to match the platforms, and firmly closed. Directly across the room from where I sat perhaps five paces away, stood a wide platform covered in black cloth, upon the wall above it a ledge holding a large, black candle. It was then that I recalled what had occurred before exhaustion had claimed me, and I turned my head to look down upon Mehrayn, who lay upon the floor cloth to my right, breathing slowly and evenly in sleep.

The male wore no more of coverings than I, a point of curiosity which drew my attention to a second: though I had been tightly bound the darkness previous, there was no longer leather upon ankles or hands. I knew not what the male intended, yet had he been foolish in the extreme. Now that I was free I would go where I willed, with none to keep me from it.

Tossing my hair back I rose quickly and quietly to my feet, then crossed first to the door. As I had expected, neither push nor pull would open the thing, therefore did I abandon my efforts and next stride to the windows. From floor to ceiling did they stand, much like those in the dwellings called palaces in the cities I had seen, yet was there a difference which might be seen once one reached them. Beyond the opened window I chose was a small standing area, it might perhaps be called, one large enough for no more than three males to stand shoulder to shoulder, wide enough for one long pace forward. The area floor was constructed of heavy wood, thin lines of metal bounding it in all about to a height of just above my waist. Beyond—beyond was a sight which took my notice from the sweet, fresh air of the new fey, from the glorious, just-beginning heat of Mida’s brightening light.

Beyond the standing area was no more than air, sweeping away into the distance. Never had I seen Mida’s skies looking so wide, never had I seen a deep valley from so far above it. Far, far away and below were slopes, clad in tiny, dark trees, marching down to a bright, curving sword of a river, all beginning to turn silver and gold and green as the new light advanced higher above the mountains not far beyond them. Surely had I thought the Sigurri had chosen to live among hills, yet was the far side of their hill a mountain in truth. Slowly I moved closer to the metal which kept me from slipping away to the wide, empty air and put my hands upon it, gazing all about at never-before-seen wonders.

“I would have wagered that the sight would captivate you,” came a voice from a distance behind me, a chuckle clearly to be heard in it. “This guest room is the best in my house, one reserved for the most welcome of guests.”

Clearly, Mehrayn was no longer asleep. I stood a moment longer and gazed out upon the vast openness, drinking in its beauty to take with me in memory, then turned and retraced my steps into the room.

“I am pleased to note you appear well rested,” said the male, eyeing me from where he lazed upon the floor cloth, propped upon one elbow. “You slept so soundly when I brought you here, I had not the heart to wake you.”

I folded my arms and gazed down upon the male, sharing naught of the pleasure and lightheartedness he seemed filled with. He had not been as foolish as I had thought in removing the leather from me, yet did he remain foolish to a great extent. Jalav was not one to be taken and kept as a slave.

“That flat-footed stance and cold-eyed scowl is undoubtedly meant for me,” sighed Mehrayn, stirring briefly before rising reluctantly to his feet. “You are displeased with your treatment of the last darkness, I know, yet I had little choice in the matter. I could not free you to begin a war with my people which would end only after much blood had been spilled, some of it surely yours. Also, it would not be wise to let Ladayna know you have an ally here, and among the Princes of the Blood. Though she wears the chains of Aysayn, she is not without power, especially in his absence. We must either hide you among the slaves of my household till the Shadow returns, else must you retire to the forests beyond the city, there to await word of his return. The choice is, of course, yours.”

“I choose to be set free,” I said at once, looking up into the eyes of the male as he stopped before me. “Return my weapons and breech immediately.”

“I do not fail to note the order of priority in your demands,” Mehrayn replied with a wry grin taking him. “I cannot say it surprises me, for it does not. Give me your word now to refrain from seeking vengeance, and I shall arrange for your covert exit from the city—and, of course, for your weapons.”

“Vengeance is my right as a warrior,” said I, seeing the grin fade from the face of the male. “None save Mida night take the right from me—save at swordpoint. I repeat, male: free me and return my weapons.”

“You stubborn she-zaran!” growled Mehrayn, fists cocked upon hips as he glared down at me. “Do you not see I seek to preserve your life? Certainly vengeance may be taken from you at swordpoint—yet at what cost to both my people and you? And what of your mission here, given by the hand of Sigurr himself? The great god will not be pleased should you give over this mission for the personal satisfaction of vengeance.”

“Your great god finds little pleasure in Jalav save from her use,” I returned, raising my chin at his glower. “Should he be so far displeased that he takes my life, and should Mida allow this, then I shall be no more. And yet, for as long as life is mine, I may do no other thing than I have ever done. Vengeance may not be denied me.”

“Even at cost of your life,” said Mehrayn, heavy disapproval in his tone and eyes. “You will do as you wish till the gods show their displeasure by striking you down. Very well, allow me to rephrase the choice which stands before you: you may give me your word to keep your sword sheathed, else you may continue as a slave, without a sword. Which will it be?”

I felt a growl scrape from my throat at the tone of the male, a tone showing he was well used to commanding and being obeyed. He knew full well that I would not be a slave, and therefore sought to command me to the choice he had decided upon. I, who was Jalav, war leader of all the Midanna, would not be commanded to such a choice, and this the male should have known.

“Should I allow myself to be forced to an oath, I truly would be a slave,” I said, holding his eyes with my own. “Fetch your lash and chains, male, and then pray to your god that I do not escape them and win free. It will be your life I seek first should I do so, and I will not rest till I have it.”

“Should this continue, it may be yours sooner than that,” muttered Mehrayn, frustration filling the green of his eyes. “Look you, wench: I will readily admit that I would enjoy keeping you as slave in my household, even for so short a time as till the return of Aysayn, yet do I offer you your freedom in all things save one. Is that one thing of so overwhelming an importance that the rest must be suborned to it? Will you choose the loss of all freedom rather than the loss of one small part?”

“Unlike the warriors of Sigurr,” said I, eyeing the male with a good deal of scorn, “the warriors of Mida are taught that the loss of a single freedom is but the first step toward the loss of all. One is either free or not, for there is no ground one may make a stand upon in between. Midanna warriors may be slain, yet their freedom may not be taken from them.”

“A lovely philosophical thought,” nodded Mehrayn, a judiciousness to his tone. “Were one to dwell in a matching world, all would be easily seen to. And yet, we do not dwell in such a world. In my world, men may make slaves of women, just as you have been made a slave, for the women hereabouts are far too few in number. Should a woman be unprotected, or displeasing to her family or mate, or taken for committing a crime—or gain the enmity of one with power—she will be declared slave and set to serving the needs of those without women of their own. Her approval will not be sought, nor will her wishes and philosophies be consulted; she will simply be declared slave, marked as such, and used as such. She may continue to think of herself as free—yet her state will be that of a slave. We Sigguri are well versed in the keeping of slaves; there will be little opportunity for escape.”

So seriously did the male speak that I turned from him, walking a step or two as my thoughts whirled. Among the Midanna, as warrior and war leader both, I had at times been faced with matters which required deep consideration before a decision might be made, no matter the clarity of the law or custom which governed the point. These decisions, though oft times difficult despite their seeming simplicity, were each one seen to at last in a manner which satisfied honor. It had not been till I had begun moving among males that the concept of concession had been presented me, that concept which declared it honorable to compromise one’s sense of right in order to gain a desired end. How was a warrior to tell these males that the sworn word of one who was willing to compromise honor was as useless as a sword without an edge? How was she to tell them that dishonorable compromise was not as easily reached by others as it was by them? They would hear the words, yet the meaning would be lost in incomprehension.

“Do not hesitate, wench,” urged Mehrayn from behind me, his hand coming to stroke my arm. “Give me your word and you will be quickly gone from here, a slave no longer. Will you not be greatly pleased to be no longer a slave?”

“Jalav has never been a slave,” said I, shrugging his hand from my arm. “To be taken as a slave and to be slave in truth are not one and the same. There is little need to give my word on any point; when I have escaped, all will be as I wish it.”

“I see,” said Mehrayn, coming about my right side to stand himself before me. “You will accept freedom on no one’s terms save your own, and that is your final word. I admire your sense of purpose, girl, yet do I find it exceedingly foolish under these circumstances. Perhaps I erred in attempting to keep you from that which would surely change your mind, yet am I keenly aware of the debt I owe you. And yet, now that I come to think on it, perhaps this is best after all. Keeping you here will not only allow me to be certain of your safety, it will also allow me your use whenever I wish it. A slave may not deny her master.”

The grin the male was taken by brought an immediate flare of anger to me, one which was destined to blossom into a full-blown conflagration. About to heatedly deny slavery once again, my words were cut short as the male reached forth to take my breast in his hand, the gesture clearly being one of master to slave. With a growl I knocked his hand away, yet did the gesture produce no more than a laugh from the male as he began to advance on me. Large and broad was this Mehrayn, the muscles moving easily beneath the bronze of his skin, the light hair of his body nearly invisible till one was close before him. Without a weapon I had little choice save to back away before his advance, a doing which filled the male with even greater amusement.

Around and about the room was I pursued, yet in no simple manner. Time and again was I caught with a wall at my back and Mehrayn directly before me, the bulk of the male impossible to dart past. At such a time was I pinned to the wall with the body of the male, his hands touching me all about, his lips seeking mine. In fury did I strike at him and attempt to sink my teeth into his lips, yet the strength of my blows was as nothing to the male, and my teeth were avoided with a laugh. Then would I be released by him, to back away once again and be pursued once again, on and on about the room.

The foolishness continued perhaps three hands of reckid and more, and then, as I kicked and beat at the male to break free once more, his arms suddenly went about me and I was taken down to the floor cloth with him. Roundly did I curse the strength given males above warriors, fighting all the while, yet did the second prove as useless as the first. With little difficulty was I forced to my back upon the floor cloth, Mehrayn kneeling above me, his hands to either side of my head, resting on my wildly flown hair. He chuckled softly as he looked down on my struggles, pleased with how well-caught I was, and then did he suddenly lean close.

“I see you already squirm in my embrace, slave,” said he, unmindful of the manner in which my fists beat at him. “The feel of your brightly painted breasts against my flesh delights me, as does the touch of the rest of you. Are you prepared as yet to serve me?”

“I would gladly see Mida serve you,” I panted, finding it impossible to reach the eyes of the male by cause of the manner in which he held me down. “You would be served up by her to a turn, I think, no matter the foul strength you brought to bear.”

“And yet it is you I hold here beneath me,” he laughed, increasing his weight as he leaned down even farther. “A man is able to take much pleasure from the slave female he holds in his arms, for her pleasure is not necessary to his own. Had I left you in the temple, you would have been made to serve many men; here, you must concern yourself with me.”

“That I shall gladly do,” I spat, “the moment I have sword or dagger in my fist! And that fey shall come, Mida take me if it does not!”

“Again you are mistaken,” laughed the male, “for it is I, not your Mida, who will take you. Think well upon the matter of freedom as I do so, the freedom you spurned so easily. The choice has now been withdrawn from you, and will likely not be offered again.”

Despite my efforts to halt him, the hands of the male then drew me to him as he threw himself to the floor cloth beside me, rolling us both onto our sides. A fist in my hair raised my lips as he wished them, and quickly did I set myself to bite, yet was a gasp forced from me instead, just as his lips took mine. His leg had forced its way between my ankles, preparing an unimpeded approach for his hand, a route he was quick to take. Between my thighs did he go with purpose, drawing a gasp from me as red-tinged heat flared, touching me so deeply and surely that the breath fled from my body.

Ah, Mida! Well did that male know the manner of reaching my soul! I fought his lips as I fought his hand at my thighs, yet with little strength and for no more than a moment. My need was so quickly called forth that the doing left me dizzy and weakened, beyond the ability to refuse, beyond the ability to struggle. Much dismayed was I at this turn of events, for surely had I thought myself freed from the chains of desire and need which had bound me to Ceralt. That this Mehrayn had great skill in taking pleasure from females was clear, and yet did the truth make little difference. I was bound to give use to this male of Sigurr’s whether I wished it or no—and were he to continue as he then did, surely would I soon wish it in truth.

Knowing full well what he did, the accursed male gave me no rest. His hands and lips were everywhere, touching, kissing, caressing and nipping, drawing moans as easily as a lash draws screams, filling me more and more with the need to do as he did. At last I could bear it no longer and threw myself upon him, thinking I would surely be disallowed the touching of him, yet unable to control the demands of desire. Consider my surprise when my advances were not only not repulsed but welcomed! Our lips met fiercely and our tongues fenced in joy, then did I taste the flesh of his body as he tasted mine. From his chest to his belly to his loins did I go, trailing my tongue through the pale forest of his hair, finding his manhood prepared and awaiting me. Groans echoed from Mehrayn as I attempted to take the nectar from him, and soon he could bear it no longer. His hands at my waist pulled me from him and threw me to my back, and then was he thrusting within, so deep and hard that a cry was forced from me. His arms went about me, crushing me to him, and as our lips met, all rational thought fled from us both.

The end of the storm brought an end to motion, and I lay quietly in Mehrayn’s arms, my cheek to the damp of his chest, still in his possession. Well spent were we both, and well used to boot. At least I felt well used, well and fully and happily used. The use of the male was like no other I had known, so fiercely demanding and yet so completely sharing. Was this the manner in which Sigurri used slaves, it was difficult understanding why each of their females had not long since declared herself slave.

“I swear my Sigurr that this was better than the first time,” said Mehrayn with a sigh of satisfaction, his lips coming to my hair. “Should your performance improve each time I use you, I will surely soon fail to survive. Is this the manner in which you intend doing me in, wench? With pleasure?”

“A true warrior uses whatever weapon comes to hand—or elsewhere,” I replied, slowly moving my cheek among the thick hairs of his chest. “And now do I understand the reason for your having been used by so many of my warriors. Your staying power is quite adequate, considering the limits of most males.”

“I thank you for so high a compliment,” he chuckled, moving one hand down to my bottom. “Your wenches did indeed enjoy the time I took with each of them, yet was there another point which was equally favored. Are you not yet able to tell?”

At first was I puzzled by his comment, and then, as I attempted to move, was his meaning suddenly made clear. Though much had been done to drain the male, the presence I felt within me was not lacking in vigor; quite the contrary. So soon after having eased himself the male was again prepared, yet was I then the only warrior within reach. Again I attempted to move, this time in withdrawal, yet his hand on my bottom prevented such a thing.

“I see you are now aware of the point,” said he, the amusement growing in him—just as he grew in me. “Had I not had the ability to do this, I could not have used you so close to the time of first devotions. The bell will ring soon, and then it is the altar for us, wench. Sigurr will not be denied.”

“I—I do not understand,” I stumbled, closing my eyes against the slow, persistent movement he had begun. I had no true desire to be used again, and yet— “What is an altar, and what has Sigurr to do with this?”

“Sigurr has much to do with it, for it is he to whom we pray,” responded the male, bringing his other hand to my bottom to join the first. With both hands then was I pushed upon him, allowed to draw somewhat away, then pushed forward again. The gentle movement was disconcerting to say the least, yet before I might jerk free, a deep bell began to toll from somewhere below. Over and over again did the bell sound, and with the first of it, Mehrayn released me and withdrew.

“Now we go to the altar,” said he, rising to his feet then drawing me up to mine. With his arm about me, I was taken to the black, cloth-covered platform and allowed to sink down upon it, then watched as he went to light the black candle on the ledge above. He returned the flame-starter to the ledge beside the candle, then came to stand before me where I sat.

“The altar is where you now rest yourself,” said he, “and is the place where I must make my devotions. Thrice each fey must a man use a woman on the altar, giving Sigurr the thanks due him for making such use possible. As I told you last darkness, the privilege of service thus given you is great. Lie down and we will begin.”

“I have no devotions to make to the dark god,” I denied, beginning to take myself from the platform. “You must seek elsewhere, male, for I will have naught to do with . . . . ”

My words were abruptly interrupted as the male took me about the waist and threw me back upon the platform, following quickly after so that I might not rise again.

“You have little in you which might be mistaken for gratitude, wench,” he growled, pressing me belly down upon the platform. “Does the pleasure you felt mean so little that thanks are not due Sigurr for allowing it? Is your soul so small that you begrudge your use in honor of the mightiest of gods?”

“Mida is the mightiest!” I snapped over my shoulder, stung into response by the accusation. “Sigurr is no more than a god of males, fit to lead no others, fit to be followed by no others! I will have no more to do with him than I must, for I am happily not male!”

“Such a fact pleases me as well,” said Mehrayn, his weight bearing me down as his knees kept my legs apart. “I believe I am now able to understand your refusal, yet you, also, must understand that such refusal is not even permitted a free woman. As a slave you will be taught to submit gladly, yet there is little time now for such instruction. Sigurr, to you alone do I dedicate the use of this foolish, stubborn wench, asking only that you school her in the joys which may be hers upon your altar. She will team soon enough of that which awaits her in its place.”

Then did the male raise my hips and slowly enter me once more, forcing his strength past my attempts to bar his entry. Where earlier I had been made to feel great desire yet no sense of shame, this second use was more punishment than pleasure. Slowly was my heat drawn forth once more, yet only to cause my body to writhe upon the platform, held by the shoulders as the male thoroughly pummeled me. Indeed was my use taken for the pleasure of Sigurr, and when it was done, I was near to fury.

“It is clear there is anger all through you,” said Mehrayn as he withdrew and stood, freeing me at last. “It disturbs me that you fail to feel a proper joy in serving Sigurr, as do other wenches. I will pray that you are quickly allowed to know him and follow him as you now do your Mida. It is your right as a female. ”

I twisted quickly upon the platform to stare at the male, and saw that he had turned away and now walked toward the door of the room. Many angry words had risen to my lips in reply to his comments, yet did I swallow them again without voicing them. The male gave devotion to a god he knew no better than I had known Mida; were I to attempt speaking the truth to him, he would no more believe than I would have before my journey to the north. It was clear the male wished me well—in the odd manner of all males—and anger would be foolish and futile. Best would be to find my way free, take the vengeance that was due me, speak with the absent Aysayn, then return at once to my warriors, leaving Mehrayn and the Sigurri far behind.

“It is now time to break our fast,” said Mehrayn over his shoulder, pausing before the closed door to rap twice upon it. Immediately there came a rattling at the door, and then was it opened by a young male, tall and thin and clad in a dark blue, thigh-length body covering, who had clearly not yet come into his manhood. The boy looked to me briefly with a grin writ plain, then turned his attention to Mehrayn.

“How may I serve you, Prince?” he asked in a voice not far removed from a girl’s. “I have no more than a hin before my lessons begin, yet am I willing to delay their start should you require my assistance beyond that time.”

“Your selflessness warms me, Kerlehn,” laughed Mehrayn, clapping the boy gently upon the shoulder. “I shall, however, require your assistance only briefly, therefore are your lessons in small jeopardy. At the moment, I would have my loincloth which sits upon the table beside this door in the hall. Once that is done, you may go to the kitchen and have its master arrange for the meal I wish brought here. Should his devotions not be complete, you must await his arrival. Is that clear?”

“Indeed, Prince,” nodded the boy, dispirited that his assistance would not be longer required, yet determined to show none of his dejection. “I shall await the kitchen master should he not yet have returned from his devotions, and I will fetch your loincloth immediately.”

The boy stepped without the room and stretched his arm into the unseen hall, handed to the Sigurri his black body cloth, then took himself off. Mehrayn chuckled as he once again closed the door, then turned to me.

“The boy labors under my aegis to become a warrior of Sigurr,” said he, wrapping himself in the black cloth. “He, along with the others I sponsor, must know his letters and numbers as well as the use of sword and shield and spear and bow. Though he grudges the time spent among his books, Kerlehn is a fine student as well as quick and deadly with his weapons. Once he has reached his manhood, he will surely win to the changing of his name.”

“The changing of his name?” I asked, wondering if all males were so concerned with this thing called lessons. Ceralt had been more than insistent that I learn that which is called reading, and so I had, yet not as well as I would have liked. Had I not been Jalav, bound to serve Mida, it would have pleased me to continue what Lialt had begun.

“Aye,” said Mehrayn, stepping closer before me. “When a Sigurri youth becomes a Sigurri warrior, he is permitted to change his name to show his pride in his new position. Kerlehn will become Kerlain, the ay-eye of a warrior replacing the ee-aitch of his birth name. Should he continue on and win the place of a Prince of the Blood, his name would then become Kerlyn, the ay sound being forsaken—save it is my place he wins. Then would he be called Kerlayn.”

“The birth names of the Midanna do not change,” said I, freeing my hair from beneath me as I stretched upon the platform. “As we are warriors all, we retain the names handed down to us by those who have gone before. She who wins a place as warrior wins a silver ring for her ear; she who wins the place of war leader wins the second silver ring from the body of she who was war leader. What name was yours before you became Mehrayn?”

“My birth name was Mehrdin,” said he, his tone distracted as he looked down upon me. “Aysayn and I were boys together, and he was Varsan. How lovely you are, wench, lying so upon my altar. Surely does Sigurr smile broadly upon me, to have sent you to me. ”

“You would be wise to see the matter correctly, male,” said I, sitting up quickly and then rising to my feet. “It is in Mida’s name that I ride, no matter that I carry the word of Sigurr. I have been sent to no male, nor shall I ever be. To believe otherwise would be a well-proven folly.”

“There are men who have attempted to claim you, then,” said he, his light eyes continuing to gaze upon me as they had done. “Such a revelation is scarcely surprising, considering the look of you. That none have yet made you their own is equally unsurprising, for you are clearly not like other wenches. Which is not to say no man ever shall.”

With a gentle laugh his hand touched my chin, and then did he turn away to walk to a small platform which held a low, wide bronze bowl and a tall silver pitcher. In the pitcher was water, and once the male had poured the water into the bowl, he began washing himself therein. I considered the matter even more foolish than the large, high pots used by other city folk to bathe in, yet once the male had dried himself upon a cloth from beneath the platform and had emptied the water he had used into the bright air beyond a window, fresh water was poured into the bowl and offered to me. Indeed did I carry the heavy scent of sweat and dirt and the use of a male, yet was I moved to laughter and scorn at the thought of bathing in so small a bowl. Mehrayn joined my laughter in his usual way, but then I was taken by the waist and quickly moved close to the platform, his free hand in the water then showering droplets at me. Indeed did I wish to find anger at such treatment, yet certain laughter, once begun, is difficult to halt. Though I attempted to return to Mehrayn the shower of droplets, I soon found that I was too strongly taken by mirth to do so; Mehrayn, though also in the grip of laughter, nevertheless was able to cover me well with water, in the process also covering himself. The struggle I accomplished before the platform, held by the waist against the male, was a sorry attempt indeed, weak and ineffectual and totally lacking in accomplishment. That the doing was much filled with the delightful foolishness of the forest journey came to me only when Mehrayn touched hand to my thighs, seeking to take the excess of his own spendings from me. Nearly did I gasp at the unexpected touch, at the cool of the water against my heated flesh, at the cleansing stroke which immediately became a caress. My face raised to his as the amusement fled from both of us, and then did it strike me how deeply I was aware of the broad, strong male against whom I was held. His flesh, too, was warm from the rising heat of the new fey, tan and firm and softening the thick cords of muscle which lay beneath. The arm about me tightened, drawing me more fully against him, and then were his lips on mine, just as they had been in the forest beside the pond. I still knew naught of the reason these Sigurri had for touching lips so often, yet was I beginning to find the practice extremely pleasant. I put my arms about Mehrayn and joined his kiss, pressing myself to his body and the touch of his hand as his tongue sought mine. Our murmurs of pleasure mingled, the heat beginning to rise all about just as the door to the room was flung open.

“Prince, I have brought your meal,” panted the young male Kerlehn, entering bent over by the large, laden board he carried, hurrying to place it upon a wide platform. Mehrayn’s lips had left mine the instant the door had opened, his large body immediately tensing in readiness for whatever occurred, relaxing again only when none save the boy entered.

“Excellent, Kerlehn,” said he, his voice husky yet filled with amusement. “We will partake of the meal in due course. You may now return to your room till the time for your lessons.”

“I shall, Prince,” said the boy, turning from the board to see that Mehrayn had wrapped his arms about me from behind, his cloth-clad body pressed firmly against me. “I must, however, first relay the message sent you by the Arms Master. In honor of your return a review has been prepared by those who train within your household, one which now awaits your presence. When may I tell the Arms Master to expect you?”

The young male stood and mopped his brow, attempting to swallow the smile which threatened to take him. A low-voiced groan came from Mehrayn as he released me, and then was he standing beside me rather than behind.

“You, young Kerlehn, should know better than to smirk at the discomfort of your elders,” said the Sigurri, the sternness of his tone taking all amusement from the boy. “You may tell the Arms Master that I will attend the review as soon as I have finished with my meal. And you I will deal with as soon as you have become a man. A taste of forced abstinence will remove all humor for you from a situation such as this. Now, take yourself off?”

The boy, bowing in agitation, quickly did as he was told, pulling the door to behind him. Mehrayn saw him gone then turned to me, sighing at the look I gave him.

“There is naught I may do, lovely wench,” said he, reaching out to stroke my hair. “Duty calls, and I may not refuse to answer. We shall have our meal, and then I must leave you.”

“Clearly, I should somehow have retained my spear,” said I turning from the male in displeasure, yet also too well aware of the truth he spoke. When there are duties one must perform, foolish little pleasures must be forsaken.

“For the sake of Kerlehn, I give thanks you did not,” chuckled Mehrayn, taking himself toward the board of provender the boy had brought. “I do not doubt you would cast at a boy as willingly as you cast at the keren. Come and choose what you will have to break your fast.”

Though it was not provender I had begun to feel a need for, I followed after Mehrayn to see what was to be had. As a Midanna, I was not in the habit of taking sustenance so early in the fey, yet was I quickly reminded by the sight and aroma of the provender that I had not fed later than mid-fey the fey previous. Indeed did my insides echo hollowly when presented with roast lellin, grilled nilno, wrettan eggs, dark baked grain, yellow fellin tubers and short stalks of rich, green valk. As I took a cut of valk to chew, I also noted the presence of a tall pot of steaming, golden liquid, the aroma of which was totally unfamiliar to me.

“That is thrai,” said Mehrayn, seeing my curious examination of the golden liquid. “When sweetened with halus resin, it makes an excellent beverage to take the sleep from one’s eyes. I will pour you a cup.”

The male did so, pouring a short pot—cup—for himself as well, yet I made no attempt to taste it before I had swallowed a bit of the lellin and nilno and one of the wrettan eggs. Drink does badly upon empty insides, leaving one lightheaded and somewhat ill, therefore did I provide that which the drink might lie upon. My surprise was considerable, however, when I raised it at last to my lips: the drink was naught save heated and sweetened water, a soft tang hovering in its taste. Drink such as that was fit for none save very young warriors-to-be, who would find comfort in its warmth and joy in its sweetness. For full-grown warriors there was far better drink to be had, yet Mehrayn drained his pot with relish, scarcely noticing that I returned mine to the board with no more than the single taste taken. He did, however, notice a considerably different matter.

“Your wrist,” said he with a frown, turning from the board to take my hands. “It failed to take my attention sooner, yet both of your wrists remain as bruised as they were the last darkness. Why have you not been healed of the bruises as you were healed of the wound in your shoulder?”

I, too, looked at my wrists, yet was the answer to his question easily understood.

“Clearly, Mida is displeased with my efforts,” I shrugged, taking my hands from his grip, recalling only distantly that slight wounds had been overlooked on previous occasions. “I have not been sent here to dawdle and sport, yet no other thing have I accomplished since my arrival. I must see this Aysayn of yours and return to my warriors.

I turned from the board and walked to the center of the room, reflecting that Mida—and Sigurr as well—must also be displeased that I had allowed their sign to be taken from me. It now lay in the possession of the female Ladayna, who had been marked as mine as soon as her challenge had been given. That her challenge had been through the use of armed males mattered little; challenge had been given and would be accepted as soon as weapons were again mine.

“The Shadow’s return cannot be hastened by any save himself,” came the voice of Mehrayn from behind me, he having remained at the board. “There is naught you may do save await him, here in my house.”

“I have not the time to await the pleasure of a male!” I snapped, turning again to look upon Mehrayn. “Should the strangers arrive before my return, my warriors will find the need to enter battle without a war leader! I will go in search of this Aysayn, and then I will return to my warriors. Where are my breech and weapons?”

“A slave has no need of a breech and weapons!” Mehrayn snapped in return, anger putting his fists to his hips. “You cannot disturb the Shadow in his meditations, you cannot take the lives of his woman and her guard, and you cannot leave here without my permission! Sigurr does not demand the performance of your task while such performance is patently impossible! When Aysayn returns I will take you before him, and then will you be free to return to your wenches. You would not have been sent here to raise the Sigurri, were the strangers destined to arrive before our host might ride to meet them.”

“With Midanna warriors already there, there is little need for haste among the Sigurri,” said I, folding my arms and straightening my stance. “Surely Sigurr hopes to have his followers in at the kill—a kill performed by Midanna—and thereby allow them the reflection of glory they would by themselves be unable to take. You may safely bide your time in waiting, male, yet I face the loss of true glory, personal glory! And Jalav is no slave!”

“Jalav has not the wit to know what she should be,” growled the male, moving forward till he stood directly before me, the anger burning in the green of his eyes. “Had Jalav given me her word, she would now be free in the forests about the city. Had she accepted the need to wait as an adult, she would have been a guest in my house. Rather than that, she behaves as an ill-mannered, ill-disciplined child, giving me insult and making demands to be freed of a state her own unbridled tongue brought her to! You will not be released, my girl, nor will you be accorded the privileges of a guest! A slave you have been declared, and a slave you will remain—till I decree otherwise!”

“How like a male,” I sneered, looking him up and down in scorn, to his greater anger. “I have met many males who spoke to Jalav of slavery, yet none who spoke so when Jalav had sword to hand. Why did you not attempt to name me slave in the forests, male? Why did you never accept what offers for challenge I gave you? Possibly it was my weapons which deterred you, whose absence you now celebrate by speaking of that which I have been declared, and that which I shall remain. Return to me my weapons, male, and then speak to me of slavery—if you dare!”

“Ah, I see you have found me out,” said Mehrayn, a false heartiness above the growl of his anger. “Indeed do I fear you and your weapons, wench, so greatly that I shall endeavor to keep them from you as long as I may. And during the time you grace my household with your presence and service, I shall also endeavor to have you taught a proper regret for the insult you so casually give others. One who stands armed may give insult; one who stands unarmed may not. ”

It was my intention to point out that I gave challenge, not insult, yet the words were not destined to be spoken. With the last of his own words, Mehrayn’s fist was in my hair, bending me forward and forcing me toward the door. With a snarl of fury I struggled against the painful, humiliating grip, yet when has the strength of a warrior, unarmed, equalled the strength of a male? To the door was I pulled, and through it once it had been opened, and into the hall which lay beyond the room.

The hall was a long one, the stone of its floor covered with a dark gray cloth, its walls dressed in silver and black silk where doors did not interrupt them. Here and there against the walls stood small wooden platforms, some empty, some holding sprays of wildflowers in tall pots, candles in silver sconces lighting all beneath them. Through this hall was I taken, then to the right up another, and then to the left up a third. Some males did we pass, and some few slave females as well, yet none halted Mehrayn in his ever-forward stride, though they, themselves, halted and stared after us in puzzlement. Stumbling wrapped in rage, I was taken up the balance of the hall and thence to an outer door, which opened on a wide courtyard full in Mida’s light, filled with many males. At sight of Mehrayn each of these males bowed, yet Mehrayn made no acknowledgment of the salutes, halting, instead, before one of the males.

“Greetings, Hesain,” said the Sigurri to this new, black-clothed male who bowed a second time. “I am told there is be a review given for me, and I am eager to have you begin. I have been too long away from those who strive for the honor of my house.”

“Sooner would we consign ourselves to the Caverns of the Doomed than disappoint you, Prince,” said this male called Hesain, a large, square, darkish male, yet not so large as Mehrayn. His brown eyes came to rest on me where I stood attempting to loosen Mehrayn’s hold upon my hair, and Mehrayn chuckled in amusement.

“A new slave for our house, Hesain,” said he, his fist tightening as he forced me straight and over-straight, so that I might be presented to the gaze of the second male. “Would a man not be consigned to the Caverns for the crime of covering such a body? Have you ever seen a more toothsome morsel?”

“Never, Prince,” said the second male, his eyes moving slowly about me as a smile appeared upon his face. “May I touch her?”

“Certainly,” agreed Mehrayn, no more than pleasantness to be heard in his voice. “She is a slave, is she not? Slaves may be touched by any man, whether they will it or not.”

Well did I know that the male spoke largely to me, though he seemingly spoke to the other. I growled wordlessly and swiped at Mehrayn, catching him in the middle with my elbow and the weight of my body, then immediately kicked at the second male. The kick narrowly missed the male’s privates, striking instead on his thigh as he twisted desperately aside, more fortunate than Mehrayn. The larger Sigurri had given me pain with his hand in my hair, yet had my blow to his middle taken his breath with an aching grunt, bending him forward as he had bent me. With the loosening of his grip I would surely have been quickly free had his fingers not been deeply tangled in my hair from the struggle. I, too, went down, forced to my knees, and then was Mehrayn recovered enough to retighten his grip. A sound of laughter came from those males who stood in the walled-in area, yet the male who held me firmly before him seemed unshamed.

“As I said, Hesain,” panted Mehrayn, “no slave may say what man will touch her. However, due to my—ah—eagerness to have the review begun, perhaps it would be best to delay the touching for another time. What say you?”

“As ever, Prince your wisdom transcends all,” replied the second male with a laugh. He now stood back from us, his hand rubbing at his thigh, the others holding their places behind him, though every eye was upon us. Those others behind Hesain were clad in every color save black and were young, yet not so young as the boy Kerlehn. It seemed odd that Mehrayn showed no anger for their laughter, yet I had little time to think upon the point. Quickly was I raised to my feet by the pull on my hair, and guided again toward the dwelling.

“I will return in a moment,” Mehrayn called back to those we left before entering the dwelling. “I will find more pleasure in the review if this one is deposited elsewhere, where I will not need to keep watch upon her.”

Hesain’s acknowledgment reached us as we entered and turned right up the hall, going to a stair which led downward. Though cloth-covered, the stair clearly had been cut from rock, and led to a lower hall which we merely trod briefly before entering a large, bright, windowed chamber in which the odor of provender and cooking was strong. A number of slave females hurried about or saw to tasks in the chamber, and a larger number of males tended their own tasks, one or two directing the slave females. One single male, goldenhaired and older than the others, stood about directing all, and to this male was I taken.

“Sadrin, a moment of your time,” said Mehrayn as the golden-haired male bowed with a smile. “I will explain what aid I must have from you, yet first I would see this she-keren caged. Do you have one to spare?”

“Certainly, Prince,” said the male Sadrin, turning and leading the way to the far side of the chamber with a gesture which Mehrayn followed. “I see we have a new slave for the house. Is she to be mine?”

“Her duties will be diverse,” said Mehrayn, “and are a matter which must be discussed between us later. For now I wish merely to see her caged and kept from causing further—distractions. An excellent one for distractions, this one.”

“A thing a man may easily see,” chuckled Sadrin, halting before a low, small enclosure of metal, one far smaller than any I had yet come across. “It is a punishment cage you are seeking, is it not, my Prince?”

“Exactly,” said Mehrayn, looking down upon the enclosure with a good deal of satisfaction. “Certain slaves require punishment, to assist them in recalling that they are, indeed, slaves. In with you, wench.”

It was difficult to credit that one of my size was to be put within an enclosure of such meager dimensions, yet Mehrayn showed no hesitation. Again was I bent low to the floor, in this room an uncovered stone block, and then was one end of the enclosure opened by Mehrayn so that I might be forced toward it. Halfway within was my hair released, therefore did I quickly twist about to attempt exit once again, yet to no avail. A push on my legs from the Sigurri warrior sent me farther within, and then was the metal closed and barred behind my feet, locking me within. I could not turn to shake the metal which held me prisoner, and the growl which came to my throat was stronger by cause of that.

“Indeed like a keren,” muttered the male Sadrin, looking thoughtfully down upon me. “Had she more room within, I feel sure she would crouch rather than sit, perhaps even baring her fangs.”

“She is not an animal!” said Mehrayn sharply, turning to look upon the other male. “She is a—was a warrior, just as I am! No warrior is pleased to be caged!”

“My Prince, I meant no insult,” replied the other male, his voice calm and quiet. “I merely spoke what seemed an observable truth.” And then did he hesitate before adding, “In view of your opinion of the cage, I fail to comprehend why you place her there. The experience will be neither comfortable nor dignified, most especially for one who is—was a warrior. ”

The hesitation then touched Mehrayn, taking the sharpness from his gaze and tone before turning him to gaze down upon me.

“She must be taught,” said he, again speaking to another with words meant for me. “Even a warrior must learn to walk softly in captivity, else there is little chance he will ever again walk free. To learn such a thing is to retain one’s life so that it may be given properly, in battle, dedicated to the god one serves. All other action is folly.”

“One may not die as a warrior if one does not live as a warrior,” said I, looking up through the lines of metal at the male. “To live as any other thing is less than life, and fit only for males. Jalav is no slave, nor will she ever be.”

“More growl than voice,” remarked the male Sadrin, a murmur behind the silence of Mehrayn. A long moment did the two stand regarding me then did Mehrayn turn and walk off, gesturing the other with him. They two paused for conversation, discussing various matters beyond my hearing, then did Mehrayn depart the chamber, leaving all to the tasks they had been attending to before our arrival. Sadrin did no more than glance toward me before he, too, turned his attention elsewhere.

Few words were spoken in the large chamber, perhaps by cause of the greater heat therein, which brought sweat to one’s body as it lay heavily all about. I stirred within the metal enclosure, attempting to ease the cramped position which had been forced upon me, yet it was as the male Sadrin had said: comfort was not possible within such close confines. Stretching out full length was disallowed one of my size, as was taking a seated position. Lying on my left side upon the bare metal floor of the enclosure, my knees drawn up, the metal lines close above my head, before my eyes, and all about; this was all I was able to do, lie there curled, beneath the weight of the growing heat, feeling the lines of metal move closer and closer still. The desire was great to throw myself against the metal as I had done when enclosed so by those in Bellinard; the effort required to keep from doing so was greater still. Only the knowledge that such struggle would be futile, as well as strong aversion to showing these Sigurri how deeply the confinement touched me, enabled me to lower my head to my left arm and remain unmoving. So would the hadat have lain in the trap, luring the hunter into believing it was bested. Not for naught was the hadat the living symbol of the life sign of Jalav.

With the slow passage of the reckid and hind, even the hadat would have grown restless and impatient. Those Sigurri in the chamber continued their doings, some concerned with filling large metal pots and setting them upon fire, some seeing to mixtures of various sorts, some seeing to the sectioning of large cuts of meat or opening large sacks of vegetables. Those who saw to these doings were largely male, each in a body cloth of a color other than black, the females among them also wearing many colors, their breasts well covered by the selfsame cloth. Those females who were clearly marked as slave were not as bare as the captive who watched them. Though their red-painted breasts were clear to the sight of all, long cloths of red were wrapped about their waists and tied at their left hips, the opening thusly made running the full length of their legs to their ankles, where the cloth itself ended. Sight of such red brought unreasoning anger to me with the thought of Silla, yet the tasks set to the hands of these slaves did much to allay that anger. Though few in number, these female slaves were set to the constant cleaning of the chamber and its contents, floors, walls, platforms, pots, peelings from vegetables, fat from meat, spillings from platforms and pots. Directing them was a large free female, nearly of a size with me, who stood and watched their efforts with a frown. Upon occasion did the efforts of the slaves fail to meet the approval of the female, and then was the switch hanging at her belt put to use.

After perhaps two hind of watching, it had become clear that one female slave was most often singled out by the free female as she who would feel the switch. The others seemed well accustomed to their lot, seeing to their tasks quickly, quietly, and to the best of their ability; this lone slave, with hair as pale as that of Ilvin the Hitta warrior, worked with little enthusiasm, little skill, and many indignant screams when struck with the switch. Her hair hung longer than that of the others, reaching to the middle of her back above the red covering, therefore was the covering itself the area which was most often struck. Much did it seem indignation rather than pain which touched the light-haired female so deeply, and at long last she became willing to accept no more.

“Sadrin!” she cried when the switch rose to strike her again, darting out from beneath the arm of the free female and running to the male. “I cannot bear any more of this, do you hear? No more!”

The male Sadrin turned slowly from the pot he had been inspecting to look upon the angry, indignant female. His look contained little friendliness and no approval, and he folded his arms as he looked coldly down upon her.

“In what manner do you address me, slave?” he demanded, making no direct answer to her protests. “Have you been given permission to leave your work and approach me?”

“I need no permission to speak as I will!” The female bristled, indignation growing truly high. “I have had all I care to of this—this—ridiculous farce, and I will have no more! I am going to the home of my aunt, and will never speak to my father or Mehrayn again! When they come seeking me, you may tell them that!”

With a firm nod of her head, the small, light-haired female turned from Sadrin, her evident intention to leave the chamber at once. Her high-chinned stride took her all of four paces before the male signaled to by Sadrin put his fist in her hair, halting her abruptly with a cry of pain. Her next stumbling steps returned her to the golden-haired male, who continued to look down upon her with great disapproval. No longer was the female indignant, and she returned the look given her with uncertainty.

“How dare you do this to me?” she quavered, her voice taking on the trembling her body was not allowed. “Have him release me at once!”

“Your memory seems to be extremely faulty, Cynena,” said Sadrin, his voice remaining cold. “Your father, having grown weary of your constant, willful refusal of all suitors, has allowed you to be declared slave despite your high station. The Prince Mehrayn, out of friendship to your father, has agreed to have your slavery taught you here. Neither of them will seek you out, for they do not concern themselves with the disposition of slaves.”

“What you say is untrue!” cried the female, painfully aware of how openly her body was held by the large hand twisting in her hair. “My father thinks to force me to his wishes by this charade, and Mehrayn assists him! I have not truly been declared a slave! I could not be!”

“No?” asked the male Sadrin, raising his brows. “You think not? Perhaps, then, this is for the best after all, for you need to learn your true condition. The beating for insolence should teach it you.”

“No!” screamed the female Cynena, struggling against the grip of the male who held her. “You may not beat me! I am free and you may not beat me!”

No answer was vouchsafed the female in words; instead did Sadrin gesture, indicating that the male who held the slave was to proceed with the instructions given him. With shrieks was the female pulled away from before the golden-haired male, and taken across the floor to the wall to my left. Perhaps a pace before the wall stood a low, wooden contrivance, much like that to which city males tied their kand, two upright posts joined by a crosspiece at their tops. The female struggled as she was bent forward over this crosspiece, yet the chains which came from the wall and were attached to her wrists by another male served to hold her as she was put. The first male then released her hair, reached to her hip to open and remove the half-covering she wore, dropped the covering to the floor, then went toward a switch which hung upon the wall near to the wooden contrivance.

Truly frantic was the female Cynena, yet her shouts and shrieks were ignored by all in the chamber, including those who were also marked as slave. They, beneath the eye of the free female, worked more eagerly than they had earlier, barely pausing to flinch when Cynena’s shouts became screams of pain. The male with the switch struck her sharply and with strength, tearing cries of humiliation and hurt from her twisting body. The doing was far from the lashings I had had at the hands of males, little more than a punishment fit for a child, yet memory rose of those lashings and I gritted my teeth, fighting against the illness which threatened to rise up and engulf me. I moved as far as I might upon the metal floor of the enclosure, and fought to let my mind know the difference between the two actions.

The female Cynena was soundly switched, well past the point where screams became true weeping. Having been punished as a child she wept as a child, offering no least resistance when the chains were removed from her wrists and she was raised from the post. The male Sadrin had taken himself over to witness the last of her beating, and when she was stood before him, she could not raise her head to meet his gaze.

“Much more acceptable,” said he, looking down upon the small, shaking, weeping form before him. “Your punishment, slave, was for insolence rather than for attempted escape, a leniency you may thank me for. For a slave to attempt escape is a serious matter, and one more harshly punished. How say you?”

“Thank you master,” whispered the female her ragged words so faint they barely reached me. “Please, tell my father that I beg his forgiveness. I will do anything he asks, if only he will . . . .”

“Silence,” rumbled the male, his face expressionless. “A slave has no kin. Return yourself to your duties now, and do not give me further reason to punish you. Should you cause another incident, I will remember that you attempted escape.”

The female, pale and shivering, threw one pleading look at the male before reaching a trembling hand out toward her covering which lay upon the floor to the left of the male. Her foolishness was made clear to her when the male placed his leather-covered foot upon the cloth, denying it to her, returning the tears to her eyes. A strangled sob came from her throat at this further punishment, and then she had turned and fled back to the area of the free female, who awaited her with the task she had left unfinished with her initial outburst. The satisfaction was so strong in the eyes of Sadrin, I could do naught save close my own eyes to erase the sight of him. Had he looked at me as he had looked upon the slave Cynena, I would surely have thrown myself upon the lines of metal in an effort to reach him.

Forced inactivity often brings a greater weariness than strenuous labor. Closing my eyes took my attention from those around me, and in such a manner did sleep find me without difficulty. How long a time I spent in sleep I know not, yet when I awoke, attempting to stretch the ache from my cramped body, I immediately became aware of the greater heat within the room—and the greater silence. No longer was there the sound of folk moving about seeing to various tasks, and when I looked out into the chamber, the reason became clear. All of the female slaves, eight in number with the female Cynena, knelt in a straight line before the male of the chamber, each of them under examination by the males. Even as I watched, the males stepped forward one by one, took a slave by the hair, then hurried her from the room by the door which had provided my own entry. In a very short time none save Cynena remained, even the free female having departed in the company of a male. The light-haired slave trembled where she knelt, her head down, for Sadrin stood above her, studying her without words. A moment or two passed in the thickened silence, and then did Sadrin bend to the female.

“It seems you have not been chosen, slave,” said he, taking her by the hair and raising her to her feet. “The men of the house obviously have no desire to perform their mid-fey devotions through you. Even I have chosen another.”

“Please, do not beat me!” whispered the female, fear and satisfaction doing battle in her eyes. “It was no doing of mine that I am to be left untouched during devotions! I did not refuse!”

“You were not given the choice of refusing,” said Sadrin, his voice even. “Refusal is not allowed to a female, slave or free. And you will not be left completely untouched, slave, not as you were in your father’s house. Sigurr will yet have squirmings from you.”

With a cry of dismay the female was taken a number of paces to the right of my enclosure, where a small door stood in the wall. As the two disappeared a heavy silence descended, broken only when Sadrin reappeared alone a hand of reckid later and came to stand before my enclosure.

“And here is another who has not been chosen,” said the male, his tone and look different from that given to the slave female. “In your case it was instructions from the Prince which kept you from an altar, for surely would I have chosen you myself had I not been told you were to be taught the alternative to sharing a man’s devotions. From the look of you, I think the lesson will not need to be taught a second time.”

The male’s words made little sense, yet was I not to be left to ponder them. He bent and opened the enclosure beyond my head, the opposite side from which I had entered, then reached within and took me by the hair as he had done with the slave female. It was surely my intention to struggle against being done so, yet was it all I was able to do to crawl from the enclosure at the urging of the pull upon my hair. The stiffness and ache in my body was greater than I had thought it would be, greater than that brought one from lying in wait upon the hunt. I held my breath as I crawled beyond the enclosure, refusing to give voice to the pain, and he who held my hair made a strange sound in his throat.

“No screams of pain?” he asked, in some manner pleased. “No begging for mercy? Indeed do you seem to be the warrior the Prince named you, and such is a great pity. The true warrior does badly in prolonged slavery, a state you have little hope of escaping. Should the Prince fail to claim you as a mate, as now seems likely, you will serve men as long as you breed desire in them, which will undoubtedly be for some time yet. Let us see if you are able to walk.”

The prattling of the male was of little interest to me, all save the last of it. Indeed was I full eager to regain the ability of walking without pain, yet regaining the ability proved of little value. My steps, directed by the male, took me to the doorway the slave female had been taken through, and sudden struggle did not prove sufficient to loosen the hold the male had upon me. Without surprise or protest the male tightened his grip, and then I was through the doorway and into the small room beyond.

The room itself was bare save for three strange devices of wood, one of which already held the slave female Cynena. The devices seemed no more than sheets of wood with narrow circles held upon four short legs of the same wood, the entire thing clear in the light streaming through two wide-flung windows. The male Sadrin forced me to one of the devices, raised the top of the circle with his free hand, then pushed me within the remaining half of the circle, closing the top before I might straighten up again. In such a manner was I then placed as the slave female had been belly down within the now close circle, held in place and unable to squirm free. Turning my head to the left showed me half of the slave female, the nether half; as she faced the door, I faced one of the bright, open windows.

“The time grows short before I must be at my devotions,” said Sadrin from behind me, his hand suddenly about my left ankle. Having been put within the device had taken my feet from the floor, and now was there the claps of metal about my ankle, quickly followed by the same about my second ankle. The slave female, too, had been done so, and I knew not the necessity for such. I could not have taken myself from the tight circle of wood about my waist even without the chain.

“Now are you both prepared,” said the male, the sound of his steps taking him farther away. “When the bell signals the time for devotions, there will be others here to see to you. Do not forget what was done—or the reason for it—lest you find yourself done so again. I am told that once is quite enough.”

Again the sound of footsteps came, signaling his departure, and silence closed all about us like the folds of a heavy cloth. The slave female to my left stirred with the sound of chain, and I, too, felt the discomfort of the position we had been left in. Though the circle of wood had been padded to near softness, the bottom length of wood separating my arms from my legs was rough and splintered in places, as though the claws of some child of the wild had torn at it. Raising my head showed me naught save an open window I could not reach and a slave bottom I had no interest in, therefore did I allow my head to hang to keep the strain from my neck as I waited.

I had little notion of what it was I awaited, yet the tolling of the bell I had heard earlier in the fey was surely a part of it. The slave female stirred again as the sound rang clearly in the confines of the strange prison we shared, and then, above the tolling, came the sound of a number of hurrying footsteps. The footsteps approached and entered, and the sound of breathless laughter entered with them.

“You see, there is indeed one for each of us,” said a voice, a young, high voice, that of a boy. “We were not given two for the same slave.”

“I have never seen two being done at once,” said a second voice, also young, also male. “Are we to do them together?”

“Certainly,” replied the first boy, smugly confident. “There is scarcely time to do one after the other. Do you need to be shown how?”

“No more than you!” snapped the second boy, anger and affronted dignity clear in his tone. “This is not the first time I have done a slave!”

“Well, then, get on with it,” laughed the first boy, and with an indignant huff the one who was obviously the second appeared by the back of the slave female, a large something held carefully wrapped in a cloth of black.

“What do you children do here?” demanded the slave female in a trembling voice, a growing fear draining the snap of command she had attempted. “Leave here at once, do you hear me? At once!”

“Silence, slave,” grumbled the boy behind her, young yet not too young to have commanded slaves. “What we do here will soon become quite apparent. I see you have need of some oil.”

The slave female gasped as the boy put a hand to her, yet I merely stiffened as the same was done to me. The indignation the female was taken with touched me not at all, yet the struggle I attempted was as fruitless as her action. We were to be done in some manner by these boys, and there was no escaping it.

“There is always a need for oil,” laughed the boy behind me, a faint sound of cloth being unwrapped accompanying his words. “I was told by a warrior that they would be upon an altar rather than here if there was no such need.”

“I shall do with only a touch of it,” sniffed the second boy, not to be made to feel less experienced and knowledgeable, “Here, just within her, and then she must provide her own.”

“What do you do?” screamed the slave female as the boy touched her again, causing her to pull against the ankle chains. “How dare you touch me so? How dare you— No!”

The last word was a scream indeed, for the boy had unwrapped his burden and presented it to her inner thighs. Large was the instrument, far longer than anything she might be able to take, wood at its base, skin-covered where it would touch her. With little feeling for what he did, the boy twisted the instrument about, forcing it within the slave female despite her screams and struggles. To the very end of the skin covering it went, and suddenly the slave female moved not at all.

“You have not told them what we were instructed to tell them,” said the boy behind me, and then did I feel the touch of something other than fingers. “All females save those who are ill, aged, infirm or with child must be filled during the time of devotions to blessed Sigurr. Should you prefer to be filled with something other than wood, you must strive to be pleasing to the men of this house. When we have become men, we, too, will insist that you be pleasing.”

“I will be pleasing” whispered the slave female, her body remaining as rigid as it had been. “I swear I will be pleasing! I will be anything you wish, only take that monstrous thing from within me!”

“We are not yet done,” chided the boy behind her, annoyed with her words, his pettish tone covering the small gasp forced from me as the instrument was worked as quickly and deeply within me as it had been put within the slave female. Indeed was the feel of it beyond description, more painful and paralyzing than pleasurable. A male of size and strength brings great joy to a warrior, yet the instrument was of covered wood, too large and unyielding for joy, wielded by a boy who knew naught of what he did. I closed my eyes and scraped at the wood beneath my hands, unable to reach the place of torment to force the terrible thing from me.

The screams of the slave female quickly began filling the air of the room, fear and pain and humiliation striking ear and nerves alike. Well did I know the reason for her screams, for the boy who tormented me had begun to move the instrument he held as though he used me, in and out, harshly and with strength, performing a task he had no true knowledge of. Despite the pain, I could not keep from moving with the thrust, a small reaction compared with that of the slave female. She, treated more harshly by the boy who did her, kicked and writhed and wept as though taken by madness. My claws did not quite tear at the wood beneath my hands, yet was it a near thing. For a warrior to be treated so and unable to claim vengeance brought on a madness of its own.

It seemed the doing would never cease, and when it did it did not cease entirely. The boy withdrew the monstrous instrument after a final thrust, yet a brief moment later another thing was slid within to replace it, a thing of cold wetness, considerably smaller than the instrument, which brought a shudder to me. The slave female moaned low, evidently having the same done to her, and then was there the feel of leather being tied, first at my left hip, then at my right, last about my waist just above the hips. With the tying done the hands removed themselves from me, leaving the cold wetness within, held in place by the leather which had been tied to me. I hung with head down from the circle of wood, some of my hair tumbled to the stone floor before me, finding little gratitude for the soothing which was beginning from the presence of the cold wetness. The shame I felt was not as deep as it would have been had I not known the ways of city males, yet was there shame enough to bow my head and fill my heart with bitterness. The true shame was the foolishness of Jalav, who had not the wisdom to keep far from males and their doings. Should she ever again find the freedom of the forests, the error would not be repeated.

Their task seen to, the boys who had tormented the slave female and myself took themselves off, laughing between themselves over the successful performance of their duties. For a number of long reckid we were left to ourselves in the warm, fresh-aired silence, and then came the sounds of many folk returning to that which they had abandoned a short while ago. Well pleased was the laughter of the males, the shrill, higher pitched laughter of the females matching it, and then was there the sound of further steps within the room which held me. A male appeared as he approached the slave female, and at the same time there came the touch of hands at my ankles, releasing the chains. I stirred as the chains fell away, desperately anxious to reach and remove that which had been placed within me, yet such a thing was not in accordance with the will of the males. Two there were who removed me from the wooden circle, they catching at my hands when I immediately reached for the leather at my waist, holding me tight as I thoughtlessly began to struggle, then laughing as I froze with a gasp. The thing within was not to be ignored, sending added flashes of weakness through my body as the males forced motion upon me, taking me toward the wall beneath one of the wide windows. Once there, I was put to my knees below the bottom of the window, my arms were forced behind me, and slim, rounded cuffs were closed about my wrists. A single pull showed that the chain between the cuffs was held in some manner at the wall, tying my arms and disallowing the rising from my heels. The two males who had put me there straightened with grins of satisfaction, then one crouched before me.

“The loss of your use was a great loss indeed, lovely slave,” said he, raising his hands to touch the tips of my breasts. “You must see to it that such a loss does not occur again. It gives a man little pleasure to see a wench writhe to the urgings of a device rather than his own doings. Are you not eager now to give men the pleasure due them?”

That I did not gasp again was due only to great effort, for the touch of hands upon my breasts had caused me to move, again awakening the thing within me to motion. It was then that the second male reached toward me with a laugh, touching the thing held close with leather and pushing it farther within. Where the boys, in their ignorance, had caused naught save pain, the elder male knew well what he was about; his touch caused me to bend low with a moan, again bringing laughter to him and his companion.

“This packing is meant to take the pain from you,” said the second, moving the thing gently about with his fingers, driving me near to insanity. “It will remain with you till all your pain is gone, and you are again prepared to serve men. Are men not preferable to a thing such as this?”

Had I been able to speak, I would undoubtedly have brought further punishment and pain upon myself, therefore was it fortunate that I was unable to speak of what manner in which I most wished to serve males. The two before me amused themselves a bit longer; then did they straighten and walk from me, chuckling as they quitted the room. I remained as they had placed me, on my knees, wrists held tight behind, head hung low against the flame which raced through my blood, at first unaware of the sound which came from the slave female. She, as I, had been placed beneath a window by a male, one who had undoubtedly done to her that which the other two had done to me. Only slowly did her weeping penetrate the thick wall of shame and fury and need which surrounded me, bringing my head up to see how pitifully hopeless she appeared where she knelt, her head as low to her thighs as the chain upon her wrists allowed, her slender body shaking to the sobs which wracked her. Much did her weeping seem that of a small child, now filled with pain and fear and deep hurt from that which she had never before been subjected to. Mighty indeed were these males, to so quickly diminish so terrible a thing as a city female such as Cynena. I moved my wrists within the circles of metal which held them, then returned to my own thoughts.

Nearly a hin passed before those from the outer room again took note of the slave female and myself. Two rosy-breasted slave females entered carrying good-sized wooden pots, the aroma arising from those pots saying they held a meat stew of some sort. Behind them walked Sadrin, his presence causing the two slaves to move with care and extreme nervousness. The first of the slave females was directed to crouch before the female Cynena, who did no more than raise her head very slightly till she became aware of Sadrin. Once the golden-haired male’s presence was known to her, she began trembling as a leaf trembles in a wind, then quickly accepted the provender brought to her lips by the wooden device males called spoon. In such a manner was one slave fed by another, their doings briefly watched by the male. When he had satisfied himself that all was as he wished it, he then turned his attention to me.

The second slave had crouched before me, her offensive red covering spreading to bare her leg to the left, her hand raising the filled wooden spoon to my lips. There was little room for movement as I was, yet was I able to straighten myself away from the offering, refusing the provender without words. The slave before me grew greatly upset, far more so than her master, who had observed the by-play. Sadrin moved closer so that he might stand above me, his face again wearing that same odd expression.

“Do you wish to be beaten, slave?” he asked, looking down upon me. “You have been ordered to eat, and will do so immediately!”

I made answer by meeting his eyes, and spoke no words to add to what was quickly understood by the male. No captive willingly partakes of the provender insultingly granted by her enemies; sooner would she accept what pain was offered. Little dignity was allowed me in the position I had been forced to, yet was my meaning made clear to the male.

“How foolish you are, slave,” said Sadrin, straightening where he stood and folding his arms. “You think to accept punishment rather than sustenance, the former being more palatable to one such as yourself, yet you will not be allowed such a choice. After the punishment you will be made to accept the sustenance as well, and all the pain will be for naught. Should there be the least amount of wisdom within you, wench, you will accept your new lot rather than struggle to deny it. Take the food now, and prepare yourself for pleasure rather than pain.”

Again I spoke no words in answer, yet the scorn I felt was surely clear in my eyes. To capture a war leader was not to conquer her, and to speak of pain was not to frighten her. I had made the acquaintance of true fear and deep pain, and though I would not willingly face them again, neither would I cringe from them like a craven. There was time enough to consider defeat when I was no longer able to hold myself with dignity.

“So you continue to refuse,” said Sadrin, his voice uninflected. “I find myself touched with a strange sadness, for it will not be pleasant to see you succumb at the end of your strength. Sooner would I have you bend than break; a pity bending is disallowed by your nature. I will now fetch those who will see to you.”

Unfolding his arms, the male turned away to the doorway, yet did he halt no more than two paces toward it. Coming through the doorway were Mehrayn and Famsyn, the black of their body cloths and shoulder strokes a sobering note among the bright colors of the others. The two Sigurri looked only toward Sadrin, yet the slave female Cynena gasped low and paled, then attempted to hide herself. A second gasp followed to color her cheeks as the device within her shifted to her movement, and deep misery took her completely. The last of the stew was then being given her, and though she clearly wished no more of it, she found herself unable to refuse. Head bent low, eyes closed, she continued to do as she had been commanded, as one who approached the end of life; all she possessed had been taken from Cynena, and therefore was there naught left to be lost save life itself.

“Sadrin, how goes it?” called Mehrayn, his spirits clearly high as he approached the golden-haired male. “The meal you provided for us was as perfect as ever, greatly satisfying after strenuous devotions.”

“Your satisfaction is mine, my Prince,” answered Sadrin with a bow, obviously pleased with Mehrayn’s words. “May I do a further service for you or the Prince Bersyn?”

Mehrayn’s lips parted to reply, yet an exclamation from Bersyn halted his words. The second Sigurri had looked upon me with amusement as Mehrayn and Sadrin spoke, and then his gaze had drifted lazily to the female Cynena. Clearly had Bersyn expected to see me in the room, yet equally as clearly was the sight of Cynena unexpected. The male left Mehrayn’s side to stride quickly to the female, then put the other slave female aside so that he might crouch before her who knelt chained with head down.

“Cynena, what do you here, marked as a slave?” he demanded, putting his two large hands to the female’s face so that he might raise it to his own. “What has happened to your father and your suitors, that such a thing might come to be?”

“Bersyn, I beg you, do not look upon me in my shame,” whispered Cynena, silent tears rolling from her still-closed eyes. “I am no more than a slave now, to be beaten and humiliated at the bidding of men. Offer me no kindness, for I will surely have naught of kindness from others.”

“I do not understand!” protested Bersyn, releasing the female and straightening to glare at Mehrayn and Sadrin. “For what reason was Cynena declared slave?”

“The choice was her father’s,” answered Mehrayn, his voice a calm which was meant to calm Bersyn. “Not only did she continue to refuse all suitors, she even began to insist that she be left untouched during devotions. The altered slaves sent to fill her to Sigurr’s glory were refused admittance to her apartment, shocking all who heard of the sacrilege. Her father found himself with little choice, therefore did he allow her to be declared slave. ”

“Is this true, Cynena?” Bersyn asked, turning again to send a frown to the slave at his feet. “For what reason would you commit such sacrilege?”

“I loathe the use of slaves,” the female whispered, her head as low as her voice. “Never have I received true pleasure from one, therefore did I seek to avoid the use of all men. You are all alike, each of you, and I would run from you if I could, yet will I obey my father should he appear, for I loathe even more the life of a slave.”

“So all men are alike, are they?” mused Bersyn, continuing to stare down at the slave. “Free men and male slaves have little in common save their beginnings, yet no sheltered female would know this. As you had knowingly and willingly descended to sacrilege, it is clearly for the best that you were declared slave. As such, you will quickly be shown the power of a free man.”

No more than an instant passed before Cynena understood the meaning of the words Bersyn spoke, and her head snapped up to allow her to stare at him wide-eyed.

“Bersyn, no!” she begged, kept from writhing in distress only by cause of the device within her. “I could not bear to be used as a slave by a man I knew when free! I would die of humiliation! Have I not been humiliated enough?”

“Apparently not,” said Sadrin from where he stood beside Mehrayn, a coldness in his voice. “How have you been taught to address a free man, wench? Do you require further punishment to remind you?”

“No, master!” gasped the female Cynena, fear clearly touching her as she again looked up at Bersyn. “I beg you, master, choose another to vent your need upon! I would give you little pleasure, even though I were punished for the lack! I have little of the desire granted other women, and therefore little passion to give!”

“All women are filled with an equal amount of passion wench,” said Bersyn, crouching again before the female. “With some, such passion is easily released, with others, a greater effort is necessary. I do not believe too great an effort will be necessary with you.”

With the last of his words, the male’s hand moved to the body of the female, bringing her a horrified gasp as she attempted in vain to rise from her heels. Escaping the touch was more than impossible, and quickly did her eyes close as her body shuddered to a moan.

“Scarcely my concept of cold and unwilling,” chuckled Bersyn, closely observing the helpless writhings of the female beneath his hand. “Mehrayn: I ask the favor of the use of this slave. What say you?”

“How may I deny you, brother?” returned the larger Sigurri, obviously amused. “Are you not a guest in my house? Take her when you will, and keep her as long as you wish.”

“My thanks, brother,” laughed Bersyn, taking no note of the renewed weeping and head shaking of the female before him. Quickly did he lean behind her to release the cuffs at her wrists, and just as quickly did he throw her to his shoulder once she was free. The female gurgled and choked at the sensations forced upon her by such brisk handling, then began a wailing cry when Bersyn’s hand went to the round bottom so easily reached upon his shoulder. Her small fists beat at his back as he paused for a final word with Mehrayn, and then another distress came to her.

“Bersyn, I am uncovered!” she cried, her misery clearly to be heard. “I will die of shame if I am carried through the halls uncovered—and with that—that—thing in me! You must remove it and give me my draping!”

“Perhaps I will not carry you through the halls so,” said Bersyn his hand stroking her bottom. “Perhaps I will walk about all of the level instead, seeking out old friends. By what name did you call me, slave?”

“Master!” shrieked the female, clutching at his back as his hand saw to her again. “Master, do not shame your slave!”

“A slave cannot be shamed,” said Bersyn, working her so deeply that all save mewling was beyond her. In such a manner did he bear her from the room, beyond all protests, and the two remaining males turned their deep amusement to me.

“And what of that one, Sadrin?” asked Mehrayn, slowly coming forward with the other to stand before me. “Has she, too, been taught to call men master?”

“Scarcely, my Prince,” snorted Sadrin, his gaze unwaveringly upon me. “She has even refused to take sustenance. I was about to have her beaten when you arrived.”

“Beaten,” echoed Mehrayn, staring down upon me with no further evidence of amusement. “I much doubt that it would be the first time. Why do you refuse to bow to necessity, wench? Are you one who craves pain as others crave pleasure?”

“I am a warrior,” I informed him, speaking the words though I knew them useless. “A warrior may be bested by the edge of a sword and in no other manner. A pity your fear is too great to face me, male.”

Sadrin drew himself up in anger, preparing to speak, yet Mehrayn gestured him to silence, then crouched before me.

“Do you believe I have never stood in battle against another?” he asked, his deep voice calm and somewhat saddened. “A true warrior faces all who challenge him, whether or not he is filled with fear. The point which seems beyond you, warrior, is that I have no need to face you, for you are female. There are other things a man may do with a female, things a female may not refuse him. What sense is there for you to cause men to give you pain, when you may not deny them? A captured male warrior is of little use to men; a captured female warrior may be put to the same use as other females. Whether or not she is a warrior—she remains a female.”

So intent was his expression, so grave the look in his light eyes; in Mida’s name, I knew not how I might reply to him. The male spoke what he saw as truth, from a view I had no understanding of.

“I am a warrior born as well as by choice,” I groped at last, held by his sober green gaze. “Of a certainty I am female, for how else might I be Midanna? The doings of males are less than nothing to me, for they are the enemies of Midanna. I care naught for what they do with their females, for I am not one of them. Why, then, would I concern myself with any thought other than escape from them? To consider their wishes and desires would be more than foolish.”

“You believe yourself female in no more than form?” scoffed Sadrin when Mehrayn did not reply. “Do you fail to realize that you need be female in no other way? That should you refuse to bow to the will of men, they will break you?”

“Sooner broken than bowed!” I snapped, sending my anger toward the golden-haired male. “And I believe myself female in all ways save as a slave-female! I am a warrior and war leader, male, and would be no other thing even at the cost of my freedom! Were I to give over being what I am merely by cause of chains and a lash, surely I would not have been that thing to begin with!”

“And from us you expect a lash as well as chains, for we are your enemy,” Mehrayn suddenly put in, a strange anger upon him. “Were we to stand aside and allow you to do as you pleased, we would be weak; as we protect the lives and wellbeing of our people by restraining you, we are your enemy! The outlook is one more suited to a savage than a warrior, yet I shall not attempt to take it from you! Enemy you have named me, and enemy I will remain!”

Quickly, then, did he lean past me to release the chains which held me to the wall, immediately thereafter throwing me to his shoulder as Bersyn had done with the female Cynena. Great fury flared within me that I might be done the same as a slave female, yet another thing also flared within me, bringing forth a gasp I could not withhold. Frantically I attempted to reach the leather about my waist which held the device in place, yet Mehrayn took hold of my wrist and then strode from the room, his large fingers clamped tight about my wrist, his arm about my legs. My hair hung free and brushed the floor, yet he took no note of it.

The long, angry stride of the male quickly ate the distance between the chamber of my capture and another chamber, one of greater size than that in which I had awakened. Once within, I discovered that Mehrayn had also taken the shackle which had held me, for I was placed upon a low, wide pile of furs upon my back, my wrists then being taken above my head and in some manner again fixed to the wall. With teeth gritted I sought to turn about and move forward so that I might reach myself, yet this the male would not allow. He sat himself facing me, his hand grasping my thigh, his eyes showing full awareness of my desperation.

“For one who will not allow capture to affect her, you seem quite discomforted, wench,” he observed. “Were I a friend and comrade to you, I would surely have offered my assistance; as an enemy, I shall do no more than enjoy your difficulty. And this magnificent body of yours.”

His free hand then came to touch and stroke me, firing my blood, yet I dared not writhe. The furs which held me were very soft and thick, yet I dared not think of the manner in which they caressed my flesh. I wished to throw my head about, yet found myself unable to do so; my hair lay trapped beneath me, held by a weight I could not move. The desperation I had felt increased more than I would have believed possible, and yet, through it all, I felt the disturbance which had come to touch me with the rest.

How angered Mehrayn had become when I had named males as enemies to Midanna! Surely did it seem that the male felt betrayed, yet in what manner I could not imagine. With all that males had done to myself and my warriors, were we to name them friend? I gazed upon the male who now raised himself from the fur as he looked upon me, who spread my knees with his hands so that he might kneel between them. Was it a friend who had kept me slave in his household, a comrade who now placed his hands to either side of my body so that his lips might reach me more easily? It was clear he would not use me, for his body cloth had not been removed. He meant to do no more than fire me with need and humiliation, and this was not an enemy? His lips lowered to my throat, drawing a moan with the touch and his nearness, and I found I must fight to speak.

“The Sigurri, too, were kept from taking vengeance among the Midanna,” I gasped, my head awhirl with the smell of him. “They, too, were stripped of dignity in the process, as well as denied all chance to regain their honor. To do others as he was done is surely the right of a Sigurri.”

Mehrayn raised his head to look upon me with startlement, then sat back upon his heels to stare. A long moment passed in such contemplation, and then his hand came to my side.

“I had forgotten,” said he, his tone quieter and without anger. “My brothers did indeed wish for vengeance for what was done to them, and were promised that vengeance and then allowed the opportunity to take it. You have not been accorded the same honorable treatment, and therefore do you see us as rogues and enemies. You are not wrong in feeling as you do—yet, at the same time, you are very wrong.”

The sigh which took him was deep and deeply felt, and he seemed much concerned with searching for further words. Though I wished otherwise, he had not removed himself from between my knees, nor did he seem prepared to do so. I began to shift with extreme care, and again he leaned down toward me.

“Wench, I do not wish to face you with swords!” said he, an earnestness strongly upon him. “I have met and bested every challenger to face me yet I would not find myself able to plunge a sword deep within this body of yours! The right of challenge is surely a thing due you, yet I could not face you myself, nor allow another to do so.”

“For the reason that I am a slave?” I rasped, looking up at the green eyes so close above me. “For the reason that I am no more than merely female to you and those about you?”

“For the reason that I find myself in love with you!” he snapped, placing his hands to either side of my body again. “Do you think me blind to the warrior you are, the warrior who would surely best any number of those who faced her? It matters little which of us is most skilled with a sword, wench. Should I find the need to face you, you will surely have my life, for I could not strike at you, nor allow another to do so while I lived! No matter the right or the wrong of it, I shall not allow you the challenge till the fey I wish an end to life!”

Surely must I have appeared most foolish then, my eyes wide, my voice silenced in shock, my body held rigidly still. The words of the male had set my thoughts whirling even faster than his nearness confusion covering me and taking the breath from my throat. This concept of “love” had been presented me before, by other males, yet never in the manner of this Sigurri. I well understood the thought he had voiced, the concept of being unable to harm another for whom one felt a strangeness, and yet—never had a male spoken so, at the same time praising my skill as a warrior. I knew not what words to speak in reply—save that I remained a warrior of Mida, pledged to her service.

“Above that, you have little cause for complaint,” continued Mehrayn, a faint amusement taking the sharpness from his eyes and voice. “As you yourself, pointed out, my brothers and I were held as slaves by you and your wenches. Is the fact that I now hold you as slave not an equitable reversal? I, personally, find it highly enjoyable as well as equitable, for I could not see a free woman done the same as a slave. I could not touch her—nor taste her—nor use her—as I do a slave. Have I a right to my slave—or have I not?”

Those green eyes now gazed upon me in amusement, yet they also awaited a response. My lips parted to supply that response, yet no words came forth to fill the silence which had been mine since the discussion took on its strangeness. Mida! Of a certainty a warrior was entitled to repay slavery with slavery, yet how might I condone such a thing done to me? To deny Mehrayn a right I had myself indulged in would be dishonorable, yet wherein lay the honor in declaring myself his? Without thought I began to move in upset, then drew my breath in sharply as Mehrayn chuckled. The male knew well what I had caused myself to feel, and anger at his amusement at last brought me words.

“The slavery of the Sigurri beneath the sway of Midanna was brief!” I snapped, taking care to remain still. “As they were released, so must this Midanna be released, and that right quickly!”

“More quickly than my brothers and myself?” laughed Mehrayn, sliding his hands beneath my back as he leaned the closer. “No, wench, no more quickly than we were done, for I have not yet had all the pleasure I wish from you. I doubt I shall ever have all the pleasure I wish, yet do I fully intend to make an effort toward that end.” His lips then lowered to mine, briefly, gently, a touch meant to do no more than caress. “Come the new light you will again be free, yet for the balance of this fey and the darkness following, are you my slave,” said he. “You must obey me, and give me much pleasure and amusement, for that is the lot of a slave. Let us begin immediately.”

Again his lips took mine, disallowing the indignant response I had begun, his tongue attempting to reach mine. In my annoyance I refused to allow this, then immediately regretted the refusal. The body of the male suddenly thrust at mine, driving deep the device which had me, forcing my lips wide in a gasp. Instantly then, was the male in possession of that which he wished, and I left moaning and pulling at the chains which held my wrists.

During the following hind I was much used, yet not as quickly as I would have wished. The male Mehrayn, insistent upon the point that he must do me as a slave for the short while I remained a slave, continued with me as he had begun. That I was able to remain unmoving while his hands and lips touched everywhere was not to his liking, therefore did his hands raise my bottom while his tongue sought my soul. The scream forced from me echoed again and again to his great delight, each gentle caress causing frenzied movement and further screams. The doing went on and on till I wept like the slave he had named me, ending at last when his hands went to the leather about my waist. I clearly recall the great joy I felt that I was soon to be free of the maddening device, and also the great horror upon realizing that freeing me was not Mehrayn’s intention. The male spoke gently of the insult I had given him after having been declared a slave, and then proceeded to punish his slave for the great insolence. Indeed was I then made to weep, for Mehrayn was a male who knew well the needs and vulnerabilities which are a warrior’s, using them to take vengeance for insult given. When I had howled out an incoherent apology he ceased, yet still took care not to remove the device. The hip leather remained to hold it somewhat in place as he took me in his arms, then allowed me the privilege of attempting to convince him to remove the hip leather as well. Through heavy tears I saw to the need that had become great necessity, greater than the shame brought about by such an act.

Deep pleasure was thoroughly enjoyed by Mehrayn before his slave was at last allowed her relief, before the device was slowly withdrawn from her body. The glimpse of the life of a true slave was highly dismaying, for I had found that courage and determination were not sufficient to keep one from acts which would be despised by all who witnessed them. Far better to keep oneself from slavery even at the price of one’s life, I thought as I moved with some comfort upon the furs. To be given the choice between life and death was to be given all, yet Mehrayn had given me no such choice. The slaves of these Sigurri were made to obey, without choice without dignity, without volition. I thought perhaps it was that that Mehrayn had wished to show me, that and the necessity he had spoken of, yet I had little time to consider the point. Again was I taken in the male’s arms, and this time it was clear that his body cloth was no longer with him.

When the need was gone from both of us, Mehrayn stretched out beside me upon the furs, his hand slowly stroking my middle. I stirred in the chains which held me at his side, his for the taking, yet continued to fail to find the means of releasing myself. The chains would not be released, I had been told, till I regained my freedom, and though I found their presence a heavy burden, there was naught I might do to remove them. Mehrayn stretched hard, causing his muscles to crack, then moved nearer so that he might look down upon me.

“Come the new light, you will be taken to the forests where your weapons will be returned,” said he, beginning to trace the bones of my face with one finger. “Aysayn may not return for feyd yet, for this is not a time when the Golden Mask need be filled.”

“What mask do you speak of?” I asked, unconsciously pulling at the chains once more. To be free again with a sword at my side!

“The Mask of the Shadow is worn whenever the Shadow appears in public,” said Mehrayn. “It is solid gold, cast in the features of immortal Sigurr, meant to show that he who is Shadow speaks not for himself but for the god. The people have never seen Aysayn in his true self, and never shall. No Shadow would put himself above Sigurr.”

“No one has seen him’?” I asked, failing to comprehend his words. To attempt to be any other than oneself is a foolishness which should be beyond even males. “How, then, do the Sigurri know it is Aysayn upon whom they look?”

“What other would be behind the Golden Mask?” Mehrayn smiled, seemingly amused. “And of course there are those who have seen him. His woman Ladayna knows him, as do the members of his personal guard, and I, myself, grew to manhood with him.”

“Exceedingly strange.” I pronounced, wondering at the doings of these Sigurri. “And for what reason do I now await Aysayn in the woods with my weapons rather than here and without them?”

“For the reason that I have recently received unexpected word,” said he, bringing a second hand to my face. “Ten feyd farther south lies a small city of those who long ago turned their backs upon blessed Sigurr to follow the twisted Oneness. From time to time they march out to harass us, stealing wenches and girl children when they are able, and I have just learned that they now prepare to march. This time we will march first, catching them at their own city. perhaps taking back what has previously been stolen from us. Considering the time I shall be gone, I cannot leave you here, and as a slave. The forest will be best for you, even should you turn about and immediately seek vengeance.”

His final words were spoken with no question in them, making it clear that he no longer sought a vow from me on the matter. I considered him in silence for a brief moment, then asked, “And how am I to learn of Aysayn’s return? Should I be in the forest and he in the city, my task will remain unseen to.”

“I will have one of my men bring you word of his return,” smiled Mehrayn, seemingly greatly pleased with some matter. Perhaps he thought that my presence in the woods would preclude my taking vengeance, yet such was not so. One may take vengeance first and then retire to the woods. Filled then with pleasure, the male again touched his lips to mine and continued, “As for the love I spoke of, I could not but note that you failed to reply in a like manner. Perhaps you are wiser than I, for we yet have the strangers to face. Afterward, should we both fail to find the final glory, I will press you for the lesser glory we may find together.”

His lips then came to me for a longer time, making it unnecessary that I attempt a reply. In truth, I knew not what such a response should be, and for many reasons. Had I been in search of a male for my home tent among the Hosta, surely would Mehrayn have been acceptable. His strength and humor and ability to give pleasure were great indeed, and more than that he knew me as a warrior and found no disapproval in the state. He, however, was not alone in consideration, for there was another who brought thoughts of strangeness to this warrior. That this other was one who found little approval in warriorhood seemed unimportant to that within me which desired him, yet was that desire, and any other of the same sort, destined to be idle. Jalav rode in Mida’s cause which did not, in any pleasant manner, concern males.

The kiss given by Mehrayn was of no short duration, nor were his hands idle during the time. He made free with me as I lay chained, just as though I were truly a slave. My body gave him the response my mind would have chosen to withhold, and he laughed at that which he called slave-eagerness even as he caused me to jump and writhe. He toyed with me a considerable time before granting me use, a slow, agonizing, drawn-out use which saw to my needs only after I had been reduced to begging. Such begging was good for a female’s soul, the male maintained with a laugh as he slid lazily about within me, then did he suddenly begin to seek his pleasure in earnest. I drowned beneath that which he forced upon me, gasping at the change, and barely had the strength, when it was done, to sink my teeth into his shoulder as he lay upon me. He shouted in pain and pulled loose from the feeble grip my teeth had taken, throwing himself to the furs beside me where he sat to stare at my grim satisfaction.

“Jalav is no slave,” I said, my fists pulling at the chains which bound me. “Perhaps this fact has escaped your memory, male.”

“Male, is it?” said he, rubbing at his shoulder as his stare hardened. “Perhaps it is you who has forgotten, wench. I am master in this house, and it is not I who wears chains.”

He turned then and rose to his feet, striding at once toward the door of the room. Throwing it open he shouted for a slave, waited impatiently for the hurried appearance of a red-clad, rosy-breasted female, then spoke rapid commands. The female bowed in acknowledgment and departed as rapidly as she had come, and Mehrayn swung the door to once more, strode to a small platform, and began to fill a tall, metal goblet from a larger pot. Once his drink had filled the goblet, he carried it to a window and stood silently staring out.

For the first time since I had been brought there, I was able to look about the room. It was immediately clear that it was not like the one I had awakened in, for it was considerably larger and contained many more items than the other had had. Rather than two windows this room had four, two in the wall directly opposite where I lay, two in the wall to the right. All four stood opened wide, allowing in a pleasant movement of air which cooled the area more than two would have done. Upon the rock of the floor was a black floor cloth, thick and soft, touched here and there about its edges by long, golden cloth hangings. In and about the hangings upon the walls were shields and weapons, some well-used and clearly old, some equally well-used yet newer and in condition to be used again. Candle sconces also fined the walls, some black, some gold, all unlit candles within them white save for the one above the black altar, which stood between the windows to my right. Between the windows directly ahead was a round platform surrounded by four leather covered seats, naught to be seen upon the platform which would speak of its purpose. Other, smaller platforms stood about the room, one with goblets and drink upon it, one with large pot and water holder upon it, one with towers, two others empty. A hand of low, leather-covered seats also stood in a circle in the center of the room, and in the corner to my right stood a large, metal bound wooden chest. I thought the room most likely Mehrayn’s, and not only by cause of the presence of weapons. The black altar was larger than the others I had seen, a wide, well-made sword hanging point down and unsheathed above it and below the black candle. She who was taken upon that altar would be twice beneath Sigurr’s Sword, two equally undesirable conditions to my humor at that time.

Mehrayn continued to stand unspeaking by the window a number of reckid, drinking now and then from the goblet he held, and then a thought came to him. He turned and retraced his steps near to where I lay, retrieved his body cloth and donned it, then returned to the window. The late-fey light continued to be bright and pleasant, far more pleasant than my position in that city of males. The Sigurri had ignored my presence as though I were a platform or a seat—or perhaps the slave he had named me. I felt a great impatience to be done with the foolishness of being chained, and to be on my way again to freedom. I stirred upon the over-warm furs and pulled at the metal upon my wrists, yet the metal took as small note of my displeasures as had the male.

A moment after Mehrayn had returned to the window, the door to the room opened a small way to admit, one after the other, four of the slave females. Each of the females carried a wooden pot containing small and varied bits of provender, and after each female had slipped within, the last of them reclosed the door. The four, in a body, then approached where Mehrayn stood, halted perhaps two paces from him and slipped to their knees, then bowed with heads to the floor while their hands held the pots up toward the male as far as they were able. Not a word had been spoken by the four, yet they knew as well as I that Mehrayn was aware of their presence. That he chose to refrain from acknowledging them was his right, said their slavish poses, an attitude which again set me pulling at the chain which bound me.

A full hand of reckid passed before the male turned from the window, walked to refill his goblet, then returned to look down upon those who knelt to him. Little pleasure was to be seen in his eyes for the space of three heartbeats, and then a deep breath took the silence of dark thought from him.

“A tempting variety,” said the male, looking upon both the provender and the females. “You four may rise and follow me now, for there are a number of tasks to be seen to.”

The females scrambled quickly and carefully to their feet, yet Mehrayn had not awaited their rising. He strode past them to where I lay, stepped onto the fur, then crouched beside me.

“You appear displeased with the very proper actions of your sisters, little slave,” said he to me, sipping at the drink he held. “It seems difficult for you to grasp the true nature of the position you now occupy which, under other circumstances, could well cost your life. One must learn to walk softly when one is in chains, else is it often difficult to find one’s way out of them. For the time you remain my slave, this lesson will be taught you.”

I gazed up at him where he crouched drinking his drink, lacking understanding of why he spoke as he did. Had he been treated as I had been, would he not have done as I had?

“I believe I know what thought now occupies your mind,” he said of a sudden, studying me through narrowed eyes. “You feel that should I be made to take your place, I, too, would behave as you have. A pity you are entirely mistaken.”

He abandoned his crouch to sit upon the fur beside me, then gestured the slave females to their knees about us. One, bearing a pot of mixed meat and vegetable bits, was near enough for Mehrayn to reach to easily; he did so, then ate in silence for a moment before continuing.

“My brothers and I had not been in captivity long in Bellinard when you arrived,” said he, “yet the captivity had not been an easy one. We had gone to the city to learn what we might of it against a possible time of conflict with its inhabitants, an excellent suggestion made by the Shadow’s woman, Ladayna. Once there, we quickly discovered that we had made an error in believing we had brought enough trade goods to obtain a sufficient amount of city coin to see us through the visit. Fully half of our furs and jewels were taken when we first set foot in the city, the High Seat’s just portion, it was called; scarcely just or fair, yet what were we to do? We paid the levy, then rode within to sell what was left to us, only to find that all those who bought furs and jewels offered the same price, one considerably below the true value of the goods. After the same insulting offer was made us for the sixth time, my brothers and I grew angry at such dealings and resolved to leave the city again without selling what we had brought. We spent a hin or two in looking about, seeing how few of those who dwelt there were warriors, then rode for the gate by which we had entered. It was there that we were arrested by the guard.”

Mehrayn paused to swallow at his drink, then continued, “After our swords were taken by the nearly thirty guardsmen who were awaiting us, we were told that it was against Bellinard law to fail to sell what goods were brought within the city. The livelihood of the merchants was otherwise in jeopardy, said they, and their citizens were to be protected from the depredations of wandering strangers. Our goods were this time confiscated entirely, and then we were taken before the guard commander, a sharp-faced, sharp-tongued individual who pronounced us guilty of the accused crime. When we were told we must pay a fine of twenty silver pieces each in consequence of this guilt, my brothers and I laughed. How were we to pay such a fine, we asked, with all of our trade goods taken? Surely did we believe that our goods must be returned or the fine revoked, yet was there a third alternative which we had not anticipated. Our goods were not returned, yet was the fine paid—by the coin obtained from selling us as slaves.”

The four slave females stirred and sighed where they knelt in their red clothes, pained by the tale they heard, yet Mehrayn was too deep in his narrative to take note of them. His free hand came to my middle to trace the birth-groove there, but his eyes saw naught of what his hand did.

“We were placed in chains and taken to the slave quarters at the back of the Palace,” said he, his voice faintly angry from the memory. “Once there, we were stripped naked, given a taste of the whip to silence our cursing, then thrown in a cage. We fully expected to be dragged into the fields or worked in the mines the High Seat possessed, yet after no more than half a fey in the cage, we were taken before the High Seat himself.

“The fat fool sat among half a dozen of his hangers-on, all of them jovially amused by our nakedness when we were dragged before them. With one of the hangers-on was a young free female, disdainful of the female slaves who tended the free men, condescending to the men themselves. Her lips were full and pouting, her eyes spiteful and displeased, her red hair too short for the roundness of her face. It was she we had been brought there for, we discovered, for her father intended giving her the gift of a male slave, to celebrate her overly late arrival into womanhood. She inspected each of us before her, noted that the color of my hair matched hers, and chose me.

“When my brothers had again been taken from the room, the guardsmen holding my chains forced me to my knees, then gestured closer the first of the female slaves. I was touched by every slave in the room, heated so by fingers and lips and tongues that I was convinced my flesh would soon part from the strain. To the amusement of the free men I was allowed no release, no more than screams and shouts and cursing. I fought the chains and the men who held them, straining to break free, yet the effort proved impossible. I knelt covered in sweat, my body in agony, my mind wild and savage, and that was when the free woman herself approached me.

“‘Hold him close,’ she commanded the guardsmen about me, stepping nearer as one hand held back the costly white gown she wore. The other small hand came to trail a finger down my chest, and when I snarled and fought the chains she laughed a malicious laugh. ‘Your weapon seems quite extended,’ she observed, looking down upon me. ‘Are you in great need?’”

“I had no wish to answer the insolent wench, yet even in my pain and madness I understood the needs of chain. The daggers worn by the guardsmen could easily have opened my throat—or worse—and I, a captive, would have been unable to defend myself. I swallowed the rage thundering through my blood, and looked up at the free woman.

“‘Yes, I am in need,’ I growled, attempting to frighten her back to her place beside her father. Instead of feeling fright she laughed a second time, and spoke to the others without turning to them.

“‘As he is now mine, I demand that he be left with the need put upon him,’ she said, the maliciousness increasing in her eyes. ‘I will use him in my own good time; which is as it should be with all impudent, demanding men. Male slaves, that is.’”

“Nearly all of those listening laughed in amusement, all save he who was called High Seat. The man frowned in immediate insult, seeing the truth behind the wench’s words, and abruptly he gestured. The gesture was to the guardsmen holding me, and just that quickly was I released.”

Mehrayn paused to sigh and sip at his drink, then shook his head.

“No matter how great my need, I would not normally have touched the girl,” said he, “if for no other reason than that it was demanded of me. I was repelled by her and would sooner have gone without, yet was I a captive to men with chains and weapons. My hesitation was so brief that the wench had not yet realized I was no longer held when I reached up and seized her, pulling her down to the carpeting before me. Her screams rang out with her father’s shouts, yet neither had the power to halt what the High Seat had decreed. I had the girl’s skirts up above her waist and had straddled her before it occurred to her to struggle, and by then struggle was useless. My chains covered her nearly as well as I did, and forcing her knees open was the work of no more than a moment. The laughter of the men watching nearly overcame her shrieks and screams, especially when I forced my need within her. It had not occurred to me that she would be untouched—no similar girl of our city would be left so—and when I discovered the fact it was too late. The burning of my body could no longer be denied, and the wench was well punished for her insolence. She had no pleasure from the use made of her, and was at last assisted from the room in tears, no longer interested in possessing a male slave. I was returned to the cage with my brothers, our loincloths were sneeringly thrown to us as slave-payment, and the next fey’s darkness brought you and your wenches.”

Again he paused to look down upon me, and the sobriety of his regard was truly deep.

“Do you understand my meaning, wench?” he demanded. “Do you understand that a captive is not like a free warrior? That in order to continue with life and unmaimed, a captive must at times be wise enough to act the slave? Time enough to act the warrior when the chains are gone and weapons are again to hand.”

“One does not ‘act’ the warrior,” I said, stirring in the chains which continued to hold me. “One is either a warrior or not, at all times a warrior or not even once. It is not possible for a true warrior to fail to be a warrior.”

“Not even when necessity dictates otherwise,” said he, nodding in a manner which indicated that he expected no other response. “You will be a warrior even in the chains of a slave, for that is the choice your nature forces upon you. One must be taught to counter one’s own nature, and not in words. Perhaps the lesson which is to follow will some fey assist in saving your life. ”

He then handed his goblet to the slave beside him, and immediately began that which he termed a “lesson.” With the chains twisting about my wrists I was turned to my belly in the fur, Mehrayn kneeling between my legs to keep me as he had placed me.

“I now have here beneath my hands a disobedient and insolent slave,” said Mehrayn, the lightness of his tone causing highpitched laughter in the slave females who watched. I struggled in humiliation, wishing I might sink my teeth into his flesh once more, yet belly-down I was unable to reach him.

“Tell me what is done to a displeasing slave, slaves,” said Mehrayn, gathering my hair together in his hands so that he might throw it to one side.

“A displeasing slave is punished, master,” said one of the females, the others softly echoing her words. “A displeasing slave is not allowed to remain displeasing. ”

“And is the slave allowed her choice in the matter?” asked Mehrayn, sliding his hands about upon my bottom. “Is she given the choice between obedience and death?”

“No, master,” laughed the same slave. “What man would be foolish enough to throw away that which he might use? The slave is forced to obey, whether she wills it or no.”

“Which is scarcely difficult,” said Mehrayn, his tone dry. “We will now punish a slave, and show her how obedience may be forced upon her.”

I considered his words no more than an attempt to anger me, yet it quickly became clear that such was not his intention. As I gazed upon the metal ring above the furs to which I was chained, I became aware of Mehrayn’s hands and what they did. The Mida-forsaken device which had so tormented me was again being presented to the place from where it had so short a time ago been withdrawn. I gasped and attempted to deny the now dried and hardened object, yet the male would not be refused. With strength he forced it within me to the accompaniment of laughter from the slave females, then tied its leather about my hips and waist. Where the waist leather had at first been tied in front, the knot now rested at my back where my chained wrists might not reach it. Much did I wish to moan at the terrible feel of it within me, yet was I able to keep silent by remaining rigidly still.

“I see a slave no longer struggles,” said Mehrayn, amusement in his voice. “Why do you not throw yourself about in defiance of me, slave? Why do you not continue your disobedience?”

His taunting voice again brought laughter to the slaves who watched, yet in Mida’s name I was unable to defy him. Though I wished with every part of me to pull angrily at the chains which held me, I could not move myself about so and increase the feelings already begun by the device. Mehrayn chuckled, fully aware of that which I felt, and then his arm moved itself about my waist.

“I will see you upon your knees for a time, wench,” said he, immediately forcing me up from the furs. I gasped again at the movement, my eyes widening, and then was I directly before the wall to which I was chained, attempting to rise off my heels to relieve the position of the device which used me too eagerly. Mehrayn’s arm, however, remained about my waist, disallowing the movement. “You will kneel in this manner,” said he, moving his free hand around to cup my breast. “Should you attempt to disobey me, you will be punished further. One of your sister slaves will now comb your hair, for I dislike seeing it as tangled as it is. A slave must be presentable for her master.”

He released me with a chuckle and lay himself upon the fur to my right, stretching out in comfort and gesturing the slaves to him. Three attended him immediately and began feeding him the provender they had brought, and the fourth came to kneel behind me.

“Master, she has risen from her heels,” announced the one behind me at once, an eagerness in her tone. “Will you now punish her further?”

“No, I will not punish her,” said Mehrayn, unmoving where he lay. “You will punish your sister, slave, with the switch which hangs upon the wall there. Fetch it down and return to your place with it.”

The slave quickly rose to her feet and ran to the wall, took the thin switch from it, then returned to her place behind me. The others laughed in anticipation as the hair was thrown from my back, yet the slave did not strike at once. After a moment of silence, she stirred where she knelt.

“Master, this slave has been lashed,” said she, her voice touched by trembling as her hand lightly touched my back. “I have seen the scars before and know them, and these are they beyond any doubt. How is she able to act as she does if she has felt a lash?”

Mehrayn made no immediate response, yet his chuckling had ceased and the weight of his eyes was heavy upon me. Then he left his place to rise to his knees, and it was his hand upon my back.

“Marks of the lash, to be sure,” he muttered, a deeply angry sound to him. “And more than a few, if I do not mistake it. When were these given you, wench?”

“This is scarcely the first time I was taken as slave or captive,” I replied, continuing to stare upon the wall ring. “Never had such occurred till I began moving through the lands of males. Should Mida see me through the coming battle with the strangers, never again shall I seek those lands.”

Again a silence, and then Mehrayn said low, “And for what reason were you lashed?”

“For the reason that I am a warrior,” I replied at once. “Had I been a slave, I would merely have been sold or used or handed about among my enemies. I am, however, a warrior, a thing males have difficulty seeing in the form I wear. The lash was painful, yet far less painful than submission would have been. You, as a captive, were not forced to submit as a slave-female. In the eyes of males, I am no other thing.”

Again a silence fell, one encompassing the slave-females as well as the male, one in which I attempted to maintain the calm dignity I had pretended to. Even to speak of the lash was pain, to bring it to memory more than difficult. The sole thing worse had been my time with Sigurr, yet memory of the dark god was no assistance. Best to recall only that Jalav was a warrior, and send the rest to whatever oblivion I might manage.

“It is indeed difficult seeing beyond your form,” sighed Mehrayn at last, stirring where he knelt or crouched behind me. “My mind knows you for a warrior, yet my body sees you only as a woman. Due to this, I punish you as a disobedient wench rather than a captive warrior; were you male, you would already have felt the lash. Perhaps it was those others who saw you as you truly are, and I who am blinded by flesh. Would you prefer the lash to the switch?”

The ring I gazed upon was a blackish silver, dull rather than bright, heavy and firmly set in the rock of the wall. My inner being had begun to throb to the presence within me and the nearness of Mehrayn, and my fists clenched and unclenched in the shackles below them. The thought of again facing the lash sickened me, yet what else was I to do?

“I—cannot choose humiliation over pain,” I replied at last, taking myself into the darkness of closed eyes. “As the others did, so may you do as well, male, and leave your mark beside theirs.”

“Woman, you tremble!” said Mehrayn, his hands coming to my upper arms, upset clear in his tone. “Never before have I seen you tremble, not even when facing the keren in the forests! There is no longer amusement in this thing.” His hands left my arms as he rose to his feet, and his voice was harsh as he said, “Slaves, you may leave your burdens and go! Now!”

The slaves moved more than quickly in their hurry, and in a moment were gone from the chamber. With the door closed behind them, the male was again beside me, his hands at the leather about my waist. Another moment and the device was gone, taken even more quickly than it had been placed. Though I felt puzzlement that the male would do such a thing, consider my surprise when his hands next went to my wrists. The chain released me more reluctantly than the leather, yet when I was also free from the shackles, Mehrayn’s arms went immediately about me.

“There will be no more of this foolishness,” said he, stroking my hair as he held me tightly against him. “Though I have now more than earned your poor opinion of me, never would I see a lash taken to you. I had wondered where your fear lay, and now I know: just where mine is to be found, and for a similar reason. You are more a true warrior than am I, wench, for your bravery is deeper than mine. I could not defy my captors as you have done yours.”

“The matter of bravery is no longer as clear as once I saw it,” said I after a brief hesitation, keenly aware of the broad body against which I was then being held. “To face great pain rather than discomfort of the pride is not a thing I do willingly. Perhaps I would be more fortunate as well as wiser were I able to do as you do. ”

“Do I comfort you, or do you comfort me?” he asked with a sudden chuckle, holding me somewhat away from him so that he might look down upon me. Then, though he attempted to sustain the humor, it quickly fled. “I sought to teach you a thing concerning captivity, and was taught a thing myself, instead,” said he with great sobriety. “It is the spirit which dictates our actions in captivity, the more flexible the spirit, the greater the range of choices in action. For one whose spirit is indomitably strong and set to a single path, flexibility is not possible. Sooner would such a spirit break than bend, and a man must be a colossal fool to set his mind on attempting a bending instead. Now that I have succeeded in placing myself with every other man who has ever given you pain and humiliation, I am able to see the truth. Had I been able to see it sooner, my land might well have been blessed with seeing you again. And I with my land. Now I no longer even have the heart to pursue you.”

With a deep sadness the male rose to his feet and walked from me, returning to the window he had stood at earlier. His sadness and self-inflicted pain were clear, yet did it seem that he walked where he did and as he did in the hopes of being followed. Once I had had a male in the home tents of the Hosta who had acted so, a male who would be brash and intrusive, and then who would fill himself with great self-condemnation when censured. His purpose had been to lure me into giving approval to his annoyances which I had done before understanding of that purpose had come to me. I had no wish to act the fool again, therefore did I seat myself upon the fur beneath my knees and rub briefly at my wrists, then reach for the heavy wooden comb which the slave female had left. My hair did indeed need seeing to, and it was best done before I continued upon my way.

Perhaps two hands of reckid passed in silence before Mehrayn sighed and turned from the window. He stood a moment gazing upon me, a faint smile coming to his face, then he left the window to move nearer.

“I have just made a strange observation,” said he, halting perhaps two paces from the fur. “I had thought that seeing you bound as a slave upon my bed gave me great pleasure. I now find that seeing you there of your own free will and entirely free is an even greater pleasure. Will you spend the darkness with me, or do you insist upon leaving immediately?”

I looked up at the calm patience he showed, continuing to comb my hair in an effort to keep from frowning. Why he failed to press the point of his remorse as had the male I had had I knew not, nor did I understand the question he had put to me. Surely I had expected to find the need to battle my way from his house, not merely express my preference. Perhaps the male sought to put me off my guard, and would not honor the decision I made. If that were the case, best would be to find out quickly.

“For what reason would I wish to remain?” I asked, drawing the comb through the very end of my hair.

“For what reason, indeed,” he sighed, smiling quickly to mask the brief flash of hurt in his green eyes. “You have scarcely found such joy and happiness under my roof that you would wish to remain. I will have a meal prepared for you, and you may partake of it when you reach the forest.”

He turned away to walk to the door, called a slave female to him, spoke to her briefly, then closed the door again. I had expected him to return to where he had stood earlier, yet he walked instead to the large, metal-bound wooden chest which stood to the right of the furs. A quick movement of his hand raised the top of the thing, and then he was turning to me with a length of green cloth in his hand.

“I had meant to keep this as a gift for you, to be given with the new light,” said he, the same quiet smile upon him. “As you will not be here with the new light, I give it to you now. I spoke with one of your wenches in Bellinard, asking what color you would have worn had you worn a color as the others did, and was told that your clan color was green. As I cannot retrieve your breech without raising questions as to why I would wish it, it would please me if you would accept this in its place.”

He then held out the length of green cloth to me, watching as I put the comb aside, rose slowly to my feet, and walked to him. The cloth was much like that which he wore in black, meant to wrap about one’s body as did his. Though the green was not Hosta green, I found it difficult taking my eyes from the cloth so that I might look upon his face again. Once had the male Nidisar attempted to give me the gift of a silver metal comb, yet the gift was one designed to give more pleasure to the giver than to the receiver. The male had enjoyed the thought of seeing the comb in my hair, caring naught for whether the comb gave me joy. Ceralt, upon seeing that my life stood in jeopardy, had given me the gift of freedom from my vow, yet even he had never given such a gift as the green cloth. That the gift would truly have been mine with the new light was clear, as clear as the fact that the male’s sadness and self-condemnation were no ploy. I gazed into the green of his eyes, making no attempt to touch the cloth, making no attempt to return his smile.

“You were mistaken earlier,” said I at last, feeling a strange tightness in my throat. “Those others were not able to see me as a warrior, for had they done so they would not have attempted to cow me with a punishment a warrior might expect. The pain they gave was designed to drive me from my stand, to fill me so with terror that I cringed and shook at their feet, the place they felt I belonged. You—you gave me the treatment of a slave, to humiliate and anger the warrior you saw before you into heeding the words you spoke. I will some fey demand a reckoning for those actions, yet I am not ignorant of their purpose. A pity my spirit-rendered your effort useless.”

I then took my gaze from him and reached a hand out toward the cloth; he released it immediately, and then it was I who was held in his arms. His kiss was strong and demanding, reawakening the need he had produced within me earlier, and when his lips left mine I saw that the twinkle had returned to his eye.

“So there will some fey be a reckoning for my treatment of you eh wench?” he chuckled, spreading his hands upon my back. “I will not find myself able to counter such a reckoning, therefore will you have little difficulty in attaining satisfaction. Should you consent to remain here for the darkness, you may even find your opportunity within the next few hind. Is it my life you mean to take, or merely some portion of my blood?”

Though his amusement was clear enough, it was also clear that he did not speak to make sport of me. He knew I would not fail to take the revenge I had promised, yet he had no fear of what would come. Foolishly, I felt a sudden sharing of his amusement, a sudden urge to join his game.

“Perhaps it will be neither life nor blood that I seek,” I replied, moving my hand about till it rested upon him properly. “Perhaps it will be some portion of flesh that I take, a portion so little used that it will hardly be missed.”

“Now you malign me as well as threaten horribly,” he laughed, pulling me closer so that my hand was trapped between us. “Despite your insults, that portion would indeed be missed, by others as well as myself. And as for how little it has been used, that may be remedied throughout the coming darkness. I promise it as yours alone, and more fully than if you took it with a sword. You had best burn for me, wench, for I mean to quench your very soul.”

With a single movement he had lifted me in his arms, taking me toward the furs I had so recently left. Both green and black body cloths were soon forgotten, as were all other things about us. At some time a slave must have come with provender, yet neither of us was aware of it at the time. My intention had been to leave before the light had gone; so much for the intentions of a fool of a warrior.