The Warrior Enchained

14

I expected waking up to be painful, but it wasn’t. I took a deep breath as I opened my eyes, trying to identify the sweet, pleasant odor of wherever I was, but seeing my surroundings made me forget all about how they smelled. I lay in a large, ornate room, expensive silks in silver and blue adorning the walls, cushions of blue piled on silver-furred carpeting, small, beautifully carved tables of blue-painted wood standing here and there, wide, lightly curtained windows showing late afternoon. What I lay on was not a bed but a pile of furs two feet high, soft but firm, lined with silk and covered with another soft, luxurious fur. I didn’t know where I was, but if that was the way whoever my captors were treated their prisoners, I didn’t expect to be in too much of a hurry to escape.

Remembering the thoughts I’d had before falling unconscious, I quickly looked around again to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, but if my mind was playing tricks they were tricks I couldn’t penetrate. In looking around the second time I discovered one of those small, carved tables right near my bed, holding a half-filled metal goblet. I reached for it carefully, expecting a protest from my body, but no more than faint echoes of pain accompanied the movement. The goblet appeared to contain a still-warm meat broth with a sweet taste to it, the sort of taste that said the broth was medicated. I seemed to remember swallowing that broth another time, before I had regained full consciousness, when someone else had been holding the goblet. I didn’t remember who that someone else was, but there had been the feeling of concern. I replaced the now-empty goblet on the table, got comfortable under the covering fur, and fell asleep again.

The next time I awoke it was early morning and I wasn’t alone. The delicious aroma of fresh-cooked food had brought me back to the ornate room, and I’d opened my eyes to see a man putting a laden wooden tray down on the small table beside my bed. He was as large as all Rimilian males are, tall and well muscled and blond, but instead of wearing a haddin or robes, he wore trousers of red-dyed leather, tight and form-fitting, especially around the ankles. His feet were bare of everything including sandals and his waist had no weapons hanging from it, but when he turned from the tray to look at me, I drew back with a small gasp.

“Are you in need of aid, dendaya?” he asked at once, concern flooding his mind. “Shall I send for the healer to attend you?”

“No,” I answered in a rusty voice, surprised beyond anything I cared to show. “I have no need of a healer. Who are you?”

“Your loyal servant, dendaya,” he said, bowing deferentially in my direction. “I have brought you foods which will return the strength to your body after your great ordeal. Allow me to assist you in partaking of them.”

He turned then and went to fetch pillows, which he brought back to put behind me. I was shocked by the title he kept using when he addressed me, a title which translated as the female equivalent of “leader.” Were these people mistaking me for someone else, someone who was high-born and important on their world? If that was so, what would they do when they discovered their mistake? The thought was hardly a pleasant one, but I discovered myself to be too hungry to worry over what would happen at some time in the future. If that was going to be my last meal before discovery, I wasn’t about to let anything ruin my appetite.

The food turned out to be as delicious as it smelled. The man who had called himself my servant brought me slices of thinly cut, lightly salted meat, fresh-baked yellowish bread, tangy vegetables, and a warm, heavily sweetened brown drink in a goblet. I ate as much of what was offered as possible, finding my capacity considerably below what it once had been, but being treated that well was nevertheless a too-long-absent pleasure. I basked in the solicitous attention the man showed, examining him covertly while I ate and made sure the fur continued to cover my bareness. He was broad-shouldered and deep-chested, as good-looking as most Rimilians were, and his smile of interest was backed by a carefully Controlled desire in his mind. I wasn’t used to seeing a Rimilian male controlling himself where a patently unclaimed female was involved, and the idea disturbed me. Was I being foolish in believing I was as unclaimed as I thought I was, or was something deeper involved?

When I’d eaten as much as my depleted body could hold, the man put the serving plates back on the wooden tray. I was expecting him to take the tray away again, but the hesitation in his mind suddenly became determination, and he turned away from the tray to look at me once more. A shadow of pain blinked in his eyes, echoing briefly at the back of his mind, and then he was on his knees beside me, his blue eyes filled with such calm, cool attraction that someone else would have sworn no other emotion had ever glistened there.

“Forgive me, dendaya, for disturbing you with requests, yet there is something I must ask,” he murmured, leaning somewhat toward me. “Later, when you are stronger and desire for me comes to you, I would not wish to be anything less than completely satisfying. Therefore do I ask the honor of being allowed your leavings, so that I will not fail to meet your expectations. Have I your permission for this?”

He was trying hard to look more attractive than hungry, and it came to me with a new shock that he wasn’t a servant but a slave. No servant would have to beg someone’s leavings, and no servant would accept the idea of being used so calmly. I didn’t know what had happened that made me important enough to be given a slave to serve me, but the idea both repelled and attracted me. Having been a slave myself made me uncomfortable with the entire concept of slavery, but having been treated so badly by men made me pleased at the thought of evening the score a bit. My ego had been badly bruised of late, and it needed as much care and feeding as my body did.

“Very well,” I said at last, keeping my voice cool and the least bit haughty. “As the action would be in my own best interests, you may have my leavings.”

His mind winced as his face smiled with gratitude, bat he didn’t let humiliation keep him from the nourishment he needed. He rose immediately and went back to the tray, then began stuffing food in his mouth. He didn’t finish anything on any of the plates, which was probably very wise of him. Most slaves aren’t permitted the food of their masters, and he’d be buying-trouble by advertising the fact that he’d had some. After the last of it he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, but still didn’t get to take the tray out. The wide double doors of the room opened suddenly, and a woman entered between the two men who had opened the doors. The men wore baggy cloth trousers, wide-sleeved, colorful shirts, heavy sandals, and weapons hanging from their leather belts, but the woman, although weaponless, was a much more imposing sight. She wore a long, butterfly-sleeved gown of bright red, V-necked in front, tight below her breasts then flowing unimpeded down to her ankles, matching soft leather sandals, and a red-dyed band of leather tied around her forehead. Her blond hair was very long and floating free, billowing out behind her along with her sleeves as she walked across the room. She was a very beautiful woman, and her mind and bearing showed how completely she knew her own importance. The male slave turned and immediately went to his knees, but the woman never even glanced in his direction.

“Excellent,” the woman said, coming up to my bed to look down at me with satisfaction. “You are awake and have eaten. I trust you are also nearly recovered from your ordeal?”

“So it seems.” I nodded, caution keeping my tone neutral. “To whom do I owe my thanks for such timely assistance?”

“I am Aesnil, Chama of all Grelana,” she announced, her head raising with pride as her green-flecked blue eyes made the statement a challenge. “It was my hunting camp you chanced upon in so strange a manner. I would know who you are and what befell you.”

“I am called Terril,” I answered, wondering if I was translating the word “Chama” correctly. “Chamd” was the word meaning “absolute ruler of all”; if “Chama” was its female equivalent, the woman before me had reason to be proud. “I am from a land far distant from here, one where little is known of those who dwell here. I was brought to this land by a l’lenda who wished to possess me, was then captured by savages, and was finally made bedin to Hamarda. The Hamarda grew angry with me and whipped me, intending to ultimately end my life, yet I was able to escape into the desert. After traveling a considerable distance, in much pain and without food, I found myself in your camp. My memory of the arrival is none too clear; should I have caused you distress, you have my apologies.”

“Totally unnecessary,” Aesnil said, waving away the need for apology as quickly as her mind dismissed the topic. “I was caused no distress by your arrival. So you were taken unwillingly by one of those swinish l’lendaa, were you? We here in Grelana have little liking for such practices, and take great pleasure in teaching those backward males their proper place. How is it your power did not protect you from being taken?”

The question was so legitimately offhand and casual that it caught me completely off balance. I could see from Aesnil’s mind that she wasn’t guessing; somehow she knew about my abilities.

“I do not understand your question,” I hedged, feeling my heart begin to beat faster. When they were sure I could do what they thought I could, what would their reaction be?

“When you arrived in my camp, two of my guards attempted to halt you,” the woman said, a faint impatience clear in her tone and mind. “You struck at them in some manner which was not physical, with a power which was felt by many in the camp. When you fell unconscious the attack ceased, yet my guards, who were closest to you, did not recover for some time. They have always proven fearless in my defense, yet they cowered in fear upon the ground till they had recovered. It was clear to me then that you possess some great power, and I would know why you failed to use it to protect yourself from the one who took you.”

To say I was stunned would be abysmal understatement, especially since I didn’t remember the incident. After being so careful for so long, how could I have done such a thing?

“The—power—is not always so strong,” I murmured. “Its use requires a good deal of effort on my part, and quickly drains what strength I have. Had your guards been aware of my ability to attack, they would not have been so completely overwhelmed. They would merely have resisted till my strength was gone, and then have done as they wished”

“So the one who took you knew of the power.” She nodded, her pretty face thoughtful. “Perhaps it is possible to increase your strength, and thereby increase the power as well. We shall soon see. I would now have you dress so that you might accompany me on a short walk. Continuing to lie abed will do little to increase your strength. I will await you in the corridor.”

She turned then and swept out of the room, drawing her guards out behind her. When the doors were closed again I slumped back against the pillows, afraid to ask what I was in the middle of that time. Aesnil had a lot of plans perking around in her mind, and I couldn’t quite believe any of them would be to my benefit.

“Allow me to assist you, dendaya,” the male slave’s voice came, and I turned my head to see him holding a filmy, nearly backless gown of bright yellow, the same sort of gown Aesnil had worn in red. Behind him, on the fur carpeting, stood a pair of soft leather sandals, obviously part of the wardrobe left for my use.

“I have no need of assistance,” I informed the slave, pulling the fur cover up higher toward my chin. “You may leave those things and go, for I prefer dressing alone.”

“Alas, dendaya, I may not obey such a command,” he said, his voice soft and commiserating, his pretty eyes the least bit sad. “Should you come to harm while dressing alone, the skin would be taken from my body in strips, for I have been made responsible for your safety. Come now and allow me to assist you. You have my word that I will be as gentle as you wish.”

He came closer and put the gown on the bed, then crouched to pry the fur out of the double grip I had it in. After all I’d been through with men on that world I wasn’t about to trust him, but he gave me no choice at all. He took the cover and threw it off me,, then began helping me to my feet. I would have much preferred doing it myself, but it turned out to be a good thing he was there. Standing up made me faintly dizzy, and I suddenly found myself leaning against a broad chest, two strong arms circling me gently. The slave’s hands were against my bare back, exceedingly careful of the welts that were still there, his mind bright with deepening interest. I looked up slowly and found his eyes on me, gazing down with the sort of fierceness that made me shiver. Instead of becoming upset the slave smiled, and his hand moved deliberately to stroke my bottom.

“I see you have indeed been a slave to men,” he murmured, desire growing ever stronger in his mind. “Should the Chama Aesnil learn how deeply you were touched, she will feel great insult and have you returned immediately to the position of slave. That you fled slavery at the peril of your life was clear to her the moment she saw you; as she believes she would do the same, she has given you a place of honor in her palace. Do not allow her to know the depths of your feelings, for understanding of the state comes only with experiencing such slavery. It would be to no one’s benefit were you to fall from her good graces.”

His free hand came to my face and his lips lowered to touch mine gently, and then he was reaching past me to retrieve the pretty yellow gown, his mind once again controlling the desire he felt. I wasn’t dizzy any longer but my head still whirled, mostly from what the man had said. I thought “man” rather than “slave,” and the contention was beyond doubt; the man was free no matter what his physical condition, finding no need to drag others down to the level that had been forced on him. We were busy for the next couple of minutes getting me into the gown, but once it was on and he had brought the sandals over to me, I put a hand on his arm.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, trying to let him know I meant it. “I do not even know your name, yet you have my sincere thanks.”

“Thanks are unnecessary.” He smiled, then knelt to put the sandals on my feet. “Here I am called Daldrin, servant to those who hold me captive. It would be idle to speak of that which I was called elsewhere.”

“A man is a man by whatever name,” I said, finding the words trite but the sentiment nevertheless true. “No matter how little their worth, my thanks remain yours, Daldrin.”

“You had best join the Chama now,” Daldrin said, rising to look down at me. “Are you able to walk without assistance?”

“Easily,” I assured him, and proved the point by starting for the wide double doors. He walked beside me until we got there, then opened one of the doors to let me pass through. I walked out without looking back or acknowledging the courtesy, for I’d felt Aesnil’s presence close by and there was no need to look for trouble. Just as I’d suspected, the Chama was watching me closely from a large, carved-wood chair in the wide corridor beyond my door. She smiled faintly at the snub I’d given Daldrin, and rose to her feet as I approached.

“We will talk together as I show you this wing of my palace,” she said, a smile on her face as she touched my arm to indicate the direction in which we would be going. “My time is limited, yet this conversation must be had.”

We moved off along the corridor to the left of my room, but “corridor” would not have been my choice of word as a description of the area. Beyond my room and two or three others like it on both sides of the area was a section of balcony or breezeway, open on both sides to the warmth of the sun and the fresh, lively air. My gown and Aesnil’s rippled gently in the breeze as we walked, and didn’t lie still again until we had passed into another area of rooms. Outward to the left was a magnificent view of the mountains I’d been riding toward, tall and regal and still unbelievably far off. I would have died many times over before reaching those incredible peaks, but I’d been too desperate—or too uncaring—to think about that back at the oasis. To the right was an inner-fortress, I suppose it would have to be called, all stone and blank walls and thin, narrow slits that could scarcely be called windows. The wall seemed to go on and on as we walked, and Aesnil caught me staring at it.

“My inner palace,” she explained, nodding toward the forbidding blankness. “Only certain of my people are allowed within its walls, and of those, fewer still are allowed to leave. It is the final refuge of my family in times of crisis, and has withstood many a siege in its time. Should you have the wisdom I hope to find in you, you will make every effort to keep from entering it.”

I looked at her sharply, feeling the smug satisfaction in her mind at my reaction, then watched her smile grow fangs.

“I wish to have you by my side,” she purred, for all the world like a woman trying to attract a man. “The power you possess is fearsome indeed, and few of those who plot against me will find the courage to face attack from within their own minds. Their fear of me will grow truly great, knowing that with a single gesture I might have you send them groveling to their knees. It will increase my power tremendously, and insure my safety for some time.”

We had stopped in another of the breezeways to face one another, our hair and gowns fluttering this way and that, oblivious to the guards who stood ten feet to either side of us. The woman was totally sure of herself, completely convinced that she had the situation well in hand. I had a feeling she wasn’t wrong, but there were still questions that had to be asked.

“And if I refuse to do as you ask?” I said, feeling considerably less sure of myself than I sounded. “If I should choose instead to continue on my way?”

“Should you agree to my service your life will be filled with pleasure,” she said, brushing at her hair as it fell across her face. “The best of foods, the finest of accommodations, your choice of the male servants to see to your needs. Should you refuse you will be returned to the life of a slave, condemned to give pleasure to my guards, to the vendraa, even to slaves should they want you. Under no circumstances will you be allowed to leave my palace alive—and certainly not if you should be foolish enough to attempt attack upon my person. I have archers stationed well hidden from your sight, who will feather you immediately should I be placed in jeopardy. Is your position now clear to you?”

“Completely,” I answered, turning away from her. “I will consider your request and give my decision in due time.”

“Ah, you feel you must consider your response,” she said, and I could hear the smirk. “You may have until the new sun rises to give me your decision; should you at that time attempt to extend the moment of decision, the decision will then become mine. Now let us continue our walk—to improve your strength.”

I glanced at her to see her smile of satisfaction, then continued on in the direction we’d been going without argument. The Chama wasn’t prepared to hear argument on any subject, so I didn’t waste my breath. It was clear Aesnil had drawn certain conclusions about my “power,” and incomplete as those conclusions were they had still trapped me. The fact that projection was only a part of my ability meant nothing; I was to be a weapon Aesnil used against her enemies. It would eventually occur to her to ask what else I was capable of doing, but by then the answer might be irrelevant. It would not take long before the Chama decided I was too dangerous to have around, and that no matter how cooperative I’d become. Attempting to gain control of her emotions would be useless; it would be impossible to control her every minute of every day, and the decision to end me would come when she was alone. I had very little to look forward to no matter which way it went; my decision would have to be based on how willing I was to be used—and how quickly I wanted to die.

Aesnil continued walking me around for another hour or so, showing me audience rooms and party rooms and guest chambers, all built around the central structure of the fortress. Guards were everywhere, and droves of servants—and countless numbers of slaves. Male slaves, dirty, manacled and naked, were used for heavy repair jobs and for carrying in and out back-breaking sacks and bales of foodstuffs and goods. Guards stood over them with whips, stroking them whenever they seemed to be slacking, bringing red agony to their minds even when no outcry was made.

We were passing an enclosed courtyard when Aesnil paused, whispered to the guard who walked beside her, then redirected our steps so that we entered the courtyard. Inside the area was a work-gang of slaves, carrying new stone to the walls so that workmen might repair gaps and increase the height of those walls. At a signal from one of the guards with us the slaves were directed to one side of the courtyard to rest, allowing Aesnil the chance to inspect their work. She walked to the stones to look down at them, then turned to give the slaves the same sort of inspection. The large blond men were sweating and filthy in their heavy chains, worked to the point of exhaustion, denied all vestiges of pride, but when Aesnil turned to look at them, their eyes went to her as well. She smiled faintly as they stirred where they sat or sprawled, but if she could have felt their minds the way I felt them, she wouldn’t have smiled. The slaves had been denied a very long time, and showing them a beautiful, desirable woman wasn’t kind—or wise. When she finished her inspection and walked back to me, their eyes following her, I felt distinctly uneasy.

“The slaves have done an excellent job,” she said, turning again to look at them. “In order to encourage continued excellence, I feel they should be rewarded. Approach them.”

I stood frozen at her command, wondering if she really knew what she was saying. The slaves’ minds were ablaze with flaming need, shamed at being forced to public display by Aesnil’s presence and mine but unable to control themselves. Each of them would have killed for a woman, and each of them would have killed any woman he used. Approaching them was out of the question unless I wanted to be torn apart.

“I said, approach them!” the Chama repeated, turning to stare at me coldly. “You have been commanded and will obey!”

“I cannot approach them,” I whispered, frightened by the firm decision I could see in her mind. “They would kill me.”

“Not immediately,” she answered with a sudden smile, then gestured imperiously with her hand. My arms were suddenly gripped by two of the guards, and I found myself being forced toward a line of filthy, desperate beings who had become more animals than men. They growled in pleasure as they rose up in their chains, their hands already reaching for me, their flesh hard and straining, their minds a solid sheet of red-hot lust. I screamed as I was dragged closer and closer, so close my gown was caught and ripped, panic and horror filling me so completely I couldn’t breathe. I screamed again and struggled insanely, and suddenly I was free of the restraining hands, free to run from the pack of slavering minds. I fled in absolute terror, all the way back to the corridor and up against a. smooth, stone wall, my shield snapping shut when my mind discovered it couldn’t run, far enough. I was cowering against the wall and breathing in gasps when Aesnil came to stand over me.

“There you see one of the possible results of your decision,” she said, purring as she looked down at me. “It would be well to remember the incident at the end of your deliberations. Ah, how unfortunate! Your gown has been torn. You may return to your chamber now, and I will have another sent to you. Our conversation may be continued at another time.”

She turned and walked away then, accompanied by most of her guards, leaving three of them there to pull me to my feet and head me back to my room. Behind us was the sound of whips striking flesh as the slaves were forced out of their frenzy by the most direct means possible—the infliction of terrible pain. I could hear their screams and snarls and could imagine how savage their minds must be, and shivered inside my shield.

After a few minutes of walking, I had calmed down enough to understand an important point. Aesnil had arranged her little scene to show me what could happen if I refused her, but that hadn’t been her only purpose in forcing me near the slaves. She’d also proven to her own satisfaction that I couldn’t defend myself from something like that, proving beyond doubt how vulnerable I was despite my “power”. It had been a test to see how dangerous to herself her personal weapon would be, but I wasn’t sure how she had read the results. Had she decided I was vulnerable and therefore controllable, or had she decided I hadn’t attempted to use my power because I knew she must be bluffing? My terror had certainly been real enough to me, but how had it looked to her? If I hadn’t had my shield closed tight I would have known enough to make a reliable guess, but as it was . . . . When I got back to my room and the guards closed the doors behind me, I threw myself down on the fur-layered bed and began to brood.

I was left alone for a few hours, long enough to fall asleep for a while and wake up on my own. I went to the wide, lightly curtained windows to look out at a pretty day that was just past noon, but admiring the lovely day was all I could do there. There were no bars on the windows, no guards just outside—nothing but a sheer drop going down at least a hundred feet into a ravine of some sort. I’d wondered about the openness of this side of the building, but didn’t have to wonder any longer. The palace was protected by a natural barrier that kept strangers out and prisoners in, an effective arrangement even without the central fortress. I banged a fist of frustration into the wall by the window, but all that that accomplished was to bruise the side of my hand on the stone under the silk hanging’s.

A minute later I heard the sound of a door opening, and turned to see Daldrin coming in. He carried a tray full of fresh food and what looked like a white gown over one arm, but that didn’t explain why the guard who pulled the door closed behind him was grinning. The guard had been amused, but Daldrin was more angry than amused, which he proved as soon as he’d put the tray down on the table by my bed. He pulled the gown off his arm and tossed it into a corner, then turned to look at me where I still stood by the windows.

“It was my impression that you bad agreed not to anger the Chama,” he said, his voice cold as he put his fists on his hips. “What have you done to have incurred her displeasure?”

“I have not truly incurred her displeasure as yet,” I answered with a shrug and turned back to the window’s. “She merely awaits my decision on a matter discussed between us.”

“The Chama is not one to merely await a decision,” he ground out, coming to stand behind me. “Agree to her command whatever it may be.”

“The decision is mine to make, not yours!” I snapped without turning to look at him. “You know nothing of the matter and therefore cannot presume to . . .”

“I know more than you believe!” he interrupted, grabbing my arm to pull me around to face his now obvious anger. “Call the guard and beg them to take your agreement to the Chama!”

“Beg them?” I blurted in outrage, staring up into the angry blue of his eyes. “For no reason other than that you command it? Am I now the loyal servant and you the denday? Has this chamber now become yours?”

“In a manner of speaking, it has indeed.” He nodded, letting go of my arm to lean his hand on the wall above me. “You may either call the guard and do as I suggest, or prepare yourself for a time of humiliation and degradation which will be known to all those about you. It is, of course, the Chama’s concept of humiliation and degradation, however it may also be yours. What is your choice?”

“How may I make a choice when I know not what the options are?” I demanded, putting my fists on my hips as he had done earlier. “You speak in circles, Daldrin, and then demand that I listen in a straight line! It cannot be done!”

“Very well, then I shall speak more plainly,” he said, but before going on he turned away from me, walked to my bed of furs, and stretched himself out on it. “The Chama has given me leave to use you,” he said, turning his head to stare in my direction. “I have said, ‘given me leave,’ and yet the truth is more that I have been commanded to do so. I, a servant who is used by others, am now to use you as though you were vastly lower than I. Is the concept of humiliation and degradation not exquisite?”

His bitterness cut at me so deeply that I flinched inwardly, feeling all anger and impatience with him drain away. Aesnil was trying to help me with my deliberations again—and undoubtedly testing again—and she didn’t care who she hurt as long as she got what she wanted.

“Do not allow her the pleasure of your pain, Daldrin,” I urged, taking a step toward him. “She is unworthy of it and seeks to shame only me.”

“Such is not the complete truth of the matter,” he denied with a headshake, staring at me soberly. “There is a thing between Aesnil and myself—which is of no moment here. Perhaps you will now be so good as to speak with the guards.”

“There is nothing I wish to say to the guards,” I informed him, feeling my chin rise. “Aesnil will .have no satisfaction from me through high-handedness.”

“Then the satisfaction is to be mine,” he nodded. “Very well, come here.”

“For what purpose?” I shrugged, reaching out to him with my mind. “You feel no desire for me.”

He snorted and was about to argue the point, but the sort of disinterest I’d fed him is hard to argue with. A frown creased his forehead as his mind registered surprise, and then, oddly enough, outrage.

“By the Sword of Gerleth, woman, what have you done to me?” he demanded, sitting up straight on the furs. “I am a man, and will not be treated so!”

“What might I have done?” I asked with wide-eyed innocence, reflecting that it was considerably easier using projections than waiting for the proper emotion to come by on its own in the subject’s mind and then enlarging on it. “I have not even approached you.”

“It is apparent you need not approach,” he said, his tone grim. “I now understand the power referred to by Aesnil—and understand, too, why another awaits you behind me.”

“Another?” I frowned, immediately suspicious. “Who might this other be?”

“The one who waits behind me is a full slave,” he said, lying back on the bed again with his hands tucked behind his bead. “He is one who must be bound in chains in order to be kept in Aesnil’s service. There are others of us bound in other ways, yet he is not one such. He, like the others enchained, has become less than a man in the pain and labor and denial forced upon him. You will undoubtedly be able to do to him as you have done to me.”

I turned away without answering, closing my eyes as my insides curled up. It might turn out to be possible to control one of those wild men, but I didn’t want to be the empath to try it. Their minds were too full of ravening self-interest to make the attempt a likely candidate for success. Damn Aesnil and her back-ups!

“You tremble,” Daldrin observed from right behind me. “Am I correct in assuming your power is not of sufficient strength to cope with the desires of a slave?”

I nodded jerkily, frustrated but unable to do anything about it. I wasn’t strong enough, and that was that.

“Then you will now speak to the guards as I suggested earlier,” he said, a gentleness having entered his tone.

I shook my head violently, up to here with being forced to do things everyone else’s way. If Aesnil didn’t like it, She could lump it!

“Why do you continue to refuse?” Daldrin demanded in a roar, pulling me around so that he might shake me with two hands. “Are you pleased by the thought of being taken by a slave? Do you wish to be thrown to a chain of them? Do you wish to spend another two days in pain-filled unconsciousness?”

“For what reason would it matter?” I shouted back, struggling against his grip but unable to break it. “Perhaps good fortune will be mine and the slave will slay me! A chain of them would surely do so! I would be foolish indeed to seek avoidance of so desirable a thing!”

Daldrin stared down at me in silence for a moment, his fingers still locked tight around my arms, then he nodded slowly.

“You have no slightest hope of rescue, then,” he said, his mind pitying me. “What of the warrior who took you from your own land? Surely he will come seeking you, demanding your release and promising vengeance for any harm done you? A l’lenda is not easily brushed aside.”

“The l’lenda no longer finds interest in me,” I said, just as though the words meant nothing. “There are more urgent tasks to his hand than the seeking of an unwanted wenda.”

“Me life dies in you when you look so.” He frowned, taking my face in his hand to raise it higher. “Speak to me of this l’lenda who no longer finds interest in you.”

“Speak to me first of who and what you were before you came here,” I countered, holding his penetrating gaze. “What name were you called by and which were the glories you made your own?”

“Your point is taken,” he said, releasing my face and stepping back away from me. “The two matters are hardly the same, yet your point is taken. You had best take your meal now. The slave will hardly be likely to allow you time to heal your hunger.”

“I have no hunger,” I said, gesturing a dismissal of the idea. “How are they to know you have not used me? Are they likely to torture the truth from you?”

“Torture would be unnecessary.” He shrugged, sitting down on the fur carpeting in front of my bed and leaning back against it. “I am scarcely used so often by the Chama’s female guests that my needs are seen to. When I leave your chamber I will be taken to a slave room and chained by guards, and then those guards will attempt to arouse me. Should they succeed, it will prove I have not had my fill of a woman.”

“Will they succeed?” I asked, feeling my face grow warm at the direction the conversation had taken. “Are you not able to resist the attempts of another man?”

“The attempts will be more than successful.” He grinned, amused by my blush—which naturally made me blush even more deeply. “I have not had a woman in so long, a seetar would be successful with me. The gown I fetched should have been pink. The color suits you.”

“I hate you!” I suddenly shouted, moving forward with fists clenched to scream down at him. “You, and every man ever born! If not for men I would not be trapped so, desperate yet knowing not what to do!”

His amusement didn’t leave him, but be moved like lightning to wrap his arms around my legs and pull me down to his lap. I yelped and tried to fight my way free, but a man doesn’t have a call himself l’lenda to be built like one.

“Your problem is scarcely a problem,” he laughed, pinning my arms behind me to keep me from battering at his face. “The truth you must face is that you will be used, by another if not by me. The source of your difficulty lies not in the presence of men, but in having incurred the displeasure of another female. Now: though I may force your use with none to deny me, I will not do so for you are not banded as mine. Lost freedom does not equate with lost honor. As you refuse to send word to Aesnil, which will you have: a slave in chains—or a loyal servant?”

He gazed at me levelly, a faint smile still on his lips, but inwardly he was holding his breath and trying to ignore the signals his body was sending him. His long denied need kept flaring up like fireworks in a barrel, almost bright enough to see as well as feel, but he hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wouldn’t force me. Daldrin seemed to be a man of honor in many ways, but I couldn’t make the choice he was hoping for.

“I cannot have either,” I told him heavily. “There is yet a third choice, which I will take as soon as you release me. As you are familiar with the concept of honor, perhaps you will understand when I say I cannot allow myself to be used by any man. It would not be. . . honorable.”

“Your statement on honor is unclear.” He frowned, his mind honestly puzzled. “No woman may be held accountable for that which is done to her by a man. Is the man not larger and stronger than she, made to take whatever he wishes? To say a woman may not allow herself to be used else she faces dishonor is foolishness.”

“It is a concept firmly believed in by my people,” I told him stiffly, upset by the scorn I could feel in his mind. “No man of my people would wish to have a woman used by many others. No man—of any people—would wish such a one.”

“Ahhh, I believe I begin to see,” he said slowly as I looked down from his stare. “It is the belief of your people that a woman may not allow herself to be used, and yet you have been bedin to the Hamarda. Is this the reason you feel yourself unwanted by the l’lenda who took you from your land? From the beliefs of a people not his?”

“I believe so from the last words he spoke,” I whispered, prodded by the scorn he continued to feel. “ ‘I no longer find this bedin of interest,’ he said, and how might I deny his choice? Was I not proven a slave before his very eyes? Did I not heap dishonor upon him with my weakness? I cannot fault him for the disgust he felt, yet I cannot bear it. Release me, Daldrin, I beg you! Release me!”

I began struggling again so suddenly I caught him unawares, pulling loose before he had a chance to tighten his grip. Throwing myself to one side put me beyond his grab, and then I was pulling the gown’s skirt to one side and scrambling to my feet, heading for the windows and the waiting crevasse below them. I knew then that I hadn’t been trying to save my life by running from the Hamarda’s camp; I’d been trying to end it in more anonymity than the Hamarda would have allowed me. Right then anonymity was unnecessary; the deed alone was enough.

I reached the windows and flung the curtains aside, put one knee over the sill—but was taken around the waist before I could throw myself out. I screamed hoarsely and kicked with all my strength, trying to make him let go, but frenzy is nothing when matched against brawn. Daldrin pulled me away from the windows, carried me to the other side of the room, put me down on the floor, then knelt across me.

“To take your own life is a waste!” he said harshly, holding my wrists above my tossing head. “It is also the act of a coward! Are you such a coward, then?”

“Yes!” I rasped, still struggling uselessly. “A coward and worse! Let me do what I must!”

“For what reason must it be done?” he countered, scowling down at me. “For the foolish beliefs of a foolish wenda? For the beliefs of a people no longer yours?”

“I lied!” I spat, glaring at him wildly. “My people may believe what I said, yet I had never done so! Not once, with all the men I had, did it ever seem wrong! And then I met another man, a different man, one I wished desperately to belong to! Yet that man wished only the use of my power, speaking of love only to keep me beside him. He gave me to many men, when it was his touch alone that I died for. And then I was taken by the Hamarda, and he said—he—he—”

I couldn’t go on with the tears choking me, and it hurt too much even to think about. Daldrin let my wrists go and sat beside me on the carpet fur, then gathered me to him and held me while I cried. I don’t know exactly when I began talking again, but I ended up telling him everything—about how Tammad had lied when he said he wanted me, how be had watched me being used by other men and it hadn’t bothered him, how disgusted he had felt when I’d begged to be taken in his arms. At Daldrin’s gentle prodding, I admitted how ashamed I’d felt when I responded to other men with Tammad watching. I had no real reason to be loyal to the barbarian, but I’d still felt as though I were betraying him.

“I fail to understand how such a thing might be thought of as betrayal,” Daldrin said, smoothing my hair away from my face. “Are you not a woman, and were you not being used by men? How else is a woman to reply if not with her inner being? Do you think yourself stone rather than flesh?”

“If I were truly his, I would not be taken so by any touch other than his,” I explained unevenly, still leaning against his chest. “Although he care’s nothing for me, he must surely have been hurt by my failure.”

“Only if he were a fool,” Daldrin snorted. “No man of this world takes a woman but with the expectation that she will respond to him. Should she fail to do so, it is certain that either she is ill or he is clumsy and incapable. Some women may not wish to respond, perhaps due to anger at the man, yet such an attitude is scarcely unknown among free women. All men are aware of it, and most have learned what must be done to overcome it.”

“And yet it was possible to resist a number of the Hamarda,” I maintained, staring at the upper part of one of the arms that held me. “If it is possible with some men, it should be possible with all. The fault was obviously mine, for not having been determined enough.”

“Too many of the Hamarda have allowed themselves to become dependent upon bedinn,” he snorted in derision. “With females who must please you or forfeit their lives, a man quickly comes to believe no effort on his part is necessary. The Hamarda are not fit representatives of the men of this world.”

“To one of determination, all things are possible,” I repeated, really believing it. “Had I had the determination I have now, I would not have shamed myself.”

“Wendaa!” he muttered, the annoyed frustration growing in his mind. “Such foolishness is impossible to any save them. Hear me, woman: there is no shame to be found of the sort you speak of, for determination would be useless with any true man. Should you doubt the truth of this, I am prepared to prove it.”

“It cannot be proven,” I mumbled, feeling his heartbeat through his chest. “The choice is mine, and I will not allow myself to be used again.”

“The choice is yours only with a man of honor,” he said, and I could feel him looking down at me. “No matter how great its strength, should your determination be put to the test, it will fail.”

“It will not fail,” I said, knowing, really knowing I was right. “Had I the wish to increase your frustrations, I would invite your efforts.”

“I thank you for your consideration of my feelings,” he said, suddenly amused. “I, however, prefer accepting your invitation.”

I jumped when his hand came to the bottom of my gown, but I settled back against his chest again without protesting. He was determined to try wearing me down, and the best thing I could do would be to let him find out how wrong he was. Once he knew the truth he would leave, and then I’d be able to get on with settling my problems permanently.

Daldrin first untied my sandals and tossed them away, then returned his attention to my leg under the gown. With a man in his condition of need I didn’t think it would take long proving I was right, but the servant-slave of the Chama didn’t do anything I expected him to. He acted as though he had all the time and patience in the world, trailing his fingers over my flesh in long caresses, closing his hand around my calf or ankle, running his palm all the way up my side and then down again with no attempt to touch my breast. I didn’t understand what he was doing, and that was probably what quickly began making me uncomfortable. I stirred in his arms and put my head back to frown up at him, and was greeted by his grin before his lips lowered to touch mine. His kiss was gentle and undemanding, as though he were merely continuing a faintly interesting investigation, and my confusion grew even greater.

Not long after that my torn gown was removed, but it didn’t seem very important. Despite the extreme satisfaction in his mind, I was so sure he wasn’t getting anywhere I even helped get the gown off. The pleasure in his mind grew vastly greater when he placed me flat on the carpet fur and began looking at me, and again I didn’t understand why I should be so uncomfortable. It was true he hadn’t yet removed his leather pants while I lay there naked, so possibly that had something to do with it. Then he stretched out beside me to take me in his arms and kiss me again, and I forgot all about what was being worn by whom.

I couldn’t say exactly when it was that I discovered I was gritting my teeth. Daldrin’s hands had been all over me for some time, when I suddenly discovered I couldn’t stand any more. I quickly decided we’d been experimenting long enough and opened my mouth to say so, but his lips interrupted the words with a kiss that had more heat in it than any of the others he had given me. I moved feebly against him, trying to protest, and then nearly choked on a moan when he touched me deeply and possessively, sending a scream of fire through my body. All at once it was as though I were being consumed alive, as though the screaming flames had been brought just to the surface and held there until Daldrin decided it was time to release them. Now they were free to ravage me—and so was the man. The thought of resisting didn’t even cross my mind; resistance was impossible with a man like that, and my body knew it even if my mind hadn’t. Daldrin laughed as he rid himself of clothing, and then I was his without question.

A very long time later I lay on my side on the carpet fur, staring at the blue and silver silk on the walls, trying to coax some strength back into my body. I felt totally exhausted, but the feeling wasn’t anywhere near as unpleasant as it should have been.

“Your silence does not seem to be filled with pleasure,” Daldrin observed from his place on the carpet-fur behind me. “Why are you disturbed?”

I moved my cheek slightly against the carpet fur, but didn’t answer him. All I’d managed to do with words that day was talk myself deeper into self-hatred.

“Ah, now do I recall our discussion before we merged,” he said, chuckling as he put a hand out to touch my hip. “The truth of my words has been proven beyond doubt, and you now feel the foolishness of your contention. Do not concern yourself with it, wenda. Such foolishness is best left behind you.”

He put his arms around me and gathered me to him, but his grin faded when he saw the tears in my eyes: Even with the tears I wasn’t really crying, and he seemed to know that. He stroked my hair gently until I lay my head on his chest, and then waited in silence for the words he knew would be coming.

“I feel so shamed I cannot bear it,” I whispered at last, putting my arms around his broad, powerful body to keep myself from trembling. “I must truly be a slave to respond so to every man who touches me. It is now no wonder that he gave me so often to others. He wished to show me how slave-like I am, and how unworthy of him I am. Should he ever look upon me again, I will die of the shame.”

“Ah, wenda; why must you give yourself such unnecessary pain?” he sighed, tightening his arms around me. “It is as I told you earlier: no woman will fail to respond to a man who has learned the ways of women. Why have you not mentioned the battles fought by your l’lenda with the men to whom you were given?”

“Battles?” I frowned, somehow distracted by the oddness of the question. “There were no battles fought. The men were his friends, his brothers, with deep feeling shared between them.”

“Then your beliefs concerning his attitudes cannot be true,” Daldrin said, pleased. “For one l’lenda to give a slave to another is deep insult, as l’lendaa consider the ownership of slaves to be beneath them: In another light, there is nothing more precious a man may share with his brother than the use of the woman of his heart, for what other thing may be as valuable? Should a man wish to show the love he holds for another man, it is most easily done by permitting him the use of one who will give him great pleasure. Had you been cold and unresponsive, he would not have allowed your use by others, for he would not have wished to be shamed. Do you see now how far from the mark your thoughts have been?”

“The concept is too far beyond me.” I struggled, shaking my head to try to stop the whirling of my thoughts. “Even were I able to accept your words, they would not explain the reason for his coldness and disgust when last I saw him.”

“There is no knowing his reason short of asking him,” Daldrin said, dismissing the importance of the question. “Perhaps it was the Hamarda and their practices which displeased him. When he comes for you, you will then be able to ask.”

“Ah, Daldrin, you know as well as I that he will riot come,” I sighed, somehow feeling better even though I was still miserable. “That he found me once is unbelievable enough; to follow a second time, across rock and sand, would not be possible. Even were his love truth rather than lie, it would not be possible.”

“Tell me,” Daldrin mused, toying idly with my hair. “Were you banded by your l’lenda?” At my surprised nod he asked, “How far?”

“I was two-banded,” I answered, wondering what he was getting at. “What has that to do with . . .”

“It has much to do with all you have said.” He laughed, pulling gently on my hair to make me look up at him. “It bas been your contention that the l’lenda who took you cares nothing for you, only for your power. It is now clear to me that you are as mistaken in this belief as you were in your others. How well did you obey your l’lenda? How pleased was he with you?”

“He—was not well pleased at all,” I admitted, then raised my chin defiantly. “My unhappiness was great, and I disobeyed him whenever I might.”

“And added insolence to disobedience as well, I warrant.” He grinned, tugging harder at my hair. “Had it been your power alone that he coveted, wenda, you would have worn five bands—and the welts of many beatings. Do you doubt that this l’lenda has the ability to exact perfect obedience from you?”

I stared silently at the amusement in his blue eyes for a moment, then shook my head.

“No,” I grudged with a good deal of idiotic embarrassment. “The ability is his without doubt.”

“Then you will admit that true feelings must surely have stayed his hand,” Daldrin pressed, triumph in his mind. “Your punishment lay in the shame of being allowed no more than two bands, that and what strappings he could not in all good conscience let by.”

“You overlook one point you are not aware of,” I said, puncturing his triumph somewhat by refusing to acknowledge it. “The l’lenda is well aware of the fact that I cannot be forced to use my power if he would rely on it. Too, great pain puts the power beyond my ability to control it. This, also, is part of his knowledge. How, then, am I to conclude that true feelings stayed his hand? Might it not have been awareness of the delicately balanced game he played?”

“It might have indeed,” Daldrin nodded, his mind and eyes suddenly sober. “Just as it may have been as I suggested. Your power must surely be a terrible possession, to breed such doubts about those who may care for you. Does it bring joy as great as the pain it engenders?”

Again I stared at him silently, having just heard the same question I’d asked myself a thousand times. There was no true, final answer to the question; there was only the partial response I’d been able to come up with.

“The power did not come to me as a result of my desiring it,” I shrugged, then lay down flat on the carpet fur beside him. “Whatever it brings must be accepted, just as the power itself must be accepted. Just as you accept the commands of the Chama.”

The expression changed in his light eyes, sharpening to match the surge of fury that caught him unawares, twisting his insides as it tightened his jaw muscles. Then he had control of himself again, and a bitter smile came down to me with his stare.

“You strike at me as I struck at you,” he said, reaching over to run his thumb down my cheek. “The action is fitting—in a l’lenda, foolhardy in a wenda. And yet I will answer you more fully than you have answered me. It is true I bring pain upon myself, yet there is little else I might do. The Chama Aesnil holds my brother prisoner as well, his well-being the bond for my behavior, mine the bond for his. He is bound as vendra in Aesnil’s arena, I as a servant-slave in her halls. We each of us do what we must to preserve the life of the other.”

“What is a vendra?” I asked, sure I’d heard the word before, but not from him.

“A vendra is a warrior enchained.” He sighed, moving his finger from my cheek to my collarbone. “The vendraa fight upon the sands of the arena, at times with beasts hungry for their flesh, at times with each other for the privilege of retaining life. We each of us accounted for enough of the Chama’s guard upon being captured to qualify of the arena, yet we knew the dangers of accepting such an arrangement. It was inevitable that the Chama would have us face one another for her amusement, and this we would not do. Therefore did we draw lots, the winner to go to the arena, the loser to become a slave without visible chains. I have cursed the draw many times since we were separated.”

“But, why?” I asked, unable to suppress a small shudder. “In the arena your life would be in constant jeopardy, a living nightmare. These halls, though unpleasant, at least are safe. Why would you wish instead for the arena?”

“In the arena, I would be free to raise a sword to any who would attempt mockery of me,” he answered, his mind straining to control the fury of shaming memories flashing across the back of his unfocused eyes. “In the arena I would be free to be a man, to stand rather than kneel, to fight rather than crawl, to wipe insult from me with the edge of a blade!” His voice had been tight and harsh, but suddenly he took a deep breath, broke the tension, and managed to send me a grin. “And also would I be free to reap the benefits of a victorious vendra, benefits which make life much the sweeter.”

“I do not believe I would care to hear of such benefits,” I said, disliking his grin as much as his previous distraction. “They are undoubtedly as grim as the balance of a vendra’s doings.”

“Hardly grim.” He laughed, unexpectedly sweeping his hand over my body. “Each victorious vendra is given a number of female slaves to tend him, the number depending upon whether it was man or beast he slew, slave or other vendra. For slaying another vendra a man is given four slaves, each lovelier than the last, each naked and eager to please him. A servant-slave in these halls is given nothing of female slaves, nothing of females at all lest there be one who displeases the Chama. Have you yet seen the wisdom in quickly acceding to her demands, or must you first be given to one who will not take the bother of seeing to your comfort and pleasure before using you?”

I began to point out that my doings were still none of his business when the doors to the room opened suddenly, making both of us twist around to see who it was. Unsurprisingly it was Aesnil sweeping into the room, her guards at her heels, her red gown clinging to her body as she moved, her blond hair spreading around her lovely face in a way that made her look young and very innocent. I was incensed that she’d just barge in like that without any warning and was about to say so, but her gesture to Daldrin came before I could get the words put together.

“You need not kneel to me now, slave,” she purred, looking him over with amusement and scorn clear in her eyes. “A man not long out of his pleasure is a man who does not care to be disturbed, I am told. Was she worth the taking?”

“Indeed,” the man beside me drawled, putting his hand possessively on my backside. “I found the woman as eager to please and serve as all women are.”

“Hardly all women,” Aesnil corrected with a sniff, then shifted her haughty look to me. “Those women weak enough to fall victim to men deserve no better than to be made to serve them. Have you found that being put to your back suits you, girl? Should your answer to me be the incorrect one, you may well find yourself chained to your back in a corridor, available for use to any man who chances by. Think of the constant pleasure you would then be given.”

“It would undoubtedly be greater pleasure than that found in this chamber!” I spat, pushing Daldrin’s hand away from me. His answer to Aesnil had annoyed me, almost as much as the threats the woman kept coming up with. “You will have ample opportunity to judge my answer for yourself—in the morning! For now, I believe this chamber remains mine! I invite you to take your guards—and your loyal servants—and go!”

Daldrin’s flash of frustrated anger was fierce, and strangely enough it was almost the same emotion Aesnil felt. The woman’s hands curled into fists at her sides as she stared down at me, but she was undoubtedly realizing that there was only so much she might do to me if she hoped to have me working for her. I would have been happier standing on my feet to face her, but I didn’t want to feel the eyes of her guards on me any more than I already did. Lying on my stomach in the carpet fur wasn’t as good as being dressed, but it was better than standing upright.

Aesnil tore her eyes away after a minute of silent staring, then sent them around the room in an effort to calm her temper before speaking. She was boiling mad inside, but seemed to consider showing her anger an indication of weakness. Her wandering gaze eventually found the small table with the tray on it, and she frowned as she walked over to examine it.

“This food has not been touched,” she announced angrily, turning to glare at Daldrin. “Were you so desperate to take her that you jeopardized her health by keeping sustenance from her? Have you any idea what your lot would be if she should die before I am able to make use of her power? You were specifically instructed to bring her food before using her!”

“And so I did,” Daldrin pointed out, gesturing toward the tray as he sat up. “I had not been told it was your intention that I force her to a meal. Twice I had her refusal in the matter, and thereafter let it slip from my mind. There were other things afoot of greater concern to me.”

“Such as her use,” Aesnil snorted in disgust, then turned her attention back to me. “You will not escape my service through starvation. The healer directed that you are to eat well, and so you shall. A fresh tray will be brought you and that you will eat from, else you will be given pain. I know you are no stranger to the whip; disobey me, and you will be taught other ways of punishment.”

Her attention went back to Daldrin, and her head cocked to one side. “This woman is my honored guest, one I thought to give pleasure to by sending you to her, and yet her displeasure is so great that she angrily orders me from her chamber. Are you so untalented then, that you are unable to give pleasure to a woman? Does the blood run so thinly in you that you find difficulty in serving a single female?”

The abrupt turnabout of Aesnil’s speech brought confusion to all of us, her guards included, and not excepting Daldrin. We all stared at her as though she were crazy, but Daldrin also flushed with annoyance and insult.

“I was instructed to see to a matter for you,” he said, his voice tight with anger. “The matter was seen to to the best of my ability. I had thought, Chama, that you were pleased with my efforts.”

“I had not realized how displeased my honored guest was.” She shrugged, then sat herself on the end of my bed. “I am told by those more interested than I that you are well enough endowed to make any woman writhe. Any woman, that is, foolish enough to find herself in your arms. If this is so, I cannot fathom the reason for my guest’s dissatisfaction. As it cannot be she who is at fault, the error must be yours. The only thing for it is that you repeat your performance here and now, and my guards will remain alert for what mistakes you make. You may proceed.”

She settled herself more comfortably on the bed, while I stared at her in disbelief. The guards were guffawing where they stood in front of the doors, finally understanding that they were in for some fun. Daldrin was still angry, but he was also groaning inwardly and furious with me for causing the mess. Aesnil hadn’t liked my previous attitude toward her, and she’d found a way of getting even—or at least she thought she had. I thought it was high time she found out what she was fooling with.

Slowly and deliberately I rose to my knees on the carpeting, then climbed to my feet. Aesnil’s eight guards were staring directly at me, their minds growling with interest, their eyes saying they wouldn’t have minded if they were the ones to use me instead of Daldrin. They weren’t expecting me to stare back at them, so when I did a faint shadow of doubt ghosted across their minds, the sort of shadow that leaves a perfect opening behind. Into that opening in each of their minds my projection went, comprised of repugnance and horror and backed with the strength of anger. The eight men were standing close to one another, bunched up in a way that seemed purposely set for the needs of projection. Their faces twisted when they felt the repugnance, but when the horror followed quickly in its turn the experience was too much for them. They backed away almost as one, slowly at first and then more and more quickly, falling over one another and shoving at one another in their haste to get to the doors and out. Nothing but gasps and grunts came from them, showing they were brave men, and once they were gone and the doors slammed closed behind them, I turned off the projection and turned to look at Aesnil.

The Chama still sat at the edge of my bed, but her body was no longer relaxed. She sat bolt upright with a tense, unnatural stiffness all through her, her face pale, her eyes wide, her mind filled with ice-tinged fear. When she saw my eyes on her her breath caught in her throat, but she’d been too important for too long a time to easily conceive of the concept of personal harm.

“Your power will be of more use to me than I had at first thought,” she said in a scratchy voice, looking up at me with distinct evidence of triumph beginning to enter her mind. “I will have the fearful obedience of every denday in my country, especially those who now laugh at me as nothing more than a mere female.”

She took a deep breath and got to her feet, then turned her head to look at a silent Daldrin.

“See that she eats well of the fresh food sent to her,” she told him, the snap of command back in her voice. “Also see that her body is well pleased, else you will lose what you fail to make acceptable use of. I will not have her in a foul temper from bodily demands she has grown used to having tended.”

She gave Daldrin a final glare, sent me a radiant smile filled with much warmth, then took herself off toward the doors, her mind already twisting and spinning with plans and ideas. I frowned as I watched her go, not quite believing she could dismiss me that easily, but once the doors closed the question of belief became secondary to the overwhelming weariness I’d been holding off while Aesnil was there. The strength needed for the projection sent to her guards had completely drained me, but I hadn’t wanted Aesnil to know that. I’d wanted her to think of herself as threatened, but all she’d seen was a demonstration of how valuable I could be to her. I let myself sink back down onto the carpeting with a silent groan, stretching out fiat as Daldrin made a sound of annoyance.

“It is she who needs her bodily demands seen to,” he muttered, his eyes still on the doors. “It is whispered among the serving slaves that the Chama has never been taken by a man, thus the reason for her constant intemperate behavior. You took a foolish chance, girl, and nearly saw yourself used for the amusement of Aesnil and her guard. Were you mine, you would now face punishment for such foolishness.”

I glanced up to see him staring down at me, the annoyance in his eyes as strong as it was in his mind.

“Leave me be,” I groaned, turning my face away from him. “I no longer have the strength to argue male evaluation of my behavior. Let me rest.”

“So you need to rest, do you?” he mused, reaching over to turn my face back to him. “What would have occurred bad others come to replace the guard you sent scurrying? Would you have been able to do the same to them had they meant you harm?”

I didn’t answer him, but he didn’t need an answer; I could see in his eyes that he knew I hadn’t particularly cared what happened to me, as long as it was fast and clean.

“The death of one who attempts harm to the Chama is designed to be neither swift nor easy,” he told me harshly, his light eyes angrier than they bad been. “Should you continue as you do now, you will soon learn the truth of the matter. Take your rest now, but think upon my words, for they may save you a good deal of agony.”

He let go of my face and got to his feet, but the churning in his mind didn’t stop beating at me until he had walked to the other side of the room. I was too played out to do the sort of thinking he wanted me to do, and didn’t think it wise to mention the archers Aesnil had warned me of. He would have pointed out that they weren’t close enough to do me much good, and I didn’t need him to point out the obvious.

A short while later a discreet tap came at the doors, and Daldrin opened one to reveal a female slave carrying a tray. The naked girl hurried inside, put the tray down on the first available table, then turned and knelt to Daldrin, putting her forehead to the floor at his feet. As neither one of us had dressed again, the girl had taken it upon herself to assume that Daldrin was the proper inhabitant of the room, I no more than another slave sent to entertain him. Daldrin grinned at me over the girl’s body before sending her on her way, but I saw nothing amusing in the situation. That, on top of everything else, was almost enough to make me a supporter of Aesnil’s cause.

I felt too washed out to be interested in eating, but Daldrin refused to take no for an answer. He insisted he’d been commanded to see me well fed, then proceeded to stuff me with whatever the tray contained. It takes a certain amount of strength to fight off a man with food in his hands, but when brawn is lacking, brain is sometimes a superior substitute. When I reached the point of being just short of exploding, I took advantage of a momentary lull and suggested that Daldrin help finish the stuff off. The servant-slave hadn’t been fed anywhere near well enough to resist an offer like that, and went at it with abandon after no more than a token hesitation. I could tell he was wondering whether I’d had enough, but the amount he’d stuffed into me plus the demands of his own needs worked together to overcome his doubts. This time he finished the food to the last bite, and I managed to have my revenge for the way he’d pushed me around. A light wine had been included with the meal, but all he got to do was taste it. I finished the rest of it myself while he glowered at me over my insistence that I needed it to build up my strength again. For some reason, I don’t think he believed me.

By the time the meal was completely over, the sun was getting ready to go down outside. The wine had relaxed me to the point of dozing, but it had also worked on me in another way—which I didn’t find out about, until Daldrin took me in his arms. I opened my eyes in the late afternoon dimness to discover that I really wanted that man, and that was all Daldrin needed to know. He laughed softly as I pressed my body up against his, kissing him gently but lingeringly wherever I could reach, moving against his hands wherever they touched me, stroking his body as he stroked mine. The blaze of desire grew quickly in his mind to a point beyond his control, a raging storm that swept me up willingly and took me with it, deeply into the storm of my own mind. The winds blew a very long time, and when they blew themselves out all that was left was the darkness of night surrounding the darkness of sleep.