The ruse is successful, but at what cost? A difficult night wrapped in pelts. Tyra is finally free to reveal herself. A meeting with Angel and Wanda, or welcome to the stable. A girl learns the attitudes and positions. They arrive in Tulem, but all is not well. A struggle to clear Ketrick's name becomes a test to prove her warrior's heart.

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The Legal Stuff: The Warrior from Batuk  © 2004, 2007 Aardvark
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 

 
Photo Credit: 3.bp.blogspot.com

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Chapter 8
 
 
When I made it back to my room I figured that I had an hour or so before my abduction. I took a quick bath, knowing it was my last for some time. When Ketrick knocked on the door, I was ready.

“That was well done,” he said. “Tisa thinks of you as a slave now. She's not jealous anymore.”

I snorted. “After all that, I’d be monumentally disappointed if she were. You know I have to trust you now -- I sure as Hades can’t trust her anymore. She enjoyed my humiliation a little too much.”

“Yes ... Yes, she did," he said grimly. "You have my word, Tyra. When we return, I'll get your papers signed and witnessed even if I have to wring her pretty neck. Are you ready? This is going to be a long night.”

Anything at that point was better than being Tisa’s slave. I'd never thought that when the time came I'd be glad to leave Batuk. “At least you brolled me in there. That will help.”

“I hope so. We don’t have time for it now.” He went to my bed and gathered up a few pelts. “These should do.” He took my arms and tied them behind me fairly loosely with a leather tong. Then he wrapped my body completely in the pelt and tied long cords around them, allowing me room to breathe. He stood above my secured, supine body, hands on hips, and smiled. “You make a lovely abduction. I’ll have to gag you to make it seem real in case someone sees you. Don’t move around too much.”

“I’ll remember.” Those were my last words for some time, as Ketrick stuffed a wad of cloth into my mouth and tied it down with a cord.

He put a loose sack over me to complete the effect. When we were outside, I saw nothing and heard little. He slung me behind the saddle at one point and rode for a short time, and then transferred me to a wagon. I lay there, still, until light through the sack told me the sun had come up. Someone struck Hadrian's Gong soon afterwards. I heard Ketrick hitch a team of horses, and then the wagon jolted forward. It was a long, bumpy ride, and every hole and rock came through my right elbow, wedged, as I was, hard against the side of the wagon bed. I heard voices come and go a few times, as riders passed in each direction.

From the angle of light, it was late afternoon when Ketrick stopped the wagon. His hands reached under me and lifted me in his arms.

“We’re about thirty miles south of Batuk at an old farmhouse. We'll eat and sleep here tonight. In the morning we’ll continue to the road to Tulem.”

I thanked the Gods that it was a short carry to the farmhouse. Once he unwrapped me, I staggered outside, seeking a privy. I returned in a better mood.

“Ketrick,” I asked pointedly, “have you ever had any ‘accidents’ with your abductions over the years?”

“One or two,” he admitted. “It does take the edge off an abduction to feel piss on your shoulder. I did say it would be a long, difficult day.”

I sighed. “Well, you were right. Gods, I don’t care. I’m just glad to be out of Batuk. Would you like to eat? I’ve learned to cook fairly well lately.”

He shook his head and pointed to a bag. “No cooking for now. I brought in some bread, beef, and some siolat from the wagon. We can have that. I don’t want to make a fire and risk the smoke until the sun goes down. Even then, it would have to be small.”

I nodded. Naturally, after three hundred years, Ketrick wouldn’t take unnecessary risks. “I’ll make something for us.” I smiled. “And you can guard my back.” Somehow, that had a nice feel to it.

When it was dark, Ketrick built a small fire, and I made some tea. I sipped it slowly, sitting cross-legged on a thick pelt in front of the flames. Ketrick’s back was against the wall a little further away. I felt his eyes on me, and turned. “You know, I’m not exactly a freewoman,” I said, smiling. “You don’t have to be uncomfortable around me.”

“You only took the brand to be free in the end. You are not really a slave, Tyra.”

“I should certainly hope not. But if it’s being uncomfortable you fear, I’ve never been with a man who hasn’t taken me as a slave.” I looked softly upon him, shaking slightly, very conscious that we were alone and that I was a woman with a man I wanted with my body and heart. “You can satisfy my urges, but it is something else I long for from you.” I waited for many seconds before lowering my head, and returned my attention to the fire. A few tears escaped my eyes, but I paid them no heed. “I see,” I said, trying hard to keep the hurt from my voice. I had made a mistake; as a woman, it wasn’t my place to ask for love; it was his. “I’m sorry. We were friends once and I hope we still are. I will speak no more of this.”

Ketrick unfolded his legs and rose to his feet with the grace of an animal, and crossed the floor to sit beside me. He reached over and touched my hair. It was all I could do to remain still. “We will speak more of this, but it’s too early. I’ll be your master tomorrow. If we survive, we’ll know when the time is right.”

I grabbed his arm as he started to get up. I didn't know what I was doing, only that I had to tell him. “Ketrick, I will tell you my greatest fear. It’s to die a slave, having never known love as a freewoman.”

He sighed and eased back down. “I’m not sure if this helps, but I think of you as free. Even in the slave club, I knew it. It won’t matter if I demand your submission in the silks or not, you always be free in my mind.” He grinned. “You have the damndest method of staying that way. Even if you do submit someday, how would anyone know for sure?”

I released his arm. It was far from an admission of love, but it would do for now. “That helps. Thank you.”

“Have you thought of how you're going to deal with Angel and Wanda?”

“It's crossed my mind. I plan to defeat Angel for first girl -- unless you know of a reason why I shouldn’t.”

He considered it. “Go ahead if you want. It might even do her some good. She's been rather arrogant lately. The problem will be convincing them that you really are a slave. I’ll have to be strict with you until you behave properly, maybe even make an example now and then. I regret this, but it's necessary.”

“Well, you have to be better than Tisa,” I sighed.

He paused before speaking. “You should know this: last night, Tisa told me that when I returned, she wanted to leave the city with me, so she might keep you as her own personal slave, giving you another body, one smaller and less attractive than her own.”

I barely breathed until I could absorb it. “Ketrick, I swear to you, she is not this way. This is not really her — and some of this is my fault.”

He placed his hand on my shoulder. “The worst sort of guilt is false guilt. You did what you had to do. Even before you came to her room she was out of her depth, handling her first taste of power and love badly.” He peered at me closely. “How are your urges tonight? You’ll have to be bundled again in the morning.”

“I’m all right.” He nodded and started to get up.

I touched his arm before he could get away and, as nervous as I'd ever been, said, “If ... if you don’t mind, I would still like to share your pelts.”

He looked at me fondly and touched my face. “I would like that very much. How would you like me to take you?”

I closed my eyes for a delicious moment and just felt his hand against my cheek. “I would have you take me the way you wish.”

“I will, Tyra.”

I trembled when he lifted me. In the light it was difficult to tell, but I imagined that I recognized something of the same emotions I’d had during those first days with Angel, inside him. This was not a fantasy or a brolling to please Tisa. As far as I was concerned, this was my real first time with him -- the man I would choose -- and he wanted me.

He set me on the floor and undid the stays on my blouse, and the tie at my waist, then pulled them away. He turned me around and undid my halter, freeing my breasts. A long, slow pull on the shift, and I was naked. As I unbuckled his belt, his breath on my breasts warmed me inside, and his eyes met mine whenever I looked up, making me smile and blush. He let his pants drop and kicked them in a corner, followed by his small clothes. He was too tall for me to properly pull off his tunic and undershirt, so he did it himself, tossing them aside as casually.

Ketrick lowered me to the furs. Where he touched me, my skin responded with soft fire. The sight of his body descending left me weak. I expected him to take me with a master’s kiss and dominate me from the start. Instead, he kissed me tenderly. I didn’t know what he was doing; the kiss was languid compared to a master's absolute demands — then I knew it for what it was: the kiss and the way he held me was his way of telling me I was free. He will was dominant — I doubted that he could ever be anything else — but not overpowering. I drew on it like life, filling myself with the glorious sensation of choice -- freedom. From within his touch, his kiss, he conferred to me his respect, a deep male desire that made me shiver and, most importantly, a question. He left room for an answer.

Finally being permitted to express myself, I gave it my all. This is who I am, Ketrick! I kissed back, clinging to him, not as a helpless slave beneath a master, but as a woman with fierce passion and a few demands of her own. Here is my pride, my strength, my spirit to be free! I was no longer Tyr, but Tyra, the synergy of our union, had power of her own, and I was not ashamed to be me!

I melted to his body, and passed control to him, showing him that, although I was free in my heart, I was still a natural slave in my core and a submissive slut. Ketrick found a way to reach both sides of me that night. He demanded much and I gave it to him freely. I don’t think the horses in the barn were disturbed by my screams, but they might have been.

We were up before dawn. I'd held him as long as I could, the last chance I would have to feel like a freewoman in his arms for a long time -- or perhaps forever. I made tea for him, but didn’t drink any myself. I burned my freewoman’s clothing in the morning fire and donned a pretty blue slave tunic and a black leather collar. Ketrick wrapped me up in the same pelts we had slept in the night before, but this time I made sure I was installed in a more comfortable part of the wagon bed, on top of a pair of extra furs.

This time the ride was even bumpier. Ketrick took a less-traveled road and drove the team faster. In the early afternoon, the ride smoothed out as we came to the main road and a way station. Ketrick left me to make arrangements for the wagon and team with the stationmaster. He returned, whistling a tune I knew to let me know it was him, then picked me up as if were a sack and slung me over his shoulder. “Tyra,” he whispered as he walked, “I will call you Amelia. You are a new slave, in shock at being taken two nights ago from your room and branded immediately. You submitted to me last night.” I nodded my head onto his back, letting him know I understood.

He climbed a set of stairs and opened a door. He called out, “Rise, Angel and Wanda, I have found a new girl. Her name is Amelia. Show her around and make sure she knows the rules. I’ll be back in an hour. Get her cleaned-up and presentable by then.”

I heard a familiar chorus of “Yes, Master,” then he dumped me on a bed. I heard Ketrick leave and the door close behind him. Small hands untied the pelts, and I was soon unwrapped.

The first face I saw was Angel’s. “You!” she exclaimed.

Wanda finished untying my hands and removed the gag. I took a deep breath and staggered to my feet, looking at them both in the best horror I could manage. The shock on their faces was memorable. “Yes, Angel, Wanda,” I said sorrowfully, “we are together again.”

Angel’s eyes narrowed. She moved a few inches from my face. It was always strange to look up to the woman I had abducted. “Why did our Master abduct you? You’re just a serum girl!”

I moaned miserably. “I think for the same reason I stole you from your home, Angel. He wanted me. One day a freewoman is secure in her rooms, the next she is branded and forced to admit that she is a natural slave.” I took her hand. “Don’t hate me, Angel. I’m just another slave now, like you. Surely you don’t think this was my idea.”

Her long blonde hair danced in agitation. “Our Master takes whom he pleases, but even with his amazing stamina, three is a lot for any pleasure stable, especially when one is a Goddess-damned serum girl.” She glared at me. “Remember this, slave. I’m first girl and I intend to stay that way! Do you understand me, Amelia?”

It shouldn't have surprised me. This was close to the Angel I'd known before I'd abducted her — Hades, it was one of the reasons I had abducted her -- but coming from my former love slave, it hurt. Wanda looked unhappy with me, too, crossing her arms and tapping her finger. When I was their Master, I'd never seen this side of them before, although it wasn't really a revelation.

Everyone knew that slaves in a stable fight like cats for their Master’s affections -- I'd even seen jealousy and spitefulness in the slave camp. It made me sick to think of participating in that, especially with her, and I didn't want be their enemy.

I said, “I’ll accept you as first girl as long as you're fair to Wanda and me. I’d rather be your friend.”

She goggled at me in disbelief. “Friend? How could you be our friend? You were our Master!”

I held up a breast. “Do I look like your Master now? You don’t want to be my friend? You'd rather fight me?”

Wanda mulled this over, but Angel shook her head violently. “I saw you change! How can you or I ever forget who you used to be?”

“We can't, and I'm not sure I want to. When I was your master I was fond of you both. I still feel that way.” I shrugged away her doubtful demeanor. “I'd rather be friends with you than be first girl and order you around.” I held out my hands to them. “Are you willing to try?”

Angel frowned. “I’ll still be first girl?”

“Unless you act like a complete rhadus.”

“Very well, I’ll try,” she said, like a lady granting some grand favor. She took my hand briefly. She'd seen my skill at unarmed combat; I was sure her agreement had more to do with me not contesting her for first girl, but it was enough, I supposed.

“And you, Wanda?”

The shorter woman grasped my hand firmly and smiled. “Welcome to the stable, Amelia.”

A little while later, as I pumped water for my bath, I caught Angel leaning against the wall behind me, watching me and frowning.

“If it’s any consolation, Angel, our Master may decide to sell me to a siolat tavern in the next city. I'm a bigger slut than you ever were.”

She looked on, flustered. “Ah! I’m having a hard time disliking you. There's a lot of Tyr in you, I think.” She shook her head, as if unable to resolve something staring her in the face. “Damn! I suppose it's your extra needs. With you around, I might not get enough.” She threw her hands in the air. “Maybe it will be all right; our Master has great capacity. He'll do what he wants, anyway.”

“He's always been that way.” I didn’t like thinking about it, but Angel was likely happier with him. “He’s probably a better master than I ever was.”

She continued to watch me while I levered several gallons of water to a hook above a small fire. “He is, although I don’t criticize your mastering when you were Tyr. You were dominating and knew just how to treat me.” She waited as I pumped more water. “You’re beautiful. You will be used well and often, and I should hate you.”

“You know, it wasn't my choice to be here.”

“You expect me to believe that? I saw the way you looked at him in our Master's quarters! Looking back, our Master wanted you from the beginning, I think. Whenever you came to his quarters he would order us away.”

I looked directly at her. “The truth is that I was interested in him -- as a freewoman. I never wanted to be a slave.”

She waved her arm impatiently. “Spare me from your hair-splitting distinctions that mean nothing, serum girl. He stole you, risking his life as you risked yours to take me. Did he ignite you, too?”

I sighed. I shouldn't have been surprised she wouldn't believe that I wanted Ketrick as a freewoman — I probably wouldn't have — and it wasn't entirely true anyway. As for being ignited, they say a natural slave never forgets when she is ignited: I sure didn't.

“Oh, yes, he ignited me.”

“And so, the circle is complete,” she said sadly.

I stopped pumping and went to her. “A long time ago, our Master had three women in his stable. This may not be as bad as you think.”

Her next words brought back memories I'd tried hard to lose. “You know, I really did love you, Tyr,” she said softly.

I tried to smile, but it was hard. She had meant so much to me, and even standing in front of me, she was gone forever. “And I loved you, Angel. You were the love of my life.” I struggled to hold the tears back, but I couldn’t. Holding my face in my hands, I cried.

She took me in her arms and held me while I sobbed. Angel’s shoulder, formerly soft and small the last time I'd felt it, was large and strong to me now. She stroked my hair, and I responded. I held her, remembering the times we used to have, that could never come again. After a minute or so, I cried myself out, and determined not to cry about it again.

Angel rubbed away tears of her own. “Fate is often cruel,” she said, “but we carry on in the here and now.” She lifted my face gently and looked me straight in the eye. “All that you were is in the past is best forgotten. It's one reason I didn't want to be friends with you. We'll see how this works, but we should start over. You must respect me as first girl — no games. I’ll be fair, but when I tell you to do something, I expect to be obeyed. If you refuse, then we will fight. I don’t know if I could beat you, but I would fight.”

“If that's the way you want it, but there's no need to threaten me. I told you that as long as you weren't cruel I'd obey you as first girl.”

“Yes, you did,” she said slowly, looking at me thoughtfully. She pointed to the water over the fire. “The water should be hot by now. Take a bath now and wash your hair — thoroughly, and be quick about it. You will be beautiful when our Master returns. I will select your clothes and tell you the rules.” She started for the door.

“It shall be done as you command, first girl,” I said, bowing elaborately.

She turned around to say something, then changed her mind, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. “Call me Angel, Amelia!”

When Ketrick came back, I was clean and dressed in one of Angel's tunics. If Ketrick was surprised at my place as third girl, he gave no sign. “Rise,” he said, and we did. I was “wearing” my slave persona, of course. With her so close, becoming a slave was like slipping into a pair of well-used slippers — I didn't even need to pretend, with the brand, I was a slave. Ketrick was a heady sight for my slave eyes, and a feast for my body, which might as well have have been a magnet when my Master was in sight.

I marveled at his composure, how sure he was of himself. He kept us waiting while he examined us all in detail. As expected, he concentrated on me, the new girl and, unlike Angel and Wanda, he gave me a test, a series of rapid commands to show response, designed to exhibit the female body to the fullest extent:

“Look bored. Be angry. Angrier! Bend over backwards. Touch your toes. Twist to the right, now the left. Look up. Show surprise. Show submission. Assume slave position. Crawl to me and kiss my feet. Crawl back.”

I hadn't done well. I reacted to him as I should have, but this wasn't something I'd practiced, nor did I care for it. It was too close to my core for comfort. From my place on the floor, on hands and knees, I looked up at him.

He shook his head sadly. “You have much to learn, Amelia. Wanda, you will teach her the standard positions and expressions. You may have up to four days. Tell me when she is ready.”

She bowed her head. “Yes, Master,” she said. She led me away into the next room.

By the Gods, what now? He'd told me that he needed to make an example of me, but I thought he'd meant a beating, and I wasn't sure that this was any better. I gave Ketrick a look on the way out, but he was already looking at Angel. Men!

“Amelia,” Wanda said, smiling in a way I hadn't — quite — seen before. It was warm and reassuring in a way that, despite my worry, made me want to smile back.

What will be, will be. “Hello, Wanda. You aren’t angry that a slut is here, likely taking time away from you?”

She shook her head, her pretty black hair tossing from side to side. “You know that I don’t need as much as some other girls. And how could I be mad at you? You were an excellent master, and you kept me, although I’m not sure why; Angel was always your favorite.”

“There was something special about you.” That was true, although I was never knew what it was. She didn't have Angel's passion, nor was she quite as beautiful. Some nights when it was her turn in my pelts, I'd spoken with her. I'd always thought she was an intelligent girl, calm and affectionate most of the time. Father had called me a fool, and soft, for owning two girls. He made allowances for Angel because I'd abducted her myself, but not Wanda. “A waste of time and gold, Tyr!” he said once. “A warrior needs no slaves. His heart must be free, his attention undivided. A stable is a rich man's luxury, toys for the effete.” I had to agree in principal, but knew that if I'd sold her I would have missed her. It hadn't mattered much when we were master and slave; a slave with a good master is attentive and dedicated. Now, though, as supposed equals, I saw what I couldn't have seen before; she was nice, and I liked her.

“Well, I'm glad you didn't, otherwise I'd never been owned by the finest master I've ever had.” She sighed, her face verging on rapture. “I wanted to thank you, and now that you’re a slave, I can, by helping you be the finest slave you can be.” She gave me a sly wink. “I saw you move under our Master’s eyes. You’ve had some training.”

“It was in a slave camp for serum girls.” I explained some of what I'd learned there, and the discipline.

She gave me a knowing nod. “Going to one of those camps meant that you were having trouble staying free.” She nudged me, her elbow thankfully not as sharp as Tisa's. “It must be a relief to be a slave now.”

Replying in the affirmative would have been the convenient answer, but I found it hard to lie to her. I decided that I could at least give her a taste of the truth. “I wanted to stay free, but I suppose it wasn't to be.”

“Oh?” she said, looking concerned, and reaching for my hand. “I've met a few girls who have had regrets at first, but with a good master, never for very long, and our Master is the best.” She smiled. “I've been a slave for more than a hundred years, and I've been happy for nearly that long. You'll see. Ready to start? We have much to do in a little time.”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

The rest of the day we practiced expressions and poses. The object was to create a set of responses a master could use to bring the slave into a specific emotional state for a short time, or to display a favored pose. It was also a good test of obedience and a slave’s reaction to stimuli that a knowledgeable master would likely use before buying a girl.

Wanda helped put me in the right frame of mind for it. At the end of the day, I could become angry, petulant, and teasing in an instant. This was standard training, but underneath the slave exterior I was horrified, for I was learning to be a better slave. Once the lessons had been learned, any master who knew the commands could have me, at least briefly, cry or laugh if I was in the slave mode, which I would have to be a great deal of the time.

Late that night, after Ketrick had satisfied Angel, Wanda, and me I lay in his arms and told him of my fears.

“It’s necessary. If I have to sell you, a fine performance would make it easier, and you, more credible. After this is over, I’m reasonably sure that it can be unlearned.”

“Master,” I said. We did use names unless we were absolutely sure that we were alone. One slip and the the entire mission could be in danger. “Master, I don’t want to lose any more of myself than absolutely necessary.”

“Tyra,” he whispered. “You will not lose yourself. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were strong enough.” He stroked my face gently. “Now relax and go to sleep. We leave for Tulem tomorrow. We’ll be there in three days.”

I fell asleep quickly. Ketrick always did have a calming effect on me. I awoke in the morning when he stretched. Then he slapped my rear playfully. “Amelia, get the other girls and get everything packed. We leave right after breakfast.”

I nodded. “Yes, Master,” I said sleepily, and rose to get Angel.

The caravan we were joining had stopped at the way station that night. Ketrick took the reins of the wagon with all his belongings and trade goods, while renting space for us aboard a slave wagon. This put us all into a cage with several other slaves. It wasn’t bad. As valuable property, we were protected, kept warm in the morning with cloaks, and a canopy protected our skin from the sun in the afternoon. Our chains were long enough to permit us exercise. Wanda and I continued our lessons, and I learned to laugh, cry and pout prettily, and poses designed to show my beauty from various angles.

A girl cannot learn the movements, attitudes, and poses properly without releasing one’s ego, but I was already used to that from the slave camp. Yet, there is pride in learning them as well: it comes from deep within the female psyche, knowing that proper execution of this shameless display reveals her as a fully responsive, uninhibited female, the most attractive and desirable of women. In time, I felt it in my movements; I held my head high, my carriage erect and proud.

Nonetheless, it was worrying. I was spending far more time as a slave than as a freewoman and it was getting easier to stay that way.

As we moved towards Tulem, the number of farms and pastures grew. The rocky ground of the plains turned green, and crops and sweet-smelling orchards supplanted the brush and thistle. Trees lined the road at intervals, and wooden structures replaced stone.

Early on the second day, we saw the end of our journey. Our long gray road extended into the distance, winding through farms and fields until it disappeared in mist halfway up the side of a mountain range. It took nearly two days to cross the expanse, but we spent the last night camped just below the entrance to the valley, Tulem's Gate. That evening, as the sun went down, I demonstrated the movements, attitudes and poses to Ketrick’s satisfaction, and Wanda and I were rewarded with sweets from our Master’s hand.

That night, after listening to Wanda and Angel submit, Angel crept to my furs and touched me on the shoulder. “Amelia, our Master requires you in his pelts,” she whispered.

She began to move away, but not before I saw her face. I took her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you think, you bitch?” she hissed, snatching her arm from my grasp. “You’re taking half of our Master’s time and sleeping with him every night. It’s as I thought it would be. You're his favorite! Now, go to his pelts, Amelia!”

“I didn’t ask for this, nor is it my fault that I’m a serum girl! I would gladly trade my needs for yours.” I threw back the pelt and started away.

“Wait!” I turned around. “Look,” she said. She grimaced and twitched like she had a splinter stuck in her rhadus. “I’m — well, I'm sorry! You’ve been as good as your word; you’ve been obedient and even Wanda has been better, following your lead.”

“Angel....” I didn't know what to say. Any slave to a good master would be overjoyed to have the last position in the order and sleep with him.

She glared at me, waving her hand in dismissal. “Oh, get out of here. Go to your Master before your saer freezes over!”

“Right away!” It was cold on the mountain -- and Ketrick’s pelts were warm.

After my needs were slaked, I lay beside him, as lazy as a lizard on a sunny rock, his arm around me, and his hand on my breast. I couldn’t think of anywhere else I'd rather be.

“Master?”

“Yes?” he replied sleepily. He'd earned his right to fatigue. Over three hours, on average, of brolling at night plus the usual recreations during the day was extraordinary for any man.

“What are your plans for us in Tulem?”

“You’ll be tethered beside me tomorrow while the others ride in the slave wagon. We'll be by ourselves, and I’ll point out what you need to know.”

“Good, I need some time as a freewoman. I hesitate to ask, it's out of character, but would you spend more time with Angel, even sleep with her?”

He turned his head and regarded me. “Why? Angel is delightful, but I prefer you.”

I didn't want to even think about the meaning of that. “Angel is ... she's feeling abandoned since I came.” I didn't have to look to feel his stare. “She's jealous of me and I don't want her to be. I'm not really a slave, and I wouldn't be jealous of her.” Here I wasn't completely sure of that, and burned red, glad that is too dark to see. “Besides, you're wearing yourself out trying to keep us satisfied, especially me, and you need your sleep for to be strong. If you loaned me out to others, I'd use a fantasy. I'd be all right.”

He lay back down and chuckled softly, as if he'd been the the object of a joke. “I’ll consider it. Now go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

We were up early. Our breath was visible in the chill. Behind us and far below, morning mists rose over farms and villages in the lush expanse of foothills and flatlands extending west and north to the plains of Batuk. Ahead a few switchbacks led to Tulem’s gate, the three hundred foot high, five hundred foot wide granite wedge between a narrow pass of un-climbable cliffs; the only way into the valley and the reason Tulem had never been conquered.

Before we could enter, tax assessors inspected the wagons and assigned duties. Ketrick gave his name and a copy of his manifest to our assessor, then presented his goods for inspection.

“Are you Ketrick, the caravan master from the caravan taken a few months ago?” the assessor asked, his eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“I am,” Ketrick acknowledged. “I trust the merchants from that caravan arrived safely?”

“As far as I know. They'll be questions for you inside. It was thought that you were either dead or a slave.”

“I narrowly avoided that fate. I bring back the Batuk raid leader with me. She is my newest acquisition.”

“Indeed?” He turned his attention to me. I bowed my head and responded properly as a slave to his very male consideration.

He smiled. “A superb revenge. Well done. She is quite attractive.” He handed Ketrick a duty form. “Welcome back, Ketrick,” he said, then he left us for the next wagon in line.

When he was gone, Ketrick sent Angel and Wanda went to the slave wagon. Once the door was locked, Angel looked out from the bars and sighed unhappily as I left with our Master.

After paying the duty at the gate, Ketrick started the wagon forward. We passed under a heavy iron portcullis and through an arched tunnel a full hundred-feet long. Exiting the tunnel was like entering a new world.

We emerged into a valley surrounded by snow-capped mountains rising nearly straight up from the ground. More than halfway across the valley, past an astonishing checkerboard of fields, villages, castles, and an odd rectangular lake running North-South, lay a gated, walled city perhaps ten miles away. The air here was different, warmer by far than the mountain pass outside, thick with the scent of plants. As we wound down the road to the valley proper, we left the trees close to the gate behind us. Except for a few tree clusters not large enough to call woods, virtually all of the valley floor was used. From what I saw, the roads were straight and well maintained, and even the stunted hills rolled smooth and regular, a sign of long occupation.

I'd heard the description of Tulem before, but seeing it was seeing a new world out of sight of the old. The contrast with Batuk’s rocky plains, where farming was possible only after removing rocks and boulders, backbreaking labor that might take years, was stark.

Ketrick gestured to the valley. “Beautiful, but also why Tulem must expand. There's nowhere to go.”

“I see.”

Ketrick drove the wagon past farms and small villages. Men and women tended close rows of corn and wheat, and rice fields. They looked healthy to my eye, and wore clothes well made and efficient, if most of seemed cut by the same tailor. I saw cattle; apparently, land in the valley was too precious for grazing.

We passed our first castle on the left, a gorgeous construct of gray and white stone. Twin parapets stood high from a central structure inside. Thirty-foot walls connected four broad towers, set one per corner. Traces of an ancient moat, now just a slight depression in the ground, circled the walls. Ketrick pointed out the green and gold flags waving in the mild breeze above the main gate.

“The flag of the Giovannis. This is the castle of Paolo Giovanni, the grandson of Niccolo Giovanni, the head of one of the two royal families in Tulem. There are six castles outside the city, three each to the royal families of Giovanni and Borodin. The two other castles on this side of the lake belong to Niccolo’s other sons, Mario and Alfredo. The castles across the lake belong to the sons of Markus Borodin; Ivan, Alexander and Andrei.”

“The valley is crowded.”

“It can barely sustain itself, and meat is imported from the villages outside. If it weren’t for the craftsmen in the city providing tools and weapons for trade, many in the valley would have to leave.”

“It must be nice to live here.”

He grinned. “It will be interesting to hear what you say in a month.”

The valley was not so vast that it took more than three hours to reach any place from anywhere. In two hours we passed through the outer gates of the city. The gates themselves seemed not so much of a system of defense as a boundary, wrought iron painted white and, as far as I could tell, stuck permanently open with a token pair of guards at the sides in purple sashes. The smell struck me first, a mix of spicy food, and the normal odors of tradesmen at work, fortunately absent the stench of human detritus. The inhabitants lived in dwellings sometimes three and even four stories tall. Freewomen in long cotton dresses and short sleeve blouses, suitable for the warmer climate, talked and hung laundry from apartment balconies. Men about the same as Batuk, with lighter tunics in style and color. The streets were filled, but moved along efficiently enough.

Then I saw the first sign of the invasion walking by us in the opposing traffic, a trio of men in embroidered silk worn tightly against their bodies, all three in the green waist-sashes of the Giovannis. I took an instant disliking to them; they resembled Heydar, who I understood was a Giovanni bastard. Unlike anyone else that I'd seen, except for the guards at the gate, they carried weapons, sabers, and most importantly, sported epaulets of gold and silver too garish to be anything but insignia, exactly how Rita and Flower had described them. They swaggered and laughed too loudly.

I was still in slave mode, of course. From my place in the wagon, sitting beside Ketrick, tethered to a chain, my obligations, such as they were, required me to look beautiful and pleased to be a female. After days of this, it was very nearly unconscious. Like freewomen everywhere, they mainly ignored me or worse. Men, in general, did not.

Underneath my pretty blue slave tunic, though, I fought to maintain equanimity. In this sea of foreigners, I was only a minnow. The mountains towering around us seemed like prison walls. I was just a weak woman! Gods, what am I doing here? Another voice with the distinct flavor of Tyr, or what I imagined him to be, told me rudely to suck it up and get over it. I glanced over at Ketrick to see if he'd spotted my momentary weakness, but he was looking straight ahead.

Ketrick nodded to a pair of pale-blue clad men wearing soft caps and a black sash around their waist. They carried a dark stick in a loop from a belt at the hip, watching the street as they walked. “Those are the Tulem enforcers. They enforce the law and customs. The Tulem aristocracy are the men in the fancy attire, the only men allowed to carry edged weapons.”

“I see. Our equivalent would be the constabulary and the members of the council.”

“Not exactly. That’s the bad side of coming from a place as isolated as Batuk. You believe that everyone thinks as you do.”

I frowned, prettily, probably, as I was still being a slave. “That’s not true. We’re aware that most cities don’t have our system, but if another city has a different form of government and it works for them, why should I worry about it? Batuk doesn’t tell them to follow the way of the elected council and administrators and they don’t tell Batuk how to run the city.”

He repeated his earlier comment, “We will speak of this again in a month.”

We rolled past the outlying residences and onward to the warehouse district. Ketrick arranged temporary storage for the wagon and stables for the horses, then led me west two streets past the white walls of the King’s palace to a siolat tavern. The Queen’s Cup was a two-story structure set on the corner distinguished by high arched widows. Dark fitted-stone walls contrasted with the newer block and mortar construction of its neighbors. I judged its age by the worn steps and the name: Tulem hadn’t had a queen in over two hundred years. A broad chimney on the side emitted spicy chicken and fried vegetable smells.

I took a moment to get myself ready, noting a few appreciative male looks. I held my head up proudly, brushing my hair back. I was pretty, and men wanted me.

We entered through the door together. It was almost noon and the light from the windows on two sides brightened the interior, as well as allowed a good view of the street and the palace gate, not too far away. This tavern was cleaner than the Siolat Well in Batuk and had a better clientele; some wore leather jerkins, uniforms of various kinds; a few were nobles with swords. Ketrick went directly to a medium-sized man with a goatee in an apron who looked upon Ketrick with a nervous smile.

Ketrick approached him with open arms. “Fethen, it’s good to see you again. Is Mekor in?”

“Yes. Ah, Ketrick, your presence in Tulem is surprising.”

He laughed. “My presence as Ketrick is surprising. I was nearly a serum girl.”

“That isn’t precisely what I meant,” Fethen said delicately. “You are tarnished in court; they blame you for the caravan’s loss.”

“Indeed?” Ketrick glanced at me, and I saw a flicker of concern. “Then I will have to go to the palace tomorrow to clear my name. In the meantime, I need to see Mekor.”

“Of course. He's in his office.”

Ketrick had me wait outside the office door. I couldn’t hear what they were discussing, so I turned my attention to the tavern. Three slaves served the customers siolat and food from the kitchen. Occasionally, a customer took one of them through a side door and reappeared ten to fifteen minutes later, often adjusting their clothing. The slave would then take a coin to the desk and deposit it into a wooden box. This was normal for a better quality tavern.

The nobles behaved differently. The two I saw didn’t pay for their girls, nor did they pay for their meals when they left the tavern. That struck me wrong. The nobility in Ademar and everywhere else I'd been paid for their services.

The office door opened and Ketrick’s hand brought me inside. I faced a large man in a boisterous mustache, who grunted. “Serum girl, Ketrick?”

“Yes, and a fine slut. She’s worked in a tavern before. You may her use in a few days.”

So, I was to work in a tavern again? It didn’t bother the center of me that was always thinking of men. And what better place to gather information? I stood proudly while the tavern keeper examined me.

“Ketrick, you strike a hard bargain, but we have a deal. You may use the rooms upstairs.” He extended his hand and Ketrick grasped his forearm, sealing the deal.

Ketrick laughed. “Mekor, you bandit, you make a pauper of me and you call it a hard bargain!”

Mekor chortled merrily right back at him. “My friend, I gave you a fair rate, nothing more.” He lifted a long key from a hook on the wall, handing it to Ketrick. “Here’s your key. Move in when you like.”

We entered the apartment from the outside entrance. It had three rooms plus a bathroom and a kitchen. I opened a few shutters to let in the light and breeze, coughing a little from the dust.

Ketrick looked at the view, and then, around the main room, his hands on his hips. “I’m pleased. This is ideal for our purposes. The Queen’s Cup is popular with nobles and palace officials. We might learn what we need right here.”

“Well, I’m ready.”

He sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder. “There’s a problem. I have to clear my name before we can stay. That's it's come this far isn't a good sign. If I can’t find a merchant or warrior who was in the caravan to bear witness for me, I’ll need your help.”

“You want me to testify?” I asked, dreading the answer. Testimony from slaves was normally taken under torture.

“I’ll do my best to find someone else, but it’s a possibility,” he said, looking on sympathetically.

I tried not to show my fear. “It might not be so bad in a fantasy,” I said, although that was a lie. Fantasy was real to me while it lasted. “At least this fantasy would be easy to create, all I’d have to do is convince myself that you really did steal me from Eagles and make me your slave.”

“It was a fantasy of mine,” he said, touching my hair.

If he'd said it to distract me from contemplating the rack, it worked. The freewoman in me would have killed him if he had tried, but the natural slave part lapped it up like Keshruk honey. I adopted a favored pose and looked up at him from lowered eyes. “You wouldn't have really stolen me, your friend and former wenching companion, the one who had saved you from a life on the barracks silks?” I asked him, more in jest than not, but I wanted to know.

For his answer, Ketrick took me in his arms. His body pressed against my breasts and his lips descended, demanding everything in a master’s kiss, giving me no choice but to respond. He slipped his hand over my breast and between my legs. When I was hot and moaning, he backed away, grinning like a boy at a Goddess of Love initiation.

“I don’t like to answer hypotheticals,” he explained. “I have to go now. Angel and Wanda need to be picked up and I need to find some of those traders on the caravan you raided so effectively.”

“How could you leave me like this?” I said, clenching my fists. Stirring a girl’s urges for later was what I used to do to my slaves. I’d never imagined that it would be done to me!

“I’m sorry, but I have no time right now.” His eyes gleamed in amusement. “It will be good for you; you won't have a chance to worry, this evening you will be extraordinary, and you’ll be in character. Angel will recognize your needs, and your image as a slave will be that much more convincing. It's difficult to see a downside.”

“Damn you, Ketrick!”

“I always finish what I start,” he said, lifting my breast. “In the meantime, the apartment needs to be cleaned. Angel would doubtless be displeased if third girl didn’t make a good start.”

I cursed him under my breath. Angel was generally fair, but lately she’d been something of a bitch. “Doubtless.”

He returned an hour later with Angel and Wanda. I was already filthy with dirt and grease, having cleaned the kitchen, the hardest job. Angel couldn't find wrong with my work, but threw me a few nasty glances when she thought I wasn’t looking, upset that I had been alone with our master most of the day.

Ketrick returned very late that night with some food, fortunately because we were all starving. The apartment was spotless by then, and we were clean and ready.

Wanda came to my bed in the early morning, the night candle revealing the peace of the well-brolled upon her face. “Amelia, get up. Our Master wants you in his bed,” she whispered.

I left the bed quietly, as not to awaken Angel, and slipped through the door to the dim outline of his bed. Strong hands took me and brought me the rest of the way. On low burn for most of the day, his touch was all I needed to bring me fully to heat. I cursed him for his control of my body; it was all I could do to avoid impaling myself.

He yawned. “Amelia, I’m tired. We should sleep tonight and be well rested for the morning.”

Fortunately, I knew that tone for what it was, or I would have screamed in frustration. Gritting my teeth, I asked, “May a slave ask her Master to ‘finish what he started’?”

“A promise is a promise, but first close the door, your screams can wake the dead.” I shut the door and returned. He took me then, and for the next two hours or so I submitted to him, embracing the freedom to be fully female. Afterwards, I could have lain there in a tranquil fog, but there were matters to discuss.

“Tyra,” he whispered. “I found two traders from the caravan last night who are still in Tulem. I spoke to one. He bears me no ill will, but is afraid to testify in my defense. Heydar blamed the loss of the caravan on me. Since they thought I would be a serum girl, they didn’t think the truth would matter. Now he’s afraid to reverse himself, especially since Heydar is popular again with the King. There’s another trader, but I didn’t have time to meet him. I knew him as a fair man, so I sent word to his house to be at the King’s audience today, and why, but I don’t know what he’ll do.”

Thoughts of torture replaced all he had given me with dread. “I see. I hoped for more, but traders swear allegiance to their guild, not to a code of honor.”

“Speaking of warriors … you aren’t a warrior any longer. It is no shame to admit your fear.”

“Would it do any good? You want to know if I’m afraid? Yes. My flesh creeps at the thought of the rack and pincer. But I’m more afraid of saying the wrong things or breaking at the wrong time. The torturer will not be easily fooled. I must be convincing.”

“This fantasy you were going to create…”

I nodded. “I have one in mind, but I’m not sure if I should use it. In this fantasy, I would be Tyra, captured a week ago from my rooms. While I am being stretched and poked, I would admit that I talked to Heydar and found out from him that he was in charge of the caravan defense. If I said that, though, Heydar would know I was lying. If I said that I learned it from a guard, then they would likely ask for a name, and verify it with them. If I said I learned it from one of Eagles’ new pleasure girls then it wouldn’t be very persuasive because they’re in Batuk, they’re slaves, and slaves are notoriously unreliable. They might believe me anyway because of the torture, but do you have any better ideas?”

“No, but I'm not that worried. I came back to Tulem willing to go before the King to defend myself. That will count for something, and the King is not an idiot. He knows the kind of man Heydar is.”

“Gods, I wish there was a better way.”

“So do I, but unless someone else comes forward, you are all we have.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He squeezed me. “I know you will. Now go get Angel and try to get some sleep.”

“Right.” I left the room and crept silently to Angel’s bed. “Angel,” I said, shaking her shoulder gently. “Wake up. Our Master wants you.”

Her eyes opened slowly, but she'd been slow to awaken ever since I’d abducted her. “Where is Wanda?” she asked.

“Wanda and I have already had our turns; now our Master wants you. I don’t think I wore him out,” I added, smiling the barest amount. Angel’s visage became joy and with a flash of blond hair, she was gone. I felt a pang of jealousy: Angel had rarely moved that fast when I was her master.

I slept fitfully and awoke early. Ketrick fed Angel and Wanda, but denied me. Torture is best on an empty stomach and, in truth, I had little appetite.

The King’s audience was set for the ninth hour that morning. There the King heard grievances the magistrates and justices would not hear, and direct appeals to the King for mercy or justice. This was not done lightly: the King’s judgments were often harsher than the magistrates, and King Bruno despised people who wasted his time.

I donned my best slave tunic, and we left with Ketrick leading me on a chain, leaving Angel and Wanda behind. It was only two blocks to the palace gate, but I remembered everything: the unusual flowery smells in the air from the garden inside, the vivid dress of the men and women, and the mountains, all different from Batuk, reminding me that I was in a very foreign land.

Half a dozen men in chain mail and purple sashes around their waists, the mark of those who served the King, guarded the gate. Three emerged from the guard station and met us under the great arch.

“State your name and business,” said the large man in the middle.

“I’m Ketrick and this is my slave. We’re here for the King’s audience. I have a grievance to submit before the audience starts.”

The guard pulled a book from a pocket within his tunic, made a record and gave Ketrick a blue pass. “You must be outside the gate soon after the audience ends. Good fortune to you.”

“Thank you.” We passed through and went straight ahead to the east side where the public audience would be held two hours from now..

That early, we were practically alone. The audience plaza, large enough for a few hundred people, was actually an outdoor extension of he palace, a covered area under a tile roof supported by beams and columns. It faced a wide staircase, one of the entrances to the palace. At the top of the stairs stood a throne of wood and gold.

The appropriate functionary stood nearby in plain sight, a dapper man in palace dress with a sharp nose and eyes too close together. A peculiar gray hat gave him the look of a pigeon, and swift jerky movements enhanced the image. He carried an embossed leather book in his hands.

“My name is Ketrick. Are you the Audience Master?”

The man inclined his head slightly. “I am Lester, the Audience Master. I’ve heard of you, Ketrick. Will you be a participant this morning?” he inquired.

“Yes. I will defend myself against Heydar’s lies.”

Lester raised an eyebrow. Opening his book, he transcribed a line of text. “I think I can guarantee you an inside audience later this morning.”

“Thank you, Audience Master.”

When we were out of hearing, Ketrick said, “This is probably good for us. Our meeting will be inside the palace. Accusing the King’s sycophant of lying is delicate at best. Accusing him in front of the public would be embarrassing to the King.”

Ketrick's composure tempered my fear. As the morning advanced, more people arrived until they filled the plaza. At the appointed time, the palace doors swept outwards and King Bruno, following a squad of guards and robed advisors, made his way forward while blue-clad enforcers in our midst ensured that everyone bowed or curtseyed until he ascended the throne.

I’d never seen a man who knew his place so well. He was larger than average with broad shoulders and the Borodin features, blond hair and blue eyes. His royal attire: loose purple pants and shirt with a white sash, the only person in Tulem with the right to wear those colors together. The King's imperial presence, the expectation of obedience set him apart from the rest, and blended with that authoritative demeanor were equal parts duty and boredom — with a dash of amusement, as if the audience was there for his entertainment.

His justice that morning proved swift and inventive. Two quarreling neighbors, a shrill woman and a disagreeable man, each swearing the other had moved boundary stones to acquire each other’s land -- a serious issue in the crowded valley -- were forced to marry each other when it seemed likely that both might be embellishing their version of events. He decided a personal dispute with a duel, the loser to die, or take Ruk’s serum and exile.

One learned fellow plead his case, a tax issue, by quoting the letter of the law instead of disputing its intent. The King granted his plea, but had a guard split his tongue. It could be repaired, but the process would be painful.

The last case concerned a man who killed another in a misunderstanding. His wife and daughter wept on their knees for his life when he would not. The King considered the condemned man closely, watching his face carefully, and then changed the sentence from death to permanent exile.

At some unknown signal, the Audience Master stepped forward and pronounced the end of the audience. While we bowed and curtseyed again, the King rose and left the throne, walking directly into the palace.

After he left, the spectators dispersed. We stayed behind until the Audience Master waved us forward.

Now that the time was at hand, beating my fear back became a battle. I would not give in to it. I was not a coward. If the trader didn’t come forward, then the plan was that I would say the key words, enter the fantasy, and “break” as quickly as a slave should, which was generally rapid. It might work, but it was graceless.

The audience that morning taught me that the King wasn’t immune to justice and honor, but he preferred clarity. Ketrick would be accusing a close member of his court of lying. The burden of proof would be on his shoulders. In addition, while testimony of a slave under torture was evidence, my screams would be distasteful. The King liked cases where he could use his dramatic flair; he liked a show.

I didn’t like our plan anymore, but at that point there wasn’t anything I could do, nor could I think of a better option. We passed through the last arch of the corridor and entered the interior audience room. Marble columns formed an aisle to the King’s throne on a raised dais. Tapestries telling unfamiliar stories of Tulem’s Kings and famous events decorated the surrounding walls. My toes pressed through purple carpet as we made our way forward.

The Giovannis, the dark-haired nobility, stood to the left. Their blond counterparts, assembled to the right.

I spotted a man in the uniform of a middle-ranking guard on the Borodin side. He wore no sash, meaning he was non-affiliated. The mustache I remembered was missing, but it was Terrence, the man I’d fought in Batuk with wooden swords, who had refused Ruk’s Serum and demanded to die. As a guard in the caravan, he could clear Ketrick if he was so inclined. I glanced at Ketrick to see if he had seen, but his attention was on the King.

Why was Terrence here? I knew only a little of Tulem’s customs, but I doubted that a guard would attend the King’s inner court without a good reason.

The Sergeant at Arms announced the King. Like every other woman there, I curtseyed, in my short slave tunic, especially carefully. When I heard the others rise, I lifted my eyes to the throne.

The King was already seated. Heydar stood to his left and a Borodin to his right. Four unusually tall guards with heavy spears and swords flanked them. I watched Heydar closely to glean a hint of how I should play it. His face grew foul as he encountered Ketrick, and then flicked me a disinterested glance. Heydar's confidence alarmed me. I made my decision. If the King wanted a show, he would get one. But I had to let Ketrick know!

I leaned backwards, creating tension on the chain to get his attention. He turned slightly and I moved forward. “Terrence is here, Master!” I whispered, not wanting to create a scene at this late stage.

Ketrick frowned. With the nobles chattering around us, I doubted that he'd heard me.

Lester spoke briefly with the King. The King found Ketrick in the crowd. “Ketrick! Approach me!” he commanded.

We went forward together and walked the length of the aisle. Ketrick bowed. I curtseyed again and did my best to remain inconspicuous.

The King watched Ketrick with as much amazement as anger. “I’m surprised to see you show your face in Tulem. I’d heard you were a serum girl. You may soon wish that were the case.”

“Your Majesty, I returned to clear my name. Lies have been told. It has been said that the loss of your Majesty’s caravan was my fault. It was not.”

“Lester informed me you would challenge this. Why should I believe what you say? Many spoke against you.”

“Your Majesty, it’s easy to blame someone who will soon be a serum girl. It’s also easy to influence others to testify if there is no fear of rebuttal. Unfortunately for them, I survived the experience.”

The King nodded thoughtfully. “Very well, Ketrick, you will have your chance. I assume you have proof?”

Ketrick bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty. My slave will testify. Before she was transformed, she was the Batuk raid leader that night.”

Heydar swung his attention to me, staring as if I were vermin. I, in turn, as I stood pretty and frightened, as a slave would under those circumstances, wondered if he knew his mustache twisted comically when he sneered.

The King laughed and looked me over. “Now that’s convenient. You’re making a very serious charge. What’s your version of events and why aren’t you a serum girl?”

Ketrick gave the King an edited version of events leading to my “capture.”

Heydar looked ready to explode when Ketrick called him a fool and compared his character unfavorably to animals and insects. He described the raid in detail and the ease I had in overrunning the caravan, then of his fight to keep his manhood and his time as Eagles Weapon’s Master, culminating with his escape and my abduction.

“A fine story -- if true,” King Bruno said after Ketrick finished. Heydar bent to the King’s ear to whisper something, but the Bruno motioned him away. My heart began to pound, knowing what would come next. “Take her,” the King ordered a guard. To another, he said, “Prepare the rack and bring the torturer.”

A guard wheeled the rack in from a side room. It was dark with age but strong enough, a simple open square of oak that could be mounted in the horizontal or vertical position, with foot and hand manacles. On each side was a ratchets to stretch the occupant. I had too much time to contemplate it, or perhaps that was the intent -- the torturer from the Guild surely would have been on call, and he took his time getting there.

When the torturer arrived, I sneaked Ketrick a last confident glance. Ketrick’s face was as grim as I’d ever seen; he didn’t like this any better than I did.

A glimpse of the torturer’s eyes shocked me to the core. Behind the black leather mask, they were cold and lifeless. I almost laughed from nervousness. What did you expect to see in the eyes of a torturer, the Goddess of Mercy? His powerful hands forced the tunic over my body. He secured me efficiently, and I soon stood spread eagle in the cold iron manacles of the rack.

I watched, dreadfully fascinated, as the torturer arranged the tools and devices of his trade. “Your Majesty, the slave is ready,” he said to the King. The torturer tightened the wheels, ratcheting me into the air. The iron manacles on my wrists pulled on my flesh painfully. “Answer the questions, slave,” the torturer ordered.

“Yes Master.” I closed my eyes for a moment thinking of my family and friends in Batuk, memorizing their faces.

“Proceed, Ketrick,” the King said.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Ketrick said, making a small bow. Then he swung his attention to me. He began composed and assured: “Amelia, who were you before you were a serum girl?”

“My name was Tyr t’Pol, Master. I was Raid Leader.” The pain was tolerable, but getting worse as the manacles bit into my wrists.

“Describe the raid.”

I explained the raid in detail, my strategy and the ease with which the caravan fell. Some in the court rumbled. I dared not look to the King for his reaction. I stayed in slave persona, frightened and submissive. It was not difficult to do.

“When did you first hear that the planning of the camp was Heydar’s doing?”

“From you, Master, just after the raid.”

“And when did you have this confirmed and how?”

This was where our plans deviated. “I will not answer that question, Master.”

“What?” Ketrick yelled. If he weren’t genuinely surprised, it was a superb performance.

King Bruno laughed. “Ketrick, are you sure she submitted to you?”

“She has spirit, Your Majesty.” He paused to think. The torturer made to increase the tension of my chains and I braced myself for the real pain, but Ketrick stopped him with a gesture. He began again: “Amelia, why do you refuse to answer?”

“Master, when I was Tyr t’Pol, I thought we were friends. When the Gods decreed that I become a serum girl, I was still a freewoman. If you wanted to make me your slave from passion, I could understand, but to enslave me just to clear your name is dishonorable to a friend who saved you from the silks!”

There was more laughter. I sounded like a spurned, lovesick slave, but a few grew thoughtful. Even the King appeared pensive, and I felt his stare. If Ketrick hadn’t known I had changed the plan he knew it now. Think Ketrick! Why would I do this?

He stroked his chin with an odd gesture, pointing backwards to the court with his thumb. I nodded immediately, disguising it as a stretch to relieve pain, and then relaxed. He had caught on. He turned to face the nobles, as if to collect his thoughts, caught sight of Terrence, then spun around.

Outwardly, he was unperturbed. “It was not that way, Amelia,” he insisted, holding his hands in a gesture of peace and love. He was good. I would have believed him myself had I not known the truth. “I took you for myself. I did not know what faced me in Tulem.” He waited several seconds, but I didn’t answer. He sighed at my silence. “Bertram, increase the tension,” he said.

The chains tightened, bringing my body taut in the rack, almost cutting skin and making it difficult to breathe. I gasped. And so it starts, and whatever starts, finishes.

“Now, answer the question!” he roared. “When did you find out Heydar was responsible for the location of the campsite and how?”

“I will not help you, Master!” I panted.

Ketrick looked at me for a moment, shut his eyes, and nodded to the torturer. Bertram selected a knee clamp and applied it to my knee, where it lay, cold and heavy. The first turn of its screw bent my knee back to its limit, the dull tip of the point pressing into my kneecap just short of drawing blood. A few tears I would never have allowed as a warrior rolled down my cheeks.

It's only pain. Their purpose is information. They would not use a device that could permanently harm me.

Well, I was nearly sure they wouldn't.

I glared at Ketrick showing him only defiance. The black eyes I knew so well held a warrior’s confidence that told me he knew what I was doing, and something softer that meant as much to me. I determined to make him proud of me, to be a warrior one more time. I bore it as long as I could, even as tendons stretched and ripped, but it was all nothing compared to the pain when my kneecap snapped. I screamed louder than I thought I could, forgetting all about being brave, barely holding on to my image of Batuk and the people I knew must be saved.

Before it could fade into throbbing, Bertram picked up a rod. While still sobbing from the wedge of iron protruding into my kneecap, he struck. Each strike was white-hot. I screamed. The surrounding muscles seized and my body strained forward on the manacles. I struggled to breathe. He went on, only stopping when I collapsed in the chains, so worn-out my body could barely fight it anymore. My head sagged forward, and blood oozed thickly down my back and thighs.

Still, I refused to answer. Distantly, I heard voices demanding a reply. But my world was agony and I didn’t care anymore. My love for Batuk carried me; the faces of my family and friends were all I could see and feel, and pain that a warrior was trained to endure was a small price to pay for their safety and freedom.

In a place where resistance filled my mind, reason could not penetrate. Terrence would either come forward or not, but I would not give up. The Torturer misjudged my delirium, or perhaps he wanted to show the King that he had given his best, because he went further, breaking my other kneecap. Mercifully, I passed out.
 
 

 
Notes: After the last set of comments, I thought seriously about taking this last segment out. I can see how it could be seen as gratuitous violence, especially as it ends this way in a cliffhanger, but remember, this was her choice, and, although it seems a bit harsh, this scene actually sets up four events, one of them quite serious later on. Be reassured, Tyra gives a whole lot more than she gets, just not here. Argh! I should have done all the chapters before posting them. Then you could simply read on to see what I mean. Dang cliffhangers. :) ~Aardvark