Zhor is a planet where the mysterious Overlords rule, where men and women live for centuries and are permitted to be themselves. There, a young warrior's love and dreams are shattered when he wakes up one morning as a serum girl, a beautiful woman with the DNA of one of Zhor's finest slaves. Her old life destroyed, she must not only fight to hold onto her identity as she is forced to make a new life as a woman, but also to keep her freedom, not easy when her body insists that she would be happiest branded and collared.

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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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And now, as they say, for something completely different.
 
 
Chapter 1
 
 
It was at moments like these that my thoughts turned towards life, remembering the faces of those for whom I fought. In other days, I’d seen my sister Tisa, and sometimes, Mother. This time, my mind’s eye settled upon Angel, a strange choice, as she was property, not properly a part of my home city, Batuk. If I died that morning, she would weep, but, following her nature, would soon find herself happily mastered in another’s arms.

It was an odd enough thought that I tightened my grip on the reins, making Nemesis stir. I might have dismissed it, but then, in that otherworldly moment of clarity that sometimes comes just before a warrior’s fate is determined, my gut knotted as if Angel was already gone. I thought it powerful enough to call it a premonition.

“Close now, Tyr!” Der hissed down at me through the wind-swept darkness.

I nodded towards my second, but his eyes had already returned to the camp on the other side of the dune. That was another reason for unease: this inexplicable border war with Tulem. Our neighbor to the south was more a loose rival than an enemy — or that was how it had always been. The boundaries had been established for over two hundred years. Between thoughts of losing my love slave and dying for an unknown cause, it made the warrior exercises difficult, and I was less than serene when, a short while later, Der raised his fist until it stood among the stars, then brought it down like a hammer.

I jabbed Nemesis; he shot forward with a snort. I was first to the top, with the rest of my two-dozen raiders just behind, black cloaks and horse dye making us a wave of shadows.

We swept out, seeking blood. The camp was enclosed by two columns of tents, with the larger guards’ tent erected between, and the caravan’s wagons and horses on the far side. A single fire burned in the center, an odd arrangement, I thought, bright enough where it might affect their night vision, but not placed to find us. I spied the nearest guards, two talking together in the lee of the guards’ tent, where their polished armor under the clear night sky may as well have been beacons.

Morons.

I stayed low and quiet in the sand. At twenty yards, I rose with a javelin in my hand and threw it into the first guard's back. He folded like a sack of grain. My second throw transfixed the other as he turned, and he shrieked like a demon as he passed into the afterworld.

By Marten's red balls, if the camp isn't awake now, it never will be.

Seeing no one else, I whirled Nemesis around and pounded towards the crack of spears and screams. The tent lines made it too hazardous to be mounted, so I pulled a leg over and slid from the saddle with sword in hand.

An impression of movement to my right made me jump backwards, and the long spear meant to spill my guts scored my lower breastplate.

I leaped sideways and rolled, lifting my cloak from my shoulders on the way. When the guard tried to stake me to the ground, I cast it at him like a net. He backpedaled, expecting a charge behind it. Instead, I threw my boot knife at his head. While he ducked, I snatched the cloak from the ground, whipped it around the blocking tines of the spearhead, and jerked it towards me. As he stumbled forward, I guided the spear head down and away with the hilt of my sword, forcing my way towards him until I was close enough. With a yell, I reversed the grip, and snapped my sword down the shaft.

He dropped the spear before it cost him fingers and reached for his sword. I didn’t give him the chance and split his thigh to the bone. The guard screamed in fury.

I batted away a thrust from an awkward angle, and then stabbed him in the shoulder and calf. He staggered, and toppled to the ground with a groan.

Stepping on his sword, I kicked his hand away, placing my blade against his throat. A glance to the side showed me that more than a dozen men lay on the ground, soaking the plains with blood, nearly all of them theirs. A few of my warriors were tying up wounded guards or watching those already secured, and only one guard still fought on against three of mine. It was enough to let this one live.

“Yield!”

He glared at me and spat the words: “Damn it to Hades! I yield.”

“Fas!” I called without looking away. A man limped to my side. “Secure him.”

“Yes, Raid Leader.”

I left them staring at each other and jogged off to find any stragglers to the fight. I heard laughter and followed it. The guards’ tent was down, flapping in the wind. One of my veterans slapped my younger brother, Ron, on the back. Apparently, Ron had rounded the guards’ tent leaning from his horse, slicing the tent lines. Once the tent had fallen, the canvas had become a trap for the last few guards inside. When they moved, they looked like a pack of cockroaches under a tablecloth.

“Come out now or die!” I shouted. “The rest have surrendered!”

For most, life is too long to waste on idiocy. They emerged crawling, and laid their weapons into a pile.

The merchants needed even less encouragement. Seeing who won, the perfumed seals in expensive robes slunk from their tents and knelt before us. Tulem’s traders weren’t stupid: the warrior codes would keep them alive and healthy, with only their goods and valuables forfeit, their penalty for trespassing into Batuk territory.

Sunrise was a red glow when I reviewed the line of merchants. I pointed to a tall, powerfully built man. Unlike the rest, who looked down, he sat straight.

“Who is the leader of this caravan and where are the inventories?” I asked him.

He stood. I nodded acknowledgment; here was a man who didn’t care to speak from his knees.

“I am the leader of this caravan,” he said. His voice was deep, cautious, but not afraid. “The documents you require are in my tent, behind me.”

“You prepared poorly for us,” I pointed out. “We only lost two, and we have all your goods and slaves.”

“It wasn’t my plan. Heydar is the head of the guards. You would not have been so successful if I had planned the camp.”

It was rude to belittle another’s honorable victory -- unless it were true. I placed the point of my sword an inch from his throat. “What would you have done differently?” I inquired.

His black eyes ignored the blade and directed his chin towards a depression not far away. “I would have camped there. It can only be approached quietly from two directions, the loose rock makes it difficult for horses, and the broad, flat places between would have provided ample warning for an attack. We would have seen you coming long before you were within striking distance.”

I thought about it, and then sheathed my sword. “My name is Tyr t’Pol, caravan leader.”

He inclined his head briefly. “Ketrick, former War Leader of Gerras. Perhaps it’s just as well that we didn’t arrive in Tulem.”

“How so?”

“I was not popular with Heydar, a humorless man. I’m sure that I would have been unemployed as soon as the King heard from one of his favorites.”

“It’s unfortunate when one lacks a sense of humor, and kings are notorious for favoritism. This is a bad time to be out of favor, Ketrick. Is this a way of telling me that you won’t make ransom?”

His next breath came slowly: the alternative for ransom was usually life in the silks.

“I have value. I’m an excellent weapons master,” he said.

I liked his equanimity. He was in a tough spot and had my sympathy, but it was not my decision. “Only the Gods know a man’s fate,” I said, a standard reply to an optimist.

I pushed aside the tent flap and entered with him. Ketrick showed me the inventories. I passed the list to Der to organize a party to collect our new belongings, and moved on.

Segregated from the men, a half-dozen freewomen in dresses of wool and silk huddled together, keeping their distance from us and a cluster of slaves that shivered in slave tunics. As Raid Leader, I had first rights to the slaves, and tested a raven-haired beauty. She responded well when I ran the tip of my whip along her inner thighs. I found her hot and wet, unsurprising, considering she was captured in the heat of battle. She moaned delightfully, writhing against her restraints.

A freewoman snorted her disgust. I turned, intrigued. If the freewoman’s family did not send ransom, she would join the others in slave silk, but that was not the only way a woman acquired the collar and brand. Technically, she was only free on my authority. She wore her long brown hair coiled high on her head with a straight fall over her back in Tulem fashion, and she was prettier than average. If she were what I suspected, she might make a fine abduction. Curious, I strode towards her.

When she perceived my interest, her green eyes bore into mine, in shock at first, then abruptly averting her gaze. I examined her, taking my time as any man would a potential purchase, moving her face from side to side, inspecting her for defects and clues to her true nature.

A tiny red indentation marred the perfection of her right earlobe, a sign that, at some time in the recent past, she had affixed an earring there, the slave’s place. No doubt, she had looked at herself in the mirror, imagining what it would be like to belong to a man. Likely, she had kept it on for many hours in the privacy of her apartments. There was no other rational explanation for it. She blushed when I rolled it between thumb and forefinger, and by the way the girl moved under my scrutiny, I saw enough to form an opinion.

Her eyes climbed my chest to rest on my face. What she saw there caused her to inhale, place her hands on her hips, and glare. In the mood now, I smiled, imagining her with an attractive collar, naked and scented in my pelts. Her act of rebellion had only separated her legs and made her breasts rise and fall invitingly. I wondered if she was aware that her defiance made her femininity that much more obvious. I put my hand to the side of her face and stroked her cheek. Staring at me like a bird before a cat, she moved into it before she could catch herself. Her tongue licked her lips, and her eyes opened wide in terror.

“Do you wish to submit to me?” I asked her.

“N … no!” she gasped.

I smiled. We both knew that part of her wished otherwise.

“As you say,” I said. I turned and walked away, leaving her stifling a sob. She could delay becoming who she truly was -- perhaps forever -- but she now knew in her female heart that she had the slave gene and that, on the deepest level, she would be happiest branded and in chains at the feet of her master.

My men had already separated the guards into two groups: the guards who fought as men, and those who did not. The latter were chained at the right ankle. It wasn’t difficult to find Heydar in the lineup of the fortunate; his engraved chest plate reflected the plains. His blue and green tunic was trimmed in gold fur, and he wore the purple sash of the King’s service around his waist. He was fairly large, with a slightly hooked nose and black hair, typical of Tulem’s Giovanni branch of the aristocracy. I thought the sneer that twisted his thin mustache was out of place considering his uncomplicated defeat.

“What amuses you, Heydar?” I asked from my horse. His gaze took in my light armor and condition of my mount before locating my face, an aristocrat’s attempt to identify my class. I liked him less.

“I was thinking how all this will avail Batuk nothing.”

That was a puzzling comment. Every caravan captured meant more pressure from the merchants on the King of Tulem to reconfirm the old border he had mysteriously decided to alter a few months before. His reasoning baffled me: Batuk and Tulem were loose rivals, but Batuk had never desired another’s territory and hadn’t been in a war for a century. The border dispute hurt Tulem hardest, with its richer caravans and trade.

I grinned. “Indeed? It would appear that Tulem is just a whiff of its former glory. It needs a good spanking from a real city … or an injection of true men.”

I had gauged him properly; he was a fool.

“You’ll see true men when the Fortress…” he replied with a growl before stopping himself.

I leaned closer. “When the Fortress what?” I demanded.

“When the Fortress decides to make a new treaty with Tulem,” he finished weakly, scowling.

He knew something; I was sure. I would like to have pried it from the rhadus, but torture without a declared war is forbidden. I gave him a parting glare and rode off.

I ordered most of the surviving caravan guards to be taken off the road a few miles, then released with their weapons and armor. The four deemed cowardly remained behind with us. Joining their ranks was Ketrick, the one member of the caravan who would be unlikely to make ransom. My men collared them, and secured them with chains inside a wagon with iron bars.

We took the gold, jewels, silks and anything we could carry easily, leaving the rest behind, prudent, considering what the extra weight could mean to a determined pursuit. As soon as the sun cleared the horizon, I gave the order to move.

We kept to the little-used passes, tossing peppers behind us from time to time to make the dogs wary, and camped without fire that night. About mid-morning the next day, we left the scrub brush of the trails and turned onto the main road. From there, the Fortress in the distance was a beacon to bring us home. I took a moment to fondle the slave I'd taken, now riding in front of me. Her nipples rose nicely, and her warm, soft body leaned back against me with a sigh.

“Have you ever been to Batuk?” I asked her.

“No, Master. I know nothing of the northern plains. My former Master bought me in Olwen two months ago.” She twisted enough to glance back at me, low and coy. “I would like to learn about your city, Master, if would like to teach me,” she purred.

I smiled. Everything she had done so far told me that she wanted me to keep her, but the last thing I needed was another slave.

“You will be sold within the week.” At her frown, I added, “Your next master will possibly be from Batuk. Undoubtedly, he would be pleased if you knew something of his home. If you want to listen, I'll tell you.”

Her expression lifted again. “If you please, Master.”

“It would please me.” I had her look forward and pointed. “Nearly a thousand years ago, my ancestors settled this region. At that time, the Fortress was a hill of solid black rock thrusting a hundred yards above the plain. They cut the top flat and built it. The walls are a hundred feet tall, thirty feet thick, and two miles long. Behind it, to the north, is the Undine River, and beyond that, part of the Dagon mountain range. Surrounding it to the south, east and west is the city, itself surrounded by a fifty-foot wall.” For the next few hours, I described more of the city and its people.

We approached the Lion Gate, the main entrance in the south, in late afternoon. Vendors just inside the walls shouted their wares, and I'd smelled the familiar aroma of sausages, spiced chicken, and grilled ham and beef for the past mile. It was the first and last place in Batuk for most who came and went; a place to eat; drink siolat or tea, hot or cold, depending on the season; take a bath, and it had a ready supply of alcove girls for those who couldn’t wait to get to the siolat taverns further in. As we drew close, I let her down and lashed the line on her collar to a ring on my saddle. Unless there was a good reason, slaves walked in Batuk.

I waved to a man I recognized, the Gatemaster in the east tower, a sometimes drinking and wenching friend. “Ho, Bal t’Con!”

“Welcome back, Tyr,” he replied, watching the line of wagons pass by under his steel cone helmet. “It looks like a good haul. Is there a wench for me, or will I have to steal one?”

“You are always welcome to try,” I said, grinning.

Turning east down the Wall Road, I brought Ron forward, and sent a rider ahead to spread the word of our homecoming. When we entered the grounds of my family’s estate, the gardeners and housekeepers were outside the main house.

Ron and Der secured the wagons, and the men and freewomen who were likely to be ransomed were quartered where they would be comfortable. The rest were chained inside the slave quarters on the other side of the grounds.

A servant girl addressed me just before I entered: “Tyr t’Pol, your father is in the main sitting room.”

I nodded and pushed through the outer door, carved in the likeness of an eagle in flight. I found my father, Pol t’Pak, standing with my older brother, Met, beneath a display of weapons. Father was impassive, but that was expected; there would be no greeting until I made my report.

When I finished, Father grinned his approval. Met was less pleased. Until recently, he had been the undisputed heir to Eagles. Questionable business dealings and a suspicious attempt on our father’s life had put that in jeopardy. I didn’t trust him, but at twenty-seven, I wasn't too excited about a succession that might not take place for a century.

Father stepped forward, grasping my forearm, his brown eyes under thick eyebrows shining fierce and proud. “Excellent,” he said. He ordered a servant to bring us three mugs of siolat. After I cleared the road dust from my throat, we spoke of more mundane affairs, and that's when I remembered:

“Father, the caravan leader claims to be a former war leader from some city named Gerras. I don’t think he’ll make ransom, but we might be able to use him as a weapons master.”

“Weapons master.” Met sneered.

I turned towards my older brother and spoke, careful to keep my voice even. “If he’s as good as he thinks he is, then maybe he can teach us something. If not, then the men will have another to please them in the pelts.”

My father furrowed his brow, considering it slowly. “It’s unorthodox, but deal with him as you think best, Tyr.” He clapped me on the back and grimaced. “You make pigs smell like roses. Clean up and come to supper.”

“Yes, Father.”

I returned to my quarters on the upper floor. Angel and Wanda heard me approach and waited for me prostrate on the thick rugs of the floor, as I had taught them.

“Rise, both of you,” I commanded.

Angel was the taller of the two, a blond-haired blue-eyed beauty from Ademar I had captured myself. There was something of the cat within her, arrogant, sensuous and flowing, that had attracted my attention. She hadn’t been easy to abduct, screaming like a demoness before I could gag her, and I’d barely escaped with my life. Afterwards, I’d showed her her true self beneath the stars, and ignited her. In less than a week, she had begged me to make her my slave.

Wanda was shorter and leaner with black hair and green eyes, and was nearly a century older than Angel, not a very important distinction with the anti-aging drugs of the Overlords. I had originally bought her to teach Angel new ways of pleasing me and ended up keeping her.

Initially, there were some difficulties. Two slaves are never bound to get along completely, and the wise master will show latitude, allowing them to come to their own arrangements. Fighting is permitted as long as one slave does not actually damage another. Often, such fights are to a master’s advantage, as slaves will fight to win favor with their master. In Angel and Wanda’s case, they had arrived at an understanding early on. Angel was first girl.

“Angel, prepare a bath.”

“Yes, Master,” Angel replied. She bowed and left, leaving me with a flash of a smile and an immodest blue gleam in her eyes.

“Wanda, clean my clothes and armor.”

“Yes, Master,” Wanda said. She took my clothes, chain mail and breastplate as I deposited them at her feet. They would be fresh and polished in the morning.

Naked, I approached the bath, already filled with hot water. I glanced at Angel approvingly for her initiative. She removed her slave tunic with a single motion over her head and joined me, using the sponge with soap to clean my body. She concentrated too much on my torso, and I shook my head, placing my hand on her cheek. “Not now, Angel, just get me ready for supper.”

She bowed her head, pouting slightly. “Yes, Master.”

Under her slim hands, I relaxed for the first time in a week. After I was clean and dried, I looked in the mirror. I could have stood another shave, but the victory supper wouldn’t wait. Angel had already set out a loose shirt, black trousers, and a tunic in the Eagles colors of orange and brown. Pleased with her, I took her naked body to my chest, and pressed my lips to hers, demanding everything with a master’s kiss that left her gasping, weak, and wet. I laughed as she moaned in delicious misery; she would be ready for me tonight.

For this special occasion, the privacy curtain that normally separated the family’s high table from the lower tables was opened, and the celebration was already in progress. I entered the hall from the common entrance with the men shouting my name and pounded their mugs. I took my place at the high table, to the right of my older brother, but did not sit. Lifting my flagon, I looked down, meeting their gaze with my own, my brothers in the dance of death.

“To the men of Eagles!” I shouted, and then drained the siolat in one long gulp, wiping my chin on my sleeve. The men pounded their mugs again.

My older brother frowned. I paid him no attention. He had led forces before. If he was not as successful as I, it was hardly my problem.

The rest of the feast went as such things go. After a while, Father ordered the curtains drawn to avoid offending Mother and Tisa, but the material was not thick enough to conceal the haunting melody and the howls of the men as they watched a dancing slave.

Although I wished to see her dance, I understood. Few freewomen wish to be abducted, and far fewer would admit it if they did. A slave is a possession, has no rights, and is permitted nothing her master does not give. Besides reminding them of their vulnerability, some freewomen secretly dread that they might be natural slaves who would happiest branded and collared, and their disdain for slaves is often rooted in that fear. In reality, there are some women who should be slaves, and many more who should not. It simply is.

Eventually, I took my leave. I met Tisa in the hall outside. Like me, she had blond hair and blue eyes, the only two in our family who resembled our mother. She waved me to her side with a quick, nervous motion.

“Tisa, is something wrong?”

She glanced furtively down the hall, then led me to the shadows. “Tyr, you’re in danger,” she whispered. “Met is plotting something terrible.”

“And what is our dearest older brother up to now?”

“He hates you; I saw the way he looked at you when you came back. Whenever your name is mentioned, he puts forth the smile of the insincere.”

That was nothing new. “Anything specific?”

She looked up, frowning. “What do you expect, a plot with his signature on it? It’s the same but worse. I worry about you.”

“I’m already on my guard. This is bizarre enough to wonder if I’m worrying about nothing, that he could be playing some malicious game. What could he gain by my death? Father would suspect, and the men would never follow him if they thought that he’d murdered me.”

“Met was never as rational as you -- maybe he thinks he’s smart enough to concoct a foolproof plan.”

“By the Gods, Met wasn’t always like this,” I sighed.

“His younger brother is a little better at everything, a hard thing to forgive.”

I shrugged. There was nothing I could do about that. “Thanks for the warning, Tis’. I’ll try to stay in plain sight and take fewer chances.”

She gripped my hand tightly with both hands. “That is all I could ask for. Have a good evening.” She gave me a last smile then headed back to her quarters.

I ran up the stairs and turned the corner to my room. Angel was waiting for me on the floor, alone. I grinned. No doubt, first girl was making sure that Wanda was busy cleaning my armor.

“Rise, Angel,” I said.

Some prefer their slave to do everything for them, and I admit that it has its points. Too often, though, the practice leads to laziness and lack of initiative. I preferred to do things myself when it was more efficient. Waiting for a slave to remove my clothes was too much like using a hatchet to cut down a tree instead of an ax: both get the job done, but the ax is the proper tool.

The music in the hall, and dimly, the cries of girls in the barracks satisfying men and receiving satisfaction in return, penetrated my room. The captured slaves were theirs until they could be sold, and ten more had been hired for the evening. Such sounds bothered Tisa, who had no experience with such things, not so much Mother, who was practically immune to it after nearly a hundred years of marriage to a warrior.

To me it spoke of hurried brolling. When I had the time, I found it worth the effort to bring a slave along slowly. I had no wish to deny a girl the full depth of her mastery. It was, after all, common knowledge that a slave could only be truly happy when she knows that she is completely owned.

I removed my clothes and tossed them aside. The fur rug arose between my toes, free from confinement.

Angel’s eyes traversed my naked body. “Master, I have missed your touch,” she said.

I doubted that she would have that complaint in the morning. I pointed to a place in front of me. “Kneel,” I said. She stepped forward and knelt at my feet with legs spread slightly in the slave position, large blue eyes looking up at me.

By the Gods, I’m fortunate to own her.

I selected a long leather cord from the wall, and used it to tie her hands behind her back, and then to her feet. She could now neither move her hands, nor rise. I stood in front of her. “Please me,” I said.

“Yes Master,” she replied.

In her position, of course, she was forced to use her mouth and tongue. This tends to concentrate a girl’s mind. The original training I had given her had made her adequate, but with Wanda’s guidance, she was now considerably better. In fact, after a couple of weeks in the field with only an average slave for relief at the end, it was nearly too good, and I stopped her before it went farther than I liked. As expected, the experience had been good for her: she was flushed and I didn’t need to check her to know that she was very wet.

“Master, won’t you let me please you?” she pleaded.

“No. Not yet.”

“Please, Master, why?”

I frowned. “Perhaps I should summon Wanda. I doubt that she would ask so many questions.”

“She is beautiful.”

“Truth,” I replied.

“But not as beautiful as I.”

I smiled. “Perhaps not, but she is very skilled.”

“True,” she said, her face glum. “Please, Master, release me from my bonds. I can’t even rise.”

I reached over and took her breast in my hand. The heat from it was unusual; within a circle of dark pink, her nipple was a hard cone. “That is my intent. You will please me tonight, Angel.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, “I will do my best to please you.”

“That was not a request.”

Angel gazed up at me from her place at my feet, helpless, and through tiny but revealing movements, I knew her need.

“Yes, Master,” she said, head bowed once again.

I released her bonds. She stood naked before me, her lips spread slightly, her body leaning towards mine, aching for my touch. I picked her up and put her before me onto the soft furs, placing her to my best advantage. As she writhed slowly, there was no resistance, just a touch of surprise, as if she even now learned something of herself.

It had been a long two weeks. I permitted her only the movements I desired. Her lips yielded delightfully. It is said that the lips of a slave girl are nothing like a freewoman’s. This is true, for a slave girl, once she knows she is helpless to resist, yields utterly and becomes her true self.

I paused a moment, allowing her to struggle beneath me. Her inner fire already burned deep. “Do you wish to be free, Angel?” I inquired.

“No, I want to be your slave, Master!” she cried.

“I may sell you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master. Then I would have to please another!”

“What is your deepest wish?”

“To be mastered, to know I am helpless in your arms!” she panted. “I want to be a complete woman!”

I laughed. “Don’t worry, Angel, my beautiful slave. You will have no choice.”

I took her then, slowly, and the screams of a slave, free only to be a woman, joined the other sounds of the night.

I awoke before dawn. Angel lay to my right and Wanda on my left. I didn’t remember Wanda there earlier. This could only mean that she had finished cleaning and polishing my armor and leather. I didn’t blame her for being there; I had not explicitly forbidden her from joining us and I encourage initiative in my slaves. I imagined her in the darkness, easing her way into the pelts. It had taken some skill not to awaken me. I yawned and stretched, dislodging Angel and Wanda’s hands from my chest. This had the expected result; they both awoke.

“Angel, lay out my clothes for the day. I will be practicing in the yard this morning.”

She rubbed her eyes and yawned, but recovered quickly. “Yes, Master.” She frowned when she saw Wanda. I had a feeling that second girl would be getting an earful and perhaps a beating, but such things were the slaves’ affair and meant little to me.

“Wanda, where is my armor?”

She rose to her elbows, her long black hair cascading behind her head. “Master, your armor is mounted on the wall for your inspection.”

I nodded. I would inspect it when the sun came up. In the meantime, I was hungry. I donned the rough orange and brown practice clothes and turned at the door. “You may eat now. Do not be long returning.” I left for the hall and breakfast.

The Great Hall was nearly full when I entered. The grins exchanged that morning told me enough. They had earned their celebration, but I didn’t want them complacent. Father had told me the previous night that the raid had been too easy. If they thought the rest of this half-war was going to be the same, especially if it turned into an all-out war, they were mistaken. Although of the warrior class, there had been peace in Batuk for too long.

The banter subsided as they noticed the clothes I wore. I waved Ron and Der to my table. “We will have practice at the seventh hour. I expect everyone there with their gear.”

“They’ll be there,” replied my younger brother.

Der smiled. “Yes, they will.”

Practice was not the only reason to get them together.

Several centuries ago, a noblewoman and slave trader, Vanora, bitter that only women had the slave gene, determined that men would have the same chance at the brand and collar. She had Ruk, a brilliant physician, create an unprecedented serum that would make a man a woman -- and a natural slave.

To a warrior, to become a woman was bad enough. A woman’s world was his antithesis. Still, as horrifying the thought of becoming an ordinary freewoman might have been, with Ruk’s Serum, even that small dignity was nearly impossible. Vanora’s revenge on men ensured that practically any man who became a woman was destined for slavery. In addition to the natural slave gene, a serum girl’s urges remained as powerful as the man she used to be, more powerful than ordinary women.

This would be an important day in the lives of the four bedraggled guards we’d kept. As cowards, they would be given the choice this morning: Ruk’s Serum and slavery -- or death.

When the gong struck, a low, penetrating sound that could be heard for miles, we were assembled on the practice field. Called Hadrian’s Gong for reasons lost in history, it was struck twice a day, once at the seventh hour and once at the nineteenth or twentieth, depending on the season. Its sounding directed the opening and closing of the city gates.

I motioned Der to read the charges for the first man, a lean, unhappy fellow.

Der read the words solemnly: “Reder of Tulem, you turned your back on a warrior during a fight. Which do you choose, death or Ruk’s Serum?”

He sighed, and looked down in shame, “Ruk’s Serum,” he said quietly. Der marked his choice on a record.

I gestured to a physician, who stepped forward and injected the man in the arm with a syringe. Two guards led him off to the slave quarters.

“Kedlos of Tulem, you ran from an even fight while guarding a tent. Which do you choose, death or Ruk’s Serum?”

The shorter man with the full face and thick torso took a long look at the array of faces among my men, aware that he might be facing them again soon under very different circumstances. He closed his eyes and said, “Ruk’s Serum.”

The physician injected his arm and he was led off to join the other.

“Halter of Tulem, you gave up to a single warrior after a minor wound to your shield arm. Which do you choose, death or Ruk’s Serum?”

The tall warrior in skins regarded Der in fury. “It was not a minor wound! I could barely move my arm.”

“Der, who accused this warrior?” I asked.

Der checked the sheet. “Yed t’Lothen.”

“Yed,” I called. He stepped forward from the ranks and faced me. He was large and very strong, one of my older veterans. “Do you wish to retract your statement? He seems more lively today.”

“No, Tyr t’Pol. I saw what I saw. He could have fought on. He didn’t.”

The physician examined the wound. “He seems to have healed well, Tyr t’Pol. I see only a minor injury,” he concluded.

There was only sure way to know. “Yed, are you willing to fight him? It would be to the death.”

He gave me a powerful grin. “I’d be willin’, if he is.”

Halter stared long, then turned the corners of his mouth down in disgust. “Ruk’s Serum.”

I slapped Yed on the back and chuckled. “For that, you may name her.”

He rubbed his chin, thinking. “I’ve always liked ‘Flower,’” he decided.

I laughed, as did several of the men. Halter, soon to be Flower, could only look on at a glimpse of his future as the needle bit into his arm. Then, he too, was dragged off.

Der addressed the fourth warrior: “Terrence of Tulem, you tripped over your own feet backing up trying to escape and were easily captured. Which do you choose, death or Ruk’s Serum?”

“Death,” he replied coldly. “I am no coward. Kill me.”

I didn’t like the charge, particularly. Warriors could slip on a bad patch of ground, and, as to running away, one might reasonably retreat to a better place to fight. “Allow him to choose a practice sword,” I said. I removed my protective tunic and selected my favorite from the rack. A wooden sword could be deadly without protection, but short of steel, there was no better way to get a feel for combat.

Terrence was wiry, and selected a sword slightly shorter than mine. I would have a small reach advantage, but it would mean little. As a stabbing weapon, the wood was too blunt. We began. He was fairly fast and I was moderately hard-pressed at first. It was obvious who the better swordsman was after the first few strokes, but I was impressed at his ferocity. I allowed it to go on for about a minute before I was satisfied. Finally, I backed-up and raised my hand. “Stop. Put down the sword.”

“I would rather die with the sword in my hand!”

“As Marten wills, but not today.” I turned to Der. “Return his arms and armor. Give him a horse and a three-day supply of rations.”

Der made a notation in the record.

Terrence stood rock still. “You mean I’m free to go?”

“Unless you’d like to join Flower. You are not a coward. Try to watch your footwork next time.”

I directed my attention to the last man in line. “Ketrick, do you really think you’re qualified to be Weapons Master? It will be the Serum if you fail.”

He grinned. “A chance to prove myself is all I need,” he said calmly.

I liked his confidence. “You’ll have your chance this morning.”

I matched him against my best men. For the two-handed sword, I gave him Fash t’Lelem. Fash was quick and very strong; normally he overpowered his opponents with powerful, accurate strikes, almost never over-committing. Ketrick watched him warm-up then chose a lighter sword. He chose not to match strength on strength, but gave Fash an apparent opening for an overhand strike, then deflected it deftly to the side. He then defeated Fash with an utterly ruthless attack in a short choppy style I had not seen before.

Reth t’Jake was bested when Ketrick went under his shield and whacked a blow to his shin that made me wince, leaving him groaning on the ground.

I put myself against him with the heavy, or long spear. About ten feet long, it is often used as the primary weapon at close range. The blade of a real spear is strong but relatively narrow and about a foot and a half in length. With tines, it can pull down a rider. In the hands of a competent spearman, it is often preferred to the sword. When a master uses it there is no greater weapon. I was acknowledged a master. After seeing Ketrick dispose of two of our best, I was also a wary master.

“Ketrick,” I asked, as he chose his practice spear, “are you sure you wish to continue? Eagles will always have room for another serum girl.”

He grinned, selecting an unusually large piece of wood. I considered his choice: some men used a size or two too large for their weight and strength.

“No doubt your offer is well meant, but I prefer life above the silks.”

I watched as he spun the spear to capture its feel. He was disconcertingly fast. I wasn’t sure if I was any faster. “Well, I will try not to injure you too severely,” I offered.

“That is gracious of you, as I am often clumsy. In the unlikely event my spear should touch you, I, in turn, will not attempt permanent damage.” He clamped his thick wire-mesh helmet shut and planted his spear by his right foot. “I am ready, Tyr t’Pol.”

I’d been examining Ketrick all along for weaknesses, and had found little. He was slightly taller and perhaps fifteen pounds heavier. For such a large man, he was unusually agile. His familiarity with the spear spoke of long practice.

There was only one way to find out. I brought my spear down and ran straight at him, hoping to catch him off guard. He brought his own spear into a defensive position and tried to twist my thrust into the ground, a rare and tricky maneuver that almost worked. My thrust had been a feint, though, and I slipped his trap, even coming very close to whacking his chest before he struck my spear away with a clean “crack!” at the last instant. More careful now, I still took the fight to him, coming close on occasion, very close with a feint-attack combination that he barely blocked on pure reflex.

“That was superbly done. You are uncommonly good with the spear,” he said.

Then it was his turn. Deciding that he couldn’t play defense and win, he launched an attack that I barely held off, nearly braining me with a blow that would have, at the least, knocked me out through the padded helmet. I didn’t blame him for that. Ketrick fought for his life as a man. Regardless, I had no intention of telling him that he had won his position already. Honor demanded that there be a victor.

“Ketrick, this is your last chance to surrender! Think, with your fighting skills, you would surely be first girl!”

He laughed as if it were funny, and attacked in earnest. This time, neither of us backed off an inch. After long seconds of thrusts and counter thrusts, his superior weight and strength took its toll; he pushed my shaft wider than I liked and smacked a blow that nearly broke one of my ribs, not a fatal wound under real conditions, but certainly disabling.

Der yelled, “Touch!” and we stopped. Straightening brought pain: My ribs would be sore tonight and probably for days.

I walked to Ketrick’s side, taking care not to show weakness in front of my men, and removed my helmet. “I will accept you as Weapons Master for one year in lieu of ransom.”

His black eyes shone, and we each clasped each other’s right arm. “Your terms are acceptable, Tyr t’Pol.”

My men cheered, including the two he had defeated earlier. His addition would make us all stronger.

“Good,” I said. “After lunch I’ll instruct the housekeepers to prepare quarters for you in the main house. Your clothes and possessions will be returned to you. Do you have any particular requirements?”

He shook his head. “I would like to watch the men for the remainder of the practice. What are my duties?”

“You will be expected to go on raids, train, fight and give advice when necessary. Unless otherwise informed, you are free when Hadrian’s Gong strikes the evening hour until the breakfast hour.”

“You are generous. I might have served longer, considering the option.”

“It was a fair bargain. It’s what the value of your ransom would have been -- no more, no less.” I slapped his back and left to see the physician in the slave quarters. My ribs were beginning to bother me.

The physician was attending the men he’d injected with Ruk’s Serum. All three had been stripped and collared to their beds. Normally, Ruk’s Serum puts the man or woman into a death-like slumber. As an act of kindness to former warriors, I offered the use of a drug that allowed them to watch their transformation. Only Reder accepted. For an hour in every twelve, he would watch his progress in a mirror placed over his bed before settling back to dreamless sleep.

My wound wasn’t bad, the physician decided, but would require closure. He cleaned it, pulled the skin together, and affixed a patch. I was about to leave the infirmary when Reder called my name.

I came to his bed. “Yes, Reder?”

“Tyr t’Pol, what is to become of me?”

“I thought that was obvious. You are to be a pleasure girl for the men of Eagles. If you please us then you will remain. If you do not, you will be sold.”

He moaned. I noticed that his face was softening. Naturally, with the mirror, he was aware of this as well. “I was first born. My family will be disgraced,” he said.

I patted his hand, not a gesture to warriors, but one used to comfort women. “It’s unlikely that you will ever return to Tulem to cause embarrassment.” I shrugged. “It happens; your family will understand and have another son. Relax and accept your new life. Like any serum girl, you will enjoy being used well and often.”

“Gods,” he said, his voice an hysterical whisper, “my father told me that he’d make me a girl if I didn’t do well on my first assignment. It seems you saved him the trouble.”

“Reder, you turned your back and ran,” I said, annoyed: men should not whine, especially warriors.

He shook his head quickly. “It’s not like that. I deserve what I'm getting. At the critical moment I decided that it wasn’t worth my life to protect trade goods, and put my fellow guards in peril. And now I am trade goods.”

I smiled at the joke, for that was what it was, even though his eyes were half-wild with fear. “A man may make a mistake, but there is honor facing it,” I quoted.

“Then as long as I have my suren, I’ll face it as a man.” He lay back and closed his eyes. I was rising when he reached up and grabbed my shirt. “What will I look like, Tyr t’Pol?”

I was curious myself. I spoke to the physician, then returned.

“You will be beautiful, with chestnut hair, brown eyes, and a sultry smile; a little shorter than her.” I pointed to the physician’s assistant, a taller than average freewoman in a long woolen dress and veil.

He swallowed hard, but he absorbed the news without comment. “Thank you. What will my new name be?”

“Whatever your master decides, Reder.” I gave his hand a last pat, got up and left.

Warriors don’t need much of a reason to drink and brol; the excuse that night was to welcome Ketrick to Eagles. Mindful of Tisa’s warning, I reserved the private room at The Silks, a tavern where I knew the owner. Like most buildings in Batuk, it was constructed of stone, with solid beams for the high slate roof, which gave it an airy feel, and plenty of space for the oil lamp smoke to rise before being evacuated by vents.

Tile and glass murals built into the walls presented famous scenes of Zhor: the markets of Harn, the Yellow Palace, and the Gate of Kiltar with the Resting Mountains in the background, among others. For that special night, bright tapestries dangled from the ceiling, displaying slaves in various positions of interest to men.

A raised stage, about ten feet in diameter, was the room’s main feature. Set around the perimeter were lamps with mirrors positioned to illuminate its occupant, now annoyingly absent -- our entertainment was late.

I sat with Ron and Der on my right and the guest of honor to my left. Our table stood a little too far from the stage to have the best view, but I wanted my back to the wall. Ketrick noticed, but said nothing.

Some of my warriors pounded their mugs at the delay, others amused themselves with the siolat girls, already hard pressed to keep fifty warriors in drink. Fortunately, for all concerned, it wasn’t too long before the doors to the main tavern opened.

Two musicians walked through the door, one carrying a set of hand drums under each arm, and the other with a zylar, holding the array of metal plates to his chest as if it were a woman. The dancing slave followed in translucent yellow pants and sheer top that did nothing to conceal her beauty, with small bells strapped around her ankles and wrists. Behind her was a man dressed as a warrior, an actor for the performance.

The finest dancers are natural slaves with powerful needs, well-ignited and carefully trained. This one was no different. An unconscious twitch of her hip, a side-glance, a casual touch: every movement reflected her intense awareness of the audience.

“Is it the same with slaves in Gerras?” I asked him above the noise as the dancer ascended the stage.

Ketrick’s expression grew distant, as if dusting off an old memory. “Gerras is no more, but it is the same everywhere. Cities have different customs, but the Overlords ensure that some things are universal -- and slaves will always be slaves.”

He spoke as if he knew something of the Overlords. I would have liked to talk further, but the dance was starting. From the first notes on the zylar, I knew it to be “The Capture.”

The girl began in the center, wearing a freewoman’s dress, her body a work of arrogance and boredom. She roamed her world, unconcerned, occasionally brushing the light brown hair from her face. The sweet tones of the zylar rang free and innocent.

The actor dressed as a warrior took the stage behind her and to the side. He pantomimed speaking to her, something respectful and complimentary, but she dismissed whatever he said with a rude gesture. The zylar continued the light tune as he tried once more, this time as politely as a courtier. Again, he was dismissed, this time worse than before, her brown eyes flashing pure conceit. Some in the audience hissed good-naturedly.

The warrior stood back for the moment out of the light, appraising her as she went through her daily activities. The zylar slowed to a somber beat. He moved in and took her, holding her mouth shut while quickly securing her arms expertly behind her back. The zylar and the drums worked together to show efficient work, while hinting at the girl’s fear. A large robe was thrown onto the stage, and the warrior threw it over himself and the struggling girl. Many in the audience cheered.

When the robe was withdrawn, the warrior was gone. The woman lay on the stage with a collar around her neck and most of her clothing missing. The zylar returned to the innocent tones of before. She appeared to be waking up from a long sleep, and stretched. Brushing back her hair, her hand touched her collar. Her surprise was well done and many in the audience laughed. She rose to her feet and discovered her lack of clothing. Her attempts to cover herself were hilarious, and practically the whole room burst into laughter, including me.

She finally gave up and walked a few paces until a chain connecting her collar to an iron ring brought her up short. Frightened now, the music bespoke her panic as she discovered her condition. She strained at her chain, but to no avail: she was helpless. Shock and uncertainty entered her movements. The warrior returned. She tried desperately, but her futility only displayed her body prettily. He moved in and collected her, once again tying her in a slaver’s knot. Exposed and defenseless on the floor, kneeling with her legs spread, she could only move as the warrior wished.

She looked at him then, her demeanor changing from fear to fascination. The music took on an hypnotic quality. He cupped her breasts. She tried to fight it at first, but found it impossible, and swayed helplessly. Her jaw dropped, horrified at her body’s betrayal. His hand reach between her legs, and the girl finally gave up any pretense of denying her pleasure -- and need. She leaned forward, demanding his touch; the warrior had discovered that this arrogant freewoman was a natural slave.

He kissed her, and she softened to his will. He released her arms and waited. Looking into his eyes the whole time, she slowly, hardly believing what she was doing, crossed her arms and bowed her head, submitting to him as a slave. The robe was thrown over them again. The zylar and drums sped up and built to a crescendo, signifying the igniting of a new slave. The robe flew away, and the girl came alive, dancing the way only the utterly uninhibited can dance, proudly, without a hint of shame. The music turned wild, frenzied, and free.

She needed now to be touched by a strong man, a man who would keep her fully under control and subject to his desires. This was no act anymore; it was clear to me, having two slaves of my own, that she was in the deepest thrall. The dance ended with the music. She collapsed on the stage, her chest heaving.

I pounded the table with the rest. A man near me grabbed a siolat girl’s hand and dragged her away. Another, more impatient, simply threw the squealing girl over his shoulder. Our guest of honor drained his siolat, then stood.

“If you don’t want to wait for a girl, Ketrick, I have two in my quarters. You may have Wanda, a skilled passion slave.”

He grinned and rolled his eyes towards the middle of the room. “You are generous, but the one I seek for the night is on stage.”

“The entire night with an aroused serum girl? The way she looks, she could satisfy half the men here.”

“I could have been her if luck hadn’t gone my way this morning. What better way to celebrate one’s manhood?”

He either had an incredible appetite or was full of himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then -- if she hasn’t drained you dry.”

“If I must be drained, it doesn’t seem a bad way,” he replied, and left to ask the girl her master's price.

I left with Ron and Der, remaining between them while they looked for assassins in dark corners and rooftops, keeping their knives close at hand, and tensing at passersby. I despised the need for it, and let it show.

“The danger is real,” my younger brother said to me after we returned to the house. “I’m proud to be your extra set of eyes, and you would do the same for me.” I thanked him; we clasped forearms and separated, but the entire affair left me with a fetid stench.

Was Met really planning to kill me, or was he toying with me? Whatever the truth, I detested having to ask warriors to protect me from my own brother; if it wasn’t cowardice, it felt like its cousin.

The next morning, before breakfast, I visited Ketrick’s quarters and announced myself. The dancer from the previous night let me in. Her eyes gleamed, and she wore the languid smile of the well-brolled.

“Goodbye, Master!” she said, as sweet as any bird, bowed generously to us both, and sped out the door. I searched Ketrick for signs of extraordinary fatigue, but there were none.

“Good morning, Tyr t’Pol. I expected to see you,” Ketrick said.

“I thought it best we establish the protocols before you started training the men.”

“Of course. First, I plan to gain their respect. This may take a day or so. Regrettably, the process may injure one or two -- nothing too severe. After that, the real training may begin.”

I laughed. “You have done this before.”

“Once or twice,” he admitted.

As Ketrick predicted, he was challenged. It was just warriors testing themselves. It stopped after two were sent to the infirmary -- one with a broken arm -- a rough pair of demonstrations, but ones that warriors understood. Gradually, I noticed the little things about him: superb balance, concentration, a way of movement difficult to describe -- a deceptively loose and easy defense flowing instantly into a savage attack. There might have been better warriors at individual disciplines, but overall, Ketrick was the best I’d ever seen.

He never bragged or concerned himself too much with rank. Ketrick accorded me full respect as Commander, effortlessly, in a manner that did not diminish him. He remained something of a mystery, aloof but friendly, and had a habit of turning aside personal questions. I grew interested in our new Weapons Master. It would have been impolite to ask him about his past, but there were ways.

The next morning I rode to the Batuk Scholars Institute. The huge columns and high ceilings of its central building was of an older style centuries out of date. Part of it was was a school for those who could afford it, which helped keep the Scholars Guild solvent. The other half was the Institute proper, the library and an annex, where Scholars researched, copied, recorded, and wrote papers.

I tied my horse to the post outside and climbed the broad marble stairs. The Great Hall hadn’t changed from when I’d seen it last, years ago when I’d been to school; maybe the purple carpet was more threadbare, and the voluminous interior was still hard to heat; it retained the night’s cold.

I went to the main visitor’s desk. Mostan Yarr, a scholar and former teacher of mine, manned its environs today. I doubted that he remembered me; I hadn’t been one of his favorites. “Scholar Yarr, I seek information,” I said, using the traditional form of request. He blinked, not recognizing me, yet not surprised that I knew his name. I supposed it was possible that he was now famous throughout Zhor, though I thought it unlikely.

“Who are you, warrior, and what information do you seek?” he asked.

“I’m Tyr t’Pol. I seek information on a war leader from Gerras named Ketrick.”

He considered a moment and checked a list. “You need to see Hana l’Lina in the West Wing. She should be in the main Reading Room. Pay me a silver first, warrior.”

The scholars in the Guild had a high opinion of themselves. “I give you my word that I will give you ten coppers after I find Hana l’Lina, and if she can answer a simple question. Is that sufficient, Scholar?”

He grimaced. “I suppose that will do,” he said with poor grace.

I nodded and left. Hana l’Lina was not in the Reading Room. She was on a ladder in the Histories Chamber looking for a book on the highest level, twelve feet above the floor. I waited, but she wasn’t inclined to recognize my presence.

“Scholar Hana l’Lina, I’m Tyr t’Pol. I was directed to you to ask a question.”

She looked down. The woman’s face was attractive, although not beautiful. Gray robes with the silver trim of an associate scholar covered most of her feminine attributes. She sighed. “Give me a second.” A moment later she stood next to me. “What can I do for you, warrior?”

“I need information on a war leader named Ketrick of Gerras.”

“Do you know when he existed?”

“I believe that he exists now.”

She regarded me skeptically. “Gerras was a medium-sized city-state in the southeast. It was destroyed in a war almost two hundred years ago. I’ve heard the name before, but I don’t recall the context.” She stood, waiting, as if that should satisfy my warrior’s curiosity.

“I am paying for the information, Scholar.”

She rolled her eyes, defeated. “Very well. Please follow me.”

I followed her to a smaller room. A woman scholar reclined in an upholstered chair by the entrance, a love story resting in her lap and her feet crossed atop a footstool.

“Jara, where is the Gerras reference?” Hana asked her.

Jara looked up long enough to point to the far wall. “Second shelf, a few books from the left end.”

Hana found the book and moved to a table, motioning with her finger to take a seat beside her. She said, “This is the only dedicated history of Gerras we have. It’s over two hundred years old. You understand I can’t vouch for the accuracy, not having anything substantial to cross-reference against?”

“If you say so.”

“Very well.” She skimmed the chapters until she came to a section about halfway through. “This Ketrick was a war leader for King Hartern almost three hundred years ago. Apparently he was quite a colorful character. According to this, he was a superb warrior, although,” she said, giving me a side glance, “I wouldn’t give that too much credence. Too many famous people seem to be great warriors. He was an effective war leader. Under his command, Gerras held off Waer, a city with greater forces, and defeated them. He was adept at trickery and disguise, often going on missions himself.”

“Does the book carry a description of him?”

“Hmm. Tall, swarthy, black hair and eyes, strong, rugged. The usual, really.” She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Oh, and he seemed to have extraordinary, um, requirements. At one time he had three women he’d abducted in his stable. Does that description match the person you know?”

“Actually, it does.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Truly? Are you sure? That makes him one of the oldest living warriors.”

I agreed. I thanked her, paid the ten coppers, and left. I wasn’t too long getting back. I met Ketrick on the field as he supervised the spear practice.

“Ketrick, I’d like to talk to you about Tulem,” I said.

He barely twitched. “I’ll tell you what I can. Would you like to speak somewhere more private?”

“Yes. Walk with me.” We walked to the edge of the training grounds by the slave quarters, where I stopped and faced him. “I’m concerned. There is no reason I can think of for Tulem to provoke Batuk by disputing borders that have been settled for hundreds of years. You came from Tulem. I want to know what insights you have into the matter.”

He considered, deciding what to say, possibly -- or judging me. I knew him better now. It wasn’t arrogance; Ketrick was confident in the way that comes from knowing one’s own capabilities. Put into its proper context, I remembered seeing something of that look before in the very old, men and women who gazed through the weighty fabric of centuries.

Most were academicians or those who followed some other safe occupation, fortunate enough to survive the daily hazards and war. Their days tended to repeat life rather than to advance it, a cart in a rut, but Ketrick was a warrior, one of those who lived closest to the boundary of life and death. How would such a man see the world after three hundred years? My father, at one hundred twenty-five, was considered ancient. He’d told us once that he’d decided to have three male children to ensure that at least one of us survived to inherit, and he hadn’t been joking.

“I’m an outsider; I doubt that anyone would listen to me.”

“And yet we are here, alone, and I have asked the question.”

He grinned, and I faced the incongruity that the man I had captured and forced to serve Eagles approved of me.

“They’re preparing for war against Batuk. I’d give them about a year before they attack.”

“What? By the Gods, why would they want to attack us?”

“They suffer from an abundance of aristocracy. Tulem has two rival royal families of roughly equal size: the Giovannis and the Borodins. Their numbers have doubled in the last hundred years. Practically the only thing the families agree on is that one family should leave the valley. The conquest of Batuk and the installation of one of the royal families here would be the perfect solution.”

Of all the cities around us, Tulem was the most mysterious. Few from Batuk had been to their valley in the mountains and few from Tulem left their idyllic environs to visit us. “I see. Does their king approve?”

“I’m sure he does. Conditions are ripe for a civil war; King Bruno would want to avoid that as much as anyone.”

“What’s your evidence?”

“Observations, conversations. I have no witnesses or documents.”

“I’m not surprised. Go on.”

“First, I have had experience in similar situations. My claim that I …”

I held up my hand. “You are Ketrick, the former War Leader of Gerras, a city-state in the southeast that was destroyed two hundred years ago. I did some checking.”

He tilted his head to the side slightly, as if to view me from a different perspective. “I’m gratified to hear it, for it would be difficult to prove who I am after all this time. Just out of curiosity, how do you know for certain? How do the records describe me -- tall, handsome, strong, excellent fighter…”

“’Rugged’ was the word the book used. People may change their appearance, but some things usually stay the same. How many freewomen did you abduct and make slaves while you served King Hartern?”

“Hmm. That was a long time ago, but I still remember. The last was a screamer and was nearly my death. There were three.” His expression turned to surprise, and then he laughed heartily. “Gods! Caught out by a serum girl.”

I chuckled as well at life’s twists and ironies. “You were about to explain how you know that Tulem will make war on us.”

He went on to describe a long list: Giovanni and Borodin lords wearing military-style garments in the taverns, word of the nobility training on the field behind the city, exceptional orders for steel, and more that at first made no sense to me, like grumbling from artisans who had had their work canceled for the castles in the valley, meaning that the lords were saving their gold for some other purpose.

“The details are inconsequential by themselves,” he said, “but each is a piece of a puzzle that forms the preparations for war.”

“And your assessment of a war with Batuk and Tulem?”

“Batuk would lose.”

“What?”

“You have no real army to defend yourself. Batuk thinks it’s invulnerable because of the Fortress. That’s a dream. The Fortress is impressive, but it can be taken.”

The Fortress was, among other thing, our refuge from invaders, with wells sunk hundreds of feet through solid rock, and a year’s supply of food for the entire population. Batuk had never been seriously challenged since it had been constructed. The cost in blood and gold to take it would be incredible.

“How in Hades could Tulem take the Fortress?”

“Treachery and sabotage set in place long beforehand. I believe that there are spies right now who live in the Fortress and the city, biding their time to cause mischief: opening gates to invaders, poisoning wells and stores of food, assassinating key people. Timed right, you couldn’t stop them. If a large enough army attacked Batuk, you would have to retreat to the Fortress. With food and water unavailable, the Fortress would have to surrender.”

I looked to the north where the enormous black Fortress towered over the city, a hill of carved rock, the symbol of strength and security for everyone who lived here, and forced myself to consider the unthinkable. The thought sickened me; if the wrong people were in key places … but there was one glaring discrepancy.

“No. The Overlords wouldn’t allow Tulem to become so powerful. Even if Tulem attacked us, looted the city, and ransomed our citizens, they wouldn’t be permitted to rule here.”

“I’m not so sure that I would depend on our mysterious Overlords. I see it developing this way: You’re already in a conflict with Tulem. Tulem decides to escalate this border war into an attack on the city, on the surface, a legitimate tactic of war. You fight them at your walls, which quickly fall, and then retreat to your Fortress, which surrenders. The new rulers take control, immediately declare a King of Batuk, and sever all ties to their old home.

“Batuk is left largely intact, your people are alive and well -- minus five to ten thousand or so of its citizens -- and Tulem’s rule remains confined to Tulem. Are you positive the Overlords would interfere?”

“That’s horseshit! Batuk would never submit to an invader.”

He looked back with cool black eyes. “I’m sure that when the time comes, you will fight fiercely, but it is difficult to watch women and children starve to death,” he said, the chill in his voice telling me that he spoke from experience. “I do not impugn the bravery of Batuk’s citizens, Tyr t’Pol.”

I took a long, deep breath before addressing him again. Whatever happened would happen. A warrior did not deny reality, he dealt with what the Gods gave him. “I apologize. You did not insult Batuk. Besides, despite all this talk of invasion, there is no proof of anything.”

“None. I could be wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“But you think it likely.”

“It matches the facts as I know them, and it’s what I would do if I were in their position. If you’ve read of the war between Gerras and Weir, you’d know that I’m familiar with this kind of warfare.”

“Assuming that the invasion is real, what could we do about it?”

He shrugged. “A large standing army would help. Expelling those who have recently moved to Batuk would work as well -- say those who have lived here for the past two years or so -- that’s assuming you could locate them, that is. Spies can be hard to find.”

Batuk hadn’t been at war for more than a hundred years. Our elected representatives were men whose qualities included agile tongues and little else. “Nothing that drastic would be approved by the council without absolute proof,” I said.

“As you say.”

I frowned. “We need more than bits and pieces. Spies must be sent to verify what you’ve said.”

“Of course. A meeting with the Batuk Spymaster should suffice. I’d be pleased to talk with him, even blindfolded to protect his identity. Who knows? It’s possible that he has spies in Tulem right now and the situation is well under control.”

I burned with embarrassment, but there was no way to avoid it. “Batuk hasn’t had a spymaster for decades. I would have to tell the council.”

Ketrick’s smile slid into something less pleasant, and I glimpsed his opinion of a city that entrusted its security to politicians. I flushed further. Although I would die for Batuk, I privately agreed.

“Tyr t’Pol, if there is a single spy in Batuk, and, with your entire city wide-open, there must be, then the first place they would penetrate would be your government. Two days after your council decided to send spies, Tulem would know about it, and it’s worse than that: Tulem is not easy to get into.”

“Tulem’s gate?”

“It’s the only way in and out. They screen everyone; they know the names and business of everyone in the valley. It’s hard enough to send spies to Tulem now. If Tulem knew that Batuk was suspicious it would be impossible.”

“And we would never know their plans for us until it was too late.”

“Yes. In fact it’s possible that they created this border conflict to have a plausible excuse to tighten their screening at the gate and hide what they were doing. What’s losing a few caravans compared to gaining an entire city?”

“If I go to the council then we lose the chance to find out what they’re up to. If I don’t, then nothing happens and we remain in ignorance. Although -- I suppose it would be possible to send spies to Tulem without the council’s knowledge.”

Ketrick grinned. “A bold move. It would have to be carefully planned and executed.”

“This is far above my station. My father would know what to do.”

“You must do your duty as you see fit, but unless you’re sure your father believes the threat is real, and wouldn’t take this to the council, I’d have a plan ready before you talk to him and a way to convince him. There’s time to do this right. If you want, I’ll help you.”

Even considering not telling father felt like a betrayal. Still, to Father, Ketrick was simply a foreigner. When I’d told my father of my exchange with Heydar, he had discarded it as youthful imagination -- but I knew what I’d seen.

“Ketrick, why are you so interested in Batuk’s welfare?”

“You haven’t been to Tulem, have you?”

“No.”

He rubbed his chin for a moment. “Tulem lacks the essence of what you and I would find vital and alive. I can’t be much more explicit than that without showing you. And I admit that I like Batuk much better now that I’m not going to be a barracks slut.”

“It’s fortunate that you are so skilled with weapons. You would have made an ugly girl.”

He winced, remembering the other day. “That was too close with you; I haven’t been challenged like that in many years.”

I slapped him on the back. “You were safe after the first series. Even if you had lost to me, you’d have kept your suren.”

“Well, you might have told me,” he chuckled. “I could have cracked your skull. At the very least, you would have saved yourself a nasty bruise.”

I shook my head, looking him in the eye. “No. The men expected to see us fight to the end, and we needed to know how good you were. I don’t regret losing to a more skilled opponent.”

“I agree in general, but testing the principal too often is not the way to a long life. Very well. Whatever happens, this next year should be interesting.”

“Less so if we can do something about it. Think about a plan to get spies into Tulem, and we will speak of this again -- soon.”
 
Chapter 2
 
 
I left Ketrick at the practice field a half-hour before the gong sounded, stopping by the infirmary to have the physician apply a new sealer and patch over my ribs. After this was done, I checked on the new serum girls.

All three were far along, looking more like girls than men. I went to Reder’s side. He was softer. His hips were wider and his genitalia was down to a nub. He had more than just incipient breasts, although his nipples were still small; and he had shrunk a few inches. His face was already attractive, with the potential for great beauty. I thought he was asleep until he raised his eyelids and looked at me; his eyes, now brown, were glazed over in fear.

“Tyr t’Pol …” he said, hesitating at his feminine voice, “... I look like a woman.”

“When next you awaken, you will be a lovely woman. Half of Zhor is women, and you’ll be one of the prettiest. Freewomen will be jealous,” I added, trying to cheer him up. I don’t think I succeeded.

“If I must be a woman, I don’t want to be a slave. I want to be free.”

“As your body remolds itself, so, too, will your thoughts become those of a natural slave. After your training you will embrace your desires. Accept it, Reder; you're a serum girl, and there is no going back.”

“A -- a pleasure slave…” He stared at himself in the mirror above his head. “I’m almost gone now. In a half-day, who will remember Reder?”

I took his hand and gripped it tightly. “I will remember. Tell me about yourself. Where do you come from; who were your friends; who is Reder?”

He smiled very slightly. For the rest of the hour before Reder fell back into the dreamless sleep he told me who he was. While he spoke, the last bit of his manhood withdrew inside, and a woman’s crease formed. Reder, now a girl, watched me the entire time and didn’t notice, and I didn’t mention it.

I was outside the infirmary the next morning when the men in black leather from the Slavers Trainers Guild led our serum girls away. They were naked, in chains, and all of them wept, having been given their first taste of discipline from the slave whip, a contrivance designed to sting a girl’s soft skin, but not to leave marks. They were all beauties, of course: Kedlos, the redhead, the smallest and most frightened; Halter, the blonde, she of the deliciously rounded hips, and breasts somewhat larger than the others, weeping and angry at the same time; and Reder, now a gorgeous brunette with eyes like a deer, afraid and crying bitter tears.

They were slaves now, although they wouldn’t be branded until later in the day. It was extremely unlikely that they felt the urges yet, but that would come quickly enough under the slavers’ tutelage. It seemed heartless, for I didn’t care to see girls whipped without a reason, even if they were slaves, but it was best not to delay; the sooner they discovered who they were, the better for them, as well as the men they would serve.

They ascended the steps of the wagon and one of the slavers chained them into place from links in their collars. Once they were secured, he stepped down from the cage and went around to join the other in the front. All three girls still cried, rubbing their backs and bottoms, which still stung from the whip, and stared at their surroundings, all so much bigger now, and to themselves, gaping down past soft mounds across an empty expanse to the top of a gap where none had been before.

I watched Reder as they pulled away. For a moment our eyes met. She was terrified; her big brown eyes streamed tears. With a visible effort, she sniffled her last, swept her hair behind her, and stood up straight. I nodded back, proud of her for facing her fate. She would be, I surmised, a popular girl at Eagles, compassionate, outgoing, and strong.

Several days passed. I had asked Ketrick twice about Tulem. He was still thinking, he told me, and I believed him, spotting him on more than one occasion looking towards the south and east where Tulem lay. A week later he approached me in the corridor before breakfast.

“I’ve had some thoughts on the matter,” Ketrick said.

“That’s good, because I still don’t have a clue. I’m beginning to understand how difficult this is. Where do you want to meet?”

“At the Silks, in the room with the dancing girl, two hours after Hadrian’s Gong. You should come alone.”

“Very well.”

Since Ron and Der would not be there to protect my back, I left early and took the back streets, choosing a course down avenues and alleys that turned often but didn’t repeat or double back. The tavern was crowded, but not as packed as the night when Eagles had occupied it. Ketrick was in the far corner to my left as I entered the room.

Most other tables were occupied that evening, but Ketrick sat alone, sipping a cup of siolat at a table for six, unsurprising, since he wore brooding menace like a cloak. When he saw me, he shifted subtly, and his demeanor turned to welcome as if the implied threat had never been, a good trick that I decided I would learn.

I sat against the wall so I could watch the door and waved to a slave, a blonde with a tray of cups and a pitcher. She failed the inevitable comparison with Angel, although I was biased. The girl was beautiful, as the vast majority of serum girls are, sharing DNA with the finest slaves Zhor had ever seen.

“Master,” the slave said as she poured my cup. She waited a second or two in case I should choose to use her, but I wasn’t in the mood. When she left, I turned my head toward my Weapons Master.

“Tyr t’Pol…” Ketrick began.

“Call me Tyr.”

He smiled. “Tyr, then, and you may call me Ketrick. I’m nearly positive that I could get into the valley because I’m known there, but for anyone else it would be too dangerous.”

“Damn.” I had hoped for better. “What about changing a man’s appearance?”

“It’s a common trick, and occasionally useful when one has the time, but not for Tulem. First, we would have to capture a man going to Tulem, then create a close match of his DNA, not an easy thing to do without extensive testing beforehand. Assuming this could be done without wasting too much time, it’s still a risk.

“If we duplicate a Tulem citizen, his family or friends would know him for a fraud. Duplicating a trader and his assistants would be better, but a trader normally enters, makes his trades, and leaves within a matter of a few days, probably not enough time to find out what we need. Staying too long would be suspicious. The rare visitor who wants to see the famous Tulem valley might not be admitted or, if he did gain entry, would certainly be closely watched -- especially now.”

“You said that you could get inside.”

Ketrick nodded. “It would be difficult, and harder the longer I’m gone, but I think I could talk my way in. The problem with me as a spy is the same one I have now: I wouldn’t be believed when I returned to Batuk.”

I leaned back and sighed. “All right. Then in several months, I’ll tell my father. Eagles will do its best to secure the well and food in the Fortress. We’ll warn the people and make them believe somehow.”

“It’s a start, and it might work.” He didn’t sound particularly encouraging.

I was suddenly weary of failure and pessimism. I glared at him. “Well, it’s all I can do, given what I know!”

He spoke slowly and evenly: “Tyr, there is nothing wrong with your plan; it may be the best that can done under the circumstances. I’m just being realistic. I haven’t stopped thinking, and neither should you. There’s nearly always a way; sometimes it isn’t easy to see.”

“Of course,” I replied, reddening a little at my outburst. “At least we have a chance -- if Tulem should ever invade.”

He pulled a corner of his mouth up into a half-smile and tipped his cup of siolat in my direction. “There’s always a chance, and a great deal can happen in a year. For the moment, be satisfied that you’ve done what you could. Have you noticed that The Silks serves fine siolat? Further, the women here are hot, should a man be interested in that sort of thing.”

He was right. Worrying too much can paralyze a man and steal everything that makes life worth living. I finished my siolat and called for another, pointing to a slim girl to serve me. I selected her because she was the opposite of my Angel in every way save beauty: shorter, black eyes, lustrous black curly hair that spilled over both front and back, and dusky skin.

I led her to an alcove, where I took her exactly the way a man should with a slave, allowing her nothing save what I wished. I forced her to acknowledge her true self in low, husky cries. As her natural slave nature was satisfied, she thrashed beneath me and wailed her joy. She emerged from the alcove smiling, and I returned to the table, where Ketrick had already ordered more siolat. We laughed and spoke of warrior affairs, compared the slaves we had used, and I tried another. When it was time to leave, hours later, both of us were drunk, me more so than Ketrick.

As we staggered out into the street, I thought I spotted Der’s reflection in the glass, but whoever it was, he was gone in an instant. I shook my head to clear it. I had known Der since we were boys. If it were he, then surely he would have joined us, or at least passed us a greeting.

I stumbled through my door late that night, grinning like an idiot. “Angel!” I shouted.

“Master!” her voice returned like sweet music.

I laughed. Seeing her was enough to bring a smile at any time. Angel yanked on my boots and tugged on my clothing, and before long there was nothing between us. When I stood beside her she sniffed the air. To her sharp nose, the smell of two women lay heavily on my body. She said nothing to me directly -- no master worth the name would have tolerated open disapproval from a slave, even Angel -- but, like most slaves, she was jealous, and her movements became brisk.

I shrugged. A little jealousy was good for her. A slave needed to be reminded from time to time who runs things. Angel and Wanda would have been disgusted if I were too weak to control or discipline them when necessary.

As I sank into the hot bath, Angel kept second girl away with a look and joined me, using the sponge and soap to sluice away the grime of the day and the aroma of siolat girls. I would have enjoyed more time in the water, but I had a long day ahead. Later, when I lay in the pelts watching the world revolve over my head, Angel slipped in beside me, and casually allowed her hand to drift. I smiled, knowing what she was doing, and let her, for if it worked or not, I would not be the loser. She was successful this time, and she squealed in delight as I forced her legs wide and took her. If I didn’t last as long as usual, it still satisfied her main objective: her scent would be on me in the morning, and she fell asleep with a smile.

Feeling expansive, I motioned for Wanda to join us. I fell asleep between two beautiful slaves: one blonde and one with hair like the night, thinking that life could not be better.

During the next week, I’d thought of a way to help determine if Tulem was really thinking of attacking us, and was in a good mood. Ketrick and I went wenching a few times. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Met and I were not the closest of brothers, but among men, until a matter is mentioned, it is private. When I noticed Ketrick guarding my back and glancing frequently towards the door, I told him my suspicions about my older brother.

I wasn’t surprised to hear that he’d already figured most of it out. “Be careful, Tyr,” he said, deadly serious. “You’re in a bad place; you have no room for error.”

I raised my cup and finished it in a single motion, then grinned at him. “I never visit the same tavern twice and I take pains to ensure that I’m not followed. I’m probably in less danger drinking and wenching than staying in my own rooms.”

He looked at me closely. “Not bad, as far as it goes, but the real key to staying alive…”

I cut him off with a gesture. “This sounds like the beginning of a lecture. Knowing some of your past, I’d say, ancient warrior, that the key to your survival has been unnatural luck.”

Ketrick grinned very slightly. “I’ve had more than my share. What I was about to say, infant, is while it is true that the aggressive way is often safer than living behind a wall, the key is not movement, it is unpredictability, or better yet, non-availability.”

I shrugged. “Then I’ll do my best to be with people I trust and remain unpredictable until my father makes up his mind about the succession.”

“Probably the only thing you can do short of leaving Batuk.”

The next morning, an hour after Hadrian’s Gong, Ron, Der, and I stood outside the slave quarters. The slave trainers were punctual; their wagon was rolling down the drive. Behind the bars, the new girls for Eagles stood around the center pole, chained to loops on their unadorned black collars. They wore generic black slave tunics, the color of the Guild.

I nudged my brother. “Which do you like?” He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head this way and that, so much the slave connoisseur at the tender age of twenty-two that I burst out laughing. He ignored me.

“I like the blonde, Flower,” he said.

I looked at him curiously.

“She has larger breasts than the others,” he explained. I shrugged. It wasn’t the most sophisticated method of choosing a girl, but what he said was true.

“I’ll take the brunette,” I said. “Der, unless you have an objection, take the redhead. Test them, but don’t expect trained pleasure girls.”

“Right, Tyr,” Der replied. Ron nodded.

I stepped forward when the wagon stopped. The slaver, a pretty brunette in shiny black leather, her hair pulled into a severe bun, stepped out and strode to the rear, casually pulling her slave whip from the leather harness on her hip. The three slaves shrank at the sight. Like all trained slaves, they had tasted the lash many times against their tender skins.

It isn’t true that slavers lack emotion. I’ve seen members of their guild, men and women, laugh, cry, fight and love. It’s characteristic of any trade to be immune to the toughest elements: the tanner ignores the smell of curing hides; the farmer, the hard work under the sun; the warrior, injuries and pain. Each takes pride in his work. So it is with the men and women of the Slavers Guild. Some men are not suited to train slaves. It is the nature of the natural slave to wail the hardest before she knows herself. To a man, the cry of a woman in pain is a terrible thing. A successful slaver overcomes that, understanding that misplaced kindness is detrimental to the girl’s happiness.

And yet, there may be some truth to the rumor that they feel less than most. Slaver men and women rarely marry outside their Guild, and love slave-love master relationships among them are rare.

The slaver hoisted herself into the back of the wagon with an athletic movement. Her black leather dress had long slits cut on the sides for ease of motion, and revealed shapely legs. She attached their chains to a long chain of her own, then unsnapped the girls from the center pole, never for a moment allowing a girl to remain unsecured.

“Out!” she ordered, pointing with the whip.

“Yes, Mistress!” they called back, a chorus of pleasing voices.

She led them around the wagon and lined them up before us. The Slave Mistress linked the end of the chain to a ring on the wagon and approached me with a writing-board.

“I'm Senior Slave Mistress Fleurie. All three slaves are present and trained. Will you take possession now?”

“I am Tyr t’Pol. I’ll take possession, but we’ll test them first.”

The slightest tightening in her jaw showed her annoyance. Slavers generally do not care to have their work questioned. “The test is your right. How long do you expect this will take?”

I glanced towards my brother, who already showed his anticipation, and towards Der, who was less obvious. “I’d say about an hour after the physical inspection. We'll order refreshments for you and your driver while you wait.”

She shrugged, having no choice in the matter. “Very well.”

The three slaves stood in line, looking nervously at us. Reder was more submissive than I’d remembered, but that was expected after two weeks with the slavers. Her pretty brown eyes lowered when she saw me, even blushing. I felt her interest, her reactions to my presence. When she had left, her urges had been dormant. They were no longer. I removed her garment to examine her, as only a fool examines a girl clothed. She didn’t wince or attempt to cover herself as many new serum girls often do, but stood there, head held high and chest out, proud of her body.

She had reason. I walked around her once, noting the exquisite shape of her breasts and thighs, and the flare of her hips. I saw no sign of abuse, not that I’d expected any. The slavers were professionals.

The Slave Mistress nodded towards her. “Unlike the blonde, who whined constantly, this slave required little discipline.”

“She has retained her spirit,” I observed. Looking straight into her brown eyes, she looked right back at me, smiling very slightly. Before I knew it, I was smiling back.

Slave Mistress Fleurie frowned, thinking the girl was being insolent, and un-strapped her whip. “Allow me to correct her!”

“No,” I said, holding up my hand. “Eagles has strong men; they require strong girls. I’m satisfied here. Now for the test.”

“As you wish.”

I led the slave who had once been the warrior, Reder, to a side room with a mattress and pelts. I placed my hands over her shoulders. They were no longer thick and corded from decades of hard training; they were the soft, slender shoulders of a woman.

“You’re a beautiful girl. What did the slavers call you?”

“Thank you, Master. They called me Peaches,” she said, blushing.

I laughed. It was a ridiculous name, even for a slave. “I’ll call you Rita.”

“Yes, Master. I am Rita.”

I pulled her to me and gave her a masters kiss. Instead of melting immediately into submission, as most slaves are eager to do, she fought me. I’d met a few that tried. Angel still did, Wanda sometimes, and, on rare occasions, a lively siolat girl. I welcomed the challenge, and imposed my will until her nature forced her to give up.

With a small cry, Rita submitted, her slim arms clinging to my back, and her body pressing against me. “Master,” she breathed.

I brought her along slowly until I had a good feel for her. While the slavers had done a good job freeing her from her former self, I was sure there was some of the old Reder in her, although I had not known him well. All traces of the male were gone and she moaned like any slave, yet she was recognizable.

I brought her to a string of powerful slave orgasms that squeezed me hard, making her scream and twist her head back and forth uncontrollably. After I pleased myself, I removed myself from her environs. She smiled, and rolled to my side.

“Speak freely, Rita. Are you happy?” I asked.

“Yes, Master. I may not be happy tomorrow, and have no illusions that life as pleasure girl to Eagles will be unremitting joy, but right now I'm happy.”

That was more than a siolat girl would say. Angel talked a lot, too, but wasn’t usually so cynical or incisive. I propped myself up on my elbow and considered her. “I don’t think your personality has changed very much. You have the same look as the girl I met the day before your transformation was complete, and I see something of the former warrior.”

She cried a few quiet tears. “I hoped that it would be that way for me, Master. I have changed -- deep inside. I love men. The slavers brought the urges fully to life, but somehow I still feel the same, if I may be allowed that contradiction. I’ve seen the others. The girl the slavers called Tulip, whom I knew well as Kedlos, is a rather silly girl now. Flower has changed, too, although I wonder how much that has to do with who she was and how much the slavers disciplined her. She cried, whimpered, and complained so much that even the other girls in the slave pens lost patience with her.”

“She won’t find life to her liking if she continues that at Eagles.”

“Yes, Master. The men of Eagles are strong. She will be forced to please them.”

“As will you, Rita.”

She smiled. “Master, I’m a slut. I enjoy pleasing men.”

“Then you’ll be ecstatic.”

She laughed, not the shy giggle that one would expect from a new slave, but the self-assured laugh of a girl pleased to be herself.

“How do you explain how the others were changed, yet you were not?”

“Master, I believe that it was because the other girls were frightened.”

I looked at her curiously. “You knew you would return a slave and a pleasure girl, but you weren’t terrified?”

“No, Master,” she said, shaking her thick, dark brown mane attractively. “I wasn’t terrified in the camp. I was scared when they whipped us before driving us into the slave wagon, but even then, I decided to accept who I must be.” Rita looked straight at me, her heart-shaped face overwhelmed with joy and pride. “Master, you had everything to do with it. You were kind to me as I changed in the infirmary, but it was what you did just before we passed through the gate that meant the most.

“You looked at me confidently and smiled; you expected me to be strong. I thought of you often in the camp, and learned my lessons well, without protest or fear. The branding was the worst of it, but when the hot iron seared the vaec into my thigh, I had prepared myself. The slavers feel that a girl is more pliable when she is afraid, and so they found excuses to beat us, but I knew what they were doing, and learned well enough so that I was rarely whipped or disciplined. I am overjoyed that it was you who took me first. While I was in your arms, I tried to show you that the girl you had gifted with a smile was strong; that the girl you had sent away was still there.”

“You did. It took some time to force your submission, and I’m pleased that you are much the same as you were.” I would have liked to continue the conversation, but there were other matters more pressing. I sat up cross legged and motioned her up. “Rita! Sit up.”

Her eyes grew large at my sharp command. “Yes, Master!” she said, scrambling to her knees.

“What do you know of Tulem invading Batuk?”

She stared at me, mouth wide open. “Invasion, Master? Tulem wants to invade Batuk?”

Her shock was too real to be faked. “When was the last time you were in Tulem?”

“A ... a month ago, Master!”

That was about a month or two after the preparations started, if Ketrick’s reports were to be believed, as I was nearly certain they could be, but the early signs had been subtle. Reder, an ordinary guard, would not be likely to know much, if anything. There were answers she was likely to have, but I didn’t know the right questions -- yet.

“Who is your Master?”

“You are, Master!”

“You are an intelligent girl. Follow me closely. You are no longer Reder, warrior of Tulem. You are a slave of Eagles and are expected to obey instantly and completely. I’ve heard credible reports of preparations in Tulem to invade Batuk. What can you tell me?”

She hands flew to cover the sides of her face and mouth. “M -- Master? I don’t know anything about that!” She cringed as if I were going to hit her, although I hadn’t moved.

“There’s nearly always something: a small detail, a snippet of conversation that only now, in context, fully makes sense. I’ll tell you some of what I have heard and you will confirm or deny.” I ran down the long list of items Ketrick had noticed. She shook her head helplessly on nearly everything, not too surprising, as most of what Ketrick had heard was specialized knowledge, such as contracts, work orders, and the like. Rita had lived in a village outside the city proper, and would have been unlikely to know any of that. She was able to corroborate only one piece of the puzzle: the new uniforms of the aristocracy, describing them accurately. But I needed more. One detail that might, by itself, be no more than a fashion trend wasn’t nearly enough.

“When I spoke to Heydar…” I began. When she flinched, I leaned forward to within a few inches of her face. “What do you know of Heydar?”

“Nothing much, Master! He is the King’s man, and Flower -- Halter -- was his friend.”

I stared at her. She blinked a couple of times and chewed fetchingly on her lip, but volunteered nothing further.

“Heydar made no effort to save Halter.”

“Heydar was a convenient friend, Master. Nonetheless, the two were close at one time.”

“Very well. Put on your tunic, Rita, and don’t say anything to Flower.”

She lowered her head. “Yes, Master,” she replied, subdued and saddened.

A master never apologizes to a slave. Rita knew my citizen’s obligation to protect Batuk, and would understand in time that I'd had no choice, and had, in fact, gone easy with her. A warrior would have understood that instinctively. But she wasn’t a warrior anymore, only a slave girl who had thought well of me. I left in a foul mood.

Slave Mistress Fleurie glared at me when I emerged into the sun, one hand perched on her hip while the other toyed with her whip. It was a reaction born of long experience with slaves, for surely exposing the slave whip, designed to lash soft female skin, could not have been meant to intimidate a warrior.

“I regret the delay, Slave Mistress. She was so good that I lost all track of time.”

Her mouth formed a thin line across her face, but said nothing. That was the weakness of women slavers: eternally denied the pleasure of joining with the slave girls they trained, they could never be quite sure when a man speaking of being with a woman was serious.

Der and Ron lounged by their slaves in the shade of a tree. They told me that their girls were adequate, so I signed the transfer, and the slavers departed.

I didn’t get back to the men until lunch. After interrogating Kedlos, whom Der had renamed Kitten, and Flower, I had much to think about. Kitten had known about as much as Rita. Flower, however, had opened like a blossom. The blubbering blonde recalled a night in a tavern in better days, and a cryptic comment from Heydar about extending Tulem’s border to the our Undine river -- all this occurring before the border dispute even started. Flower also recalled Heydar’s passing sneer that evening, that he wouldn’t be surprised if a king soon ruled in Batuk’s fortress -- and more: the best evidence of all, a previously unknown contract with Flower’s uncle for ten thousand spearheads, a staggering number for a valley of about one hundred thousand.

I told Ketrick about what I’d learned before lunch.

He gave me a good long look, sympathetic but also pleased that his word was vindicated. “So, now you believe,” he said.

“I do. Except for Tulem’s spies, there are now two people in Batuk who understand that war is coming. It still doesn’t change anything: the council wouldn’t accept hearsay from a slave.”

I was distracted that afternoon. I blocked a practice spear against my teeth, nothing serious, but enough to spit blood, and one of my men laid open my forearm with a wooden sword. Unwilling to abandon my men twice in one day, I bound it up tightly with a cloth to stop the bleeding, When Hadrian’s Gong ended the day, the arm was swollen and painful. The physician applied some ointment and a patch, and sent me off. I ate carefully around the injury in my mouth. Uneasy with the events of the day, even the food tasted different. A night out in a tavern didn't help either, and I left early. Back in my apartments, I realized that it was more than worry about Tulem: I had trouble concentrating on Angel. I tired quickly, and was slightly nauseous when I passed into dreamless slumber.
 
 

 

Tyr wakes up a very different person. Tyra is forced to renounce her past, abandon her place as her father's son and heir, and remake herself as her mother's daughter. Old friends become strangers. A new bond is forged with her sister, Tisa, but is it enough to save her?

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 3
 
 
My eyelids opened slowly, then focused. The ceiling was not my own. I moved. Not right! I moved again, sharper this time, and felt -- them -- move on my chest. I shook my head, shocked anew by a mass of hair. Through my rapidly disappearing lethargy, I forced my head to lift from the pillow and looked down. I wore a nightgown where I had always slept naked indoors. I had breasts! I felt them, the texture of the cotton… I brought my hands up and touched them, pressed them inward, took them in slender olive hands. Not mine! They were the hands of a woman -- and I felt it all!

“Tyr?” spoke Tisa’s familiar voice, softly from the side, and her hand lowered to rest upon my shoulder.

Starting at the contact, for even that gentle pressure felt stronger than it should have, I snapped my head away from the breasts I had been exploring and looked up. I was in Tisa’s guest bed; the light from her window meant it was early afternoon. Tisa stood, leaning over the bed and staring down at me in grave concern. She looked bone weary.

“Tisa!” I began, then stopped at the sound of my voice. Feeling sick, I managed to push myself up with appallingly weak arms into a sitting position. As I did so, gravity reformed those breasts lower on my chest, and a wider, more rounded bottom shifted. Breasts. I had breasts. I was a woman. Only Ruk’s Serum could have done it. My fists clenched on the sheets and blood rushed to my ears as I tried to will it away. I was no longer a man!

“Tisa!” I shouted, hating the feminine shrill of it. “How did this happen? Who did this to me?”

She took my hand, a woman’s gesture of support I absolutely did not want. I snatched it away and stared at her. “Tell me!”

She bit her lip, shaking her head rapidly. “We don’t know! Father was hoping that you could tell us when you woke up.” Her eyes were puffy from crying earlier, and she seemed ready to start again. “You’re still a part of Eagles, Tyr. Remember that.”

“Who knows?”

“Everyone, certainly everyone at Eagles. It was an impossible secret to keep. Father announced it two days ago to the men. I’m sorry.”

I took a few deep breaths, trying hard to ignore the unnatural masses on my chest, and forced myself to concentrate. If I remained completely still, I felt nearly the same. It was only when I moved that my new dimensions became apparent. I still had a family. It wasn’t much consolation, a pathetically thin reed, but I held onto that, reciting a warrior’s mantra meant to calm the heart rate before a battle.

It could hardly be worse. Not only a woman, I was a natural slave -- a disgrace to my family. When it happened unexpectedly it was considered the will of the Gods. But it was no God who had a hand in this. I didn’t think I could get any angrier, but I was wrong. As I twisted towards my sister, the motion jiggled my breasts again, and I had the oddest feel of a small waist over wide hips.

“Where is Met?” I demanded through clenched teeth.

“Confined to his quarters. Father wanted to see you before he did anything. Goddess, I’m so sorry,” she said, and offered me her hand again.

I saw it as a test. It was a woman’s gesture, but it had been well meant. I didn’t want to insult her again, so I allowed her to take it -- and nearly snatched it away again.

My hand, once so much more massive, was the same size and shape as my sister’s; her slender fingers and palm joined mine seamlessly. My forearm, layered with tough muscle I’d taken years to build was gone, replaced by a smooth, elongated impostor, perhaps a third its circumference. Raging now, I had a new desire, a compulsion. I threw back the covers. I wore a cotton nightdress, a woman's garment. Where the fabric settled showed clearly what I had lost.

I swung my legs over the side. Dizzy from the sharp movement, Tisa was again there with a hand, which I accepted only because I had to get to my feet. There was a short drop to the floor, startling me. Everything was so much bigger. The solid wooden beams of the ceiling were farther away, the window was higher and Tisa, once shorter than me by eight inches, was my height or taller. Walking was an adventure. The muscles on my legs attached to wider hips, forcing a slight sway to my gait. Dimly, I realized that I was walking like a woman.

I made it to the bathroom on my own, pushing Tisa’s hand away when I had my balance, nearly falling once because of my changed center of gravity. I went immediately to stand before the large mirror. It showed the full length of a furious woman in a nightdress staring back at me. I struggled to remove the garment, and this time allowed Tisa to help me. Gritting my teeth, I supposed that there was no reason to keep her from seeing me as I was. There was nothing I had that she didn’t, not anymore.

I was beautiful, of course. Ruk’s Serum DNA was taken from only the finest on Zhor. The woman who’s appearance I copied might still live, or could have died centuries ago. My breasts were well chosen for my build with large, dark and doubtless sensitive nipples befitting a hot slave. I was slim, but not as slim as my sister, having more muscle than I had thought, this body being closer to athletic than lush with a smooth covering of soft skin.

All traces of my manhood were gone; there was no indication that I had ever been a warrior or man. Where the external had mounted, I had nothing. Below that, the beginnings of a slit between my legs announced my sex.

“By the Gods!” the woman in the mirror shouted in a girlish snarl, glaring back at me. Even the way I stood was different. It wasn’t just that my hips had widened. It had increased behind me as well, expanding my rear end, redesigning me to allow the passage of children. I could give birth!

As a woman, I would have periods unless I took slave bitters. Babies! And that wasn’t the worst of it! I threw back my head and shrieked.

“Tyr! Are you all right?” Tisa shouted, moving towards me.

“Stay back, Tisa!” I yelled at her.

She came anyway and took my hand. I glared at her, trying hard to look threatening, but it didn’t have its usual effect. She continued to hold on, extending only sympathy and concern. I made myself rigid, and fought the urge to cry, a woman's reaction to stress! I doubted that I had the strength to shake her arm loose. Formerly one who led men into battle, I couldn’t even muster the authority tell my little sister to leave me alone. Gods! I was weak. Even when my strength returned, all men would be stronger than me. My weapons were too heavy to be useful, my warrior clothes useless.

When she let me, I returned to the woman in the mirror. There was nothing of the old me in her. The blond hair and blue eyes I'd shared with Mother and Tisa had been eradicated. Hair like midnight fell halfway down my back. A fine straight nose nestled in an alluring face with large black eyes, and my lips seemed larger than average.

Men would think about abducting me. Without the strength to stop them, or protectors to aid me, I wouldn’t have a chance. The woman in the mirror was very pretty, perhaps even prettier than Angel. In my head I saw her as attractive and desirable. As a normal Zhorian male, I might have had a reaction, stirrings in my groin, or at least a desire to place my hands on her womanly curves.

The desire was there, but it wasn’t the same -- I no longer had the means. Desperate to hold onto a piece of what I was, I wanted her with a power and need I had never felt before. It was absurd, but I wanted to take me.

“Tyr. Please!” Tisa pleaded, pulling gently on my arm to get my attention. “How can I help?”

I ripped my gaze from the mirror to her, and flushed. My sister was always an attractive girl growing up and had developed into a fine-looking woman. With her so much larger and assuming greater authority, and with me in my reduced state, it was like looking at someone else. She looked at me through the clear blue eyes of an intensely attractive woman, not my sister. Her lips and skin… I shook my head to clear it. For an instant, I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her. A strange, exciting sensation flowed through my body, utterly at odds with my male desires, tingling my skin, and invigorating new internals between my legs.

I wanted to laugh, or pull my hair until I woke up from this horrible dream. Compared to waking up as a serum girl, the desire for my sister was minor. It wasn’t even totally unexpected. It happened occasionally that new serum girls were found in their pens wrapped together in the morning, or caught out moaning and crying out in the night, their soft lips meeting in passionate kisses, and slender fingers exploring newfound hot and exciting places. Slavers generally didn’t even punish them, knowing that they were merely succumbing to their urges. They usually just pulled them apart and chained the girls separately. Ruk’s Serum’s effects varied somewhat from girl to girl. Enjoying the sight of women temporarily was not rare, and would disappear in a short time on its own, or could be driven out of a girl easily, as a dominating man stimulated her submissive urges.

I looked back to my image and forced myself to admit what was obvious. Hesitantly at first, but more as the fascination became irresistible, I moved my head this way and that, turned and made different expressions. Gradually my mind began to accept the woman to be me. Leaning forward, placing my palms against the glass, I looked into my eyes and made myself see who I was at that moment, a young insecure woman, confused and afraid.

I despaired at what I had become, but I couldn’t shake the notion that I should have been shouting, screaming, running down the hall with a knife to spill the blood of the one who had robbed me of my life. The serum, at least in part, was denying me the full rage I was due by making my new body feel normal. Even now, movements that had been awkward, like walking, shifting while maintaining balance, moving my arms and legs, and even brushing back hair that had become an instant annoyance when it fell in front of my face, were more automatic, more natural. My body, through its responses, was telling me that I was a woman.

It was part of the process. Unlike a serum that made a man larger or more handsome, or changed a woman to match a form she desired, Ruk’s Serum was more involved. Male responses and movements had to adapt to the serum girl’s new body. The more my mind accepted what I was, the more I would come to think of myself as a woman. My mind and body would blend.

The process with Rita, Kitten, and Flower had been rapid. Of course, they had been given no chance. Any resistance had been met with the whip, the rack, or stimulation the new serum girls were unprepared to fight. All three were now girls, in spirit as well as body. I touched the place where children might now grow, wondering at the feel of my skin, then moved my fingertips over the thin layer of fat that made women soft and smooth. It was like touching Angel or Wanda. The second pass contained less wonder; my body was already at work, informing me that it was the way I was supposed to feel. My libido would change and become more active; it had to eventually, unless I forced it to remain dormant by locking myself away forever, never to see the sight of men.

Serum girls were natural slaves. Our sexual passions were legendary. It was just a matter of time, from tomorrow to years, before I would feel it.

I leaned closer and sighed heavily into the face I now owned.. Over time, it would slowly replace the image of my male self in my mind. It was all so different! It was almost easier to think that I had died in battle, or that Tyr had left one day and never returned. So, Met had won after all, just not exactly the way I had thought he would. But it would not be the final victory. I looked deep into my black eyes. They were pretty and expressive. Men would like them. I willed myself to look further, imagining steel in their depths. There were a few serum girls who fought to keep themselves free -- and won.

I turned to face my sister, who was staring at me with the most peculiar expression. She alternated her gaze, first at my face, then to my breasts, then between my legs, and then back to my face. “Tisa,” I said, breaking her fixation, “we must talk.”

Her eyes moved up and focused on my eyes. “Yes, I’m sorry. I was surprised,” she said in a tight voice.

“It’s all right,” I said, managing a grim leer. I could hardly trust myself to speak, but I took a long shuddering breath, and then said what needed to be said: “I’m a serum girl. My days as a warrior are finished, and I will not inherit Eagles.”

Between my interest in her and her staring at me, it didn’t feel right standing naked in front of her, so I shrugged into the nightdress. My breasts, as I had suspected, were sensitive. The fabric moving over them had caused a strong, pleasant reaction, one that I resented bitterly. I ground my teeth, allowing my hate. I wanted to scream. I would kill my brother for this!

“Tisa,” I said in my woman’s voice, pitched slightly higher than my sister’s, “I hope you don’t think badly of me.”

She shook her head quickly. “Of course not! You did nothing to deserve this! You were my brother and now you are my sister. What must be will be.” She looked down then, embarrassed for me. She knew very well what would likely happen.

It was as good as I could have hoped for from her. “What about Father, Mother, and Ron?”

She shrugged helplessly, lifting her arms uncertainly.

“Tisa, tell me.”

“Honestly, Tyr, I don’t know! Father is heartbroken, of course. Mother is, well -- Mother. Ron…” She sighed. “Ron is taking this very hard. I think he feels he let you down.”

“That absurd. I’ll talk to him.”

She glared at me. “Don’t. Let him come to you when he can. I doubt that he wants to see you -- like this. Wait at least until some time has passed.”

I turned away so that she wouldn’t see me fight-off tears. My emotions were already far closer to the surface than I liked. I tried to put myself in Ron’s position. He followed the warrior’s way. He might prefer to think of me as one dead, wishing to remember me as I was. It was a form of respect, although one that I wondered if he could sustain -- considering that I had no intention of leaving Eagles.

“All right,” I sighed.

“There is one thing. Father wants you to wear a veil when you leave the room. He says that you’ll eventually have the needs of a serum girl, and Eagles can’t have a scandal traced back to us.”

Even the comparatively few serum girls who could function as freewomen had to have their urges sated. I couldn’t imagine myself doing that; the idea of mating with a man disgusted me; I shivered thinking about it, but it was almost certain that I would change. “I’ll fight the urges, Tisa. I won’t disgrace the family.”

She gave me a good hard look, apparently finding what she wanted to see. “I know you will, and I’ll help you,” she said. “Well, you certainly won’t need Angel and Wanda any more.”

“Let it alone, Tisa,” I said. My voice was too girlish and amiable to make it sound the way I wanted it to. Unless I growled, everything forceful I said came out sweet with all the power of a suggestion.

She nodded. “I’ll tell Father and Mother that you’re awake. Before you meet them, you should take a bath. You smell from three days in bed.”

I sighed at the thought; this would be a very tough meeting. I sniffed my armpit. I did stink, although it wasn’t the sweat I was used to. It was something to do; for a moment, I would have something to keep the nightmare away. “I’ll heat the water now.”

She shook her head. “No, sister,” she said. By the way she said it, she liked the way it sounded. “You’re too weak. I’ll do that for you.”

I was weak; even lifting the nightdress had been a struggle. At least my humiliating dependence would be temporary; the serum’s weakness would pass in a few hours. In the meantime, Tisa waited to see how I dealt with the label she’d just applied. I took it as another test. A warrior must accept reality, regardless of how harsh it was, but this would harder than most. “Thank you -- sister,” I said.

Tisa smiled and stepped forward, pulling me into a perplexing embrace. Despite what I would have wanted, I enjoyed it in a strange way, feeling her hands on my back, her breasts against mine, and our pelvises meeting. I inhaled the sweet smell of her hair, and my nipples expanded into absurdly large, hard cones under the nightdress. I did nothing, of course, enduring my attraction to her.

I rested while she pumped the water for the hot water pot and the bath, fighting tears whenever I thought too much. The fire she started under the pot didn’t take long to heat the water. As soon as the bath was ready, Tisa left to tell our parents that I was awake.

A little stronger now, I pulled the nightdress over my head and climbed into the sunken tub. I had avoided touching my breasts and saer before. To wash my body, though, I had to touch them.

As expected, washing the gap between my legs was dangerous. From my experience with Angel, Wanda, and others, too numerous to count, I knew the power of that well of feminine joy. Pretending that I was washing someone else was impossible. The feel of the sponge as it glided over each new curve and altered dimension screamed that they were mine. I held off until the last, that new space, and slid down the widened hips, across the broadened expanse between, over the girlish triangle of silky black hair and what was gone, down to where I couldn’t see. Fascinated and terrified, I discarded the sponge and widened my legs, exploring myself with the tips of my fingers, first the softness of my inner thighs, especially where they approached my saer, and then gradually inward, panting and biting my lower lip as I drew near -- but I needed to know.

First there was a ridge of flesh on both sides, like a protection, which separated as my legs widened. Another layer, more delicate, lay beneath, and I parted it with two fingers of one hand, and slid a third inside, penetrating and feeling that which no man could ever feel, the inside of oneself, and the tiniest sense of fullness. I stopped and withdrew, accidentally brushing the tiny nodule between folds, which produced a twinge of exquisite pleasure. I forced myself away and waited for it to recede, imagining the feel of my blade entering my brother’s throat. After that I was far more careful.

The breasts were nearly as bad. I rubbed the rough sponge over, under, and around, refusing my skin the feel it desired, and avoided the hard, erect points, taking perverse enjoyment in denying this alien body what it so fervently wanted. With discipline, I avoided touching them more than absolutely necessary, and gradually my nipples gave up and subsided.

Tisa had laid-out some clothes on her bed for me while was in the bath. Women wore dresses in Batuk. Only a comparative few cities on Zhor, mostly in the forests and mountains, where a dress might catch or otherwise impede a woman’s progress, used breeches. There were split dresses for riding, but either Tisa thought I would have no problem wearing a dress, or she thought that it would be better that I became accustomed to it as quickly as possible. I tried to convince myself that a dress was just an article of clothing, and a halter was just a piece of cloth that went under a blouse, but I couldn’t rationalize it away. Only women wore dresses. Women with breasts wore halters. Still, unless I wanted to greet my father and mother naked, I would have to wear what Tisa had set aside for me.

After drying off, I pulled on the shift, and then the halter, which would hold my breasts in check. It cross-laced up in the back, tying off just behind the neck. I had to adjust the strings a couple of times before it was relatively comfortable, as I discovered that I was slightly larger than Tisa.

In the end it wasn’t too hard once I had the knack, but the anger I’d managed to suppress returned with a vengeance when I realized that unless I became a slave and my master wanted my breasts free, that I’d be doing this for the rest of my life! Some of the careless joys of life were gone: taking my shirt off in the sun; even pounding my chest in the Eagles salute, would be traded for a woman’s undergarment that needed to be laced correctly so that it wouldn’t bind or sag; that would likely be hot in the summer; might catch food at the table if I wasn’t careful -- and was designed to capture the attention of a man.

I barely cooled when I reflected that all freewomen, unless they were small, had to wear them, and I had rarely heard them complain. Regardless, most of them never worried too much about becoming a slave! None of them had lost their lives, the woman they loved -- their manhood.

I buttoned up the long-sleeved blouse and drew on the woolen brown dress, the shape of which amazingly fit me after I pulled it completely over the flare of my wider hips. With the Eagles colors of orange and brown, Tisa was letting me know in no uncertain terms that I was family. Despite the long dress, wearing nothing under the shift made me feel half-naked, as if I was hiding something. Moving around the room to get used to the feel of cloth brushing against my legs, I couldn’t escape the sensation of unnatural freedom.

This novelty didn’t do anything except infuriate me. The freedom in the dress was because there was nothing below my waist except legs. Nothing stuck out, I noted coldly; there would be nothing to scratch in the morning or adjust. Tisa would think nothing of it, but never a man.

I fought off tears that threatened to break my control, and clenched soft, weak hands that would never again be able to use a sword effectively or lead men. The absolute best I could do now was find a way to live according to a set of rules that had never been intended for me. And my freedom might be brief. I had no illusions.

A man could take me at any time. With my slave genes, I would be branded and chained at his feet, living to please him. I would be happiest if my master were demanding and strict. If I had been born to it, it would have been one thing, but to force it on me…

I exhaled slowly. It was no use getting worked up over it. Woman or not, I would fight until I could fight no more. But first, I would plan ways to kill Met.

But even those pure thoughts of revenge were difficult to sustain. I stood at the window as I waited. Tisa lived on the first floor with iron bars on the windows to prevent abduction. It overlooked the garden behind the house. She enjoyed walking there; perhaps I would as well. Confined to the house without a veil, I suddenly wished powerfully to go outside.

When the door opened, I expected my mother and father to appear, but Tisa had returned alone. She smiled when she saw me. “You look wonderful, Tyr. One might think you had been wearing dresses your whole life.”

I snorted. To a man it would have been a deadly insult. “I know dresses; I’ve undressed a few freewomen.”

“Tyr, are you all right?” She moved closer and had a good look at my face. Unsure of what to say, I said nothing. She looked straight at me, and I discovered that with shoes, we were exactly the same height. “I’m not going to pretend this will be easy,” Tisa said, “but I’ll do what I can. As my brother, you were my strength. Allow me to help you now. I can, you know.”

It was hard to look at her. I had always been the strong one. Now, I had nothing to give her -- except the truth. “I don’t know where I’m going, who I am now, or even if I have any chance at staying free. I’m not sure how to fight this! How in Hades am I supposed to live as a woman?”

“You start with a name. I can’t call you Tyr all the time. Maybe Shadi, Syri, Pila, Kria…hmm, I’ve always liked Lyssel…”

“No. My name will be Tyra.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“It’s not meant to fool anyone. The truth will come out sooner or later; I’d rather say it and get it over with.”

She placed her hand on her chin considering. “Tyra. Tyra l’Fay. It will remind you who you are. I see much of Tyr in you, Tyra.”

“I think it might be better to try to forget him,” I said, failing to control the wavering in my voice. “Look at me! I can’t go back. I can’t even face the men I know without a veil. All I can do is move on. If the Gods say that I must be a woman, then I must accept their will. I … I will be Tyra, whoever — sh ... she is.”

She covered my hand with her own, the familiar gesture used to comfort women. I could say nothing; I had just told her that I accepted my fate. She moved closer, and when I looked, there were tears in her eyes. “I’ll never forget him, Tyra. Tyr is within you. He was the best of us all. There’s no reason why Tyra can’t have his heart. But there is also a woman inside you now. I tell you that there is no shame for you to be afraid.”

I dropped my head and sighed. Tisa was likely the only true friend I had left in the family. She was saying that I wasn’t a warrior anymore, that a woman could admit fear, should admit it when necessary. An ache swelled my heart, rising to my throat, blocking words, and then to my eyes. Emotions that I could no longer control expressed themselves in ways that I wouldn’t have permitted had I been a warrior. “Tisa,” I began, and to my despair I had to wipe away a few tears, “I am afraid of what I might become.”

She held me for a time, another female moment. I let it continue for a while, then I backed away. “I intend to fight. I would rather this were an enemy I could see, but I’ll do what I can. I’ll leave the city rather than disgrace our family.”

Her face shone. “That’s the Tyr in you speaking!”

I nodded towards the window. “I’d like to go outside if there’s time.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I don’t want to stay here.”

“All right. Father and mother won’t be here for a half-hour. Here, let me fix your hair first.” Using a large wooden barrette, she showed me how to pin my hair up in an easy style that would keep it out of the way.

Just before we left, I put on the veil. I loathed what it meant, but it really wasn’t too uncomfortable, just annoying. Women wore it in the city for a variety of purposes: sometimes a very pretty woman was afraid of being abducted; another might wear one to pretend that she was pretty enough to be stolen; and some wore it for privacy. This one was a sheer glossy black and covered my face below the eyes. With a scarf to cover my hair, I could be practically anonymous.

The entrance to the garden wasn’t far from Tisa’s door. Once we stepped outside the back way into the garden and I tasted freedom from the house for the first time. The garden was divided into several parts; each designed to be a surprise to the visitor. Divided by tall hedges, there were several paths and hidden entrances not visible until one was very close. We walked through a few; a small brook running by a sea of daffodils; a varied display of roses; and Tisa brought me through to her favorite spot, a circular bench surrounding an oak tree. From there could be seen a few smaller hardwoods and a view of the Fortress.

“How do like the garden?”

I shot her a glance. Tisa used to know when I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. “It’s quiet,” I said, hoping my short answer would remind her.

“It’s a world away from talk of killing, fighting, politics -- and slaves.”

“Tisa…” I shook my head, resigned to it. My little sister seemed determined to talk. “Yes, I suppose it’s a good place to forget the world for a while. As for slaves -- we can’t avoid the subject.”

She put her hand over mine. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it must be painful for you: I think of women crossing their wrists, begging to be slaves.” She shuddered. “I’ve seen it, and yet it’s still hard to imagine.”

“For slaves, it’s freedom. I own Angel and Wanda. I cherish them, and treat them as their natures require. Of course,” I said, keeping my voice neutral, “all that is over.”

“Tyra, I…” She turned her head and began to cry.

“Tisa?”

“Tyra, I could never tell anyone this before, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like. I’ve dreamed that a brave, strong man might steal me from Eagles. I’m afraid sometimes that I might be a natural slave!”

Now that is something she would never tell me if I were a man.

After hesitating for a second, I took her into my arms. My breasts pressing against hers was still strange, but I pushed the distraction aside. When she stopped crying a minute later, I gave a quick look around the garden, making sure there was no one in sight. Then I pulled the veil aside and took both her arms to get her attention.

“Tisa, listen to me! I believe that most women have dreams like that whether they admit it or not. It's normal. This doesn’t mean that you want to be a slave. You’re curious.”

“But … how can I be sure?” she asked, sniffling.

“Tell me, do you tease strange men shamelessly with your body, men you think might steal you away?”

“Of course not!”

“Do you hate men, sparing no opportunity to describe them as barbarians, pigs, disgusting animals and the like?”

Her mouth turned up a fraction at that. “You know I do not. Despite the actions of a few, men are not, in general, beasts.” She sighed. “So, you don’t think I'm a natural slave?”

I shook my head, still surprised by the mass of hair on my back. “No, Tisa, I don’t. And I would say that I know something of the subject.”

She leaned back against the tree in relief. “Thank you. From you, I believe it.” She glanced at the shadows from the concealing hedges surrounding the private garden, measuring the time. “How does it feel so far?”

I laughed. Tisa had sounded like this was some sort of adventure. “Gods, what a question. This body is trying to tell me that it’s mine, but it’s a damned liar.”

“We will manage this together, Tyra. Big sister,” she said confidently, then smiled in a way that promised shopping trips, tea parties, and other girlish delights.

It was more than I could stand, and I rose from the bench. “You know, I’m feeling much stronger. I want to go back inside now.”

“Good.” With another glance towards the shadows, she stood and brushed off her dress. Then she reached over and pulled a piece of long grass from a fold in my dress behind me and smoothed it down over my thigh, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it was, but a man would never have done that to another. “Tyra, instead of moving back to your old quarters, why not stay with me for the time being -- at least until you’re more comfortable?”

“I’ll stay the night, but tomorrow I’m moving back.”

She nodded, but I could tell she was disappointed. “Did you know that Angel and Wanda are still living there?”

“I’m not too afraid to face my own slaves. If things don’t work out, I can always send them to the slave quarters.”

“Mm, true.”

We went back inside the same way. It was nearly unavoidable that I would see men. The corridors in the main house weren’t only for living quarters. Eagles didn’t just operate a company for booty, or in peacetime, as guards for hire; most of Eagles’ wealth was in trade and investments. Business was likely to be conducted inside the main house at any time during the day.

The few men I saw did nothing for me, but it didn’t mean they had no effect. Like all normal men on Zhor, they were bigger, stronger and taller than me. Three men looked in our direction in a male once-over. One took a longer look at my breasts and I imagined eyes targeting my rear end. Suddenly very conscious of what sex I was and what I looked like, my heart pounded like a deer in wolf country. Tisa merely gave a couple of men she knew a brief smile, said hello once, and passed on. I ignored them as much as I could without looking like an idiot.

She opened her door and I followed her inside. I ripped off the veil and sat on the bed where I awoke as a serum girl not quite three hours before.

“Are you all right?” she asked me.

Hades, no, I’m not all right! I’m a serum girl! I’d rather face the long spear with my bare hands than see a man look at me like that again.

“Men looked at me like I was a woman. I assume that I’ll get used to it in time.”

“If you’re sure. It seemed to me that you were upset.”

I wanted to scream. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had described me as being “upset,” a distinctly female word. “I’m fine. Tisa, would you mind if I talked to Father and Mother privately?”

“Are you sure you won’t need me there?”

“Yes. I’ll see you afterwards.”

“All right. When they arrive, I’ll be taking a bath.” She left to heat up a kettle.

I wasn’t sure that she understood. Father had to see me strong, as strong as he could see a serum girl who used to his son, anyway. I was not as sanguine as Tisa about my future. I clenched my hands into fists. And there was the matter of Met…

As I expected, when I answered the door, Father was furious.

He looked at me closely, stepping aside to allow Mother a good view. His face twisted in disgust and he spit into the hall. “Tyr, how did this happen?” he shouted.

I gave my report, related the day’s events leading up to the time I felt ill. We went through it together, compiling a list of ways that could have put Ruk’s serum into my system. Ruk's Serum was normally injected into the blood. I hadn't felt the prick of a needle, but I had been wounded that day. As best we could figure, the fresh cut in my mouth had been the likeliest route. Theoretically, someone might have introduced the serum in the food or drink at supper, where only I would have been affected -- or in the tavern. A minute amount likely had made the serum slower to affect me. If this were true, it would be impossible to tell who had done it. Almost anyone at Eagles would have had the opportunity.

Father collapsed in a nearby chair and held his hands over his eyes. It is not true that warriors do not cry. They, as well as any other Zhorian, cry in joy when witnessing things of great beauty or cry tears of sadness when appropriate, but father would have to be strong this day for the family.

He seemed worn out: no revelation that -- he had waited three long days for me to transform, waiting to see if I had evidence to clear or convict his oldest son.

He looked at me in the face, his black eyes fierce under brooding eyebrows. “Met denies doing this to you, and I don’t have proof.”

I swallowed hard. Without proof, Father wouldn’t kill anyone, although no one else would have had a reason to make me a serum girl. Gnashing my teeth, I cried, “Father! You should call me by my new name, Tyra l’Fay. After all, it will be my name for the rest of my life!”

Father looked up at my shrill tone, but he let it pass. “Tyra,” he said, trying the name on his tongue. He glanced at my mother. When I swapped my suren for a saer, I had ceased to be my father’s son and became my mother’s daughter. Not too surprisingly, Mother didn’t look overjoyed to have a serum girl offspring. “Tyra is an interesting choice for a name,” my father grunted. “And it has the virtue of being easy to remember. You would fight this then?”

“Hah! Of course.”

“You know the odds against you?”

I looked towards the ceiling and laughed. “Does it really matter, Father? I have to try.”

“It matters. Your chosen name imposes an obligation on us all. With it, you are saying that you are still a member of the family. What you contemplate has honor, but only as long as you stay free. You had better be sure you know what you’re doing. I will not permit a scandal at Eagles. If you fail, daughter or not, you will be sold to the first caravan.”

I lifted my head and stared. “If I’m unsuccessful, you won’t have to. I’ll leave on my own. What I will not do is live in some foreign city and wait until a man decides to brand me!”

“Are you certain that alternative wouldn’t be better? You won’t have the freedom to do as you please here. You want everything to appear ‘normal’? Fine, then; be normal. You’ll be expected to attend family functions, and sit for dinner at the high table, occasionally in full view of the men you once commanded. You will conduct yourself as a well-behaved daughter, and wear a veil outside your quarters. Can you accept those conditions?”

“Yes!”

He snorted. “Very well. If you want it that badly then you’ll get your wish. I know what serum girls do. Do whatever is necessary to stay free, but do it quietly; I can’t permit you to dishonor this house. Are we clear?”

“Like temple glass.”

“Good.”

He stood up and walked towards me. Formerly my height, he now towered over me by more than a head. He hesitated, and then he thrust his arms straight out, grabbing my shoulders hard enough to hurt, although I didn’t think he knew that.

“I regret that I didn’t stop this. It was -- preventable,” he said. Father stopped to stare at me, waiting for my reply.

His words jarred me more than his rough treatment. My father wore an expression I’d rarely seen from him before: remorse. I hated Met with a black passion, but there was darkness enough in the pit for Father. In hindsight, he should have seen what was obvious and declared either Met or me his heir. Tight lines that strained his face and puffiness around the eyes were signs that he had paid for it with sleepless nights. It was nothing compared to what had happened to me, but in a way I was proud of him. He was my father; his carelessness had contributed to the loss of my manhood and likely my freedom, yet he was still brave enough to look to me for judgment. I would have liked more of an apology, but a mistake is not a malicious act -- no matter that both can have terrible consequences -- and he was not the direct cause.

“I blame the one who gave me Ruk’s Serum. It begins and ends with Met.”

He nodded gravely at my absolution, turning it into a small bow. To my utter surprise, he blinked a few times to stop tears from forming. I wasn’t sure what to do, not that I could have done much, locked as I was at arms length in twin grips of iron.

“Father?” I asked.

He forced himself to look at me. “I’ve lost two sons today. You won’t see Met in Batuk again.”

“You’re exiling him?”

“When I leave this room, I’m going to his quarters. Met will be out the Lion Gate within the quarter-hour. He will have a sword, the clothes on his back, and three days rations. If he ever returns to Batuk, he will die, law or no law.”

Outside the gates, Met would still be a free man to make his life as he would. I would always be a serum girl, a poor revenge -- for now. “Yes, Father,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Tonight at dinner, I will announce Ron as my heir.”

I’d expected that, so the blow was minor. “Yes, Father.”

“It was to have been your place. As heir, Ron will be my second.” The words were severe enough, bringing back what might have been a few days ago, but the way he looked at me when he said them contained a question and an implication I didn’t care for.

“What are you saying? If you’re asking me if I will accept his authority, I will, of course. Are you thinking that I might make trouble -- like this?”

“Tyra…” he sighed. Sapped by worry and lack of sleep, he let his guard down for a moment -- and I understood.

Ruk’s Serum ensured that a man would not remain so in a woman’s body. Inevitably, I would change. From now on, whenever Father saw me, there would a question in his mind of how much of the man remained in me.

But that didn’t explain all of it. Worse than watching his son become a woman in body and mind would be seeing me fade away, witnessing my defeat as the urges overwhelmed my last defenses, seeing me on my knees, crossing my arms before a strong man -- the moment when all traces of his son were extinguished. It was only through my father’s love that he had given me the choice to stay in Eagles. It was clear now that Father, and probably Ron, gave me little or no chance.

I lowered my head, close to tears. I understood better now why Ron avoided me, and why father literally held me away. He feared to be near me. He didn’t want to feel my thinner arms, or breasts against his chest. He didn’t want to know me as Tyra. There was nothing I could say in my defense. Father would not want to hear assurances that would likely fail. In the end, only staying free would be believed.

“Tyra,” he said quietly, squeezing my shoulders to get my attention. “Stay away from Ron. He will talk to you when he is ready.”

“Yes, Father.”

He nodded, then left me without a backwards glance.

“Tyra.”

I turned at Mother’s voice. She and I rarely spoke, not because we hated each other, but because we had virtually nothing in common -- until today.

“Mother?”

“Wear something else this evening. The orange in your blouse doesn’t contrast your color well. I won’t require much; I expect that you’ll be on time for dinner, and to be polite -- for as long as you can, that is.” She flashed a brief, insincere smile, and then she, too, disappeared into the hall.

I closed the door behind her and leaned my back against it. Father had at least tried to attack the matter sideways. Mother had just said it. Except perhaps for Tisa, nobody thought I could stay free.

Tisa’s blonde head peeked out behind the corner to see if everyone was gone, then came into the room wearing a white bathrobe and a towel for her hair. “Are you all right?” Tisa asked me, concerned.

I sighed softly. “Yes, Tisa. I’m fine.”

“Goddess! Would father have really sent you away?”

“I think so, but he always liked to give someone a chance if they were willing to fight for it. I hoped that he would feel that way about me.”

She sat on her bed, mouth half open in shock. She unwrapped the towel from her head and shook her hair free. “I never thought father would even consider it.”

“In some ways I know him better than you do.” I snorted. “Do you have something I can borrow for dinner? You heard what Mother told me.”

She smiled. “Of course,” she said and bounded from the bed, heading for the closet. Pulling out a shift for herself, she picked out several blouses, placing them in front of me as I stood there, to check for color combinations, then selected three. “Try these on.”

Still numb at trying on women’s clothing, but knowing that this was just the first day of many, I went to the first blouse, an off white that would, I decided sullenly, contrast well with my olive skin and still match the dress. As I made my mother happy, Tisa removed her bathrobe, leaving her naked in front of me rubbing her hair dry with a fresh towel.

I had never seen my sister without clothes before. She was pretty, with a lean proportional body, prominent points in wide pink areolas, and a soft yellow triangle between her legs. Like most young women of twenty, she wore her hair long. Tisa turned towards me and pointed. “I like that blouse. It’s a good color for you.”

“Thanks.”

She hadn’t cared at all that I’d seen her without clothes, and, after a moment, I realized that neither had I. My interest in women was gone.

***

The curtain between the high and low tables were pulled back when I arrived for dinner, opening the view from the high table to the rest of the hall. My father had told me years before that critical moments were to be confronted with courage and a good attitude. It could still go wrong, he had gone on to explain, but at least there would be no excuses.

When Tisa stepped through the door, I wasn’t far behind. Silence greeted me like an oppressive cloud. Not thinking, I took a step to the right towards my old place, but the two chairs on that side, for Met and me, had already been removed and the table reset as if he and I had never existed; only Ron sat by father now. But it was only a misstep, and I recovered, finding my new place, a delicate gold-filigreed chair with a plush purple cushion, to the immediate left of my mother, the place for the oldest daughter.

My mother looked up as I arrived and checked my appearance critically. She nodded her tentative approval until I sat. Then she nudged me with her elbow and looked down with her eyes. I had been caught with my legs apart. Even though I wore a long dress, my “modesty” was at stake, and I squeezed my legs together like the good daughter I had agreed to be, burning with humiliation at how far I had fallen.

Virtually all of the men below the dais watched me. They would see me act with the delicacy and manners of a woman. In a pretty dress and blouse, my hair pinned up and back with a silver brooch, they would find it difficult to see the man I had once been. In the manner of men, they would imagine what was underneath my clothes, and not a few would imagine their hands on it. Regardless, I faced them from my place on the dais. I was no longer the warrior and son, but I was still a part of this great house; I had status as a daughter of Eagles.

Father began dinner when he picked-up a knife. Conversation started, but it wasn’t as loud as usual, and there was no laughter. For a time, I provided no more entertainment than eating and drinking, and ate under my mother’s watchful eye -- slowly and with small bites -- as befitted a lady.

Eating in a veil, I quickly determined, was a stupid waste of time. There is a trick to it: never look up while eating. It’s easiest to hold a hand over the mouth under the veil to create a space, but sometimes the hand picks up what is intended for the mouth. Drinking is easier as long as the vessel is narrow, like a woman’s wine glass, but it’s still clumsy. Besides that annoyance, I had to lean to avoid spilling on my breasts, which jutted forward precariously. I couldn’t see my hands as they came under the veil, and I had to cut my food into tiny bits to pass through my smaller, female mouth. I couldn’t think of a single advantage of being a woman, and I seethed behind my enforced calm, cursing Met for the third time that day.

For a while I was spared feminine chatter. Mother knew better than to ask me about fashion, and I didn’t know their friends the way they did. The upcoming flower festival held no interest, and a rumor of marriage that enthralled Tisa bored me to distraction. I concentrated on eating properly, and that took my mind away from the prattle, as well as the men who watched me. But that was short-lived. My stomach had nowhere near the capacity of old, and I filled it completely after one plate. Dabbing my mouth with the napkin and sitting back in the chair was a signal that I could no longer remain aloof.

My mother pounced immediately: “You look charming this evening, Tyra, but it could be better. You and I shall meet after dinner…”

It was difficult to tell if my mother was obtuse, or supremely dedicated to her role as Mother of Daughters. “Mother!” I replied through my teeth. “Could you at least give me a day before I receive instruction on how to be a better woman?”

She frowned, but considered what I said. “Very well, Tyra,” she said slowly, “you shall have your day, but before you leave this hall, thinking that you have evaded me, answer me this: Can you give me a single reason why you should not learn skills every woman your age already knows?”

I fairly glowed from shame imagining a curriculum of cooking, sewing, beauty tips, and manners. Any warrior would rather fry in oil, but she was right. I nearly choked on the word: “No.”

Tisa squeezed my hand under the table and leaned forward. “Mother, I can help her! Tyra and I will be together much of the time anyway.”

Mother examined us both before speaking directly to me. “All right, perhaps it would be better with someone closer to your age, but I’ll expect steady progress. Being ill-prepared would reflect poorly, not only on you, but on Eagles.”

“Yes, Mother. Now, about the veil…”

“Yes?”

“I see the need to wear it outside Eagles, but as soon as I sat down, everyone in the hall knew who I was. I’m not fooling anyone here with this piece of cloth.”

She nodded behind her and to her right, towards my father, her manner informing me that it had been his decision. “For now, I think that it’s a good idea, for no other reason than you need to learn to eat gracefully behind it. After that we’ll see.”

It was, I supposed, the best I could hope for. I turned my attention elsewhere. Up until that time, I’d been occupied with eating. Other than casually glancing up every now and then, without meeting anyone’s eyes, I’d done my best to ignore the men below the dais.

But before I started my descent into femininity, I would see those I’d led, those who had fought the dance of death beside me. I skipped over the two smaller tables in the back for the servants, gardeners, and various functionaries. Immediately below us, occupying the center of the hall, were the warriors, at a quick count, fifty-two strong this evening.

I sought out Der, my childhood friend and former second. When our eyes met I nodded. After a brief hesitation, when he searched this strange black-haired, olive-skinned woman for some trace of his old friend, he dipped his head. I passed on, meeting those who would see me: Ger, next to Ketrick, the oldest warrior; Reth, the best with the sword and shield; Yed, who had a tear in his eye; Dylan, who lifted his tankard; Ketrick looked on solemnly -- he had become my friend and one whom I would miss greatly -- and there were some who looked away.

Mother jabbed me with her elbow, hard enough to hurt. “By the Goddess, what are you doing?” she hissed.

I faced her glare easily. Good daughter or no, I would finish this.

“I’m saying goodbye.”

She had learned something about warriors in a hundred years, for she said nothing else, and I continued down the line, recognizing those would see me, passing by those who had already counted me as lost. When I was finished, I was determined not to cry, and I did not.

Towards the end of supper, Father banged his tankard on the table and stood. Ron stood with him. “Men of Eagles!” Father shouted, his gruff voice carrying easily to all corners of the hall. “Tonight I name Ron t’Pol as my heir. Until that day he is my second. Obey him as you would me.”

Most of the men pounded their mugs on the table. Many who still had cold siolat drank it down in a single motion, then joined them. But some looked to me, perhaps as many as a third, some with raised mugs in their hands. Tears flooded my eyes, and my heart came near to breaking as I realized the final loyalty of those who still saw in me a remnant of who I was. But it could not be.

I filled my glass with wine, raised it to Ron like those on the floor, lifted it to my lips and forced it all down my throat. Then I brought the glass down hard enough to nearly snap its base, producing a clear high note that rose above the heavier pounding of the men.

Mother grabbed my arm, outraged that I would insinuate myself into traditions that no longer belonged to me. “How dare you?”

“It is necessary, Mother, that I finish this.” I extended my slender index finger and touched the rim of the glass. Then I pushed it over. It fell, bouncing against the table, ringing twice in the sudden silence of the hall before lying still.

She let go of me and sighed, understanding the meaning of that tradition, at least. “I see,” she said.

To my former men, Tyr the warrior was now dead. There was only Tyra.

***

Later that night, after the sun had set completely, we again left Tisa’s room. Only a few oil lamps lit the empty corridors. Tisa pushed back the door to the garden and we passed through. It was a different place at night. The steady breeze from the mountains rustled the small leaves of the bushes, now shiny black in the dark, and wafted the larger ones overhead. The stars guided us through the maze of shadows and hedges to the bench around the tree.

Tisa smiled when she saw that I had already removed my veil, and reached behind her head to pull her barrette and pin away, shaking her blonde hair free, where it glinted and danced in the uneven light through the swaying branches.

“Your turn, Tyra. It’s all right. Mother will never know.”

“Ah, yes, Mother,” I sighed. Putting our hair down was considered improper. Although a freewoman could wear her hair any way she wanted, most pulled their hair up to separate themselves from slaves, who normally wore their hair free. I found the small catch after a brief search and pulled it away, and soon my hair fell to my back and sides, the thick mass of it still startling. I fluffed and separated it until it was loose then closed my eyes and let the cool breeze take the tension away.

“Does it feel good?”

“Like a cold siolat at the end of a hot day. Is this why you wanted to go to the garden?”

“I wanted to show you something nice. You weren’t enjoying yourself inside.”

I gave her a long burning look for the reminder. She had just spoken of the most humiliating experience of my life.

“Well! When you went to the bathroom, there were some things you had to know right away. And then it seemed a good time to show you how to manage your monthly flow. For all we know, you might start tomorrow and…”

“Enough!” I took a deep breath and forced my hands to unclench. “Thank you for teaching me what I needed to know.”

“Believe me, it was embarrassing for both of us. Tyra, I don’t want you to hate this.”

“Don’t ask me to like it. I have to accept that I’m physically a woman. If I ever forget, squatting over a hole will take care of that. I will learn, little sister. Mother is right. I do need to know how to behave in polite society; to cook, clean, make a dress, choose the perfect flowers for a party…”

“Goddess, you make it sound so horrible! A woman is not a list of things she does, no more than a warrior is -- well, sticking a sword through a man.”

“I’m not an idiot. Who knows? Perhaps someday I will enjoy sipping tea from a tiny cup and coo at a baby with a filthy behind.”

She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. “Listen, I can’t do anything about the natural slave part of you -- that fight is yours -- but the woman inside you is different. Tyra, what woman would you like to be?”

“What woman would I like to be?” I looked up to the stars in the clear cold sky and laughed. The hollow sound of it fit my mood. “I just want to live a free life with honor!”

“And beyond that?”

“Isn’t that enough to ask of the Gods?”

Tisa shook her head sadly. “You’ve lost everything. I was there when your body shifted and shrank; your hair grew long and black; your face softened to become beautiful. Oh, Tyra! Despite what happened, I hoped that something could be salvaged from this; that you might become the sister I never had. We could do those things together that sisters do, and share in ways that Mother and I never could.”

“It may come to pass that I will feel that I am truly a woman someday,” I said, speaking the unimaginable, but knowing it was possible. “I will change -- some. Even now, my emotions are -- closer. In time…”

“No. You don’t understand. A woman grows from a girl by looking to her mother for guidance, mixing with other girls and boys, and coming to understand the world from her perspective. I enjoy being a woman. I imagine you learning women’s skills like memorizing lines for a play you despise. I know your warrior stubbornness. You would learn enough to make a feminine mask between you and the world. You mustn’t do this, or you may never find the joys of your sex!”

I shuddered at even the thought of it. In all my twenty-seven years, I had yet to see anything to recommend womanhood. “Tisa…”

She looked up, her eyes gleaming with tears. “There is a chance. But you might have to do the hardest thing you’ve ever done -- let go of your hatred and open your mind.”

“You ask too much. Ask me to let go after I see my blade in Met’s heart.”

“All right, all right,” she replied, holding up her hands in a calming gesture. “You deserve revenge for what Met did to you, but save your hatred until you can do something about it. Please, let me help you.”

“I’ve already told you that I’d learn whatever lessons you teach me.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Mother could give you ‘lessons’. I will ask for more: I want you to see what I see, feel what I feel.”

Learning to act as a respectable woman and knowing that my mind would gradually change was bad enough, but to speak of deliberately trying to gain the womanish mindset … I shivered. It was no less than a betrayal of who I was. I would be who I must, but no more.

“No.”

“Tyra,” Tisa said, bringing her hand to my upper arm. “What are Herth Tarr’s first and second primary tenets?”

I snickered. “Since when did you become a follower of Herth Tarr?”

“A few seconds ago, when it suited my purpose. Herth Tarr said, ‘A man should be a man and a woman should be a woman.’ You are a woman. By extension, you should now seek pleasure in feminine things.” She beamed, expecting me, I supposed, to bow immediately to her interpretation of the sage’s wisdom.

“Herth Tarr also said that all serum girls should be slaves. I’ll think about what you said, but I won’t promise anything.”

Tisa quickly fell into a deep slumber that night, snoring softly. Watching me for three days had taken its toll. After lying in her guest bed for nearly an hour while my mind raced in a waking nightmare that was too easily confirmed with a touch to my chest and between my legs, I slid out from under the covers and walked to the window. The cool night breeze reached inside, molding my nightgown to feminine contours that my body insisted were correct. I took the solid iron bars in my hands and leaned forward, away from the yellow glow of the night candle, the better to see into the garden.

I must have presented an attractive sight to any man looking: a girl in soft billowing white, her hair unbound and loose, pressed against the confinements of her room like an advertisement to be taken. Gods! I felt so normal and healthy. It was a lie! The men I’d met in the hall earlier had seemed like giants, their shoulders and arms massive and powerful.

It was just the end of the first day. The last time I had fallen asleep it was as a man with Angel’s arm over my chest. I hadn’t been my best that night, but still I remembered the strength in my arms as I placed her the way I desired, and my slave’s rapture as I penetrated her beneath me. Angel was strong for a girl, yet she had had been dominated thoroughly, and had exulted in her helplessness. What would she think of me now?

I returned to bed and cried into my pillow like a girl, unable in the end to control myself. After a moment I stopped trying. Much later, worn out and numb, I fell asleep.

***

Someone was shaking my shoulder. “Tyra.”

I rolled over and looked up. Breasts shifted on my chest, reminding me who I was, but it barely fazed me; I knew already. “Tisa.” I squinted at the light and judged its angle through the window. Rubbing my eyes, I pushed myself into a sitting position and looked around blearily. Tisa was already dressed. “Am I late for breakfast?” I asked.

“You will be if you don’t hurry.” She took my arm, pulling me to my feet. “Come on. I heated up some water for you. You have barely enough time for a quick bath if you don’t wash your hair.”

“Right.” I rubbed my face on the way to the bathroom. The overnight stubble I’d had every day for a dozen years was gone forever. I finished what I needed to do that morning trying not to think too hard, squatting as if I’d always done it that way, stepping into one of Tisa’s dresses, trying to pretend that I had never worn pants.

It was easier this time. The black curtains were closed, sealing the high table from the men below. I heard their loud male voices, their rough laughter. Father met my eyes once or twice, but it was hard to read him. Ron made such an effort to avoid me it was painful.

“Tyra, your technique is improving.”

“Thank you, Mother. It’s amazing what can be done with will and discipline.”

She looked at me askance, unsure if I was being sarcastic, a bad trait in a daughter. “I think a necklace would look good around your neck. You and Tisa should go to the market today and select one. Ensure that it is suitable for a woman of Eagles, and wear it at dinner tonight.”

I burned under the veil, and only a bump under the table from Tisa saved me from reminding my mother how old I was, and that I had led men into battle, points that would have had the opposite intended effect on a woman determined to mold me into a lady. “Yes, Mother,” I said through my teeth, recalling my promise to be a well-behaved daughter.
 
 

 

Tyra meets her former love-slave and makes a decision. Frightened at her changes, and appalled at her sister's plans for her, Tyra forms a daring strategy to stay free at the cost of part of herself. Tyra's changes become complete, and she discovers what a being a sister means. Still, can a woman with the slave gene ever truly adjust to the world around her?

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 4
 
 
The streets were more crowded than I remembered. Women were now my size, some much larger, and I garnered no respect from them as we passed. The horses towered over us and seemed dangerous; their riders and those who drove the enormous clattering wagons down the cobblestone loomed high and far away. As a man, I used to look over the heads of most, and plot a path to my destination. The world was now intimate, and bodies surrounded us, jostling and pressing in the boisterous western market. This part of it, a street I’d rarely had cause to visit, contained mostly women in everyday woolens, much like what we wore, but a few men worked or shopped there as well, their hulking presence and roving eyes a constant memory of who I was -- and who I used to be.

“This can be pleasant if you allow it to be!” Tisa hissed.

“I will do as Mother says and bring back the necklace like a good little girl,” I bit back, “but I can’t pretend that this is anything else than what she intended, a punishment.”

“Poop!”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me! Come on, we’re almost there.”

The jeweler shop was on the next corner, in the heart of the women’s section, a two-story solid stone structure better finished than most. A constable in gray and green leathers maintained a post several yards away and watched all who entered as part of his routine.

We stepped inside the world of womanly delights. Lapis lazuli brooches, solid gold and silver bracelets, anklets, and rings for all occasions awaited the discriminating woman on the left. Jewel-encrusted belts and halters, nose rings, including an array with tiny embedded diamonds that promised, according to the display, to “glint at alluring angles,” were aligned on wooden hooks behind thick glass to the right. Filigreed headbands, bindi, spun gold and silver weave to accentuate a fine lady’s hair, and necklaces lined the center under a prism skylight designed to illumine at any degree of daylight.

A man of middle height and perfectly trimmed fingernails approached us softly across the polished floor. His gentle face had seen little sun, and long sandy hair fell evenly to both sides of his head. I thanked the Gods that I did not find him attractive.

“May I help you ladies?” he intoned, composing his hands solicitously.

Tisa kicked my ankle from behind.

“I’m looking for a necklace.”

I bought one, but I refused to wear it out, stuffing it inside the purse attached to my dress belt.

“What is the matter with you?” Tisa demanded after we had left the market behind. “You bought the cheapest necklace that mother would accept. There were others that looked better on you. Even you could see that.”

“Why in Hades would I want to look more attractive to men? I want to avoid them, not collect them like fleas.”

“We need to talk.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me onto a side path. I sighed and let her. The path led to a small dark marble obelisk dedicated to a not particularly popular minor god. The copse was isolated and allowed us a good view of both entrances.

When she was sure we were alone, she whirled and planted her hands at her hips. “All right! What is it? Why are you so angry?”

“I have a right to be angry about what done to me.”

“Yes, but not like this. I think that if someone had cut off your legs you would behave better! Goddess, I’ve never seen you so furious. We were just buying a necklace. Is it because you are a woman? I assure you it’s not…”

“A warrior must accept his fate. Life is long and…”

“Then what? Why do you approach everyone on the street as if they were an enemy? If it isn’t being a woman, is it Angel? I know you have feelings for her, but she will find a new master.”

Tisa was a young freewoman, I told myself, while conducting a warrior’s exercise for control; she could never understand the bond that Angel and I had shared. But trying to explain it to her now as a woman would be worse than a waste of time; it would be a mockery. “It isn’t Angel, nor is everyone on the street an enemy, only the men.”

“Oh!” she said, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Do you feel the urges already?”

“No. But they’re there, hiding in a dark corner. I found out this morning that stirring the coals of hatred for Met and for my diminution keeps thoughts of men from my mind.”

“So, that’s why you’re a royal rhadus this morning. It’s a plan only someone as stubborn as you could come up with. It might even work for a day or so, but no one can stay angry.”

“I’m aware of that -- now.”

“Then you’re not angry -- now?”

“No.”

“You know that you won’t be able to stay away from men forever, unless you want to remain a prisoner for the rest of your life. If the urges come to you, then they will come.”

“I think I can delay it by not seeing men so much.”

“Mm. Probably. Come on, let’s get back to Eagles.”

“Yes. I have something I must do.”

***

I knew the moment I saw Angel again that it was over. She knew who I was, of course. Although they had stayed in my quarters, having been given no contrary instructions by their owner, they still ate with the other slaves. They would have known what I looked like and my new name through gossip.

She bowed, along with Wanda as I entered.

“Rise, Angel, Wanda,” I said, the same words, but in my woman’s voice.

“Yes, Mistress.” They said in chorus.

I had known, but it was still a shock to see that Angel was now taller than me.

Like an idiot, I refused to admit it immediately. It had been a long walk and I needed a bath. I pretended for a while that it didn’t matter, that they were still slaves and, man or woman, I still owned them. They obeyed me, setting the fire and drawing the water, but when Angel saw me disrobe, she gasped and couldn’t hold back her tears. For my part, the sight of her was like a masterpiece that had lost its luster, still beautiful but lacking the ability to inspire. By the time the bath was ready, I decided that being a woman mattered greatly, and I sent Angel and Wanda to the slave quarters until I determined what to do with them, ordering them away in a shout before they could see their mistress cry.

I donned my shift and walked the length and breadth of my quarters. My slaves had not been idle in my absence; they had completely repaired and polished my armor and clothes. Everything on the rack and wall sparkled or seemed renewed. I passed my sword in its sheath five times before I mustered the courage to bring it out. It was far too heavy now, and the grip too large. My forearms and shoulders were pathetically weak; breasts shifted and tossed on my chest, distracting me; and my balance was all wrong. The shift restricted my movement. I needed two hands to wield the sword with any power at all, and the first swing brought me halfway around and would have left me open to a ten year-old boy.

“This will not be!”

I yanked off the interfering shift, threw my hair behind me, and naked, attacked an imaginary opponent. This had some effect, and I discovered that by allowing for my lowered center of gravity, I was not necessarily clumsy, just weak and overmatched in a way a talented boy trying his father’s weapons might be. So, I had retained some of my skill, at least, merely lacking the strength to put it to any use. Exhausted now and dripping with sweat, I slid my old sword back into place and waded into the bath, which had now cooled.

In the chill, my nipples had hardened -- the exchange for my lost strength I decided acidulously, but that wasn’t accurate. I had traded physical strength and power for serum girl beauty, a dangerous blessing in a world where normally only the most beautiful were abducted. The “strength” of this body had become an enemy to what I held most dear, my freedom, just as Vanora had intended. I watched the breasts extending from my chest, and shook them around in the water. They floated as well as pointed. If I looked at them in a certain way, it was almost funny.

A father’s son to mother’s daughter; hard to soft; strong to weak; handsome to beautiful; casting to receiving; protecting to being protected… So, what was the trade for my sword?

I laughed. I lay back against the bath and screeched. I had traded my sword for -- a necklace.

I went to lunch soon afterwards, but Tisa wasn’t there. Feeling restless, for the first time in months having nothing to do in the afternoon, I rearranged my quarters, gathering my armor and clothes together for storage or sale. I had learned my lesson from Angel and Wanda: I would not have the memories of what I was staring back at me from every wall and alcove. I visited Tisa’s rooms a couple of times, but she hadn’t returned from wherever she had gone. Still restless, but unwilling to chance the grounds, I ignored the men in the hall by fixing my gaze at the far wall until I entered the garden.

It was still and empty. The sun cast soft shadows through the trees and reflected from flowers and bushes that lined the maze. I left the den of roses, turned around the switchback hidden in the wall of dark green foliage to the space with the bench around the tree. The breeze rustled the leaves above and on my face. From the center, sitting on the weathered wood, I could see no sign of the outside, making it easy to imagine that I was somewhere else.

I took a chance and released the veil, figuring that few would visit at this time of day, and then removed the pin in back, freeing my hair. Herth Tarr had counseled that silence and peace had the power to bring either strength or weakness. “From a quiet place,” he had said, “a man might look forward to a goal or purpose, or stagnate into uselessness.” Although no longer a man, I judged that under the right conditions, it was still a universal principle.

“A man’s journey begins from where he stands. The most productive journeys start with both feet on the ground,” Herth Tarr instructed centuries ago.

That was the question and the problem. My hatred was not an ideal place to begin a journey, and to where? My destination was more a negative, to stay free, than to any place I wanted to be. There was one thing about it that was unambiguous: my journey would be strewn with battle wherever it led, as I fought to remain a freewoman. For any battle, one must be prepared; a warrior’s heart and mind must work together. To fight effectively over the long term, one must be serene.

But I hated this! I didn’t want to be a woman. How could I be serene as my very essence dissipated into femininity? Far from the “two feet on the ground” Herth had recommended, this was chaos. I pounded my fist into my hand.

“Come on, Tyra! Think of something, damn it!”

Serenity. What if I had been born Tyra twenty--seven years before? For whatever reason, women were generally pleased to be women; I would likely have been happy as well. Who would I have been? That way was barely acceptable -- if I could somehow imagine that all this had never happened, that I had always been Tyra …

“Women cannot be understood, only observed,” the old sage had said, and certainly many millions had agreed with him over the centuries. Even if I knew who this “other” Tyra was, I doubted that I could pretend to be her. Tisa had said that a woman grows from a girl. I had never been a girl, had never had memories as one. My only memories were of a man’s life that had been destroyed, my love lost with my manhood, dreams vanquished, fury, hatred for my brother… “Arrh! Stop it!” I shouted.

“Tyra?”

I had the veil halfway across my face before I realized that Tisa was alone. “Sorry. I was preoccupied. I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Are you all right? Your rooms were empty. Does this mean that you sent Angel and Wanda to the slave quarters?”

My heart clenched at the memory. “You were right, Tisa, it wasn’t the same. I have to sell them. Angel…” I trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. I managed a small sound trying to clear my throat, then nothing. I held off for only a few seconds before tears filled my eyes, coming faster than I could wipe them away, and I turned towards the tree, finally sobbing into my hands.

“Tyra.” Tisa’s hands went to my shoulders.

I shook my head, angry with myself. “I shouldn’t be crying! Angel will be far better off without me. She needs a strong man. She…”

“Tyra, turn around,” my sister said gently. After doing this twice the day before I didn’t resist as much as I might have. I didn’t really think about it until I was already in her arms. “I can’t make this better,” she said. “When I was a girl and I came to you with my problems, you would do your best to fix it for me. Sometimes you took some action, or interceded with someone, Mother or Father, or took me somewhere for a treat. Sometimes you and I only talked about whatever was bothering me. I can’t help you with Angel. I can only try to understand your pain and offer you my shoulder.”

I sighed, letting her go. “I know that, unless you have a way to change me back. I’ve lost her, but life is long. Angel will be happy again -- soon.”

“Good. If you need to cry again, I’ll still be here. Now what were you talking to yourself about?”

“A matter of where I am and where I’m going.” I explained my thoughts.

“Goddess, that’s sounds serious. But maybe I can help.” She smiled. “You know, you are the only woman I’ve ever heard who quotes Herth Tarr. That old buzzard hated women.”

“That’s a misconception. He spoke to men of life in terms men could understand. To him, you women were ‘splendid unfathomable creatures,’ and he could be right. If women were fathomable then you would have had your own philosopher to explain things.”

“Well, you’re on the ‘unfathomable’ side now. I have something for you in my quarters. Come on. Herth Tarr wouldn’t understand, but you might.”

“Another lesson?”

She turned back towards me, looking more devious than I liked. “Yes, but more than just that, I hope.”

Once inside her quarters Tisa gestured to the bed. I sat and she made a space for herself beside me, crossing her legs underneath her dress. “I know you, Tyra. You’re a fighter. You’ll fight your urges to the end and, if you win, you'll seek revenge against Met. With you it’s like night following day. I approve. But you hate too much. You fight yourself and it’s hurting you.”

I shook my head. “The idea of enjoying myself as a woman, discarding part of myself … it may be that only when I have the urges under control could I accept myself enough to enjoy life as a freewoman.”

She nodded then rose to her feet. “Come to the mirror. I have something to show you,” she said, holding out her hand.

I left it hanging in the air. “I don’t need a reminder to know what I look like.”

“Perhaps not. Nonetheless, I ask that you come to the mirror, and to leave your hatred behind for the moment -- unless you are afraid of what you might see,” she added, walking off towards the bathroom.

I cursed, then followed her in.

She held her hand out to me, palm up, as soon I arrived. “Where is your necklace?”

I pulled it from my purse and gave it to her. “Put it on,” she said.

“I don’t see what this will prove.”

“Maybe nothing, but it won’t hurt, either.”

When it encircled my neck, she hauled me in front of the full-length mirror. “You, Tyra, are one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, with a necklace just this side of tawdry. Don’t you agree?”

I shrugged my pretty shoulders. “Sure, I’m beautiful, just as Vanora intended, so that men might abduct me quickly and make me their slave. What’s your point?”

“Just this.” Tisa removed a box from a bathroom drawer and opened it. “This is the necklace you should have bought this morning. It's my gift to you. Put this on.”

“You bought this just to show me how it looked on me? Tis’, this was expensive.”

She took my hand, hung the necklace across my palm and closed the fingers around it. “If it proves what I think it will, I’d pay for it again. Put it on, but before you look in the mirror, I want you to empty your mind. Release your hatred for Met for the moment. It’s just you and me now: Tyra and Tisa, your sister. When you can do that and relax then open your eyes.”

This necklace was heavy with gold. It lay cool against my skin, contrasting the olive well. I shivered the moment I saw myself. The necklace was startling: it enhanced me somehow. The oddest girlish tingle coursed through me, a mix of nervousness, confidence, and what had to be -- femininity. The girl in the mirror looked back with startled black eyes and reached for the necklace with slender fingers, brushing its surface just above her breasts. Her lips moved as mine. “This is me?” I whispered in wonder.

Tisa nodded rapidly and brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Do you see? It’s happening. You enjoy the way you look, as any beautiful woman would.”

“But, I… I,” I stammered, a slack-jawed idiot, albeit a beautiful one, staring at herself.

Tisa dragged me away from my reflection all the way back to the bed. Her mouth formed a smile of sorts. “It must be a shock to truly see yourself for the first time, but it is not a bad thing to be beautiful, just dangerous.”

I put my hands to my face, the soft skin, the outline of expressive eyes, and higher, to my hair, black and lustrous -- and remembered. “But I tried, Tisa! I don’t want to like what I am. Hades! I fought it when I could. I thought it was working…”

She took my hand and pressed it between her own. “I know you did. I saw your interest in the necklace in your eyes at the shop. You admired it for a moment before you snuffed our your desire like a bucket of water over a flame. It’s plain that your body is simply too strong for you to fight it the way you do. If you think about it, this is a natural progression — like learning to walk or controlling your limbs. It would be unnatural for any woman who looked like you to be displeased with her appearance. That is now corrected.”

I reached behind me and undid the clasp, fumbling in my haste. When I had it, I tossed the necklace on the nearby counter as if it were on fire.

“But I don’t want to be a woman!” I shrieked.

“Deep down, you enjoy being her, at least looking like her. You hate that you’re a serum girl, a natural slave, and can hate enough to cover what you feel most of the time, but I saw you move, Tyra. You enjoyed it. For a moment you felt -- a thrill?”

I whipped my head around to stare at her, conscious again of the mass of hair behind my head, the way my breasts moved. “Why did you show me this? Are you so interested in getting the sister you’ve always wanted?”

She stiffened, and for a moment I thought she might slap me. “That was unfair. I didn’t do anything to you. I wasn’t sure myself what would happen. I only showed you something we had to know. I have very mixed emotions about this. When I watched you at the mirror, my happiness for your pleasure was curtailed, wondering if a part of Tyr had died as a result. And yes! I want a healthy, happy, free sister if I can’t have my brother back.”

The gleam in her eye was unnerving, but I had been destined to become her sister since Ruk’s serum had entered my veins. Tisa was doing no more than making the best of what had to be.

“Forgive me. You were right to show me this. The more I know about what’s happening to me, the better.”

She bound forward to kiss my cheek. “Forgiven. We know now is that your body is too strong for you to fight. You should save your strength for the real fight -- when your urges emerge -- and in the meantime allow your femininity to come forth and blossom as it must in any girl becoming a woman. You will be a woman for the rest of your life, sister. You mustn’t be stunted in any way.”

By the Gods and Overlords. I stared at her, appalled. “I don’t want to ‘blossom.’ Even if I do like this body, a little, it’s still Tyr inside. You want me to pretend I’m a little girl, skipping and giggling through the fields? I’d feel like a fool and look like an idiot!”

“Well…” Her reddening complexion told me that I wasn’t far off.

“Tisa, I won’t do it. Gods! What if it worked? I might be killing what’s left of Tyr.”

“If you can save your strength to fight the urges, even by risking some of yourself now, then I say do it! At least you’ll learn to be a woman, the right way, and then you won’t have to worry about that part anymore. The important thing is to stay free. A slave is not a sister, only an owned creature.”

“Staying free is everything, but releasing my will would cost me myself. You can’t be serious.”

Tisa sighed, reached forward, and smoothed back a misbehaving lock of my hair, as if I were already that girl she wanted. “You’re terrified. I understand.”

I understood that, for the moment, I didn’t want to be anywhere near her. “I’ll be outside until dinner. I have some thinking to do.”

“Of course.”

There was no peace in the garden; Tisa had a point, damn it. I would almost certainly be stronger in the upcoming fight against the urges if I were content to be a woman, at ease in dresses, halters, and with the woman’s life. It fit with my thoughts earlier about strength in serenity. Tisa’s plans to turn me into a girl and “raise” me made perfect sense -- to her -- but she had no idea what it would mean to me to give up my identity. Her idea of saving me would mean that I try to become a girl molded in her image, a sister for a girl who had always wanted one.

Could a serum girl stay free and retain her personality? The few free serum girls I’d seen had a haunted, incomplete look about them, as if they had fought themselves to an unsatisfying compromise. But I’d gladly be haunted and incomplete if the alternative was losing the last of me.

I had awoken, as all serum girls did, fully formed with my urges dormant, and my true nature altered from male to female; my essence was now a natural slave female. It was only a stubborn ex-warrior named Tyr that prevented this body from doing what it was made to do, something that a combination of time and proper stimulation would accomplish.

The Slave Trainers Guild was the expert in this. They forced a girl to confront herself by enervating her female senses, permitting no disobedience. The man within, already disorientated with her softer body and different set of responses and emotions, was ill prepared to counter their compulsion; she fought not only the slavers, but also her true self. One by one, the trainers ripped away her male bonds until only the natural slave female remained.

The results varied from girl to girl, but it inevitably changed her personality. Flower was petulant, a holdover from Halter’s bad character, but I wouldn’t have recognized her otherwise. As Rita had said that Kitten, the former warrior, Kedlos, was a “silly girl.” All three were trained slaves, but only Rita had kept most of who she used to be, and only that by completely embracing what they had made her. Still, the submissive slave girl Rita was a far cry from the warrior she had once been.

My body was telling me that I was a beautiful woman, and that of course I should feel wonderful about it. The feminine twinge of pleasure as I admired myself in the mirror was simply a manifestation of it. All this was perfectly normal for serum girls, it said, and it had always been that way. I just hadn’t discovered it until now.

It was a lie. It was normal now, but yesterday it wasn’t. This morning my reflection was more of a woman I inhabited. This afternoon, the image was me. It wasn’t alarming, which alarmed me. I had changed. I was less Tyr than before.

The speed of the changes frightened me. When I awoke, I desired my sister. A couple of hours later the feeling was gone. Just now in the mirror, I’d felt as if this was my true form, and I was proud of my body. Depending on the individual, the urges could strike a free serum girl at any time, from days to several months. If this was any gauge, the urges would be with me sooner than later. What was next, enjoyment as men looked at me -- or an attraction to men?

I imagined a battleground when the urges struck, both fighting my desire to submit and to keep my self as Tyr. It would be like fighting an endless battle with a powerful man determined to enslave me while his dog nipped at my legs. From a warrior’s perspective, it would be far better to get rid of the dog beforehand. It would mean, though, that I would have to fully accept myself as a woman, a terrible compromise, but one that might save my freedom in the end, and, as Tisa had said, that was the only thing that really mattered, the only honorable result.

My skin crawled at the choices, but at least they were in terms a warrior could understand. I had already changed. Parts of Tyr were already gone, and more would follow no matter what I did.

I sat on the bench and cried, breaking into wracking sobs so deep that I sank to the soft grass, pulling on the blades with my fingers. I took some solace that Tisa wasn’t there to see her formerly strong brother, now just a weak girl, crying over things she could not control. Despair turned into fury at my brother and at the Gods who permitted this.

I lifted my head from the ground and wiped my eyes when I had nothing left. Tisa would see that I had cried, but I no longer cared so much. I looked to the sky; it was almost time to get back. I made it to my feet, brushed my dress off, smoothing it out, and checked the blouse for grass stains. I fixed my hair, redoing the barrette and pin, and started off before I realized what I had just done.

It felt normal. Another change? It was an odd moment of clarity: after crying so long, my hatred was used up, and I was suddenly weary of being “upset” at everything. Women wore dresses and had long hair. I forced myself to admit it: the dress actually felt good against my legs at the proper pace. If I had to have breasts, the halter did its job well enough, keeping them secure and comfortable. It was better than the alternative, flopping around like fat fish in a boat. None of these things were bad. These were clothes, not pieces of my soul! It was what half the world wore. Even admiring myself in the mirror seemed now inconsequential in hindsight: there would be something wrong with anyone who hated their own appearance. All I really had to do was follow whatever customs women followed: a few words changed, a slightly different attitude. Hades, even some women don’t follow the “rules.” There was nothing to fear -- like Rita said.

This would be a strange kind of battle, I decided after a long moment’s reflection, with compromises and changes, but an army never fought a war unscathed. I would ultimately win this. On my terms.

***

Tisa only saw it on me at the door, just as we were about to leave for dinner.

“You’re wearing the necklace I bought?” she gasped, her hands coming together before her face. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

I grinned, feeling better than I had since I awoke in Tisa’s bed. “Don’t expect me to ‘blossom,’ but I’m not as afraid as I was. Now what are you crying about?”

“That’s the first time I’ve really seen you smile as Tyra. You have a nice smile.”

“Thanks. I always thought you did, too.”

Dinner was easier than the previous night. Any dinner might have been -- I had publicly killed my warrior self the night before, after all, but I was in a better mood, more sure of myself. Plus the curtain was closed for privacy, as it was most of the time; except for father and Ron, there were no men to avoid.

As expected, mother inspected the ornament she’d ordered around my neck. “Your necklace is beautiful. Frankly, I expected something far inferior.”

“Thank you, Mother. Tisa chose it, but I like it very much.”

She was silent for a time, but continued to watch me. “And your attitude has improved remarkably,” she added presently.

“I’m trying harder.”

“Your work with the veil is better, as well.”

”I practice when I can. I hope I can take it off soon, though.”

“We’ll see. What do you intend to do tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure. I think Tisa is preparing lessons for me.”

“Tisa, is this true?”

“Yes, Mother,” she said. “Tyra is making excellent progress.”

Mother looked between the two of us suspiciously. I didn’t mind. I had nothing to hide, and continued to guide small bits of meat under the cloth while taking care to keep my jutting bodice away from drips.

“Very good, Tyra. Keep up the fine work.”

“Yes, Mother.”

***

“Leeks, beets, and turnips!” the vendor, a florid man in everyday browns and a white apron, bawled into the crowded, noisy market air. Leeks were last on my list.

“Are you going to be all right?” my sister asked, her hand on my sleeve.

“He’s the third man today, Tisa. I’m fine.” I gave her hand a fast squeeze and moved off, readjusting the veil with my free hand. That was true as far as it went, but I suspected that I would always be nervous talking to men. Finding them attractive was just a matter of time -- and afterwards….

He spotted me watching him, and broke his cadence to address me. “Yes, Miss, what would you like?” He gave my veil a quick glance, which everyone did, including the women, and another glance at my figure. After several days I was nearly used to it; all men did it to some extent. By that time, if he hadn’t, I would have wondered why.

“Two pounds of leeks, please, trimmed.”

He sliced the leaves away swiftly with a large flat blade. Weighing them took only a few seconds more. In fact, what he wrapped and handed me was a good quarter pound overweight. He winked when he saw that I’d noticed.

“That’ll be eight coppers, Miss.”

He would have been disappointed if I added the extra copper. What he was really after was a smile, a connection -- no matter how transient -- with a woman pretty enough to have to hide her face. I didn’t feel I deserved it, after all, any woman could be beautiful if she wanted to, but I was flattered despite myself. Blushing just a little, I met his eyes and bowed my head modestly, something I had learned to do since no one could see a smile behind the cloth.

“Thank you, sir!” I replied, and took the package, stuffing them away into the sack with the rest.

“How was that, little sister?” I asked after we began the walk back.

“Not bad. You’re less nervous than you were. Now if you would just wear that dress I picked out for you at dinner…”

I shook my head, remembering how I looked in the mirror; I’d nearly been hanging out of it. “I tried it on. It’s not want I want to wear.”

“You’ll never be well rounded until you conquer your modesty. You told me once that women’s clothes were just clothes.”

“I was wrong. Do all women enjoy wearing garments that might fail when they stretch or bend over?”

“Well,” she grimaced, and I knew I had her. “You have to be more careful, but there is a time and a place for it.”

“I don’t hate your dress, I just don’t want to wear it. As long as some women agree with me, then that should be enough for you and Mother.”

“Uh huh. And what about yesterday? You stopped at the vendor on Castle St. and practically drooled on his display of knives and swords, hardly the act of an lady.”

“Some women carry daggers. If the sight of a fine weapon bothers you then try thinking of it as cutlery.”

“Tyra! Is this the way it’s going to be, trying to have it both ways?”

“I learn whatever you teach me with an open mind; I won’t fight anything, but I’ll choose what I like and don’t like. It’s the only way I know to stay satisfied with who I am.”

“I know; you do it to stay free.” Tisa’s tone made it clear that didn’t completely approve.

I stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Don’t think that I’m not grateful for what you’ve done. Seeing the world from ... our point of view is sometimes hard for me. I wouldn’t trust anyone but you to guide me through it.”

She reached over and smoothed back hair that probably didn’t need it, all the while searching my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. I can only imagine what you’re going through. You have changed. Most of the time it’s hard to believe that you were once a man. It’s just once in a while that a movement or a few words gives it all away, and Tyr is suddenly staring back at me. What you’re doing is working, and I should be overjoyed that you accept yourself as much as you do.”

“Good.”

She smiled. “Come on, I have to make a stop at the potter.”

While Tisa was looking for a planter for her room, I looked in at the shop across the street, where a slim foreigner with dusky skin and bald head painted a scene from a copy. Mildly interested, I stepped inside. The room, a small studio, contained racks of paintings, mostly landscapes and buildings, pictures that would likely fill a space in a den or living room, although done better than most I’d seen. I sniffed a sweet, acrid smell, and found the source by the painter’s side, a faint wisp of smoke rising from a pipe.

The artist turned as he heard me enter. His pupils were strange, like black pools.

He smiled expansively and bowed. “Lovely Lady, welcome to Rani’s shop.” he said, speaking in a sprightly cadence I couldn’t identify. He waved his brush like a wand towards the various racks. “Please, find your desire.”

A glance informed me that Tisa still sought the perfect pot, so I decided to look around. As an artist, Rani was confident, with a bold style. A picture caught my eye, an eagle, the symbol of my family and Batuk’s adopted bird, the first bird our founders saw when they came to the North so long ago. Eagles still nested in places cut away for them high in the rock of the fortress.

He left his easel when he saw where I was looking. “Ah, that one is special, lovely lady.”

“Indeed?” I asked, suspecting a sales ploy.

“Oh, Yes. I’ve made copies, but none are as fine as this. Here, I’ll bring it down. Look closely and you will see.”

An eagle in flight is a common theme in Batuk. It symbolizes freedom if soaring, or fierce pride if the claws are extended for the kill. This eagle did not simply soar; its wings flexed in motion; it had purpose, a destination. The bird’s yellow eyes did not look down at prey but glared directly back at the viewer, the artist somehow breaking the rules of nature to create a nearly human, defiant mien without changing the eagle’s dimensions. It was brilliant, mad, or both. I loved it. In a way, it symbolized my own struggle.

“This is superb work, Rani.”

He bowed. “Innovation, lovely lady. Other artists paint from within themselves. I apply myself to the canvas then paint myself.”

That was the kind of thought that made you bang your head against the wall to get it out of your brain before it did any permanent damage. I took a hard look at the pipe, still producing a thin trail of smoke. Behind it and to the side lay an open bag I’d missed earlier. The contents stamped on its side, a painkiller normally used in tea. Rani smoked it. Temporarily mad, then.

“How much for the painting?”

“For my finest work? I might part with it for two golds, although it would break my heart.”

As a woman, it would have been unseemly to laugh in his face. I left with the painting wrapped under my arm only three silvers lighter, under ten percent of his asking price, and worried that I had paid too much.

I showed it to Tisa outside the shop. I don’t think she saw what I did in it, but she was happy to see that I was happy. She placed her hand on my arm and asked, “Tyra, do you miss your old life so much now?”

The question reopened wounds that were just beginning to heal. Tisa understood her error immediately and blanched, but the words were already in the air. I reached automatically for the necklace Tisa gave me, and used an old warrior’s trick to channel my anger into it. Although I didn’t tell Tisa, I wore it mainly for that reason.

Its presence also reassured me that Tisa had my best interests at heart. I held it when I saw myself in the mirror, and, especially in those first days, before lessons -- lessons that I couldn’t have abided otherwise: feminine mannerisms, which I learned to Tisa’s satisfaction, some of which I still refused to use without a good reason; the daughter’s place in the family, one of natural obedience to her parents and special respect to her father and brothers, who would risk their lives to protect her safety and honor; and deportment, a catchall for anything that didn’t look right to Tisa’s eye.

I also wore the necklace, I had to admit, because I liked the way it looked on me.

Did I miss my old life? Mine had been a life that most men only dreamed of. I remembered it all. I missed my men and the bond of warriors who had risked life and death together; I missed my strength and hard-earned skills, a world where I could defend myself and others; and most of all, I missed Angel. Hades, yes, I missed my old life.

I could never again be a man’s equal, only his female counterpart, and then only if I adopted the role society expected of me.

And yet, I had changed. With each passing day, I was more the woman in the mirror. I felt normal and healthy. The space between my legs no longer seemed to be lacking, but properly formed. Somewhere along the way, my body and I had reached an accord: I had not rejected her, and she, in turn, had accepted the stubborn warrior into herself. My heart beat as Tyra, and I no longer feared to be a woman.

Each time now, it took less effort to subsume my hatred for what had been done to me. Like the eagle in the picture, I was on my way; I had a destination.

“Tisa, I don’t miss my old life so much, and I owe everything I am to you.” I slapped her on the back to show her the kind of woman she’d created. “Come on, Tis’!” I said, now laughing at her expression. “Let’s get back. I have a picture to hang and you still have to show me how to cook all this.”

***

I opened my eyes three days later with a peculiar all-over tingling. I took a bath, which normally relaxed me, but when I dried off, I felt the same. When Tisa knocked on my door to go to breakfast, she knew that something wasn’t quite right.

“Is something wrong, big sister?”

“I’m not sure.” I described how I felt, and had a horrible thought. “Gods! Is this the start of my monthly cycle?”

“I don’t think so. If you have signs, they’re usually more profound.”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful.” The tingling passed after breakfast, but left me restlessness with nothing to do, and Tisa was busy that morning with the family accounts.

Taking a walk wasn’t enough. After changing to a split riding dress, I headed down to the stables. Nemesis didn’t know me any more. His nostrils flared at my unfamiliar smell, and the stallion’s huge brown eyes watched me suspiciously. But I knew him. A few reassuring words and slaps to the same places granted me his probation. The saddle was a struggle this time around, even using steps, and I had to adjust the stirrups twice, but I made do without the stableman’s help.

Except that Nemesis seemed huge now, riding him wasn’t too different, the greatest change being my bottom, which no longer fit the saddle properly. I turned right down the Wall Road towards the Lion Gate, paying little attention to the men and women who stared, some of whom recognized the notorious Eagles’ serum girl from my description, or who knew my horse.

I passed the string of houses and estates lining the road, and then the shops and vendors at the Lion Gate that, even at this early hour, penetrated the cool air with cries of food, drink and other products. Soon I was through and clear, just a freewoman outside for a ride. On impulse I headed east to the less traveled road to the coast. Nemesis, I think, sensed my mood, and the warhorse eased into a mile-eating trot. I passed a column of lumbering trade wagons and a slow moving quartet of riders, then took off the veil. With a cry, I jabbed Nemesis with my heels and let him loose.

“Aaiiee!” I yelled into the wind. This, at least, was the same -- my stallion’s effortless strides, his strength -- and I didn’t let up until we’d put the sounds and smells of the city behind us in the dust. By then, Nemesis was hot, sweaty, and breathing like a bellows. I pulled off the road to a creek bed we’d been to before. I dismounted and led him to drink, keeping a watchful eye for visitors.

I didn’t expect any, but, as I was acutely aware, an unarmed woman, alone, was vulnerable. Most men coming across the scene would stay a discreet distance away and ask if I needed assistance, politely leaving unasked why I was out unprotected. Unveiled as I was, many seeing my face would suspect me of being a serum girl. A daring foreigner, if he were in the mood, might see me as a girl ripe for abduction.

I allowed Nemesis to drink his fill, but stayed by his side the entire time, ready to mount him at the first sign of trouble. When we emerged from the bed, a mounted man, one of the four I’d seen together on the road, waited, his arms casually crossed in front of him leaning on the pommel. His three companions had halted about fifty yards further down the road. His green and tan riding leathers were cut in Batuk fashion, and his dark brown hair was trimmed neatly, a little longer than the style for warriors. I barely remembered him as a son of another Batuk house, although I didn’t know his name.

“Peace!” he called to me, raising his right hand. “I am Tristan t’Sed of Fox House. I offer you escort back to Batuk.”

I recognized him now. Honor demanded that I reveal my name, although I was loath to give it. I reddened in embarrassment, for if word that I had been riding alone so far from Batuk’s walls ever reached Mother or Father’s ear, I would get a stern lecture on my duties as a daughter.

“I’m Tyra l’Fay of Eagles,” I admitted. “I thank you for your kind offer, Sir, but won’t your friends be delayed?”

He made a small bow from his saddle, emerging with a broad grin. “I thought it might be you, Miss Tyra l’Fay; I recognized your horse. It’s no trouble at all. It’s a two-day trip to Gaster, and I’ll have no problem catching them this afternoon.”

With that, there was no reason to refuse. By custom and courtesy I should have been grateful for salvaging a measure of honor for my family, my city, and me. “Then I accept.”

He waved goodbye to his friends and we started off back to Batuk at a walk.

“I should thank you, Sir…”

“Please call me Tristan. Two members of Batuk’s finest houses should call each other by their first names, especially as we have been introduced already.”

“Yes ... Fara’s engagement party, if I remember correctly. Call me Tyra, then, Tristan.”

“I will. I’ve seen you several times since then, mostly riding down the Wall Road past our estate with the men from Eagles to or from some exercise. I’m not a warrior, but I’ve always admired those who fight for Batuk. This last raid, of yours, for instance…”

I shook my head, cutting him off. “Tyr t’Pol, the warrior, is dead.”

“I see. Then Tyr is gone forever; there is no memory of him; and if Tyra rides the same horse as if she were riding into battle, screaming like a demonness, well,” he shrugged, “that’s just a coincidence.”

I shot him a look. “Of course Tyr and I ... share, but it’s not quite true, and awkward, to refer to Tyr as alive, or to speak of things that ‘I’ had done, when ‘I,’ Tyra, could obviously have never done them.”

He reached behind him and produced a flask from his saddlebag. Twisting off the cork, he raised the bottle. “I find that siolat often clarifies the mind on such matters. To Tyr t’Pol, whether he is here or in the afterlife!”

He brought it to his lips, emptied a fair amount, wiped the top clean with part of his shirt, and presented the bottle to me.

I blushed. It was a gesture of the field, but done with courtliness that reminded me of our relative places. “Thank you, Tristan. I’m not going to deliver myself a eulogy, but I am thirsty.” I drained about a cup’s worth of the potent drink and wiped the top off on my dress before handing it back. “Since my life started only about a week or so ago, why don’t we talk about you? How is your family doing?”

Men generally love to talk to women about themselves, even when they know they’re being set up: I had, and Tristan was no different. He was good company, and funny, enough to make me laugh. I nodded or said the right things for him to continue, and gradually I think he forgot who I was, or used to be. He had affixed my place, and had no doubts of his own. Within his conversation, Tristan played the ancient game that requires only a man and woman, and where anything is possible. His words were flattering, if sometimes insulting to a former warrior, but he played well, and if I didn’t respond the way another woman might have to a handsome son in a good house, it wasn’t his fault. I decided that I liked it, mostly, and the ride back was swift.

Just outside the gate, he grinned in a certain way, and I knew something was coming. “If you drop your veil and reveal your beauty to me, I guarantee your parents will never hear of your wild ride alone this morning.”

But by then I had his measure. “A pity that we both know you’re too much of a gentleman for that, Tristan.”

He was crushed, but only for a second. “Yes, a pity,” he said, and then smiled, having miraculously recovered. “I enjoyed our ride together, Tyra. If you decide you need a reasonably sized horse and a woman’s saddle, then be sure to see me. I’ll give you a good deal.”

Horses were Fox House’s main business, as I recalled. “I will, Tristan. Thank you again.”

With a final wave, he left the way we came, breaking into a trot, and I turned Nemesis back towards home. I couldn’t risk that again, I decided. If Tristan and his friends had been men of a different sort I could have been abducted. I’d been reluctant to ask for escort from one of my former warriors, but it was something that I’d have to face sooner or later. After Tristan’s kindness, I had no excuses anymore.

After taking care of Nemesis, I remained at the stables, watching the men practice from a window. I was there, I told myself, to decide on a man to ask the next time I went riding. With my brother still not speaking to me, it would be the best way. On the practice field, the men danced the dance of death with the skill, grace, and power born of years of dedication. At one time, I had been one of them, had been among the best.

By the Gods, watching them I felt so small and weak! I’d grown accustomed to my size; my woman’s strength; the way I looked, even proud of it: beautiful face; trim waist that swelled naturally to wider hips, separating to shape firm, slim legs; my breasts that were neither too big nor too small; the space between that tapered smoothly and formed a recessed channel beneath, all correct and perfect for a woman! It was who I was now, and yet, I used to be one of them. I remembered; I used to be strong, a warrior, a man.

This time I felt the change coming, and quickly grasped my necklace, pouring my terror inside. This would be the last of it, but, by the Gods, what this would do! Don’t fight it! These are not the urges, just the final step in the process; let your body be your guide. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Let it be.

I opened my eyes when my heart stopped threatening to beat itself to death against my chest. There is no fear. Let it come. And while I looked, a curtain that I’d no idea existed faded to mist and scattered, and my world changed forever. They weren’t just men anymore; these men exuded maleness.

Der’s shoulders were as wide as before, but were now male width, protective -- and pleasing. My old second stood straight and tall, firm and muscular -- the same but different. I waited nervously, but nothing else occurred: I didn’t feel the need to rip my clothes off or submit to anyone. In most ways, it was like admiring a fine-looking woman in reverse -- nothing unusual, and safe enough -- except for the uneasy feeling that I was now much more the bait admiring the fish than the other way around. Even for Zhor, this was an exceptional group of men, and I blushed at thoughts that Tyr had never had.

But, while I liked to watch them and the way they moved, they were unacceptable to me in the way that mattered. We’d been like brothers. We’d fought together, and wenched together. Most importantly, though, I’d led them. I still had enough Tyr in me to reject men whom I had commanded for years.

It was a relief, for a sure way to the urges was to be taken to the silks. If Tisa could avoid temptation, then so could I. I walked past the practice field, aware that eyes were on me. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I strode by them all until I approached Ron and Ketrick, who stood together too close to the path to ignore. Suspecting that my brother’s wish was the real reason I had to wear the annoying veil, I glared at him as I walked by. Ron stood tight-jawed and impassive, as if he only endured me. Ketrick, however, raised his hand in greeting, and grinned -- a lopsided affair, friendly and predatory. It wasn’t the first time a man had looked at me with interest, but it was the first time I’d truly felt it.

When I made it back to my room, I took another bath to get rid the horse smell. Checking myself in the mirror before leaving for lunch, I looked for changes, but didn’t find any. Once again, it felt normal, as if I had always felt that way. I supposed that it was because I hadn’t met anyone I was truly attracted to. I would have to learn to talk to men all over again; my reactions would be awkward at first until I learned to be impersonal. But it had to be more than that. Some part of me had come to life, else why did I keep thinking that Ketrick had a nice smile?

***

“Goddess! You like men now? Tell me all about it,” Tisa exclaimed, her blue eyes wide open and staring, bouncing beside me on her bed.

I raised my hands helplessly and let them drop to my knees with a slap. “What can I tell you? It happened this morning, when I was watching the warriors practice, and suddenly the men, well, pleased me in ways they hadn’t before, and … I’m sure you know how it is. The changes are finished. You’re looking at Tyra.”

“Do you really like men?” she asked, a plea for it to be true.

She said it so much like a girl I reached out and took her hand in mine. “Yes. It was inevitable.”

Tisa looked up in silent prayer. When she looked my way again, there were tears in her eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you to become complete,” she said, her voice wavering.

Complete. Now there’s a word. “Is something wrong, little sister?”

“That’s what you always asked me when you were Tyr. You were the best big brother a girl ever had, but there were things I couldn’t say to you. But you aren’t Tyr anymore, you’re Tyra, and you would understand, where he could not. There’s nothing wrong. I just want you to sit and listen to me. Goddess,” she groaned, “it’s been a long time since I could actually talk to anyone.”

I sat up and tucked my legs underneath, getting comfortable for a long stay. “Tell me as much as you want and take as long you like. I have nothing more important than to hear what you have to say.”

As the daughter of one of the finest houses in Batuk, she’d had to be cautious with her girl friends, and after a bad experience, she trusted no one completely. Confiding in Mother was out of the question. As Tyr, I had been her best friend, but as a man, the depths of Tisa’s young girl’s heart had been out of bounds.

No longer. She spoke to me for hours. I’d known some of it: I’d seen her talk to young men every now and then, but I’d never known her dreams or desires from the inside. I understood most of it, or empathized. I wasn’t her, nor could I be; I’d never been a girl, after all. When Tisa spoke of her first love, finally able to tell someone, she glowed with an inner fire. I tried to understand. Through her passion, I ached with her, and comprehended what I had never desired but what she wanted most of all: to someday be joined with a man who would be her guide and partner, lover, and father to her children.

She wanted me to listen, not fix anything, and I knew enough now not to try. I held her hand sometimes, and told her I understood, even crying bright tears when she brought me to it.

“You know,” she said during a quiet time, “I was in love with you. There were days that I wished you weren’t my brother so that we could marry. It’s silly to think of it now, but you were so strong, brave, and commanding….”

“I’m glad that I didn’t know about it. It would have made things awkward. Just out of curiosity, if I hadn't been your brother and we had married, would you have let me keep Angel?”

She grinned crookedly and sniffed with her nose very deliberately held high in the air, “Absolutely not! Maybe Wanda, if you’d insisted. She would have been a good servant.”

I didn’t remind her that Wanda was a superbly skilled passion slave. It made no difference anyway. “So, you admit that you were jealous of Angel.”

She sighed. “Yes, a little. She’s a beautiful slave and was devoted to you. She came to me late that night when you changed, and knocked on my door, weeping, begging me to help her master. Your slaves and I lifted you onto my bed. It was a terrible time, and we shared tears. I brought Father and Mother, who both wept, and Ron, who took one long look, and left, unable to bear the sight.”

“And Met?”

She covered my hand with her own, gnawing on her lip while she decided what to tell me. “He came. He saw you, seemed surprised, maybe because he couldn’t believe his plot would work, or…” She shrugged wearily, as if she’d been through it in her mind a hundred times. “Who knows? We all watched him. He said a few of the right words, but he wasn’t the picture of a grieving brother. Mother’s eyes were on him like ice-blue daggers, and Father told him to leave. Please, Tyra, that’s all in the past.”

It was, and I had just ruined a wonderful moment. “Well, why did you bring him up, then?”

Tisa looked up, frowning. “I didn’t…” she started, before she had a good look at my face. Then she grabbed a pillow and smacked my head with it. “You are such a bitch!” she shrieked, laughing.

Being called a bitch was suddenly the funniest thing I’d ever heard, and I laughed so hard I fell sideways on the bed. Tisa beat me with it one more time, then joined me, putting her hand to the side of my head to smooth back a few strands of my hair.

“You aren’t anything like I’d imagined you’d be! You love sharp objects. When you speak, sometimes it sounds like a military campaign, and you aren’t very feminine.”

I smiled right back at her. If I’d followed her advice, I’d have been leaping through fields of flowers in a flowing white shift and playing with dolls. “Well, I’m happy with how I turned out.”

“So am I. Are you happy, Tyra, really?”

I reached up and touched my sister’s cheek, a natural gesture, although it didn’t used to be that way. My darker hand contrasted with her pale skin and blonde hair, and her hand over my ear must have looked the same to her. Black eyes, blue eyes, Tisa and Tyra: real sisters now and forever.

I couldn’t protect her anymore, but I understand her more than I had, and through her, something of myself, something of who I might be someday. We not only shared physical form, function, and needs, but also the women’s bond of vulnerability in a world of powerful men. We are sisters. I closed my eyes and inhaled her fragrance like wafting a fine vintage, willing myself to absorb the flavor of our relationship. I couldn’t and wouldn’t forget I’d been her brother, and I still had much to learn about being a woman, but with the last changes, it was time to let go, to drop the differences between us.

I was proud of her -- my teacher, friend, sister, and I wanted her to be proud of me. I opened my eyes and smiled. “This is one of those feminine pleasures you talked about in the garden. I wouldn’t give up this feeling for all of Zhor.”

She looked back fondly, a tear in her eye. “Neither would I. Tyra,” she said quietly, her face as open and hopeful as her heart would allow it to be, “would you want to be a man again?”

“I can’t, so why worry about it?” I must have hesitated too long before replying because her face fell.

“I see.” she said.

“Tis’, I’m not unhappy, especially right now, and if it weren’t for the urges….”

“Truth,” she replied, trying on a brave smile for me.

“And yet, ‘Introspection should eventually give way to action’ and ‘A man should celebrate what he has, not despair at what he does not.’”

“My sister still quotes Herth Tarr,” she groaned. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“For now, it means to Hades with everything. I’m going to enjoy myself, go out tonight and visit a tavern. Are you with me?”

“I’m willing, but father would insist on an escort.”

“But you’re over the age of majority. Why would they…”

She shook her head. “Not for me. Even with the veil, you’re too pretty. Unless you wore a sack over your head, some men would suspect what you are, and some of them might act on their impulses.”

“Right,” I sighed.

“During the day it would be all right, but at night, when the men drink and the lights are low…”

“Tisa, I understand. I suppose we’ll have to endure it, at least for the time being. Ron still won't speak to me. Could you ask him for me?”

“Of course. This will be such fun!”

“I wanted it to be just the two of us, though.”

“I don’t mind an escort so much. So, we’ll sacrifice some privacy. Isn’t it so much better to know that you're safe instead of worrying about being stolen?”

I had no answer to that.
 
 

 
I'd love to read what you think of this epic so far. There's a lot of action, romance and intrigue to come. Hope you all stay for the ride. ~Aardvark

Tyra talks to Ketrick and discovers that he has plans for her. A unfortunate meeting brings the urges. How not to sell slaves. Tyra fights back. A encounter in the Institute brings her hope. A close call in the western market. Rani's inspiration provides a needed clue. The final test at the slave club brings out her deepest needs -- will it be salvation or disaster?

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 5
 
 
The last gasp of twilight cast the white stone arch at the rear entrance of the estate in an orange hue. On the street outside, a handful of men and women in evening dress broke into laughter as they strolled to somewhere special. One of the women I'd known well before I'd abducted Angel, a giggly sort in flamboyant colors. I hadn't seen in more than a year. She smiled at us and raised her hand. I waved back, forgetting that she was Tisa's friend, too, and that the greeting hadn't been meant for me. The woman cocked her head curiously at me, having no idea who I was.

I let out a sigh when she passed on. I wasn't in the mood just then to reintroduce myself to a former lover.

“Ron didn’t give you a hint who our escort is?” I asked Tisa.

She shook her head. “Nothing. He said that he was going to ask for a volunteer.”

“Probably a good idea. Besides seeing his former commander in a dress, I’m every warrior's worst nightmare.”

“Well, you're not contagious. You aren't expecting trouble from the escort, are you? You look a little on edge to me.”

“It could be awkward. I'm a little nervous, but no more than that. I still have a place in Eagles. If a man I used to command is uncomfortable with Tyra l’Fay, then — then that’s too bad.”

“Good for you! Ah,” she said, a bit quieter, “you are going to behave yourself, aren’t you? If there ever was a time Mother would check up on you, it would be tonight.”

“If I get drunk, I’ll blame it on you.”

Tisa made a rude sound. “No one would believe it.” She nudged me in the side with her elbow and pointed towards the house. “Look, someone’s coming.”

The easy, efficient walk was unmistakable. I sighed. “That’s Ketrick, the Weapons Master.”

“You’re not pleased?”

“I don’t know; I was expecting one of the men from the barracks, not him.”

“You used to go out ‘drinking’ with him quite a bit.”

“Yes.” Watching him approach out of the shadows, he seemed much as I remembered, only enhanced, and I couldn’t get his smile out of my mind.

Tisa jabbed me in the ribs. “Goddess, you think he’s cute!” She giggled.

“Gods and Overlords, Tisa!” I hissed. “Will you be quiet? He’s almost here, and anyway, I like him; he was my friend. And if you don’t stop jabbing and kicking me, I swear…” But Ketrick was closing, and I had to break it off.

“Good evening, ladies. I’m Ketrick, your escort.”

Up close, he was taller than I remembered. I cleared my throat and spoke. “Good evening, Ketrick. I’m Tyra l’Fay and you've seen my little sister, Tisa. I thought we would go to the Cedars.”

“Good choice,” he said low and smooth. “What section?” He appraised me with a single sweep, normal enough for a man, but my skin grew warm, as if he had breathed across my body.

“The privacy section,” I answered with the smallest quaver. What in Hades is wrong with me?

“Excellent. Are you carrying weapons?”

“Ah, no.” My cheeks burned. Although his query was reasonable for an escort, I imagined a deeper question. I was a former warrior. Why wasn’t I wearing a weapon? What would he think of me? Then I scowled under my breath. As a woman, I shouldn’t be expected to carry one.

“Very well. Shall we go? I’ll watch your back for now. Don’t worry. It’s the way back where most women encounter risk.”

“Thank you for escorting us, Ketrick!” blurted my sister, smiling at him while nudging me from behind.

“Yes, thank you for escorting us,” I added.

When we were out of Ketrick’s earshot, Tisa asked quietly, “What’s going on? He's doing fine; you're the one acting like a girl out on her first match.”

I shot her a cold stare, likely wasted in the deepening shadows. “This isn’t as easy as I thought it was going to be. I think that Ketrick is judging me.”

“Of course. He’s probably looking at your nice round bottom right now. It’s what men do. So, judge him right back. He’s only the escort.”

“It’s not just the way he looks at me. Ketrick was my friend; we respected each other. I can’t dismiss him or pretend that what he thinks of me isn’t important.”

She looked up into the darkening sky. “Goddess of Mercy, I have trouble putting myself in your place sometimes. All the respect you earned doing manly things: wenching, fighting, and getting drunk together is likely as gone as your manhood.”

“You toss male bonds aside very easily, little sister.”

“Well -- maybe,” she replied, flustered, remembering for the moment that I was an expert in the field. “Does it really matter? You can’t be friends with him like that anymore, so why even try? Get his respect again, by all means, but as a woman.”

I gave Tisa a long look, but left it alone. Sometime, Ketrick and I would have to talk, and I would have a chance to show him how much I had changed and was the same, and hopefully some of our friendship would survive, but Tisa was half right: It could never be the same again.

“I’m Tyra l’Fay,” I said, taking a deep breath of the clean evening air, “and I’m not ashamed of who I am. If he doesn’t like it, then tough.”

“That’s right. There’s nothing wrong with you -- well, a gaping hole in your femininity, but nothing you can’t correct. Now, about Ketrick: Are you attracted to him or not?”

I didn’t have to think about it; it simply was. As odd as it was to admit it, it felt rather good. “Yes, I am.”

“Goddess!”

“It’s all right, Tis’. I’m only attracted to him. Besides, he doesn’t even like freewomen, only slaves.”

“That’s supposed to be reassuring? You’re going to have to tell me all about him.”

My sister was being a tad overprotective, I thought. “Fine, as long as you can keep it to yourself.”

By the time we had passed through the residential area, a region of small stone cottages and houses in neat rows, she could barely keep from turning around and staring. “A warrior over three hundred years old? He doesn’t act old. And he was the war leader of an entire city?”

“And don’t forget his skill and stamina in the silks,” I chuckled. “Ketrick is a very impressive man. Time to close your jaw. We’re almost here.”

The Cedars was huge. Founded over two hundred years ago by a woman, and now run by her son, the building had expanded twice over its lifetime, once to extend a wing and once to absorb two adjacent building, creating a patchwork effect of light and dark stones and varied ceilings.

It was built with four separate sections: a traditional siolat tavern to the left, a larger section in the middle with music and a dance floor, a small section for dinner and privacy to the right, and a large kitchen in the rear, which served all sections. A bright dance tune, sounds of movement, and a woman’s piercing laugh made it through the double doors. Ketrick caught up as we approached.

He said, “We have a choice. We could find two booths or tables with direct sight of each other. Or I could sit with you ladies.” He looked to me, his face not giving me a clue of what he preferred.

“What do you think is the safest way?”

Ketrick grinned, amused that I threw it back at him. I had escorted before. Although both methods were good, there was a “safest” way.

“I’ll watch from another table then. It will give me a place to judge who, if anyone, is interested in stealing you tonight. But don’t worry, Miss Tyra l’Fay, you should be quite safe. I’ve heard that nearly all abductions are planned days if not weeks in advance.”

“Yes, oddly enough, I’ve heard that, too,” I said dryly. “Then we’ll sit separately -- at least until you can determine if anyone here wishes me harm.”

He nodded down from his greater height, and we entered the Cedars together, but as two parties. An ornate door to the left carved in the shape of a cup and pitcher opened briefly as someone entered, and an alcove girl within pierced the air with screams of ecstasy, cut-off when the counter-weight pulled the door shut again. In this, the main section, the walls were cheerful red with a repeated gold pattern, and the raised dance floor in the center, surrounded by tables packed with men and women, seemed to be constructed of some polished light wood, almost sure to be cedar.

A band of three men and a woman played in the far corner, two strings driving a rowdy beat accompanied by light drums. A woman, her scarlet hair bound in a headband, made her tambourine shiver as she sang the tale of Sedha and Val, two lovers who defied their families to be together, her clear rich voice flinging their joy and love to the rafters.

Several couples danced. The men dressed in loose-sleeved finery and polished boots. The men, strong and athletic, dressed in loose-sleeved finery and polished boots, whirled and guided their partners through their paces. The women spun and stepped with natural grace, their cotton dresses twirling and wrapping around themselves, returning to their partners for a time, only to be hurled away again.

At first I followed the men, drinking them in with my new perception, but gradually I shifted to the feminine side, transfixed by a woman who danced like a dream. I imagined myself in the her place, in her blue and white dress, my own black hair replacing her blond as it whipped behind me, the dress spinning out from my own legs, and wondered if I could dance as well and be as happy as she looked.

I already knew part of the answer: the girl whose genes had been copied to make my body had been an exceptionally pleasing slave, else they would never have taken her DNA. Whoever she was, she must have danced superbly, and I already knew I had a fine voice, although I had dared to sing only once in the garden. What would it be like to dance again, this time being guided, matching my grace, my femininity to a man's strength? And how dangerous?

The hostess arrived, a buxom brunette with a permanent smile, and brought us to the privacy area, bringing Tisa and me to a booth close to the back, while Ketrick took a table at the far wall, where he waited for someone to try to take me.

We ordered wine and a light snack from the kitchen. I started with the honey bread, slipping pieces under the veil. Distracted by thoughts of the dance, it split in half on the way to my mouth and tumbled into my bodice. I spent an awkward moment fishing it out, and then longer to clean the stickiness away with wine and a napkin.

“Damn this veil!”

Tisa leaned over the table and spoke very low. “If you take it off I won’t tell anyone. From where you’re sitting, the only person who can see you is Ketrick.”

I shook my head as I dabbed up the last of it. “I promised Father that I would wear the veil outside the house.”

“Come on, all women who wear veils take them off sometimes. You don’t wear it in the public bathroom, and you don’t need to wear it where no one can see. You wouldn’t be breaking your word to Father by adopting the commonsense approach of others who wear the veil outside their homes.”

“Well…” I considered, but Tisa had a fair argument, albeit a trifle legalistic -- and I hated the accursed thing. Shifting my eyes to the left, I asked, “What about Ketrick?”

She waved her glass towards our escort dismissively. “He already knows who you are, and I doubt that he’s planning to abduct you.”

“Good point.” I unhooked one side of the veil and tossed the other over my shoulder. Glancing towards Ketrick, I caught his eye and smiled, turning away finally in a burst of shyness, although I thought I’d concealed it well enough.

“Good. Now, I can see you smile.”

I leaned back in the tall bench of the booth and let the wine warm me. I closed my eyes, reliving the moment when I watched the woman in the blue and white dress. “Tisa, for the next lesson, I want to learn how to dance — like a woman.”

For this, what I thought was a revelation, she only gave me a knowing smile, as if the request was quite natural, and flicked her hand towards the dance hall. “I noticed you watching. Did you see any good-looking men?”

“Most men look pleasing to me.” At her blank stare, I added, “I don’t think that’s so unusual. I used to find most women pleasing to some extent.”

“Oh. I suppose that’s true. What I meant was, were you drawn to anyone in particular? You must have preferences.”

I toyed with my glass of wine, running my index finger up and down its length for a moment. “I like warriors. I understand them — and they are physically appealing.”

“So, with so many warriors like Ketrick at Eagles, I expect you’ll be blushing all over the estate, like you are now?”

“You expect wrong. The others were my men. Ketrick was more than that, and he defeated me with the spear. He’s the finest warrior I’ve ever seen.”

“He’s fairly good-looking and his history is impressive, but why would defeating you with the spear make him more attractive to you?”

I decided that I had come too far into areas I didn't want to look at too closely. “It's ... confusing, and it doesn't matter, and why all these questions? One would think you were interested in him.” I grinned. “Abandon that thought, little sister. He's far too old for you.”

“Huh!”

“It doesn’t matter,” I repeated. “As I said, he likes slaves, and he’s never been married.”

“He sounds very boring.”

“That’s a word I’ve never heard used to describe him.”

She tilted her head for a second or two, as if remembering something. “I’ve been escorted before and the escort always sat with us. Why is Ketrick sitting over there?”

“Because I asked him to. I wanted to be alone with you.”

“That was very sweet of you. Are you avoiding him?”

“No.”

“If he volunteered to be our escort, he probably had a reason. I think he wants to talk to you.”

“That occurred to me, too. He can join us later -- if you want.”

Tisa smiled. “It's not a problem for me! I’m going to the bathroom for about twenty minutes, but first I’ll tell Ketrick that he should guard you here. That will give you two some time to say whatever pleases you.” She slid out of the booth and stood, smoothing her dress.

“Tisa!”

“Surely big sister can talk with her escort for twenty minutes without losing her virginity?”

She was gone before I could formulate a reply. A moment later, Ketrick settled his powerful frame onto the opposite bench. He sat comfortably at a slight angle with one arm draped over the table, entirely self-assured, and waited patiently for me to speak.

I am Tyra l’Fay, a daughter of Eagles.

“Hello, Ketrick. We’ll be alone for twenty minutes.”

“Your sister’s idea, Miss Tyra l’Fay?”

“Yes. Call me Tyra, if you don’t mind. I still remember us as friends; I hope not all of that is gone.”

“Well, this change does put a crimp in any plans to go wenching with you.”

I laughed. That was flippant, even for a warrior.

He smiled the lopsided grin I’d seen at the practice field. “You’re taking this well.”

I shrugged. “Any sane person must accept reality.”

“I’m pleased. How far have the changes taken you?”

I couldn’t think of any reason not to tell him, or for this information not to be spread among my former command, for they would surely ask him how I was.

Looking him straight in the eye, I said, “All the way, except for the urges. I’m a woman. I’m not ashamed of the way I look, or of who I am. Of course, I wish it had never happened, and I still want to shove a knife into Met’s gut.”

“Remarkable. Too many serum girls try to remain the men they were, a hopeless fight, and in the end it damages them. A woman, yes, yet I see much of Tyr behind those beautiful eyes.”

Tisa had said much the same, but she was my sister; I reached out with my hand before I knew what I was doing. “Thank you. I hoped it would be that way.”

His hand was huge, and his forearm well muscled. With the touch, my attraction, which up to then had been restricted to admiring Ketrick from a safe distance, made its presence known in physical ways, and another smile from him made me blush and look away. I'd seen that look from him before, but never directed towards me.

By the Gods, he thinks I’m beautiful.

It wasn’t so much that places above and below my waist came to life. I'd known that feeling touching myself in the bath -- this was different. As Tyr, when I’d wanted a woman, I’d acted — it is undeniable that women prefer men who know what they want. Under Ketrick’s healthy appraisal, I softened, melted; I wanted his touch. It was so -- unmanly.

Well, you’re not a man anymore. Tyr had never felt this way, but for all of that, it was very real. I shifted in my seat, feeling a little like I’d peed on myself. This won’t be the last time you're attracted to someone! Get used to it!

“Ketrick, why did you volunteer to be my escort tonight?”

“I wanted to see how you were, and to give you some advice.”

“It would appear that you have already accomplished the first part.”

“So it would seem. You will, of course, fight the urges.”

“With everything I have,” I said, irritated that he would question my resolve.

“I expected no less.” He looked at me directly, a mannerism that always meant something important was to follow. “There may come a point when the urges prove too powerful. During that vulnerable time, a girl has a brief chance to decide her destiny. My advice is to be prepared and choose well.”

“You don’t think I’ll be able to stay free?”

“Does it really matter what I think? Will that lessen your determination?”

I glared at him. “No.”

“Tyra, I only wish you success.”

“And yet you recommend a strategy for failure.”

“It is advice, from a friend,” he said with a shrug. “If you like, forget I mentioned it.”

I snorted. “I think you might have another reason for offering me this ‘advice.’”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“Your popularity with slaves is legendary. Siolat girls descend upon you, and fight for the privilege to serve you.”

“You exaggerate,” he said modestly.

“Such behavior is usually the sign of a superb master.”

He grinned. “I suppose that some people would agree.”

I laughed, not knowing what else to do. “You outrageous bastard. You’re suggesting that if I lose this battle with the urges that I should cross my wrists to you!”

Ketrick’s face fell, as if hurt or saddened. I knew him too well to believe it for an instant. “Clearly, my advice has upset you. Please, discard everything I've said.”

“It’s not going to happen,” I said, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Then there is nothing to worry about,” he said reasonably. “All I wish is for you to be happy.”

Despite his “advice,” I believed that much, at least. “So, tell me, ‘friend’ Ketrick, how are the practices going?”

I listened as he spoke of my former command, how the new pleasure girls were working out, and some personal tales. During that time, I ignored my woman’s body. I saw Fash, Jed, Der, and the slash of steel. In my heart I knew they weren’t and could never be mine anymore. The dance of death wasn’t a part of the world I’d come to inhabit. I missed the comradery, the excitement, and probably would until I died. Someday, when I was better prepared, I determined, I would see them again, and come to terms with my past.

When Tisa returned, Ketrick told funny stories that he’d acquired over the centuries. We laughed, had some more siolat and wine, and walked home together. He left us at the entrance and Tisa and I parted to go to our separate quarters.

I went to bed that night, at first unable to sleep. My life as Tyr was gone, yet a single bridge remained with Ketrick. Part of our friendship still survived. It was just too bad that I was so attracted to him -- it complicated matters. I tossed and turned for a while before grabbing a pillow. I fell asleep dreaming of Ketrick’s arms.

***

Two days later:

Tisa had been sure she could teach me to dance. I knew how as a man, of course, and could lead well enough, and she could follow. Reversing everything confused us both and was often hilarious, and Tisa was laughing as we gave up trying for the morning, entering the house from the garden.

Ron was there. In that flush of happiness, Tisa grew rash, took his hand as he walked by, and steered him in front of me.

“Ron, I’d like to introduce your sister, Tyra.”

It wasn’t how I would have planned it, but if forcing us together broke this maddening freeze between us, I wasn’t going to complain. “Hello, Ron,” I said, and held out my hand, as freewomen sometimes do to men for formal introductions.

“Stop!” he roared, as furious as I’d ever seen him.

I looked up in shock. Ron wasn’t quite violent, but he wasn’t far from it either. He grabbed my arms in hands much stronger than mine and held me immobile, controlling me for a long moment. I strained to break free, but couldn’t budge him. Helpless in his hands, something from deep inside, always there but suppressed, with roots buried all the way to my core, took control and luxuriated in my submissive role. Instead of my brother, my best friend before I’d changed, the man holding me swelled to an irresistible male, dominant and powerful. My breath quickened and grew shallow, my skin tingled with need to be touched and handled.

Fascinated, I looked up to my brother’s captivating face, and wondered how his lips would feel pressed down against my own. My nipples hardened with incredible swiftness and demanded attention. Desire spread like a hot wave through my body from breasts to saer and, to my utter consternation, wetness trickled down my leg. My heart pounded; my knees weakened. By the Gods, I wanted my own brother to take me!

“I suppose you are my sister,” he said, dripping bitterness, “but I don’t know you. You aren’t Tyr t’Pol. You’re only a serum girl!” He pushed me away as if I were filth, turned sharply, and started off.

Tisa overcame her paralysis and ran after him. “You rhadus!” she screamed. “How dare you treat her that way!” She cracked a nasty kick to his shin before he could hold her off.

Sick with arousal, I knew what I had to do. “Wait, Tisa, he might be right.” She stopped struggling and stared at me.

“Ron,” I pleaded, “I’ll try as hard as I can to stay free. Before I disgrace Eagles, I’ll leave Batuk. I swear this to you.”

“You haven’t seen our new serum girls lately,” he said, looking uncomfortable and very unhappy. “After two weeks with the men, they are the happiest three slave sluts on Zhor. I don’t see a chance for you. The serum is too strong, and I can’t stand the thought of you being like them.”

I could barely stand to hear his rejection. As brothers we had been close. Tears ran down my face and my hands reached towards him in open appeal. “I’m a freewoman, Ron! Some have resisted the serum successfully. I have to think I can do the same!”

The cry in my voice halted his departure. Deep lines in his young face were only a hint of what must have been a divide in his heart. “I can’t take the chance,” he said more gently than before. “Please, stay away from me as much as you can, and continue to keep your veil on in my presence. Truly, I wish you well, Tyra.” He turned abruptly and left.

I collapsed against the wall and cried. Tisa gave me her shoulder. When Ron had rejected me, it had hurt, but she didn’t know half the reason why, and I was afraid to tell her.

When we returned to her room, she smoothed my hair back and looked at me carefully. “You cried for a long time. Are you going to be alright?”

I nodded. I was unlucky to get the urges so fast, but I wasn’t unprepared. “Yes,” I sighed, “I’ll be fine.”

“I could kill Ron for saying what he did!”

“It’s all right. Really. I understand how he feels.”

“Then you understand more than I do. You shouldn’t sleep alone, not after that. Please, stay in my room tonight.”

“All right.”

***

The rest of the day, I managed to keep the thoughts about Ron from my mind, mostly, but there was nothing to distract me under the covers, and my urges found me. Relentless images of my brother’s strong hands and hard lean body made sleep impossible. I moved on the sheets and held a pillow to my breasts to gain tactile satisfaction, but its effects were minor, and left me awake and frustrated. Clenching the sheets in my hands, I stared at the ceiling and considered what to do.

Tisa had long since fallen asleep. I left the bed, walked quietly to the bathroom, and stared at myself in the mirror in the yellow lamplight. My eyes shone large and wild. I recognized the look of a girl ready to be taken!

As if in a dream, I pulled off the shift and stood naked before the mirror. Like a vision, my hands rose to the perfectly curved mounds of my breasts, touching the smooth underside, holding them, feeling their warm weight. I sighed, making a womanly sound. My hands lifted to tease and circle my dark, swollen nipples. I moaned, and didn’t have to check to know that I was very wet. My skin was hot. The face was a girl in desperate arousal.

I practically ran to the bed and lay on my back in the same position I had forced Angel and Wanda to assume so many times. I imagined myself in their place, hating the necessity, yet loving the submissive pose; my legs spread wide, open for an imagined man above me.

My hand slid softly over full and receptive breasts, fingertips gliding over soft skin, down the expanse of my stomach, reaching over the mound and under to the hot wet slit that defined me as a woman. I found what I needed between the folds and cried out in joy, throwing my head backwards. My body was a wonderful teacher and I, an enthusiastic student. My need became intolerable, and I twisted and arched, crying soft gasps. At the last moment, before it happened, I managed a coherent thought and stuffed part of a pillow into my mouth, barely managing to muffle a scream that would have certainly awoken Tisa and a fair part of the house. Then I started again.

It wasn’t enough to completely satisfy me; a great emptiness inside needed to be filled; I wanted strong hands to hold me, to control me, but what I had done was enough for now. Turning over, I sobbed into the pillow. Gods, what is to become of me?

I slipped back to the bathroom and washed, appalled to find how much I smelled of arousal. I put my nightgown back on and tiptoed past Tisa, who snored peacefully, remarkably having slept through the whole event. Back in bed, I entered a fitful sleep.

I woke up before Tisa; my needs bringing me around, fortunately not as badly as before. When I finished, I put on a robe and slippers in the cold morning air, and went to the window. I watched Tisa sleep, breathing the breaths of the weary, stirring occasionally. Asleep, she looked younger than her years. Her entire life, if fate was kind, centuries, stretched out before her. She would marry, have children, fulfill dreams yet unknown, and be disappointed, the life of a normal freewoman. A scant two weeks before, I would have scoffed at the idea, but at that moment I would have given much to be her.

I turned away and faced the garden, glistening from a shower earlier that morning. The sky was clear and the eternal Fortress stood tall and proud. Through my tears, I took strength from its black rock face, its towers challenging the sky. My sister’s destiny was not my own -- it couldn’t be -- I would have to find my own way.

Tisa awoke with a start. She looked at the morning light and groaned, rolled out of bed, stretched and yawned, and came to my side. She looked me over, still concerned about the previous day. I smiled, finding it to be a relief to be with her, a woman and therefore not a potential brolling partner. “Morning, Tisa. You slept well.”

There was something in my voice or on my face because I didn’t fool her. “Has it started?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Oh, Tyra!” She took me in her arms.

I explained what happened with Ron and what I did earlier that night, speaking calmly, as not to alarm her.

“You know,” she said after a time, “I’ve pleasured myself, too, sometimes.”

“If that was all it was, then I'd count myself lucky. Unfortunately, this will only get worse. I’ll do this until I can’t stand it anymore, and then I’ll have to try something new.” I cracked a smile. “I’m glad I can talk to you about it. I can’t imagine what Mother or Father would say.”

She looked at me seriously. “I think that Father understands. He’s probably seen it before, and he did give you free rein to do what you have to do. Mother is Mother.”

“And what’s your limit? How far are you prepared to go with me?”

“You’re my sister. As long as you don’t cross your wrists, I’ll be with you.”

“I will fight this, Tisa!”

She nodded. “I know you will. What are you going to do?”

“Right now? I’m going to take a bath, get some breakfast, and sell some slaves. It’s past time, and I can’t delay it any longer. I’m thinking of Ketrick. He would be a good master for them, probably better than me.”

“I’ll record a bill of sale for you if you come to an agreement. I’ll be here after breakfast with the accounts.”

***

Arriving at Ketrick’s room, I knocked at the door. I heard stirring and Ketrick’s voice: “Who is it?”

“It’s Tyra.”

The door opened. His face grew thoughtful at the veil.

“May I enter, former War Leader of Gerras?” When he opened the door further I went inside and removed the veil. There was strength in his presence, more so than our night out together. I believe I managed not to show my feelings, although it wasn’t easy; the urges made me feel like a slut.

“What can I do for you?”

“I have two fine slaves to sell. Do you want to buy them?”

He rubbed his chin. “I’d have to examine them first.”

“Naturally. I had them sent to my quarters. When would you like to see them?”

He grinned. “They are pretty little things. There’s no time like the present.”

“Excellent.” I stood and reattached the veil.

“Such beauty should remain free to be seen,” he said.

I glared, sure he knew I was attracted to him. Flattered, despite myself, it was still something one might say to a cherished slave girl, not a freewoman.

“I’m sure you’ll like Angel and Wanda even better.”

He smiled. This was infuriating. I didn’t want to play this game! My quarters were only a few doors down. I led the way and felt his eyes on me, watching me move, as I would have a pretty woman a span of days before.

Angel and Wanda had heard us approach and were on the floor. I lifted my veil. “Rise, Angel, Wanda.” They rose almost as one.

“They are well trained, Tyra.”

“Yes.” My slaves already glanced at Ketrick with surreptitious interest, ignoring me, their mistress. They were such sluts. “Angel, Wanda, Ketrick is a potential buyer.” Speaking to Ketrick, I said, “Take whatever time you need. I’ll wait outside.”

“That’s not necessary,” he replied.

It didn’t matter, I told myself; they were just slaves. Calmly at first, I watched as he checked their teeth, hair, and muscle tone. I had to admit that he was doing a thorough job of it. He moved on to responses and, as I expected, they both displayed superbly, each moving in delightfully feminine ways to his touch. Proceeding to more intimate places, he soon had Angel and Wanda moaning helplessly in harmony, something I had never tried. I was warm, my breasts pushed against my halter and a trickle of moisture ran down my leg. I couldn’t believe what incredible sluts they were.

I found my mouth to be unaccountably dry. “Ketrick, I see you would like some privacy. I will leave.”

He shrugged. “If you wish, but I’m almost finished. He gave Angel a master’s kiss and she responded completely, as if she were a trained passion slave. I licked my lips. I could see that Wanda was eager to be so tested as well. I closed my eyes, and a tear rolled down my face. I wanted to hate them for being disgusting sluts, but I was the problem. I wanted to be in their place being dominated and given the master’s kiss. I was as least as big a slut as either of them and already thinking dangerous thoughts of submission. Fortunately, it was Ketrick’s last test.

“They are both satisfactory. You’ve kept them in fine form. I’ll give you a gold for each.”

It was a fair price. I sighed in helpless regret. I’d loved Angel. It had been over between us as soon as I had ingested Ruk’s serum, of course, but this sealed it. I remembered the time I had crept into her room to abduct the haughty, insolent, beautiful woman from Ademar. Angel had fought me, screaming and kicking the entire way. Her brother’s arrow had grazed my leg, and I had barely made it past the city walls. The moments when she had ignited in my arms and when she had crossed her wrists to me, begging to make her a complete woman, were the finest, most pleasurable of my life.

She stood now, beaming at Ketrick, already in heat. Both my slaves would be very happy in Ketrick’s care, and I had no doubt that he could keep Angel completely dominated and satisfied. The pair eagerly awaited my decision. “Done,” I said, and it was over. I moved unsteadily to the door. My former slaves ignored me completely, having eyes only for their new master.

“Let’s go to my sister’s room,” I said listlessly. “She can draw us a bill of sale.”

He smiled. I acutely felt his presence in the corridor and down the stairs. When we arrived, Tisa had already drawn up three duplicate contracts, leaving only the price and name blank. I mumbled congratulations, and Ketrick departed after shaking my hand, eager to train his new slaves to his needs.

Aroused and miserable, I sagged onto the bed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked me.

I explained the erotic nightmare testing Angel and Wanda had been for me, leaving out the parts about wanting to submit, which would have frightened her. I pounded the bed with my fist. “Damn him. I think the rhadus knew what he was doing to me.”

“I’m sure he did. He looked too pleased with himself.”

My black eyes bore into her blue. “The only way to smear that bastard’s self-satisfied expression is to win.”

It took a lot of willpower, but I managed not to touch myself for the rest of the day. When I returned to my own quarters, though, it was impossible to go to sleep. I pleasured myself again that night, but slept less.

The next day was horrible, a constant fight with myself, and before I went to bed, I looked at myself in the mirror. I saw a frazzled, shaky woman in the battle of her life without the resources to fight on. If I kept fighting like this I was going to lose. I slumped over the counter and cried, bitterly disappointed. After only two days with the urges I would have to adopt a new strategy.

My goal was to stay free. I fought on two fronts: fighting to avoid men, the slut-urge; and fighting the urge to submit, the slave-urge. I couldn’t fight both any longer. I took a deep breath and faced myself, the raven-haired serum girl with feral black eyes. It was step I dreaded taking, but a warrior has to know when to retreat to a defensible position.

“You are a slut, Tyra l’Fay,” I said to my reflection. “You want a man’s twill inside you. You want to feel his strong arms holding you, dominating you, feeling your breasts and forcing you to pleasure him....”

By the Gods, what am I saying? It was as if a part of me had died, and I cried out. I waited until the panic passed, then recalled the old sage, 'Let reason rule your passions, not the reverse.' I only state what is true, facing what must be faced — unambiguously. Calmer now, I repeated the words until I could say them without fear or pain.

“You are a slut, Tyra l'Fay, but you are not a slave. You are a freewoman.”

There were serum girl clubs in Batuk for women like me. If I was a slut then, so be it, but I was no slave. In the meantime, my slut-urge needed attention. I smiled; this might even be fun.

Preferring to clothe his new slaves to his taste, Ketrick had left behind several slave tunics. I drew on one of Angel's, imaging myself hot and wet for my Master, which took practically no effort. I imagined his eyes upon me, and removed the brief silky garment in a way I thought seductive, blushing from the brazenness of it, then lay down in the pelts where I'd had Angel and Wanda so many times. There, I pleasured myself shamelessly. At one point I wanted to scream “Ketrick!” but I held my tongue. It wasn’t necessary; I was in charge, and the world contained many attractive men to satisfy me. Activities like this, if known, could have had me branded and in a collar. But it brought me through the night. Before I slept, I squirmed in the furs, pleased with myself. I was a slut, and my needs would have to be met to stay sane, but perhaps I was not a slave. In the morning I had less wish than the night before to submit. I even had a wonderful appetite.

But when I told Tisa in her room after breakfast, she wasn’t as pleased with my “progress.”

“I hope this works,” she said worriedly after I finally made her understand. “This could become a scandal that even Father can't forgive, but if it keeps you from being a slave, I’m for it.” She furrowed her brow in thought. “Aren’t you forgetting something? If you took up an occupation, wouldn’t you be distracted from these ... recreations?”

“That’s ... that's not bad, Tis’. I want to be a normal freewoman — at least as much as possible.”

She placed her hand upon my shoulder. “And I want nothing less for you. What would you be interested in?”

What could I do where I wouldn’t be around men very much? I was a slut, but I didn’t want to be a slut all day long.

“Maybe a scholar,” I said, not too enthusiastic about the idea. I had always wanted to be a warrior; to me there had been no second best.

She clapped her hands in relief. “Any particular field?”

“I'll go to the Institute and find out what they have -- and I need to find some clothing of my own. I can’t keep borrowing yours.”

“After lunch then, we'll visit the Institute and the market.”

“All right.” I felt better immediately. It was action, something I could do to improve my chances.

I went back to my apartments and found my supply of slave-bitters, what I had given Angel and Wanda each month. It was a disconcerting thought that I could soon be carrying a child if I wasn't careful. I ripped off a piece with my teeth and swallowed the astringent substance.

I managed to get through lunch without touching a man. I found that if I imagined a man with gooey horse dung on his head, it partially controlled the urge to mate with him.

That afternoon, I left with Tisa to walk to the Batuk Scholars Institute. This time I was glad to wear the veil; there were fewer interested looks from the men. Mainly, I followed in Tisa’s footsteps, not taking my eyes off the back of her head. The walk wasn’t pleasant, but I managed to avoid fresh slut-urges.

The scholar at the visitor’s desk was handsomer. I imagined horse dung and week-old fish dripping from his hair. I paid him a few coppers, leaving it on the desk to avoid the touch of his hand, and Tisa and I walked to the Histories Chamber where Hana l'Lina was supposed to be working.

I found her sitting at a table with four open books spread out on it. There were no men in the area, so I removed the veil.

“Scholar Hana l’Lina, we talked several weeks ago,” I said.

She peered up at me critically. “I think you’re mistaken.”

“My name is Tyra l’Fay. I was a warrior at the time named Tyr t’Pol. I asked you about a war leader named Ketrick of Gerras. You took the history of Gerras from another room where a woman named Jara told you it was on the second shelf. A couple of weeks ago I was unfortunate, and became what you see. I’m here to look for a new career.”

“Is the Ketrick you know tall, handsome and a mighty warrior as I said?”

“You said he was ‘rugged’ not handsome, and he’s Eagles’ Weapons Master.”

“Well, you seem to be handling the changes well. You even wear a flattering necklace.”

“Ah -- thank you. Scholar…”

“Did you have a low libido before you were transformed?” she asked abruptly.

I thought that was rather direct, but I answered anyway. “No.”

“Do you have the urges?”

Blood rushed to my face. “Yes, but I’m managing. Scholar, tell me about your classes. I might be interested in studying here.”

She shook her head rapidly. “I’m sorry, the Guild would never allow a serum girl into a classroom — too distracting — but this is a first; I’ve never heard of one asking before. I'm sympathetic, and. I think what you are trying to do is admirable.” She showed me a small smile and patted the chair beside her. I settled in to it. “You could simply accept your lot in life and submit. You serum girls are natural slaves, after all. You’d be happy with a strong master.”

I shot a glance towards Tisa to see how she was taking it. She shrugged, making a face. Tisa had heard it before. So had I. Tough. “I've chosen to fight. Some serum girls are freewomen.”

“Truth — for the serum girls who had low libidos as men. Some men do, you know, although few would admit it,” she said, amused. “I’ve never heard of anyone with a normal libido who has managed to hang on longer than a year or so.” She studied me closer, as a physician might analyze an unusual condition. “May I ask you a few questions? There are indicators that determine how efficacious the serum is on a serum girl.”

I was dubious. In some areas where serum girls are concerned, masters, and men in particular, are the experts, and I told her so.

“Really! I’ve studied this field for some time, I assure you, and I know what I’m talking about.”

I shrugged. “Ask your questions, Scholar.”

Her “few questions” became a detailed examination ranging from how often and long I’d brolled women to how I managed as one.

My body and voice didn’t match the words anymore. Telling the scholar how I’d brolled my slaves made me feel like an idiot, and I burned in embarrassment. I told her everything else: what happened with Ron, Ketrick, and my decision to visit the serum girl clubs. When it was over, she had narrowed her eyes too often for the verdict to be anything except bad news.

“Tyra l'Fay,” she began ominously, “to show those signs this quickly is conclusive. Despite your outward appearance, Ruk's serum has turned you quite effectively. You’ve also had some bad luck: these men you mentioned served as catalysts, speeding the process.” She regarded me with one eye higher than the other. “How on Zhor did you come here without becoming incredibly aroused on the way?”

I told her about the horse dung.

She gave me a look of some respect. “Clever. It shows determination and imagination.” She pressed her hands together under her chin and considered. “As a man, you had a significantly higher than average libido, and normally I would give you no chance at all. Satisfying your urges in the clubs will only work for months -- a year at best. Eventually the slave-play will fail, and you will succumb, likely serving in a siolat tavern or otherwise 'entertaining' large groups of men,” she said, finishing with a distasteful mien. “That is the usual pattern; however, for you, something else might suffice.”

She paused then to look inward and compose herself before continuing. It was maddening.

“Scholar, whatever it is, tell me!”

“The problem with slave-play is that the serum girl knows that it's play. Her slut-urges may be exercised completely, but her slave-urges are not. However, if the girl believed that she was a slave, both her slut-urges and slave-urges would be satisfied, and she could continue on, fully appeased until her needs brought her back to the slave club.” Hana winced, conceding a mental point. “It's theoretical, but it’s a reasonable assumption based on what we know about serum girls.”

“But how…”

She touched my forehead with her finger. “Imagination and will, properly trained, can temporarily make a person believe almost anything.”

“What? Like an actor in a play?”

The scholar shook her head briskly. “No. Think of the berserkers of Dast. They create a place in their minds and fill it with a picture of themselves as invincible warriors. It might work for you. Instead of the invincible warrior, you would believe yourself to be a slave.”

“By the Gods, how?”

“Two hundred years ago, a roving scholar followed the high passes of the Resting Mountains to Dast, and learned their language and culture. He recorded the way they trained berserkers. I caution you, this is no sure thing. For the men of Dast who attempted it, it was hit and miss. It’s an obscure method thought useless to anyone besides berserkers; I offer it as a possibility.”

“I’ll take it!”

It took a few minutes to find the old report and bring it to the table. She pulled a paper and ink from a drawer and copied a portion of a yellowed page. She blew the paper dry and handed it to me. “I can’t emphasize too strongly that this will require enormous willpower. As far as I know, these techniques have never been used to counter Ruk’s Serum.”

I scanned the scholar's spidery script. It called for unusual mental exercises in clear, concise terms, written by someone more interested in communicating the process than impressing others. I carefully folded the paper, and deposited it in my purse as if it were gold.

“Scholar, I don't know how to thank you.”

She smiled, took my hand, and came to her feet. “May Ashtar guide you, Tyra l'Fay — and let me know if it works.”

As we were leaving the chamber, Tisa hauled me off to a pillar close to the door..

“What does she mean,” she hissed, “and what did she give you?”

“Honestly, I don't know. Maybe nothing, and maybe everything I need.”

From her face, she wanted to believe, but she wasn't stupid. “Tyra, it can't be that easy.”

I laughed. “'Easy' is the last thing I expect it to be. I take heart with the words of the sage, 'A man is measured, not by the length of his twyll, but by the challenges he meets and overcomes.'”

“Goddess of Mercy, I wish you would stop quoting that man!” She sighed like I was an affront to all women. I grinned. She shook her head but smiled back. “Well, at least you're in a good mood.”

I was more than in a good mood, making it difficult to drop manure on heads. Fortunately, it wasn't far to the women's section of the market, where few men dared tread. Tisa brought me to a packed cul de sac. It was the busiest time of day. There, women in colorful dresses and skirts swirled, chattered and bargained amidst outdoor stands, their agile hands and slender fingers handling clothing, shoes, and all manner of feminine accoutrements. Tisa led me through the shuffling crowd, past displays with decorative shade canopies and women hawking wares, some directly to me, as I seemed more interested than most.

They were right. For the first time, I was buying women's clothing for myself. I would choose what I liked, buy and wear what I wanted and would call my own, a heady thought for me, now with a chance to be normal. Tisa pointed out a store that she favored. We went inside the place where no man would have reason to be, and I dropped the veil.

For the next three wonderful hours, I almost forgot that I was a serum girl. I wanted to believe that we were two ordinary women out shopping, and that the world outside was as friendly for me as it was for everyone else.

While Tisa prodded and made exasperated noises when she didn't like what I selected, I tried on dresses, blouses, and skirts in front of the mirror that I thought would look good on me, a side I 'd never allowed to show openly before. My sister, as always, accepted these new signs of femininity, not as the revelations they were to me, but as long overdue traits I should have shown much earlier — if only I had not been so stubborn. I didn't correct her: what would it have mattered?

While I was admiring myself, Tisa returned with an armload of clothes. They were all of the daring variety, the deep necklines, sheer cotton and silk that covered while revealing much. Before I said a word in protest, she grabbed my arm, and looked at me seriously.

“It's time. Learn to enjoy it, or at least humor me,” she said.

Why not? “All right, I will.”

If this was a prelude of things to come, I thought, as I looked at myself in the mirror, covered in a dress with a bodice that plunged dangerously, it wasn't bad. I looked good in it, although I still doubted I would wear such a thing comfortably. My breasts weren't bountiful, for which I was grateful, but they were ample enough. In that moment, though, the urges, briefly dormant behind a wall of women and feminine clothing, found me again.

“Is something wrong?”

I turned away from the mirror and began to get undressed. “Let's go home. This is enough for one day.”

Tisa didn't try to talk me out of it, and I made arrangements to deliver what I'd bought to Eagles.

The streets were packed when we left the store. Once away from the women's section of the market, the flow moved against us and I couldn’t avoid the men as I’d done earlier. Tisa led the way, holding my hand, and pressed forward while I concentrated on the blonde tail bobbing behind her head, making myself an island in the flood, but there were too many. Men and women jostled us from the side, and twice we had to move to get out of the way of a wagon. In some distress, now, it wasn't as easy to pay attention. Every man couldn’t be covered in horse dung, nor was the effect as powerful as it once was. Men caught my eye, many handsome and pleasing, and my mind drifted.

A man or woman bumped another in front of me. Off-balance, she broke my hand free from Tisa. In two beats of the heart we were separated. Men lurched into me, or I ran into them; their firm bodies pressing against my breasts like twin jolts of lightning. I grew light-headed; I wanted to touch them. I saw an especially attractive man and reached for him as he went by, drawing back at the last moment. Another passed before me, and I had to force myself around him. Another followed, and another; wetness leaked from between my legs; my breath quickened.

I felt it then, a sensation I'd seen in my slaves when they were close to their true selves, awareness of men so acute a girl’s body moved on its own to touch an arm or caress a leg. I looked for something to hold onto to take me from this delicious madness. When Tisa found her way back to me, I was swaying in a dance, touching men when they walked by. She rushed back and slapped me, then dragged me to the shadow of a stationary cart.

“Tyra, are you all right?”

Hades no! My chest heaved, my breasts tightened in my halter, and I ached to be touched. I wanted a man’s strong hands on my body. I wanted a man inside me!

“Tisa, I need, I need,” I panted, grabbing her arms. “I have to touch myself. I’m so sorry! I can’t wait any longer.”

“Oh, Goddess! Hold on!” She dragged me into an alley a half block away, behind a crate, out of sight of the street as long as she stood to the side. “Go ahead, it’s safe,” she whispered.

I lifted my dress, thanking the Gods that there was nothing under the shift to slow me down, and did what I had to do. It didn’t satisfy me completely, but it returned my sanity. When I finished, I leaned back against the wall, exhausted.

“Tyra, is it over? Are you all right again?”

“That should hold me for several hours, at least. It was all those men around me, rubbing against me … You did well, little sister. I’m proud of you.”

My praise had no effect on her. She looked as if tears would roll any second. “It almost happened, didn’t it?”

I shrugged. “It was close, but I wasn’t really in danger as long you were with me.”

“Don't try to minimize this!”

I threw up my hands. “All right; you win. I lost control over my own body. I was in heat, for Gods’ sake! When I have the time to think about it, maybe I’ll be terrified, but not now. What I did just now cut the fear right out of me.”

She looked at me for a moment without expression. “I suppose it is hard to be afraid when you’re -- enjoying yourself so thoroughly.”

“Yes.” Now that I could think again, I blushed furiously. Tisa had seen far too much of her big sister. “It doesn't matter! Despite what happened, overall, it’s been a good day.”

She looked away, biting her lip. “Tyra ... about what Hana gave you….”

“Let me guess. You think that she gave me the instructions to make me feel better. You don’t think she was serious.”

“Well…” she replied, unable to meet my eyes.

“You're probably right, but I still might be able to make it work.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m not just making noises. Most people know that warriors are taught mental exercises to ease their fear before a battle, catch sleep when they can, endure pain, and so forth. What isn’t so well known is that many warriors can’t do it at all, and the majority does it indifferently. I mastered the techniques within a few hours. Hana didn't know it, but she passed on the directions to the right serum girl.”

We waited until the crowd thinned, then returned home without further incident. I hung the picture of the eagle in my room, and then made it through dinner without alarming Mother.

I hadn’t told Tisa everything. It wasn’t anything I wanted to discuss with her, or think about. That moment in the crowd when I’d lost myself I hadn’t merely desired to have my clothes ripped away, legs spread, and body penetrated, I had needed to be taken, dominated -- and overcome.

I retired early that night, telling Tisa that I needed to get some sleep. When I locked the door to my apartments, I freed my hair, took off my clothes, and put on one of Angel’s slave tunics. I looked like a slave in the mirror, except that slaves were proud of what they were: shameless, submissive, and the most attractive women. I’d had a taste of what slavery was like that afternoon in the streets, but I couldn’t know — not really -- I was still a virgin. It might have meant something to Tisa or any other normal young woman growing up, but serum girls like me didn't have the luxury to dwell on romantic notions, or to allow what was left of the man inside me to ponder too closely what it would mean to be penetrated.

“What would make you believe that you’re a slave?” I asked my reflection.

I pleased myself again that night, to sleep, and dreamed of men and mastery, finishing with me on my knees crossing my wrists.

We began after breakfast. I lay down on the bed in my room, gave my sister a reassuring smile, and closed my eyes. The patterns I’d practiced for years relaxed me, and, after a struggle, I took on the attitude described, and entered the impression of a familiar place of peace and calm, the garden.

There was no one else there, nor would there be unless I willed it. I wore a shift so light I couldn’t feel it. I created a breeze, then freed my hair. The wall of bushes to the left and right solidified, and its leaves danced and whispered in the same wind. The sky formed high and blue, and the centerpiece, the tree with the bench surrounding it, took its final shape, then provided shade against the sun, and grass teased my toes under my bare feet.

It was enough to begin.

Here, I departed from the text: Instead of a crazed killer with no fear, I formed her in my image: olive skin, shiny black hair, eyes, and the rest of my face. Her breasts filled; I added musculature to legs, arms, and shoulders. I flared her hips properly, and constructed a saer between her legs. I walked behind her, shaped her bottom and the curve of her back. She became real to me for a split second, and I nearly lost her in my excitement, bringing her back with a supreme effort of will.

Not so fast, Tyra! Slowly, slowly, add each piece, one at a time.

I held her until she was real again, then went on. She breathed. Her eyes beheld the garden and saw me. The shock was too much and she faded, but I stayed, persevered, and I built her again. This time, I was better prepared. I strained to hold her, held on, and gave her substance. She was a girl I might have been had I been born female, a young woman unlearned in the dance of death, someone Tisa could have wanted as her sister, a daughter Mother would have been proud of -- a clear-eyed woman with dreams of a decent man, children, and the fulfilling life of a freewoman of Batuk.

Slowly now, for I was near the limit of what I could hold, I added the mark to her thigh. She became a slave, the vision of my greatest fear. I gave her a name: Resa.

I fought for her, nearly lost her again, and took her in my arms. She is real! Real! My heart slowed and settled into a steady beat. I looked at the girl, and with my last gasp of concentration, I stepped forward, willing us to join, to become her. For an instant, I felt her, a new personality…

The girl flew apart, my carefully built garden vanished, and I snapped out of the trance. My brain felt sautéed. I had nothing left. I pushed myself up and sat on the edge of the bed, put my reeling head in my hands, and wept.

Tisa nearly leaped to my side and slipped her arm around my waist. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “We’ll try again later. Honestly, I thought that you were being optimistic earlier.”

“Tisa....” I said, too tired to explain.

“Even the berserkers sometimes took years to learn it properly.”

Oh, that helps. I don’t have years, Tisa! She was trying, though. I couldn’t be annoyed with her.

“I already have years of experience. The berserker methods aren’t so different than what I'm used to — with an added twist or two.” I glared at her. “Damn it, Tis', I could feel it!”

She nodded confidently. “You will find a way. After we return from the club, we can try again. Say tomorrow morning?”

That afternoon, men I didn’t know would force me to submit and pleasure them. My natural slave side couldn’t wait, but there was plenty inside that detested the idea. There was nothing for it, though; the urges were too close. “We'll try again tomorrow morning.”

When she left, I heated water for a bath. After I slid into its steamy embrace, I considered why I'd failed. It wasn't my technique, I reasoned. I hadn't believed in the woman I'd created enough, a problem not of the will, but of the mind. There was no one to guide me, no example of success to follow. As far as I knew, it might not be possible at all to create a person, a creature of such complexity that I could fool myself -- dangerous thoughts. I needed to believe.

I leaned back and willed the stress from my body. The picture of the eagle on the wall hung within easy sight. It's twin themes of freedom and defiance tolled for me still. I would, I resolved, find a way to overcome the mental block. I had to. I closed my eyes. Thinking too much, and frustration, had brought on the beginnings of a headache.

Wonderful. That’s all I need, to be raped with a headache.

I was about to get dressed to go to the infirmary when I had a thought: The name of the drug Rani smoked was normally used for headaches, afkal.

I'd thought of the painter as a talented eccentric. He was that — and possibly more. Rani had made the outlandish claim that he painted from the inside out. He'd said that his secret was “innovation.” A drug?

All I knew was that he smoked a leaf usually boiled for tea, he perceived his art differently than anything I’d ever heard of, and he had more imagination than I possessed. It wasn’t enough to draw any conclusions, but enough to make me curious. I dressed and left for the infirmary. They didn’t have afkal, but the head cook did.

I had no expectations. If I failed this time, I could, I reasoned, blame the failure on the drug and try something else without too much harm to my confidence. I ground the afkal into a pipe I was given years ago but never used, ignited the leaves, and drew a breath, coughing like my lungs were strangling each other. I took hope where I could find it: no one with a brain larger than a rat could possibly enjoy the acrid smoke; it had to give the user something. I managed to inhale a few more times, then lay back on the bed and waited for what may.

It didn’t take long. At first, it relaxed me without making me sleepy. I entered the garden again. It wasn't quite the same — the garden seemed vivid, alive, and blurred the line between what was real and what was not. I still had to concentrate to create, but not so much to hold it together, and, if a piece faded, a touch would bring it back. Elated, I created my twin and filled her with the personality I’d chosen in half the time. Once again, I willed her to be real. I expected it to work; I believed! Gods, there she was! She breathed, moved, opened her eyes, lived!

Barely restraining my excitement, I tried the final step, “walking” into her, as the berserker directions said to think of it. She wavered like the mist. I backed away until she reformed, and tried again with no more success. I let her stay there, living, breathing, and considered her.

I wasn't discouraged; this was far closer than I'd been. Resa stood patiently, waiting. In most respects she was me, more girlish than I, but still recognizable. Was it possible that I was blocking myself?

I granted her speech.

Hello, Tyra. She smiled exactly the way I imagined she would smile.

Hello, Resa. I’d like to become you for a while.

I know. You’ve tried and failed to become me three times.

I knew her like myself, knew almost before she said a word what she would say. It seemed ridiculous to have a conversation with my own creation, but here, she was real. Resa was a nice girl, more feminine than I, but the base, all that I hadn’t defined, was me. If there was a block, I was doing it to myself. I turned it around. How would I feel if some arrogant woman tried to borrow my body? I’d want a damn good reason, and so would she.

Resa, may I borrow you for a while?

Why?

It’s the only way I know how to be free. You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t absolutely necessary.

And what of me; where would I go afterwards?

I don't know, but I created you. It’s likely that you would become a part of me again. This would happen regardless of whether I become a slave or not. If I were you, I’d want to become part of a freewoman.

Your argument is compelling. You may have my use.

Thank you, Resa. For now, I need you for a few seconds.

I understand.

I stepped forward. She smiled, a glimpse, perhaps, of myself if the wheel had turned another way, and welcomed me with arms spread wide. I embraced her. Resa folded her arms around me, drawing me into herself. I saw the garden through her eyes. I was Resa l’Tina with a different set of parents, an older sister, a different brother, in a garden in a world where I had grown up a girl and had never swung a sword. As I had planned, I wasn't there long. With a sigh, I slid backwards, and, like before, Resa stood in front of me — but with a difference. Having been her, the connection was made; I knew I could become her again with a thought. Following the berserker directions, I set up mnemonics, key words that would bring me back to her.

I departed the garden, leaving Resa behind. I cried again, but this time with tears of joy.

I waited until after lunch to tell Tisa, downplaying it just in case it didn’t work. I wrote down the key words for her, one to start the “fantasy” as I’d come to call it, and one to end it.

Early that afternoon, we left the estate by the rear entrance. The infamous East Side wasn’t very dangerous during that time of the day. Normally the fun started in the evening. The Slave’s Dream, one of two clubs in the city that specialized in serum girls, was only two miles away. I’d been there as Tyr years before. This time, however, would be much different.

The fitted stone of the streets turned gradually dirtier, with broken places that needed repair. Shop fronts became ragged and seedy. Tisa, like me, had donned a veil. About half the free women in the area wore one, few decent women wanting their faces known in that part of town. The Slave’s Dream stood on a corner, one of the better-kept establishments. The dark gray stones of its exterior were cut and polished, and the sidewalk outside was maintained. Barred windows of red and gold ringed both floors, all equipped with shutters that could be drawn if the weather was too cold — or if the participants inside grew too boisterous.

I entered first, under a carved relief of a naked spread-eagled woman, her head thrown back in what could have been ecstasy. Just inside were two doors. I chose the one marked “Women.” The weighted door closed behind us. A woman in black leather looked up as we entered. She was taller than average, with arms that, while smooth and feminine, were strong, and she had the thick wrists of one prepared to handle chains and to tie slavers knots. The eyes watching me approach were black flint, and she kept her hair pulled back tightly, descending behind in a sable ponytail. For all her forbidding appearance, she radiated health, and was handsome enough. A silver emblem of a stylized pleasure rack and chain marked her as a bondage mistress in the Guild of the Slave Trainers.

I removed my veil. She regarded me, recognizing me for what I was instantly. I might have been mildly interesting to one who had seen countless serum girls under her whip.

“Good morning, Bondage Mistress,” I said, keeping my tone as relaxed as possible. “I wish to be a slave today.”

She nodded as if this were perfectly normal. For that place, it was. “Have you had any experience in the slave clubs, serum girl?”

I shook my head. “None.”

Her gaze shifted to Tisa, who was still veiled. “Are you also a serum girl? Do you wish to be a slave today?”

Tisa shook her head rapidly. “No! I'll wait for her to return.”

“As you wish. We have a waiting room prepared to the side,” she said, indicating a small door. “There is no need to be concerned. We are a reputable business. Most serum girls who use our services feel safe coming and going alone.” She paid her no more attention.

“Is this your first time as a serum girl?” she asked me.

“Yes.”

The bondage mistress made a notation in a book. I was a virgin, a novelty that would bring a high price for a client who wished to experience drin. I didn’t care at that point, my urges had grown with each step. I heard a woman moaning and the sound of a whip. A small part of my mind screamed that I was about to be penetrated, but the consensus in my head wasn't at all sure if that was a bad thing. My body had no doubts, certainly.

“How many hours will you be with us today? You may leave at any time, but I caution you, if you do not stay the full time of your agreement, you will not be permitted to return here for a month.”

“Three hours,” I said, hoping that it would be long enough satisfy me for a few days, and short enough, hopefully, not to wear out the fantasy. I didn’t want to become “myself” somewhere in the middle of a brolling.

“Do you wish the slave marking? It’s temporary, of course, and we will remove it when you leave, but the application is quite realistic; it will make your stay more effective.”

All natural slaves were psychologically affected by branding, but there wasn’t any choice. Resa, as I pictured her, would expect to see a slave mark on her thigh.

“Yes, I would.”

The bondage mistress checked the time and made another notation in her book. She pointed to a red door behind the counter and off to the side. “Remove your clothing in that room and put it in a basket. Return here with it. I will apply the mark. Then you will pass through the black door.” She waved in its direction. “There you will be a slave for three hours.” She inclined her head graciously. “Enjoy the experience.”

As I walked to the door, Tisa tried to go with me. The bondage mistress frowned, and blocked her way. “I regret that we don’t allow visitors in the slave areas.”

“May I speak to her before she enters the last door? I assure you it will only be a second or two.”

She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t see why not, as long as it doesn’t take too long.”

In the meantime, I smiled like a flower in spring. My needs were finally about to be fulfilled. “I’ll be right back,” I said to Tisa, then passed through the red door. I already felt overdressed.

I stripped and folded my clothes in the basket. It was so, close I could barely hold back! I left the room and handed the basket to the bondage mistress, who put it under the counter.

“Your number is fifteen. Remember it,” she said. She pulled a stamp from a pocket, stamped it in a dark substance from a pad on the table and applied it to my left thigh. I stared at the first letter of the word ‘vaecwi,’ or slave girl. I was marked! In some places, I could now legally be sold at public auction. The natural slave side of me exalted at the wonderful possibility!

Tisa approached, and I had the oddest urge to bow my head to her, my freewoman superior. I stood silently, reeling with this new perception, before she whispered in my ear, “Good luck, Tyra. Aleph one.” She pushed me through the black door.

It closed behind me with the sound of a sliding bolt. I looked around, dazed.

Where am I? What am I doing here? I remembered bandits attacking our caravan on the road to Teshruk where I was visiting my cousin. Brutes in leather and mismatched armor killed our guards. They separated me from the other girls for reasons I never knew, hauling me away screaming. They branded me! Naked and in chains, I joined a line of girls in slave tunics in a slave wagon, on the way to be sold in a distant market. I looked over my hip. The brand was still there. Although it wasn’t painful anymore, it wasn’t a dream!

A door opened to reveal a man.

Oh, Goddess.

He was ugly in a way some men like to be, bald pated and sloe-eyed under brooding eyebrows, an unyielding face made to haunt women in dreams. It fit him, this man in black from the Guild of the Slave Trainers.

I was naked and branded. Even though it was useless, I couldn't help myself, and used my hands to cover myself.

“M... Master,” I said, knowing better than try to pretend anything else. Rumor was they never released a girl if she cried, but maybe they could be reasoned with. I cleared my throat. “My name is Resa l'Tina. Someone made a mistake. I should have been ransomed, but was taken from a caravan. Why am I here?”

He chuckled, and toyed with the whip in the leather thong at his side. I had hoped for better. “I will call you Diane,” he said. “You will be used well by many men today.” He took a step forward.

“No! This is wrong!” I would have run, but there was no place to go. I screamed. His forearms were bigger than my calves. One huge hand reached for me and took my arm. I beat him on the chest with the other and tried to kick him, but it was like hitting a wall for all the good it did. He snatched my other hand, and spun me around so fast my hair whipped in front of my face. “No, please!” I wailed. By the Goddess, it was humiliating: it took him only a few seconds to tied my hands behind my back and, as I wriggled, he snapped a collar around my neck. “No!” I cried in fury, and managed a half-turn. He used the opportunity to lock the end of chain to the collar like he'd planned it that way.

“Come.” He walked down the corridor without looking back. I followed, of course, the chain dragging me forward like a dog. Never in my life had I been handled so! I was angry, but didn't think to resist, so startled was I. I'd known that men were stronger, but not like this. I was not accounted a weak woman, but where my muscles were strong for a girl, his were corded oak. But I wasn't supposed to be strong! I was a pretty girl — men were supposed to be nice to me!

We passed doors, behind which men growled and grunted and women moaned, in fear, I thought at first — or not, blushing when I heard the wails of a slut. I'm in a house of joy? Impossible! Not me!

The slave trainer stopped at a door, opened it, and pushed me through, tripping me in a way that put me on my knees. I looked up at him, snarling.

“Head down!” he roared.

I did what he said before I could catch myself.

I heard the tread of boots — someone new. The slave trainer spoke. “You’re fortunate, Regis. Here is a new slave, not yet broken to the collar.” My chain was passed on. I dared not look up until the slave trainer left the room and the door closed. I seethed at my treatment. I looked up in fury. Regis was a strong, good-looking man who seemed reasonable.

“Master, my family would pay much to get me back...” I began.

He just smiled. “Slave, what is your name?”

“I ...” Something in his voice put me on alert. “Diane, Master,” I said sullenly. It was a slave name. He put his hand on my face and lifted my chin so I had to look at him.

“Your name,” he said in a cold, clear voice, “is whatever I want it to be. Diane will do for now.”

“I ... I ....” I said, my mouth open like a fool. The man had no compromise in him; he seemed utterly sure of himself.

He smiled. “You are very beautiful.”

Thank the Goddess. He was someone I could handle. I smiled back and lowered my eyes, bringing them up slowly while breathing deeply, making my breasts move just enough to tease. “Master, my family would pay a great deal. If you return me, you might buy several...”

“You are too beautiful to be free, Diane,” he said, as if I'd said nothing at all.

I stared at him. What kind of man is this?

“Stand,” he ordered like he owned me. I was just beginning to understand what kind of man he was, and who he thought I was. I stood — in a hurry.

“M ... Master, what do you intend to do with me?”

“I intend to rape you.”

“You animal!” I wept. “Oh, Master, please let me go!”

He grinned again, as I had apparently pleased him. “No.”

He took my chain and led me to a device in the middle of the room. I recognized it as a variation of a pleasure rack. “No! Master, do not do this!”

He growled. “Are you telling me what to do, slave?”

A master could kill a slave for any reason. At the very least, I could be beaten. “No, Master!”

“It really doesn’t matter what you say.” He thrust his chin towards the rack. “Regard your destiny. Here is where you learn what you are.”

The pleasure rack had two large wheels mounted horizontally, each over five feet high. The wheels had tracks inside, enabling connecting bars to be cranked as close or far apart as one might wish. The bars had wrist and leg restraints that were also adjustable. A slave, once secured on the bars, could be forced to assume any position.

Before I could comprehend that he was really going to do it, he threw the chain of my collar over the top bar and pulled. Suddenly forced to stand on my toes, he snapped the foot bands around my feet. I had to stand carefully to avoid falling. Lowering the top bar, he untied the leather cords on my wrists and reconnected them to the wrist restraints on the upper bar. I squirmed in my bonds, but it was useless. I was just a girl, held fast — helpless!

“Master, please, please release me!” I cried.

“Hah! What a mistake that would be. You were made to be enslaved.”

I struggled again against the restraints, but they were far too strong.

“Master, I don’t want to be a slave!” He paid no attention. I was powerless in the rack. My skin tingled all over, aware of my bonds, my nakedness. He could do anything he wanted to me! He was strong. If he wanted, he could rape me. What would it feel like, to be raped by such a man, unaffected by pleas, sure of what he wanted?

And he wanted me! Terrified of the thought, I shut my eyes and turned away from him.

“Open your eyes, Diane. They are too beautiful to be hidden,” he said, as I were an object to be treasured, a valuable piece of property. The brand pulsed on my thigh, and I obeyed without thinking. He moved closer and began to strip, removing his boots, his shirt, his pants until there was nothing left. He was well-muscled, and endowed, I thought, although I was no judge. I could barely take my eyes away. Where I was soft and neatly gapped, he was equipped -- mightily.

He approached me until he was very close. I felt his heat. If I leaned forward a small amount, I could have touched him with my breasts. The tiny traitors hardened with dismaying swiftness. I threw my head back so I wouldn't have to look. What is happening to me? I struggled one last time, but I couldn't move. I groaned.

“You feel it, Diane,” he informed me. “You are a true slave.”

“Beast! I am not! I’m really a freewoman, wrongly branded!”

He placed his hand between my legs and tested me. I cried out at the invasion, but to my horror, I was wet and slick as a clam.

“Yes. There is no doubt.” The indignities did not end there. He took my breasts in his hands, cupping them, stroking gently over skin suddenly sensitive and eager. I bit my tongue, but I couldn't stop myself and moved under his touch. His hands were strong, unlike mine, masculine, like nothing I'd ever felt there before. I moaned. I wept. I hated him! I didn’t want him to stop.

“I don’t want to be a slave!”

“It doesn’t matter. Your body tells me you are.” He slid his hand between my legs, found the most intimate part of me, making me gasp. “It’s useless to deny what is obvious to us both. Do not lie to me,” he commanded. “What do you feel?”

I wailed! By Ashtar, it felt incredible! He wasn’t going to release me. I would be a slave forever, owned. I looked down again and saw what I expected between his own legs. My Master told me that I was beautiful. He desired me — like this -- and I could no longer lie to myself. My body sang for his. “I’m a slut, Master! I want you.”

I couldn’t take it back. My owner, my Master — Gods, what a word! -- powerful, strong, uncompromising. I wept, for I could never go back to my family, but I understood now: there had been no mistake.

He released my feet and hands and dragged me by the chain to a bed of pelts. He threw me to the furs and tied my hands to a post at the top of the bed. In full heat now, I panted and my breasts heaved. I wriggled my bottom in the pelts, begging him to take me. He watched me squirm for a time, making me wait.

“You are an incredible slut,” he said in amazement.

He took me exactly as he wanted, forcing me into the position he desired. With my legs high and wide, my saer dripping, he entered me. The flimsy barrier within proved to be no hindrance to a man who wanted me, and burst with a touch of pain. I was a maid no more. When I couldn't contain myself anymore, I squeezed muscles I never knew I had around my Master, making him gasp and fill me with his seed. The slave orgasm that followed shot through my body like fire, and pressed me back against the pelts. By the Goddess, so this is what it means to be a slave! I tightened my legs around my Master and tested my bonds, pleased to find myself helpless. The natural slave at the center of my being melted like wax over an open fire. I lay back as my Master assaulted my saer, utterly satisfied for the first time in my life.

My Master took me again, forcing me to pleasure him. I couldn't have been happier. When he left me, my body still quivered in hunger.

“Master!” I pleaded when he put on his clothes.

He shook his head. “An incredible slut,” he said again. He untied my hands and left me, still in desperate need.

Three more men arrived and left before I was reasonably sated. I loved this body that could keep producing orgasms and please men. If this was life as a slave, I wanted it, not that I would be given any choice in the matter. The last man stared at me before he left the room and muttered “serum girls.” I wondered at that. I wasn’t a serum girl, not that it made any difference. I couldn’t wait for my next master.

I was disappointed when the man from the Guild of Slave Trainers dragged me away.

When he pushed me through the door at the end of the corridor, I saw a free woman in a veil. Not wishing to offend her, I bowed. She approached me. “Tyra,” she whispered.

“Mistress?” I replied in confusion. My name was Diane until a master wished to change it.

“Tertius two,” she said quietly.

The last three hours came back to me in a rush. As I stood, stunned, the bondage mistress wiped away my temporary slave mark with a chemical remover.

She smiled. “Thank you for visiting The Slave’s Dream. Come back soon.”

“Thank you,” I replied automatically. By the Gods, the urges... “I ... I had a wonderful time,” I said to myself in disbelief, touching my lips and a well-fondled breast.

“Yes, I heard. That was number fifteen, wasn’t it?”

“That's right.” She handed me the basket of clothes and I changed in the changing room after taking a quick shower to wash away the scent of brolling, the produce of four men, and a trace of blood from my broken ymlu.

Except for some soreness between my legs, and a part of me that reeled in shock that I'd been penetrated, I felt fantastic.
 
 

 
Thanks for the comments. They mean a lot to me. ~Aardvark

A successful experiment in The Slave's Dream leads to dreams of a normal life as a freewoman. Tyra tests the final bonds to her former warriors. Ketrick goes too far. The challenge of a foe returns. Tyra's loyalty and warrior honor are tested. A long day as a siolat girl is just a prelude of things to come in the fight to defend her city.

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 6
 
 
When I emerged from The Slave's Dream, the world was new. I inhaled fresh air, and marveled at the deep blue afternoon sky. I twirled in my dress! I wanted to skip down the street. Tisa, though, didn't didn't share my mood. She grabbed my hand and dragged me away. I didn't care. I was free!

We slipped down a few side streets to make sure there were no abductors or blackmailers following us. Then Tisa took me to a park not far from home, to a wooden bench in a clearing off the main path, nestled between trees and bushes, where it was safe enough to uncover our veils.

“You called me Mistress!” Tisa exclaimed. “I’m almost afraid to ask; what happened in there?”

I couldn't stop grinning. I didn't want to risk losing her respect for me, but the way I felt, I would risk it. “Tisa, I’m a slut. I admitted to the first man that I was a natural slave in less than fifteen minutes. Then I satisfied four men in three hours.”

Both her eyebrows rose as high as they could go. “Goddess! How do you feel?”

I raised my hands in the air. “Wonderful! It wasn’t really me in the club, it was the girl I created, not the same as going through it yourself, but the aftereffects.... How can I describe this? Satisfied seems a poor word. The urges were put to bed happy; I ... I was well-brolled.” And sore, I added privately. It may have been someone else's memory, but my body had taken a pounding.

Tisa pushed out her lips and blew. She leaned closer; said in a lower voice, “You know that you're a natural slave -- for certain?”

I nodded. The faintest possibility that I was not had died a pleasurable death beneath the twylls of four men. “It bothers me that I've lost my virginity. I think that eventually I'll want to marry one day, if that’s possible as a serum girl. I mean, I know I like men, or at least what they can do to me...” I stopped at Tisa's stare. I was rambling. I didn't care. I laughed. “Tisa, it worked!”

“If someone abducted you, would you submit?” she asked, looking at me very oddly.

“If I was unprepared, I’d probably cross my wrists to the first strong man who wanted me as his slave in under an hour. The good news is that if I'm careful, I don't think I'll have to. I feel -- wonderful!”

She took my hand, and looked into my eyes, searching for her sister, I supposed. I was a continent away from that girl trapped in dark despair. A stray thought made me laugh again. Once again, my parents had a single virgin daughter -- and it wasn’t me.

“I’m happy for you. I can’t wait until you tell Mother and Father.”

I shook my head. “I can’t tell them, and neither can you,” I said seriously.

“Why?”

“You were right about Hana. She never thought it would work; it was supposed to be a merciful distraction until the urges stole my will. Remember when she advised me at first to submit to a strong master? She's not one of the loons that goes around telling masters to free their slaves. No rational person would give away — or try to create — a way to counter Ruk’s Serum. Think of the chaos! Instead of giving criminals Ruk's Serum, magistrates would simply kill them. Masters could no longer be sure of their slaves. The Slavers Guild...”

“I understand, but ... but if that's so, then how did you....?”

“Hah! That's the joker, isn't it? It was dumb luck. I added something Hana doesn't know about.”

“Then — what do we tell Mother?”

“Nothing. After a while, seeing that my thigh remains stubbornly unbranded, Mother, Father, and Ron will have to decide that I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“Uh huh. I wonder if you’ve thought of everything, big sister. You're not like the other serum girls. You'll be notorious soon.”

“Notorious?”

“With your past, how did you miss this? You think I'm so naive. I know that men like to take a new slave and show her what she is. They raved about you through the walls. And this ‘performance’ will be repeated every time you visit.”

Damn. She had a point. “I’ll need more than a dagger. Any abductor worth the name would plan for it. I need an edge — Ketrick. As many women as he’s abducted, he must know some women's tricks.”

My sister smiled too sweetly. “You really like Ketrick, don’t you?”

“Tisa! Ketrick likes slaves, not freewomen.”

“Hmm. You know that Angel and Wanda are living in his quarters now.”

“After today I can stand to be around them. I’m a bigger slut than the two of them combined.”

I knocked on Ketrick’s quarters soon after dinner. I wore one of my nicer dresses that showed my figure, although I had no illusions that I would ever be as attractive to Ketrick as Angel or Wanda, a freewoman has too many restrictions to compete with a slave. Angel answered the door. It hurt to see her, but she looked happy. She recognized me, of course, but followed protocol.

“Good evening, Mistress. Whom shall I say is calling?”

“You know who I am, Angel. Tell your Master I'm here.”

She disappeared inside for a moment, and bade me enter when she returned. Ketrick lounged on a divan while Wanda, naked and giggling, fed him bits of a sweet. When he saw me, he waved her aside and rolled to his feet. “You seem better this evening. I thought you might have been having difficulty yesterday.”

“Really? As you can see, I’m in no ‘difficulty.’ Thank you for your — concern.”

He grinned. The bastard still affected me the same as before. I glanced towards Angel and Wanda, who were standing quietly in the background, as slaves should when they aren’t required. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“They were a bargain. What can I do for you?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

He considered me. “Who's asking, Tyra, the friend, or Tyra, the woman?”

“Ketrick, don’t you ever stop? I want to know if you have anything that I could use to defeat a man who wants to abduct me.”

He shrugged. “I know some dirty tricks and surprises that might serve. Some of them could not be used under the warrior’s code.”

I held out my dress. “Do I look like a warrior to you?”

“Not in the least. Do you have time later tonight, say in a half-hour?”

“Sure. If you’d like, we could meet in my quarters. I have more room now.”

He nodded. “Fine. I’ll get a few things together and be right up.”

Ketrick arrived with a case of knives and other sharp implements, and explained their use: a few might be concealed under a dress in a leather sheath; one tiny curved blade was meant to be glued under a fingernail, and could cut bonds. One was designed for the hair, another for the mouth, and one could be concealed in a pouch inside the saer. Ketrick also described the use of poisons, a topic forbidden to warriors.

His greatest contribution, in my opinion, was not a weapon. All too often the abduction was bound and wrapped before she could strike back. Much of it had to do with the long dresses and skirts that freewomen wore. Almost two hundred years ago, Ketrick had seen a woman who used a dress that split up the side at a sudden tear, allowing the legs the freedom to run and kick, as well as provide a way to access weapons underneath. I wasn’t willing to destroy a dress I'd just bought. I tried tying one up out of the way, but it kept falling down. Ketrick was fairly patient, but he had his limits.

“Wait,” I said. I put on one of Angel’s slave tunics, which gave me all the freedom of movement I needed. For modesty, I donned a slave undergarment, unheard of for a freewoman, but necessary to avoid flashing my saer at Ketrick every time I kicked high. My body was flexible and strong for a woman my size. I tried a few kicks and punches at him, assuming he could defend himself against anything I could manage. He blocked well, but I actually had one or two blows get through. I was having a wonderful time -- it was so much like weaponless combat and knife play when I was Tyr. Finally, Ketrick held up his hand.

“Stop.”

I thought I knew what was wrong. “I’m sorry, Ketrick. I’ve been keeping you too long. You’ve given me a great deal already. I can create a tear-away dress later and practice then.” I bent over and started to pack up the knives and other lethal objects.

Ketrick sighed behind me. “I’d like to discuss something with you.”

“If you like. Please, sit down.” He chose to sit cross-legged on a pelt on the floor, so I did the same just in front of him.

He frowned. “You affect me. You are a bundle of contradictions, and I’m confused.”

“How so? Speak frankly, and so will I.”

“I know you have the urges. The signs were there two days ago for anyone who knew what to look for. Yet now you seem normal, if a combination of warrior and woman can be considered such. If you’re going to a slave club to relieve your stress I can understand some of that, but you are not just managing, you are thriving. How?”

I considered his question. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m interested in you.”

“You’ll have to do much better than that. I’m willing to share information with you, but it must be a fair exchange. I’m interested in you, too. Your turn.”

He grunted. “Before I go any further, do you think you have the means to stay a freewoman?”

“Only the Gods know a person’s fate, but I’m optimistic. Now, why don’t you just say what you want to say?”

“I find myself unaccountably attracted to you,” he admitted.

I blushed. I seemed to be doing a lot of that since becoming female, the natural result of being on the receiving end of any relationship between a man and woman. “And I’m attracted to you, as if you didn’t know. The problem, from my perspective, is that you want to make me your slave.”

“You’re a natural slave. You’d be happy with me.”

I nodded agreeably, leaned forward, and took his hand. “I am a natural slave, but consider this, my friend: If anyone, including you, tries to force me to wear his brand and collar, I’ll kill him.”

Ketrick glanced at my hand, then at me. In over three hundred years, he must have met ten thousand women -- or a hundred thousand. It pleased me that he looked puzzled, as if I were a new species.

“I will not force you to become my slave, Tyra,” he said at last.

“Good.”

Over the next two weeks, I found my needs balanced at about three hours a day in the slave club, twice a week. That was actually less than some of the other serum girls. I no longer needed Tisa to come with me, speaking the key word to myself to begin the fantasy, and using the bondage mistress’ own phrase to exit when she said, “Thank you for visiting The Slave’s Dream.”

Ketrick continued to train with me once a week. He showed me a two-handed technique I’d never seen before with a light sword that emphasized speed. I doubted that I would ever defeat a competent warrior with a sword and shield using it, but I practiced every day, ecstatic that I no longer felt clumsy with an edged weapon.

In the meantime, my lessons continued with the “skills that all women must possess,” Mother had prescribed for me. Alone in my room late one morning, bored practically to insanity from knitting with the seamstress, and with Tisa busy with the accounts, I acted on an urge I’d resisted for the last two weeks.

The sitting room downstairs had windows facing south. Standing in the shadow, I had a good view of the men practicing without a chance of being seen in return. I felt like a coward. Other women rested in the shade outside and watched the warriors openly. One of the cook’s helpers, a pretty blonde, leaned against a tree, her arms folded under her breasts, and stared, spellbound, as Resh flexed his muscles. Two maids sat in the grass giggling together behind their hands. One pointed to men squaring off with sword and shield.

I didn't quite sneer. The warriors were handsome men: I understood the maids' desire, but it wasn't what I wanted. Being a warrior was a part of me. Why should I not, now that I was in no danger, watch my old mates at practice?

Tisa had encouraged me to let go and forget that I was ever a warrior.

Mother had insisted:

“In time, Mother, I will give up thinking of the old ways,” I'd said the day before, not really meaning it.

“There is nothing left to give up thinking about,” she’d snapped. “It’s already over. It is for you to acknowledge it!”

I attached my veil, stormed out of the room, and out the front door. The women were only a few dozen yards ahead. Ron wouldn’t like me being there, but if I didn’t make a scene, he wouldn’t say anything. The men might be uncomfortable, but Tyr t'Pol, the warrior, had irrevocably died in the hall that first night. They would honor that.

All I had to do was join the women and pretend to be like them.

I spun on my heel and headed for the rear entrance. By the time I was on the streets I was near to tears. I walked for miles, staying in the shadow of the Fortress most of the time, avoiding the market traffic, until I was at the northernmost point in Batuk, by the docks extending into the Undine River. Mother would be angry with me for missing lunch, but it was too late to return. I found a small café that overlooked the water and sat, ordering siolat and stew.

I noticed the man following me by accident. I’d chosen a seat that was hard to see from the street except at certain angles, and saw him looking back. I hadn’t met him, but he was one of the new warriors Eagles had hired in my absence. I waved him over.

“You might as well have some lunch with me,” I said.

He was nonplussed at being caught, but handled it smoothly with a smile. “Thanks. I was hoping to get something to eat. My name is Jess t’Arita, Miss Tyra l’Fay.” He motioned to a girl, who came and took his order.

I decided that I liked him. “Call me Tyra. I have no status in the family worth mentioning. You're my escort, then?”

He shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. The Commander asked that I stay close to you.”

“Good. Then I can take off this damn veil.” I unhooked it and put it aside. Pointed my fork at him, I said, “I hope you’ll tell Ron that I was in no danger,” I said, injecting a trace of sarcasm into my voice.

“Your brother takes his responsibilities seriously. He thought that you left in some distress.” He grinned. “How is he supposed to know that you were going to have lunch and not jump in the river and drown yourself?”

I snorted. “Ron goes too far. I don't need watching.”

“I regret that you saw me — you weren't supposed to know.”

“He shouldn't have done it,” I repeated, but I wondered if that were really true. It brought a jumble of emotions, that he cared enough to send someone after me, and that he thought that I, his former older brother, might need to be protected. Of course, if the rhadus would just talk to me....

Jess brought a necklace out from beneath his tunic and showed it to me. It was the kind that women like to give men to mark them as taken. “My wife says that women are too complex for mere men to understand. She says that she allows for that.”

I smiled, liking, for some reason, that he was married. “Tell me about your wife, Jess.”

We talked until we finished lunch, and then talked more on the way back, mostly about him. I stayed to his right, the woman’s place where the man protected her from street traffic. He did it so unconsciously I didn't realize it until we were nearly back, only that I was comfortable where I was.

I stopped outside the gate and looked up at him, not quite ready to go back. “Except for Ketrick, you’re the first man outside of my family I’ve spoken with who’s known who I was before.”

“Is that important?”

“The men who knew me as Tyr — well, you know, facing them again…” I glanced down at my feet, feeling like a fool that I’d brought it up.

Jess took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I saw nothing except a woman today. I suspect that the men you knew would see you as a woman, too, unless you forced them to see you otherwise. I don’t recommend it. You might see everything differently because the entire world has changed around you. Their world hasn’t changed, just the piece with you in it.” He gave my hand a pat, a comforting gesture to a woman. “Be well, Tyra.”

“And you, Jess,” I replied automatically.

***

Weeks went by. I saw little of Ketrick unless he helped me train. I missed our friendship, but he made no secret to me that he wanted me to wear his collar. Occasionally, I passed him in the corridor. It was like a game: We spoke, he tried to determine if I was losing my battle with Ruk’s Serum, and then he would move on.

The fantasy became a well-traveled road; I needed less of the drug and could maintain a fantasy longer, a relief, as I had no desire to stake my freedom on the availability of a substance. I envisioned a time when I didn’t require the drug at all.

One ordinary morning, I walked to the slave’s club and paid my complements to the bondage mistress, who was slowly becoming my friend. I disrobed and received the slave stamp on my thigh. Saying the entry word, I passed into my slave fantasy...

This time, my name was Neesa l’Shay, a young woman stolen in a foreign city and sold in the slave market. Once again weeping at my fate, the man from the Guild of the Slave Trainers dumped me into a room where my first master would bend me to his will.

When I recovered to my knees, I looked up in terror at a tall man, very strong and handsome in a rugged way. There seemed to be no give to him at all. I would have to try, though, for my sake and my family honor. “Please, free me! My family is rich and will make you wealthy!”

I thought his reaction was unusual. He seemed to know me and, on some unknown level, I knew him, too. I dismissed the thought. I waited, hoping against hope that he would be kind and let me go home.

“What is your name?” he asked.

I gave him the humiliating slave name the Slaver had given me. “Lisa, Master,” I answered, lowering my head in shame. “If it pleases you, of course,” I quickly added.

“Where do you come from?”

It was a ray of hope; perhaps he would let me go!

“Batuk, Master. My father is Ral t’Ulens and my mother is Shay l’Hera. Maybe you’ve heard of them?” I asked hopefully.

He nodded and regarded me with a hand on his chin. “Remarkable. I will call you Tyra,” he decided, and my hopes died. “You will make a superb slave,” he said confidently. I began crying again.

He brought me to my feet and gazed down at me, boring into mine with incredible energy. “Tyra, I believe you will remember this later. There is nothing finer than the complete domination of a natural slave by a powerful man. It is the equal and other side of the coin that the natural slave submits totally, freeing her true self to be dominated. Once in a great while, the master and the slave make a natural pair. I believe that you and I are such a pair.”

I had a bare second to stare back before he gave me a master’s kiss. He gave me no chance to fight, no room to move. I tried to resist, but was completely helpless with my arms secured. I doubt that it would have mattered; he was far too strong.

He tore his lips from mine and looked down with the utter surety of a man who knew himself -- and me.

“Don’t fear the master’s kiss,” he said, his black eyes gleaming like my soul staring back. “It is a conduit to the core of who you are. Accept it; let it fill you, and I’ll feed your emptiness that hungers for a man. Surrender to me, Tyra. Dare to be the complement of my domination. Submit to me, my little slave.”

His lips acquired me again and I pushed towards his muscular chest, rubbing my swollen points of pleasure like any slut in heat. Gods! I didn't know why, but I wanted him! I relaxed, finding it easier not to struggle and, to my increasing horror, his needs did fill me, his mastery spreading like waves of fire to places hot and wet. I wanted to give in completely. His body and will were overcoming my own. I was losing!

He broke the kiss, smiling; he had felt it too.

“I will never submit to you!” I screamed furiously and launched a hard kick to his suren, a kick he dodged with some difficulty.

He laughed delightedly. “Tyra, you are strong! Even now, knowing you are a natural slave, you fight me!”

He took my chain and led me like a dog to the bed. Tossing me to the pelts with practiced ease, he placed me precisely where he wanted, spreading my legs. I tried everything I knew to fight back, but could do little on my back with my hands tied. When his face descended on mine to kiss me again I smashed his nose with my head. He grunted in surprise, and winced, but then he shook it off and smiled, if anything, more delighted than before.

Even I didn’t know why I was fighting so hard. My body ached to be possessed. My nipples begged for his touch and my saer, my traitorous saer, leaked lubrication and lay luridly open, longing for something large, long and attached to a man to wrap around like a starving vice. I risked the rack and a serious whipping, if not worse, for resisting like this, but something told me I must. I screamed when I could do nothing else.

I hated it. I loved it. He caressed my nipples and breasts with his tongue and mouth until I wept. I couldn’t deny that I wanted him. Then he finally filled my desperate emptiness, and much of the fight deserted me. Certainly there were worse things than to be taken by a strong man. I felt his pleasure, his burning passion to possess me. I lay shivering, and helpless. There was nothing I could do. If he wanted me he could take me any time he wanted. A slave girl could take pride in such a strong master.

These were the thoughts of a natural slave, but I didn’t care anymore. This is where I wanted to be! This was the master I craved. Wave after wave of powerful slave orgasms rolled through my body, and I screamed in wild ecstasy as I ignited. For the first time, I completely and utterly surrendered.

My Master had amazing stamina, and I was forced to please him many times in varied ways, but I was such a slut, I was sure it had been a strain, even for him. Hours later, thoroughly satisfied and spent, I knelt at my master’s feet, my hands crossed in front of me. “I love you, Master,” I wept. It was his arms, his passion and twyll I desired. He said nothing, but the gleam in the depths of his black eyes spoke for him. As I knew him as my true Master, so did he know me as his slave.

The man from the Slave Trainers Guild returned, his leathers and whip not as threatening as before, and dragged me from the room and down the hall, weeping. He tossed me through the door.

The bondage mistress said the words that released me from the fantasy. I stood, stunned and sickened as the last three hours came back in a rush. It hadn’t been me, I told myself, but I couldn't deny the greater reality: my body had completely submitted to a man I’d trusted. I wanted to kill him.

The hot flame of my hate cooled to burning coals during the shower. After I dressed, I said, as calmly as I could, “Bondage Mistress, I will not accept the man who was with me today ever again.”

She made a notation in her book.

“Was he cruel to you?” The Slave Trainers Guild did not encourage sadism. Their business was one of discipline, not torture.

“No, he was not cruel,” I admitted. He had been a dominant male in a serum girl club; I could not blame him for that.

“Ah,” she said. She nodded, understanding. “As you wish. If he returns, he will be told you are unavailable.”

“Thank you,” I said tightly.

I walked swiftly away from the club, sparing only a few backward glances to make sure that I wasn't being followed. I was fortunate I wore the veil, for tears streamed from my eyes. Once back home, I found Tisa and cried again, trying to explain what had happened. Not couldn't understand it all, but she was my sister, gave me her shoulder.

I didn’t speak to Ketrick or acknowledge him in the corridors after that, rebuffing his attempts to communicate with me. He had known my wishes in the matter, and his motives, whatever they were, went to my deepest desire. Most of all, I was bitterly disappointed. I had lost my best friend.

I recovered. I studied accounting with Tisa, and, after time, worked with her. I found it boring, but I wasn't bad at it. I managed to do the family’s entire accounts one day with Tisa there only to watch. With some hard work, I felt that I could even support myself someday.

Then came a change when a visitor knocked on my door after dinner.

“Who’s there?” I asked, not willing to go to the door if Ketrick were calling. I still had nothing to say to the damned rhadus.

“It’s your brother, Tyra.”

I put down my treatise on Batuk business law, a dreadful reference that I had to learn if I wanted to do professional accounting, clipped on my veil, and answered the door.

“Hello, Ron,” I said, the first words I’d spoken to him since that morning in the hall.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” I opened the door wide and let him through.

He found a chair, and I sat on the bed. “Tyra, it’s been two months since the change.”

It was true, so I said nothing.

He looked at me strangely, trying to read me. I was used to it looks like that; it was the veil. “So, how are you doing?” he asked. “Is the serum giving you difficulty?”

I laughed. That was like asking if the dagger in one’s side was causing distress. “I’m doing as well or better than I’d hoped. The effects are formidable, but I’m controlling it; I’m the same as I was a month ago.”

“I’m extremely glad to hear it. Both Tisa and Ketrick say the same.”

My brother was no fool. He knew the steps serum girls took to stay free. Likely he already knew, but I wanted this out in the open. “Ron, I’ve had to do ... certain things to relieve my needs.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need to know the details; they aren’t important. I’ve been wrong about you. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m proud of you.” He rose to his feet and beamed down at me with something like the old grin. “Go ahead, take off the veil. You’ll never have to wear it for me again.”

He didn’t need ask me twice. I ripped it away and flashed my finest smile. “Ron, it’s good to see you,” I said with a crack in my voice. Then I rushed into his arms.

He hesitated at first. I had been his older brother, after all and my breasts against his chest may have been disconcerting. Tough. They're here to stay.

“Tyra, I’ve missed you.” He brought me into an embrace that I absorbed for all I could. It wasn’t the same, nor did I expect it to be. He was second at Eagles now, and I was a woman, one of his and Father’s responsibilities to protect, but I was his sister, and we were family again, and that was enough. “Tyra, about Met. I’m sorry…”

I shook my head rapidly. “No! Don’t even think it! It wasn’t your fault. Met is a sly bastard. Even I have no idea how he did this to me.”

“You go too easy with me. I might have…”

I reached up with my finger and touched his lips. “No. The Gods have decided. Met is in exile, and I have accepted who I am. If I wish anything from you, it is that you do the same.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. “Then I will. You know, you smell nice, better than Tyr.”

“I look better, too. Come, sit down and talk to me.”

We spoke for an hour, a strange conversation of two people relearning each other. At times, I know I seemed a stranger to him, at others, a memory, and rarely, a clear glimpse of who I used to be. I let him work out the details and come to his own conclusions. I was who I was.

Ron wasn’t the same either. He was still my brother, but more than before, a man with responsibilities and obligations that weighed heavily upon him, a man to respect and support, as I, his sister, should and would.

He asked me after a time, “Is there a problem between you and Ketrick? He wants to meet with you and says that you're avoiding him.”

“We have -- philosophical differences. Did he say what he wanted?”

“He said it was important, something you had discussed before, and you would know he was talking about. Is this something I should know about?”

“I don’t think so, but it makes me curious.”

“Curious enough to talk to him? He was adamant.”

I sighed. “All right, little brother, I'll see him.”

It had to be about the upcoming war, anything less, and I'd seek revenge.

After Ron was gone I went down the hall and knocked on Ketrick’s door. Wanda answered and let me in. She'd been expecting me, which made me suspicious. Ketrick lay on a divan with an arm around Angel, fondling her breast. She clearly enjoyed the attention.

“I’m here. What do you want?” I asked.

“Wanda, get Mistress Tyra a siolat,” Ketrick said.

“Yes, Master,” she replied. She brought me a glass. I took a quick sip to satisfy etiquette then planted it on the table by my side.

“Wanda, Angel,” he ordered, “leave the room. Go to the slave quarters and return in an hour.”

They left immediately, leaving us alone. “What do you want, Ketrick?” I asked again, this time impatiently.

“I need your help to save Batuk.”

“Oh, is that all? And here I thought you were going to ask me to submit again.” I struggled against asking the question, but he wasn’t about to say anything, testing my resolve, no doubt. Damn the man! Saving my city was too important to play stupid games! “All right! If you have a better plan than what we talked about then tell me.”

“Answer me this first, do you think stationing a few independent guards at the last minute to watch the grain and water supplies in the Fortress will save Batuk?”

“I don’t know. It’s better than nothing, and the best we can do without some kind of solid evidence.” But I couldn’t let that stand, not and be honest with myself. “We might get lucky, but probably not,” I sighed. “It’s too easy to destroy. An open vial thrown into in the well would kill our water supply. A few pots of oil thrown through a window with a match following would wipe out half the food. We might stop the obvious threats, but if there are saboteurs in the Fortress, they'd likely have contingency plans.”

“I would if I were in their place. I don’t think you can stop them here, but there might be a way to stop the war before it starts -- at the source.”

I folded my arms and leaned back against the wall. “I’m listening.”

“The only way to defeat Tulem is from within. I plan to start a war between the two royal families within the valley. I need a woman who is intelligent, imaginative, brave, strong-willed, and has the skills of a warrior and assassin. I know of no one better than you.”

This was more or less in line with some of my own thoughts. I simply had no idea how to implement it. “And why in Hades should I trust you after The Slave’s Dream?”

He sighed, but he must have been expecting the question. “I was -- overzealous.”

“Ketrick!” I shouted, leaping to my feet. “By the Gods and Overlords, you arrogant bastard!”

He lifted both hands gently. “Tyra, please. This is difficult for me. I’ve always preferred slaves. I’ve never bothered to accustom myself to freewomen.”

I was not impressed. Being over three hundred years old, he'd had ample opportunity. “So, your defense is that you aren’t used to freewomen? Doubtless, this impelled you to make me your slave, avoiding the ‘problem’ of having to talk to a woman who could say no!”

He shook his head, but his shifting wasn’t due to a full bladder. “That’s not it at all. You were in no real danger of being a slave and you know it.”

His demeanor thawed my heart somewhat. When he looked at me now, I could tell he took me seriously. I could also feel his desire. The combination must have been churning his insides. I smiled and tossed my hair, a feminine gesture Tisa had taught me. I'd had no reason to use it — until now. “Please continue, Ketrick.”

“Errrr,” he growled, a low, frustrated sound pleasing to my ears. “I’ve haven’t wanted anyone more than you for a hundred years. I was sure you would come to me afterwards, realizing that you would be happiest being owned by me. I would have taken you with me to another city to satisfy your family’s honor. Truly, I had no idea how strong your feelings for being a freewoman were.”

“Horseshit. I told you. I thought we were friends and you betrayed me.”

“I was wrong. I’ve never known a man with a strong libido to stay free as a serum girl for any length of time. You hinted that you had a way, but I didn’t believe it would be so effective. I was only trying to help speed up the inevitable.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “Frankly, I was tired of waiting for you to break down and come to me,” he explained.

I rolled my eyes. You unbelievably arrogant…

“I don’t think I broke any code of honor in the ‘Dream.’ I thought of it as a service, providing you an option -- a comparison of men. I’ve reluctantly concluded that you're more of a freewoman than serum girl. With your remarkable method of keeping your urges in check, slavery is not inevitable and, despite you being a natural slave, I’m forced to treat you as a freewoman.” He shot me a direct stare, its intensity making it certain that I would be busy in my quarters that night. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I have offended you, and I’m sorry.”

I regarded him wryly. “I accept your apology. Considering your history it was an understandable error -- barely -- and I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” he said in relief. “As much I’d like to own you, I won’t force you to submit. However, you would need to impersonate a slave to be effective in Tulem.”

I suddenly liked this plan less. “And who would be my Master?”

He grinned tentatively. “Me, of course.”

Disgusted, I began walking towards the door.

Ketrick rose quickly to block my way. “I know how it sounds, but how much is Batuk worth to you? What price are your family’s lives and the Batuk's freedom?”

I paused reluctantly. This was emotional blackmail, but there was more than me to think about. “All right! Tell me your plan and I’ll consider it.”

“This war is nothing more than a way to get rid of excess aristocrats by giving them Batuk. Our more amicable solution is to rid them of their excess ourselves. This can be done in two ways. Assassination and misdirection might create a civil war. Failing that, killing enough of them outright would be sufficient. I can’t be precise. We’d have to play it out as opportunities present themselves. I believe we still have a few months to set it up and execute.

“With your distinctive talent, you can go places I could not, gain intelligence and take action, things a real slave would find difficult or impossible. This is possible, Tyra. There aren’t that many nobles, and the families have hated each other for centuries -- not a bad combination. With a few carefully chosen assassinations, the war could be over.”

“And you’ve done this before?”

“As war leader of a weaker city, I used assassinations and tricks to defeat a greater foe. I’m not proud of all that I did, but playing by another’s rules puts you at a disadvantage. Here there is less of an ethical problem. Tulem has, without a doubt, planted saboteurs and assassins in Batuk for use when the time is right.”

“This has to be extremely dangerous. Why do you want to do this, for Batuk?”

“Partly for Batuk. It’s a fine city and its citizens are better than most.”

“And the other part?”

He approached until he towered over me. “I’m doing it for you, Tyra,” he said in a low, resonating voice, teasing my ever-ready urges enough that I began to leak. “You’re right: this will be dangerous. Once Batuk is saved, I want you to cross your wrists to me. You and I should be together as love-slave and love-master.”

I retreated a couple of paces to catch my breath, and shook my head in open-mouthed disbelief. “Would you ever consider just asking me to marry you?” I asked in sheer exasperation. “Slaves are nice, but they have their limitations. You speak of us being love master and love slave. Could you ever be in love with Tyra, freewoman, wife?”

“You want to be my wife?“ he asked in amazement.

What in the ten levels of Hades am I saying? I was as astonished as he, but I refused to back off. “If you and I save Batuk, I would marry you. I would … I would take care of our house. I’d cook, clean … whatever in Hades a wife does…” What am I saying? He doesn’t have a house! Even if he did, he has Angel and Wanda to take care of everything. What could I possibly give him that he doesn’t already have?

I saw something I had never seen before: Ketrick was dumbfounded — and that infuriated me.

“By the Gods, Ketrick, don’t look at me like that! You admitted that you want me, and I want you. You could even keep Angel and Wanda. It wouldn’t bother me that much.”

“Gods, Tyra! You are surprising!” He looked at me for a long moment. “You would actually consider me a potential mate?”

It was a shock to me, too, but I knew what my body wanted. I also had the advantage of knowing him from many points of view. Once he committed to something he was honorable, and I was sure that I could love him. “Well, if you want me, I … I think I could be a good wife to you — in time.”

He spoke softly: “With your needs, I wouldn’t have much energy leftover for a slave. I’d be obligated to you as a husband, to provide you, by myself, with enough satisfaction to stay free. That would be difficult.”

By now, I expected it, but his rejection was stinging, nonetheless. “All right. If you don’t want to marry me afterwards, fine. We’ll go our separate ways. But I will never agree to be your slave!” Oh, Gods, this is about my city. I put my hand over my eyes and began again. “It's my duty to defend Batuk, but there is no honor in this. If a magistrate knew all the facts, would he say that the 'agreement' to submit was entered into without coercion? You know what he would decide. I wouldn’t be the slave, you would.”

He frowned. “You would use a legal argument to deny me my fondest wish?”

“Hades, yes, if it keeps me out of the collar.”

He shrugged. “Very well. If we survive, I’ll ask you afterwards.”

Another test? “Ketrick, you incontinent spawn of a she-ape!”

He grinned. “This is what I've planned: We’d leave in two weeks. Before you leave you must be disciplined and trained. While you're doing whatever it is you're doing, you're a convincing as a new slave, but you wouldn't pass for long. Your walk, your mannerisms are all wrong.”

There were camps for free serum girls that simulated slave training. I could imagine what that would be like. “Gods. What else?”

“You would have to be branded.”

Naturally. I took a long shuddering sigh. The temporary mark at the slave club left me wanting to address free men and women as Master and Mistress. What would the actual brand do to me?

“I’m truly sorry. The effect of a brand on the psyche of a natural slave is profound at first, but it doesn’t last. Don’t worry. When we finish, a physician could remove the vaec and no one would be the wiser. Unfortunately, the brand is essential. You'd have to be completely convincing to everyone, including Angel and Wanda.”

“What? They’re coming, too?”

“It’s part of the concealment. If they accept you as a slave everyone else would, too. I could still use Angel and Wanda in useful ways: watching, monitoring, gathering information and so forth, just not telling them exactly what they’re doing.”

Saving Batuk had priority over everything, including my life. “How would we explain our disappearance? Everyone would assume that you abducted me.”

“That assumption would have to stand. It’s important that Batuk thinks that I’ve made you my slave. It would make my appearance in Tulem more believable.”

I held my head, shaking it back and forth. “My family would mourn me as one dead. If I lived to return, I’d be in disgrace.”

“I am sorry for that,” he said sympathetically. “This isn’t for glory. Your name and mine would never go on Batuk’s roll of the honored. We’re stopping an invasion that Tulem would never admit they were planning.” He moved a chair closer to me and sat. “Someday your family would know what you did. They would understand and be proud.”

I must have looked stricken; I certainly felt that way.

“Tell me, Tyra, do you feel the urge to go on the road, to travel to distant places and seek adventure?”

“Not as much as before.”

“So, you wouldn’t enjoy adventure in strange places, taking a chance now and then?” He seemed disappointed.

“I didn’t say that. I realize that I can’t do it by myself now. There are too many dangers for a lone woman outside her city’s walls. With a strong man by my side, though, I would feel safe enough. I’m more than a pretty girl; I would stand with him with spear and sword when necessary.” Unlike a slave, I didn’t need to mention. It was common knowledge that slaves were practically worthless in a fight.

“You were a great fighter. I was first in Gerras with the long spear and you were one of the toughest opponents I’ve ever faced.”

I shrugged. “You defeated me, though.”

“It was the extra strength that made the difference. Your skills were as good as mine.”

“Do you think I might need those skills in Tulem?”

“It’s possible.”

“I really have no choice, do I?”

“Unless I’ve misjudged you and your sense of honor, no.”

“If necessary, I will die to defend Batuk from her enemies.”

“You swore that oath when you were a man. Many would say that you shouldn’t be held to it; that you are entitled to the woman’s protection.”

“I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

He reached his arm forward and I took it, forearm to forearm, although next to his, mine was ridiculously slim and smooth. He took no notice of the incongruity, however, and faced me without a trace of a smile.

“I will not doubt you again, Tyra l’Fay.”

He started to withdraw, but I clung to his forearm, holding it fast. “And will you stop trying to make me your slave, Ketrick -- forever?”

He grinned. “Well, forever is a very long time.”

***

The mind is an amazing thing. Given no option, it can concentrate to the exclusion of all else. I had to rid my dependence on afkal and extend the times of my fantasy. To do this, I ignored everything, including Tisa’s lessons on accounting and the family business, which disappointed her, and I couldn’t tell her why, which compounded the injury.

By working several hours a day for a week, I managed the state without the drug. When I did it three times in succession, I decided that I was ready.

I knocked on Ketrick’s door. Wanda answered in a sheer pink slave tunic and ushered me inside. I motioned towards the slaves. “We need to talk,” I said.

He nodded. “How long do you need?”

“Five minutes.”

After he dismissed Angel and Wanda, I said, “I succeeded in creating a fantasy without the help of drugs, and I need to test it. How long do you figure I’d need the fantasy in Tulem?”

“Twelve hours to be on the safe side.” He looked at me strangely. “You used drugs to do it?”

“Yes, but it’s mainly a mental process.”

“I wondered if it wasn’t something like that, but it’s still amazing. Can anyone do it?”

“I doubt it. Even with the drugs it was hard enough, and, without any false modesty, I’m very good at it.”

He stroked his chin for a moment. “I know a tavern owner in the northwest side. You could be a siolat girl for a day. Could you manage that?”

“A siolat girl? I suppose so. If I get a strong man after it runs out, I could be in trouble. You’ll have to be there to make sure I don't start crossing my wrists.”

“Out of curiosity, how do you know I wouldn't allow you to become a slave, and then take you for my own?”

I touched my hand to his face and smiled. “How could you be sure I wasn’t faking it? If you tried it and I caught you, I’d slit your throat.”

He grinned. “Well, there is that.”

I laughed. “You’re resourceful. If you really wanted me, you would have taken me by now.”

“I wish I had your certainty. Can you arrange to have tomorrow free?”

“Yes. Tisa is getting worried about me, wondering what I’m up to, but I suppose there’s little help for it.”

***

The Siolat Well was a fairly run-down tavern in Northwest Batuk far enough from Eagles to be safe, and the owner, a casual friend of Ketrick’s, didn’t mind punishing an arrogant serum girl by forcing her to serve siolat naked for a day. This last didn’t thrill me, but it was a test with added pressure, the kind that might occur in Tulem.

Ketrick and I walked to the Siolat Well in midmorning, within sight of each other but separately, to avoid being linked on the off chance there were any witnesses. On a street close to the Fortress, it was still in shadow when I arrived. While quite run-down, it was rough, built with whatever was handy at the time, a tapestry of mostly mismatched black and gray stone. Someone had cleaned the glass indifferently, smeared as it was with cooking grease and dirty lamp oil, and serviceable bars set in stone kept the thieves out. Despite the overall slovenly appearance, business seemed good, mainly tradesmen in leather and tough cotton.

Ketrick motioned to me to an alley. I crossed the street when no one was looking. Once it was clear, I removed my freewoman’s clothes and hid them. Underneath my shift I wore one of Angel's slave tunics, long enough to preserve modesty if I didn’t bend over too far. Ketrick had already stamped me with the vaec earlier. While I shivered, he snapped the lock of a black slave collar around my neck, and attached a chain.

“Ready?” he asked me.

I nodded my head rapidly. My bare feet were freezing. “Let's do this.”

“Tulem's Gate,” he said, and with that ...

I was Danielle and had displeased my Master by being insolent and pouty. He had beaten me already that morning and was now following through on his promised punishment, serving naked in public. Doubtless, I would learn humility today, I grumbled. He led me by the chain, barefoot on the cold stone street, through the door and into the warm, smoky tavern, and then dragged me towards the counter, where a grinning thickset man with a hairy face appraised me. I held my head proudly: I was a beautiful slave girl and men wanted me.

“Hester, this is the worthless slut I told you about.” My master jerked my collar. With a cry, I lurched forward all the way to the counter.

Hester took my face in his greasy hand and twisted it from side to side. I cringed from his breath, a foul mix of garlic and stale siolat. “Hmm, she is a pretty one,” he judged. “I’ll take her off your hands for you if the price is right. I have a way with arrogant slaves.”

Suddenly, I was afraid. If my Master was really displeased with me, he would sell me. I dared not protest. It was pleas and whining that led me to this point. I could only look at him in silent appeal and pray.

He looked dispassionately at me for much too long. “No, I don’t think so, not today. If she persists in her behavior, I will reconsider.”

I sighed in relief — and with a measure of pride. He would have sold me if he had wanted and bought another, but he wanted me.

“Are you sure you don’t mind? This one is untrained and may offend a customer through clumsiness.”

I sniffed. I was not clumsy!

“If that happens, she'll be beaten. Don’t worry, my friend. She will serve well.”

I glanced around the room. Several were already watching me, no doubt in anticipation of my use. I regarded them. They were all fine, strong men. I would not mind being used by such as they.

Hester laughed suddenly. “Look at her! She’s already measuring their twylls. What a slut!”

I blushed, but it was true. The heat was upon me and I desired their touch. Already my skin was more sensitive and my breathing deeper. I wanted to be among them serving siolat, and much more, if they wished.

My Master grinned. “Hester, I believe you’re right. Remove your clothes, Danielle.” I lifted my slave tunic over my head, feeling its length across my swollen nipples, and turned to him. “She’s yours for now. I’ll retrieve her when I’m satisfied.”

Hester assessed my flushed face and eyes. “I’m not certain this will be a punishment, but she will work today.”

I worked. A siolat girl’s life is not easy; after all, she must move through crowds of men bringing cups of siolat to customers. Her arms are usually full, and she is helpless to defend the hands and arms upon her. Then, when a customer desires, she must provide a willing receptacle for his needs. The man touches, strokes and brols her for the price of a drink. Often, he demands much.

Yet after the first hour or so, when my nakedness ceased to cause me embarrassment, I barely thought about it. I was a siolat girl receiving affectionate touches and squeezes from men who did as they wished. Every caress, both soft and sometimes rude, was made because I pleased them. They affirmed me, a slave, beautiful and desired. When they brought me to an alcove to satisfy their needs, that I had created, I wondered if they could possibly imagine the pleasure I felt when the man’s passion and strength was satisfied within me. There were one or two who took their pleasure with pain, but fortunately these were few and reviled by all.

The other girls resented my easy association with their customers, as well they might. I was popular. Too bad! I caught a blond girl in a black slave tunic pressing her hip and brushing her arm casually over one who was already interested in me. When he chose me to go to the furs in the alcove instead of her, I may have shrieked a little louder than normal.

I worked through the lunch hour, going hungry as punishment. As a new girl, I drew attention with the busy lunch crowd, which took me repeatedly, allowing me little time to serve drinks and food. As the day wore on, I grew more tired, although not as tired as most of the other girls, having spent more of the day on my back.

The entire time, my Master sat at a table, sipping at siolat, then eating lunch then supper. When I had the chance, I caught his eye. Twice I approached him. I didn't liked his measured glances, but each time he waved me away impatiently.

After the supper hour, the pace continued as a new set of customers arrived. By now, I was tired, having been on my feet, mostly, for half a day. And that’s when it happened.

It was on the third trip to a table of three inebriated masons. The shorter brown-haired man had me earlier. He stroked my left buttock and thigh where my brand was, urging on his taller friend. As I set the tray down, I felt a moment of disorientation. The tavern was still real, but not the same — as if I saw the room through different eyes. I noticed the tables, details of the tapestries on the wall. The men leered, and the one touching my flanks disturbed me. I blinked at the scene: leather and mail of warriors, loose leggings and thick tunics of workmen, a few scholar's robes in the corner. Abruptly, I realized that I was a naked woman in a sea of men.

Not right! A man at the table took my arm and pulled towards an alcove to the sound of laughing and applause from his two companions. He pushed me inside. I went onto my back in a daze. He spread my legs apart, and it came back to me. I was Tyra l’Fay, and I was about to be brolled in a siolat tavern. The man wasn’t bad looking. It would have been better if he weren’t so drunk, but I didn’t know him, didn’t want him and had to suppress a powerful impulse to kick him in the suren.

This is real. I bit my tongue when he entered me. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good, it did, in a way. My slut instincts were still around, although less than they were twenty men ago. I just didn’t want him. Worse, I had to make it seem good. I forced my body to move in synch with him, trying to relax as a slave would and move to her Master's dominating rhythm. I wasn’t too successful, although being drunk, the man didn't catch on until late. I squeezed, wanting to end this as quickly as possible. Finally, his huffing turned into a series of grunts, and warmth spurted into me.

There was no way my fakery could have compared to a hot serum girl. I covered it by holding him, calling him master, but he wasn’t fooled.

He looked down at me in disgust. “You were nowhere near as good as advertised, slave.” He left me dripping on the furs.

I cleaned up in a hurry. Ketrick would be watching for me. I still had to make it through the tables without attracting too much attention. I tried to imitate a slave based on my memories, attempting to recreate that submissive love for a man’s touch, where every movement is casual and erotically conscious of men. I wasn't very good. Ketrick was already on his feet and moving towards me before I could get halfway to him. He reconnected the chain to my collar and led me out, jerking it to conceal my awkwardness. He waved goodbye to Hester at the door and brought me outside into the cold darkness.

There were few people on the streets, thankfully, and we went directly into the alley.

Ketrick was pleased; the starlight in his eyes gleamed like tiny points of silver. “That was slightly longer than twelve hours. What brought you out of it?”

I held up my arm to stop any questions, bent over and threw up. I spit a few times to get rid of the taste and put on my clothes after Ketrick removed the collar and the temporary vaec.

I sighed. “I was just tired, mentally exhausted. I didn't have the strength to reestablish the fantasy.”

“Why did you throw up?”

I glared at him, angry that he had to ask. “I was forced to brol a drunk as myself. He was my first without the fantasy. On top of that I had to pretend to love it. I just want to go home now.”

“We could do that, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’d like, we could get something to eat, and then we could get drunk.”

At first I was inclined to reject his offer, but then I reconsidered. “It has been a difficult day,” I admitted.

“I would think so, from your point of view.”

“Under the circumstances, I would like to get drunk with you. We haven’t done this in some time. I forget the reason.”

He laughed. “Come, let’s try the Das t’Gar Tavern. It’s close to the estate.”

It was a good choice; free women frequented it because it had privacy walls around some of the booths, and it was a place where I could remove my veil. We left separately, me first with Ketrick following behind, still making sure we weren’t seen together. The stars were fully out in the crisp, cold air, covering the sky, save for the black outline of the Fortress. The lights and sounds from the taverns and houses I passed by comforted me and made me proud. This was my city and, serum girl or not, I was a part of it.

He met me in the back of the tavern in a warm, quieter part of it place with a pair of musicians providing entertainment. Ketrick ordered a bottle of Tiresian wine. It seemed rather expensive if the intent was merely to get drunk. We talked. I told him of my hopes to become an accountant or some other occupation where I could remain free with honor in a place outside of Eagles, and after I'd had two or three glasses of wine, I tried to give him the sense of what life was to me now. I man can ever really understand what it means to be a serum girl until it happens, but he paid attention. He told me of my old friends in Eagles, and some amusing anecdotes of Wanda and Angel. We laughed together and I drank too much.

I remember getting to my quarters that night, leaning on him in the corridor and fumbling with the key to my rooms. I remember Ketrick helping me out of my outer clothes, and another, dimmer memory of being carried, and the impression of a large hand caressing my cheek. When I awoke, I was under blankets in my shift, holding onto my pillow. I had a slight hangover, but I felt good until I remembered what I still had to do.
 
 

 
I love comments. I know this story is a bit from the regular TG fare, and long, and introverted, but I'd love to see, good or bad, what you think. :) ~Aardvark

Tyra confides in her sister. Tyra learns a few lessons about herself during her stay at the slave camp for serum girls. Tyra learns a dance. When a girl goes too far and must be rebuked. Tisa's plan for Tyra, or a brand from a woman's hand makes all the difference. What could happen when a 300 year-old man brols a virgin. A bitter lesson learned.

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 7
 
 
I thought about it, and decided that I couldn’t leave Tisa out of it. After breakfast, where she barely acknowledged me, I went her rooms.

Tisa invited me in without greeting me properly. She leaned back against the far wall, crossing her arms, and waited to hear why I’d been avoiding her. I told her, in detail, about the invasion and what we intended to do about it.

She remained silent the entire time, sometimes rubbing her arms together as if she were cold. “Are you going to tell Father?” she asked in a small voice.

“I can’t. You know he'd never let me go, and a word in the wrong place and we wouldn’t have a pigeon’s chance in a hawk storm. I'm only telling you because I trust you. It’s going to look awful when we leave. I had to let you know why -- I couldn’t stand to have you think the worst of me.”

Her eyes welled up and she turned away. “Why, Tyra? Why does it have to be you?”

I brought her around and pulled her to my shoulder, hating this part of it. “Because I’m the best one for it.”

“How can you go with Ketrick after what he's done to you?”

“I trust him to do what he says. He'll be risking his life along with me.”

“By the Goddess, Tyra! I lost you as a brother, just gained you as a sister, and now... If you die it would be as if you had never been.”

“I’m not completely helpless, you know.”

“I’ve seen Tyr fight, but you're a woman, and not much stronger than I am.”

I was already aware of that sad fact. Ketrick had demonstrated my deficiencies until it was seared into my brain. “Don’t ever fight a man like a man,” he’d said with his practice sword at my throat after he’d disabled me ten times in a row, mostly with humiliating ease. “You are quick for a girl, but a trained warrior is as quick, faster, has greater reach, and is far stronger than you are.”

Tisa sighed. “Will you need my help?”

“If you see Tulem’s Army marching towards the city, you can assume that we’ve failed. I’ll write some letters that you must give Father in case that happens.”

She nodded reluctantly. “It's for Batuk, I understand. I see Tyr in your eyes, and for the first time, I'm not sure if I'm happy about it.” She touched my cheek with her fingertips. “Tyra, you're still my sister. Remember that, and be careful. You have much to live for, more than you know.”

“I have no intention of dying.”

Later that morning I visited The Slave’s Dream. After I entered, I waved to my almost friend, Yar, the Bondage Mistress.

“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” she said. “Some of your admirers are here this morning. They will be pleased to know of your availability.”

“Their desire for me will go unfulfilled today. I'm here to find a camp to satisfy my need for discipline.”

She cocked her head in surprise. “Truly? The camps are for those who suffer. The discipline is realistic. I wouldn’t have thought this of you; your visits here have been extraordinarily effective, or so I had surmised. Are you sure this is what you want?”

I dreaded it already. When a bondage mistress says the discipline is realistic, one can only conclude that it is. “How long do the camps last?”

“A week. If you feel that you need more discipline, you may normally extend."

“I’d like the next available position.”

She shrugged. “Very well. You need only arrive at camp in mid-morning, and you will be instructed. I’ll write you a note of permission.” She extracted a form from below the table and wrote a few words. She handed it to me. “I hope this is all you require, Tyra. We lose too many girls after the camp.”

Early the next morning, as soon as the Lion Gate opened, Tisa, who had insisted on coming, Ketrick, and I departed Batuk for Ferlin, a town within the Batuk city-state limits. The road was pleasant at this time, the normal dust of afternoon kept down by the damp morning air. On the flat plain, our destination, only an hour away, was always within sight. The town was unremarkable, a center of low stone buildings surrounded by farms and farmhouses. This late in the season, the fields, normally dense with wheat or corn, lay fallow.

As we rode through downtown Ferlin, shopkeepers, tradesmen, and pedestrians watched us, mainly me. Our direction and my veil brought stares, knowing grins, and serum girl ridicule, especially from the women — the town sport, I suspected. More than few walked beside us or ran in front to hurl invective and occasionally inventive jibes. It didn't bother me. The camp would be much worse.

It was about three miles north of town, far enough away to make screams of pleasure and pain impossible to hear. Located on a small rise, the grounds were only about two hundred yards in diameter, ringed with a sheer stonewall ten feet high, sufficient to keep a girl from escaping but little more. The only gate was a weathered double-door reinforced with iron. A single guard in the leathers of the Guild observed our approach from a platform just inside the wall.

I sweat, as I thought of what lay within. I made a show of sitting up straight in the saddle for Tisa, but I didn't fool her. She offered me her hand a few hundred yards from the gate and I didn’t let go until we were practically in its shadow.

“Ho, the gate!” Ketrick called.

“Ho, yourself. State your business,” the guard replied.

I cleared my voice. “I have a pass!” I shouted, pulling it out from my saddlebag and holding it up.

It was obvious what I was and why I was there, but rules were rules. He motioned for me to approach. He climbed down and slid open a small viewing portal in one of the main doors. I gave him the pass. He glanced at it and looked me over. Nodding, he pulled the door open enough to let me in, leaving my horse outside. I waited long enough to wave to Tisa and Ketrick.

“I’ll see you in one week! Don’t worry, Tisa!”

He allowed me only that moment before he gripped my arm and yanked me through, then he slammed the gate shut.

He dug his fingers into my shoulders and forced me to face him. His visage was stern. “For the next week, you are a slave and will only be permitted to do as you are instructed.” He didn’t wait for my answer but practically threw me down. “Assume the slave position!” he shouted.

I went to my knees in the sandy path and lowered my head as fast as I could. He pulled my hair up from my back with a sharp tug and slapped a black leather collar around my neck, snapping the lock shut, then he took my hands behind me and secured them painfully tight with a leather cord. I was stunned at the speed of it. Within thirty seconds, I was already collared and secured. I waited, head lowered. I saw a shadow in the sand and heard the crunch of boots — another man arriving. This one lifted my head. Younger looking than the guard, with a shock of short white hair, his blue eyes were cool and impersonal. Naturally — he must have handled many girls like me.

“Get to your feet,” he commanded. I did, and had just enough time to set myself before he jerked me along with the chain. Between tugs on my collar I managed a quick look around the compound. Level, paths of stone and gritty sand crisscrossed kept grass. To the right was a well and what appeared to be a stage. In the center stood a structure of stone and slate, large enough for perhaps a dozen rooms, featureless save for windows with embedded bars, behind which a beautiful blonde girl watched us, and me in particular.

The man holding my leash lurched left, nearly tripping me. This was the last building, long and low, the Guild's quarters, a section beyond where smoke and cooking smells emanated, and an office, so marked on a hanging sign sharing space with the Guild's emblem. We went that way, past a man and a woman in leather who regarded me with interest. I had a glimpse of a man behind a desk before a final snap of the chain yanked me inside.

Crying out at the force of it, I fell to the floor onto my knees. Nobody told me to stay there, so, slowly, I rolled to my feet, watching my minder warily. He pulled a thin chain and leg iron from his belt and snapped it around my ankle, connecting the other end of the chain to a ring at the wall. Thus secured, he released the chain at my neck and untied the leather at my hands.

“Remove your clothing now,” he said. “You will wear clothes when I decide.”

As a freewoman, I wasn't used to stripping in front of men. I hesitated a fraction, and he responded with a motion to the slave whip at his hip. The men and women of the Slave Trainers Guild do not bluff. They don't need to. I pulled my clothing off with alacrity and placed them in a neat pile in a chair beside me.

I’d prepared for this earlier. The whole point was to respond like a slave, to feel the fascination for the power of men, and to become the woman that Ruk’s Serum wanted to make me. If I were to learn slave discipline I would have to release some of myself to the urges. Chained and controlled as I was, it was horrifying easy. The natural slave in me loved it: powerful men appraised me, a beautiful, helpless, naked girl. To my disgust, I caught myself posing.

“You are a pretty slave,” my minder said. “I’ll call you Amelia. My name is Gret. You will call me Master.”

“Yes, Master.”

He reattached the chain to my collar, released the leg iron, then stamped the vaec on my left thigh. The reaction was the same as at the slave club. I wanted to bow my head, more aware of the men in the room and of the gulf between us.

“I am Frew,” the man behind the desk said. He was shorter than the others with a brief beard that lined his chin, and his leathers were polished and tailored a fraction greater than the rest. He gestured to the pair I'd seen outside, who had come in behind me; the man was tall and brown as a nut, his bald pate gleaming with oil or wax. The woman had red curls framing a face that would have been pretty had her lips not been locked into a permanent sneer. “This is Ren, and Feda. You will never call them by name unless they grant you permission, an unlikely event.”

I'd met Ren's type before among the warriors; any man who cultivated a cruel look usually wasn't. Feda was another story: her blue eyes were cold; unlike the men, I was of no use to her.

“Yes, Master.”

Frew nodded. “This is your first time here. The training will be memorable. Gret, do as you see fit with her. No restrictions.”

There would be restrictions, of course. Entering the compound was a contract that worked to both the Slave Trainer's Guild and the serum girl's benefit. They could beat me, but not enough to injure me.

Gret led me inside the central building, a corridor flanked by rooms on both sides. The rooms I could see into contained equipment, mostly securing devices, some occupied with women bound and positioned. One lay facing us, mounted in a pleasure rack in a compromising posture. She wailed, “I’m sorry, Master, I will obey!”

I couldn't help shuddering. By the Gods, that could be me soon.

Gret took me to the last room. Inside was a cage suitable for two or three girls with furs and a variety of fabrics. “Get inside, Amelia,” he ordered. I climbed inside the bars and stood, looking out. He grunted. “You don’t walk at all like a slave. Why?”

“I’m ... I'm new to this. I don’t know what a slave really feels like, Master.”

“A neophyte?” He shrugged. “You will know more in a few days. Assume the slave position, Amelia.”

I went to the floor. He entered and retied my hands behind me. “Rise, Amelia.” He moved very close.

Don't fight it so hard! I have to learn! I looked up. Gret was a handsome man. The natural slave inside aroused me in ways hidden and otherwise.

He shook his head. “Fight it, Amelia. You'll never know how much your body needs it unless you fight.”

I thought I already had a fair idea, but I fought my urges as hard as I could. I bit my tongue until it almost bled, and I managed to rein in the urges, looking straight back into his blue eyes.

“You fight well. Now I'll show you that it means nothing compared to your true nature.” He took my breasts in his hands and, although I tried, I couldn’t stop myself from reacting.

I could have blunted most of it. I could have done it. I wanted to fight! But I forced my will down, and allowed the slave urges to come forth. Suddenly, I was terrified.

I wanted him, and my skin longed to be touched. Gret leaned forward and took my arms. He pressed his lips against mine, in what was, not the weak remembrance of a fantasy, but the reality, a master’s kiss, demanding all. Gret overmatched me with strength, exuding confidence that he would prevail in this most primal contest of wills.

My body screamed that this was right and proper, that I was softer, smaller, and designed to be taken. My head back, exposing my neck, his hand on my breast, I did what my nature told me, and for the first time as myself, I melted in a man's arms. The Guild's males were trained to know women, as he demonstrated superbly, first on my breasts, and then between my legs. I moaned in earnest — and then he backed away, leaving me dripping.

Hands on hips, he assessed me as I staggered. “Your urges are powerful; it’s amazing that you haven’t submitted by now.” He left the cage, shut the door, and locked it.

I stared at him, shocked at what he'd made me feel, and was still feeling. Damn him!

He grinned. “You're too much for normal men,” he added. “You will please crowds. Touch the materials in the cage. Bring them to yourself, feel them while you are hot. This will improve your tactile sensitivity, making you more responsive and aware of your surroundings. Learn well, pretty Amelia, and I will allow you to please yourself.”

Right then, it was a powerful incentive. I did as I was told, and was pleasantly surprised. A fur on an aroused girl is more than a warm covering, it's a collection of delicate hairs that can tickle or tingle. Silk against the skin is twice as erotic, and cotton can be painfully rough.

Gret came back, untied me, and gave me permission to pleasure myself, which I did shamelessly in front of him. Later, he returned with lunch, feeding me pieces of chicken and vegetables through the bars, and when I had to go, he watched me as I squatted. It was embarrassing, though not unexpected. A good master allows a new slave no privacy and guards her diet. The freewoman was appalled, not so the natural slave, who enjoyed the attention.

That night, I moved into a cage with another girl. She was about my size and curved in the way of siolat tavern girls. Her hair was nearly white in ringlets that, with my recent perspective, I thought would be difficult to keep up. The girl rolled onto her elbow gracefully, and looked me over.

“You must be new here. They call me Paula in the camp.”

“This is my first time. I'm, ah, Amelia.”

She smiled. “It's my fourth trip here. No need to be nervous. You're in the correct place. Like the rest of us, you seek discipline, and you shall not be disappointed.”

I was normally comfortable naked with other women, but her examination of me was more than casual, like a slave comparing herself to another. It jarred me enough to say the first thing that entered my mind: “Ah ... that's why you look comfortable naked, and in chains,” I said, regretting it when her light skin went pink. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.”

She held up her hand. “It's all right.” Paula lay back on her pelt, put her hands behind her head, and sighed. “You only spoke the truth: I am comfortable here, caged and collared, available for my master-for-the-week's pleasure.” She smiled ruefully. “For two years I've balanced what I've needed, making adjustments; I can barely recognized the rakehell I used to be.”

I told her that it was the same for me.

Paula continued wistfully, “I used to weave panegyrics for the women I admired.” Her voice took on a rhythmic cadence: “Your slender limbs that sweetly bind, carry you here, my love, 'fore I go blind. Thine plump melons heave, and red roses rise, fragrant hair and dewed saer, in my silks surprise.” She snorted. “My words have returned to mock me. Verse was my first love, but thievery paid better, and is why I inhabit this shapely form. These days, when I think of rhymes and meter, my thoughts turn to men, mastery, and penetration.” She rolled her hips insouciantly in her pelt and licked her upper lip in a way that would have looked at home on an alcove girl.

And I thought I was a slut. Then I had a disquieting thought, Is she expecting men tonight? I heard heavy boots in the hall. I sat up straight on my pelt and waited without breathing until it passed, then asked her about it.

“The men come at night sometimes, even after we are asleep, but I have the sense that when they fall upon a girl in the dark that it isn't for their gratification as much as is it for ours, establishing their right to our bodies, and making the training all the more realistic,” she said, the timbre of her voice hinting at letdown. “Regardless, the first night they always leave us alone — I heard one of them say that a girl responds better when she has to contemplate the time of her taking. Perfectly correct, of course.”

I wasn't against being taken; my urges allowed no illusions. I'd been a freewoman too long though, not to want to choose who brolled me outside of a fantasy, and my insides twisted when I thought about being awoken by a nameless man.

Paula and I talked late into the night. We never gave our real names — it didn't seem important — and we spoke mainly of the past. Paula was born in Teshruk, a neighboring city-state of lakes, marshes and woodland. She'd come to Batuk after her sentence to avoid disgracing her family, and lived in a small apartment near other serum girls in the East side. From what I gathered, she'd had a low libido as a man, which had saved her from the brand — so far.

Where I mainly lacked a woman's charm, Paula had more than most — a lot more, rivaling a siolat girl. I hadn't seen her walk, but I could imagine her displaying herself unconsciously in a room full of men. After a time, we knew each other well enough, I thought, to ask a question:

“Paula, how is it that you're so — feminine? Is it what the camps do?”

In the moonlight, I could just make out her teeth. “Feminine? Amelia, how polite you are. Most would call me a steaming slut, too debased for polite society. The camps effect varies from girl to girl, depending on how much willpower she has and how desperate her need for discipline, but each time through the camp is like a set of waves washing away the barrier between the man you were and the slave inside. You feel her a little more, her passion, her drives and,” she said, pointing her finger at my chest, “you never forget.”

“It's the camp that makes you act this way?”

She shrugged. “I could act like a man, like some of the other serum girls try to do, and in the outside I usually pretend to be a normal freewoman, but here, why bother? I find it deliciously ironic that in my natural state I resemble in body and spirit those whom I admired so greatly — all that verse I used to write directed to myself, as it were.” She laughed. “You're stunned, gaping. Are you worried about becoming like me? You won't be the same when you leave, but there's no need to fret, the Slave Trainers Guild knows girls. They'll know how much discipline you require. You'll get what you need, no more, no less.”

I didn't sleep well that night.

Paula's master, Ren came for her first. Ren locked his leash on her collar and led her away. I stood, holding the bars and watched. Paula did walk nearly like a slave, happy to be female and owned. She took a quick look behind her and winked at me.

When she was gone, a voice inside my head, distinctly Tyr, warned me not to do what I planned, that I could lose myself. I pushed it aside. As a man, I was prepared to lose my life for Batuk, as a woman, I might lose something else, just a different kind of risk. By Marten's red balls, they're not the same! returned the voice, but I knew from what Paula had said that I had to go further than I'd thought I would. I was strong enough to go through the camp more or less unaffected; I would learn much, but it would do me no good. Even Paula, as close as she was to a slave girl, couldn't quite manage the walk of a slave — not to the eye of an experienced master. Nothing less than a complete capitulation to my urges would suffice. I hated it, but it didn't matter. It had to be done.

Gret wasn't long coming. I went to my knees on the pelt and lowered my head. The words in my mind came hard to one who thought she had won her freedom. I ... I am a slave girl. I am a slave girl.

“Rise, Amelia,” my Master said.

“Yes, Master.” I arose, terrified, as the unknown slave girl whose DNA I bore made herself comfortable, altering my perceptions. Gret was a handsome man, and strong. I was smaller, weaker, naked — and a woman, beautiful, desired. I gazed into his eyes, startled at my thoughts: It's one thing to own a slave. Is he man enough to tame me?

Gret looked long, the eyes in his angular face shining at me like sapphires. “You will be well trained, Amelia,” he said, a simple statement that set my slave heart aflutter.

He brought me to his chest with his powerful hands and gave me a master's kiss. I fought him until it became unbearable, then gladly surrendered, my body alive in fire. Soon I was on my back in the furs, my wrists secured to a ring behind me, panting. I recovered some of my mind while he undressed, then lost it again when his twyll rose like a pole. The fur tickled my body; I smelled the pine floor and myself — this was no dreamlike memory! Except for the brief, unpleasant encounter at the siolat tavern, this would be my first time.

Gret descended upon me, his muscular chest against my breasts. For an instant, I remembered bitterly that I used to be like him, strong and taking pleasure, before the slave girl inside drove away the thought with joy — my Master was taking control! He slid forward, split my legs like opening a gate, lifted my bottom to be where he wanted it so that he.... I gasped. His twyll pushed aside the last barriers; there was nothing between us now! I inhaled my Master's masculine and leather scent, looked up to the ceiling, and then ... Oh, Gods! He thrust into me with a single slick motion, taking possession.

“Ahhhh!”

It wasn't enough; I had to have more! I rocked and moaned, clenched, and screamed, as he pummeled me, taking what he wanted and giving me what I needed. When he was ready, he pleased himself with hot bursts, then withdrew. The submissive slut in me was warm, pleased to have been his vessel, and desirous in his eyes. The sense of it faded somewhat over the rest of the day when I was taught discipline, but I remained ever-conscious of his body and power over me. When he brolled me again that afternoon I was ready.

When Gret led me to my cage, Paula was already inside. As he was leaving, she watched me. “How does it feel, slave girl?” she asked after a moment.

Blood rushed to my face. “I'm not a slave girl!”

“Really?” she asked, amused. “That last backwards glance, the soft sigh -- you've made a good start. A few stanzas for the occasion: 'Who is my Master, you inquire? My Master is my heart's desire, A touch of his and I catch fire, My brand, my bond, I'm his, my buyer, My legs apart, and no attire, His twyll between, my needs require....'”

I wanted to reply, but the words were too close to what I was feeling to scorn properly.

“No need to turn that fetching shade of red, Amelia. It happens to us all.” She raised an eyebrow. “Your Master still isn't permitting you to wear clothes.”

“How observant you are.” It was annoying. Paula was wearing a standard black slave tunic; I was likely the only naked serum girl left in the camp.

“Unless you're being punished, it means the slave trainers have decided to give you special treatment.”

“What special treatment?”

“Ah,” she said, “I thought you might not know. Most girls come here frightened and pliable. A serum girl who shows fight, though, will get extra.”

Paula couldn't tell me any more than that. On reflection, I decided to be happy about it. The more training I had, the closer I could impersonate a slave; nonetheless, it was a scary thought. Gret was a slaver, for Gods' sake, and I was already looking forward to the next time he forced me to the pelts and brolled me tied up and helpless.

I found out what Paula meant the next day, when I balked at dyff. I'd done it before in fantasies, but not as myself. Even the slut in me couldn't overcome my holdover disgust to have a twyll in my mouth.

Gret frowned. “You must have done this before, yet you have no skill. Why?”

I looked up from my knees. “It's — difficult for me, Master.”

He rubbed his jaw, but I had the impression that he'd been waiting for an opportunity like this. “You require incentive,” he said.

Swiftly, he bound me to the pleasure rack. I knew what was coming, but I could scarcely believe it, when the lash struck against my back. Me, beaten with a slave whip! Designed for a woman's softer skin, it felt like fire. After a few strokes, I could stand it no more and wailed for what seemed like minutes, completely humiliated.

He walked around the rack and spoke to my sobbing face: “Pretty Amelia, you will do what I want you to do whether you wish it or not.” After some instruction, I was on my knees again. This time I tried much harder. My bottom and back still stung, but the beating had been professional, not too long to be brutal, and not so little that I wouldn't fear it happening again. It was a reminder that he was my Master — and here the message resonated in my female core like the beating of my heart. Underneath the lingering sting of the lash, the natural slave swelled with pride that my Master was a real man, not one of those impostors that lacked the strength to control a girl like me. The thought intoxicated me, and I redoubled my efforts at what I would have never done before, abandoning all shame, and made his twyll the most important part of my my world.

Gret gasped, and if I could, I would have smiled. Yes, he was important, but I was the one who pleased him! I'd seen the way he looked at me; he wanted me, this man who would permit me no disobedience. I could protest or whine, but it would do me no good: in the end I would do what he wanted. I knew myself to be controlled, and my slave urges found peace in submission.

That afternoon he gave me a tasque, an exotic garment some men found more enticing than a slave tunic because it concealed the saer. A narrow, tight piece of cloth, it was held together by a clasp on the back, easy for a master to remove, that went through my legs and widened up the front to cover my breasts.

That night, after brolling me again, Gret moved me to a private cage. Still warm, soft, alive, and female from the aftereffects, I traced the vaec on my thigh with the tip on my finger. How easy it is to imagine myself owned.

Three more glorious days passed, and then Gret decided I should learn a dance, and found a teacher to train me. The last night in the camp, my Master ordered me to demonstrate what I had learned before the men and woman of the Guild of the Slave Trainers. The dance Gret chose for me was that of a slave who discovers her love master.

I approached the fire under a magnificent canopy of stars. The tasque hugged my body, a wisp of cold breeze blew through my hair, and the rough ground crunched under my bare feet. I was beautiful, and desirable. My Master was strong enough to permit me only the freedom to be a woman. Could life have been any better?

Gret pulled the clasp on my back, and the tasque fell away. There were five there to watch me, all those I'd met in the office, excepting Feda, who, like most freewomen, did not care to see a slave dance, and two more slavers I'd seen since then.

The fire was set between us, its flames high and close enough to warm me. From atop the stage, I gazed down at them. The men sat crosslegged on pelts, siolat mugs at hand, wonderfully male and secure in their places as men of Zhor. I concentrated on Gret, although it was not he I would dance to in my heart. One of the slavers, skilled with the zylar, brought the instrument forth. I closed my eyes for a second or two to clear my thoughts, and loosed the natural slave who longed for true love.

The zylar began with low, somber tones. I, a newly captured freewoman, dropped to my knees, my hands outstretched in a plea to be freed. My entreaty refused, I despaired, naked, secured, and with no options left. I looked towards my Master. My Master! I leaned over and ran my fingers over the mark on my thigh. My true nature, long denied, pushed forward. I came to my feet rebellious; I shook my head, willing it away, but as I stood there, my body trembling with emotion, I couldn't keep my eyes from the man who had taken me. He was so much larger, stronger, a man who had risked his life to take me. The walls that separated me from my true nature fell, and I searched for a way to express what had been hidden.

Sensing the time was right, the slave trainer pounded the zylar.. I was free to be myself! I whirled, naked under the clear sky, slid my hands up my sides and over my breasts. How wonderful it was to be a beautiful woman, unafraid to be herself! Gret and others adjusted their trousers. I smiled, then whipped my hair until it wrapped around my face, and stared, a brazen female challenging them to master me — if they could.

The zylar slowed, and so did I. At this point in the dance, I'd found joy in my chains. I raised my eyes towards Gret. I settled to my knees and, with the same hands that once begged to be free, I gave myself to the one I loved. I finished in slave position, my head down and hands crossed, a slave girl offering her soul to her Master.

Gret took me from the stage to his pelt, and then mounted me in a frenzy that had me gasping. I had a fleeting thought, looking up into the night sky, that this must be what Angel had seen and felt when I'd taken her for the first time in the countryside outside Ademar. In the dark, Gret, with his white hair and blue eyes must have looked like me. I had a twinge of regret when I thought of my ex-slave, and the faint perception that it wasn't meant to be this way, before Gret found the right rhythm and I lost the chain of thought in waves of fire. My body, this body, was made to be brolled, my beauty to inflame men, my female core to love it.

Unfortunately, Gret expended too soon, but another took his place above me. This one had brown eyes, a bigger twyll, and greater stamina. When he finished inside me, I returned to the cage well used and happy.

I was allowed to sleep late. Gret collected me and told me to come with him instead of leading me on the chain as he usually did. I was sad, of course. To me, it meant rejection; the time to leave was approaching. I followed Gret into the office and bowed my head. Frew looked up from behind his desk as we entered. He didn't seem to be pleased.

“I will speak frankly. You shouldn't have come here. This is a place where serum girls go when the slave clubs are inadequate. We alleviate the slave urge and, as a temporary measure, it works more often than not.” He made a growling sound deep in his throat. “You, on the other hand, by all accounts, arrived here without the urges and will leave us on the verge of submitting to the first strong man who wants you. We run this camp to make sure we have an adequate number of free serum girls to staff the slave clubs the Guild operates, not to make slaves!”

Behind my bowed head, I was in despair. “Master…”

He pounded the table. “Do not call me master! My name is Frew t’Kel and you are not a slave. By the Gods, you never were a slave!” He gestured to a clear bottle on his desk and nodded to Gret. I watched in dismay as the slave mark on my thigh came away. Then Gret unlocked my collar. Frew shook his head in disgust as he watched my consternation.

“The urges are strong in you. I’m amazed that you’ve kept free this long. If your will is to submit, girl, we won’t help you.” He stood, came around the desk with the box of my clothes, and thrust it at me. “Get out. You will not be permitted here again.”

After I put on my dress, Gret escorted me to the gate. “Mas … Gret, don’t you think I should be a slave?”

“All serum girls should be slaves, but Frew's right. It isn’t the camp’s business to make slaves, it’s to keep serum girls free as long as possible.”

The guard opened the door and Gret pushed me through. I turned and faced him, forlorn. He smiled wryly. As he shut the door, I heard him mutter, “Serum girls,” and then I was alone on the rocky plain.

I could just make out two riders and three horses approaching on the south road, kicking up dust in the light breeze, almost surely Ketrick and Tisa coming to take me back to my old life. I wanted none of it. Ketrick wanted me; I would make sure he would be pleased with his new slave, already partly trained. I waited patiently until they came within shouting distance. Tisa stood up in the saddle and smiled, waving to me. I waved back, but my thoughts were with the man riding the black stallion. My heart raced and my knees were weak as I waited for him to come to me.

As they drew closer, their smiles faded. Ketrick left his mount a moment before Tisa. I was about to drop to my knees when he pointed to me. “Stay on your feet, Tyra!”

Tisa hustled towards me holding her riding dress off the ground, her visage one of shock and dismay. As she ran, she screamed, “Don’t do it, sister!”

“Ketrick, don’t you want me?” I asked, surprised and hurt.

He came close enough where I had to look up sharply. His presence was overpowering, and I longed for his touch.

“Think back!” he growled. “You came here to understand slavery. Now return to us. Be the freewoman again!”

I moaned in frustration. “Ketrick, I’m ready for you now. I beg you to take me. I want to be yours!” I reached for him. He took my arms in his strong hands and held me.

Fascinated by his strength, I lost myself in his fierce black eyes.

“Errr! I want you, but not as a slave! Wake up! You’ve accomplished your objective; now come back to us!” He shook me. “By the Gods, fight it!”

He slapped me, a blow that left me on the ground semi-conscious and shaking my head.

“Ketrick, you son of a dog! How dare you hit her!” Tisa exclaimed. She went to my side and hauled me to my feet with my head still spinning.

“You’re right. You should hit her,” he acknowledged. Tisa looked at Ketrick strangely while my attention was mostly elsewhere. “Tisa, damn it. Look at her! You're going to have to break her loose before it's permanent. When I hit her, she probably thought it was discipline. From you, a woman, however…”

Tisa yelled in anguish. A split second later I felt another blow to the other side of my face. And then another. I was confused and despondent at the unfairness of it. Here I was, just a serum girl following my natural slave instincts, and I was being punished for it. Tisa struck me once more to the face, then kicked me in the shin. The last was truly painful and something inside snapped. I tore my dress to free my legs, caught Tisa in a front kick and followed it with a back fist that nearly broke her nose. I would have gone further, except a large body intervened between us.

“Enough!” Ketrick shouted, turning to me. “Are you all right?”

I was furious! Both of them had struck me unprovoked. I rubbed my face, considering an appropriate insult when I remembered my intentions a few moments before. It was like coming out of a dream. Ketrick still looked good to me, but the urge to become a slave had disappeared with the fight. Still angry, I said, “Don’t worry, I’m not in the mood to submit to you.”

He laughed. “That’s a freewoman speaking! Good!”

Tisa moaned on the ground, holding her nose and bleeding down the front of her blouse. I felt terrible. “Tisa, I’m so sorry I hit you. Thank you for bringing me out of that,” I said, offering her a hand up. She waved it off and rolled to her feet with Ketrick’s assistance. “Tis', I’m sorry, really.”

“Gods, you hit hard!” she accused, holding her still-bleeding nose.

I grinned, then winced; my jaw hurt. “You hit pretty hard yourself. Just be glad it was Tyra and not Tyr who hit you, little sister.”

“Huh! If you were Tyr, we wouldn’t be here. The next time this happens I swear by the Overlords that I’ll hit you with a club from behind! Are you going to be all right now, damn it?”

I was not all right. The slave in me lurked just under the surface. She was going to be harder to resist -- at least for some time. I still felt the lure, the freedom to be completely female that comes with being owned by a dominant man, but I had responsibilities to my family, to myself, and especially to my city. I forced a smile through the pain. “I'll be fine.”

After a short time to allow Tisa’s nose to stop bleeding, we mounted up and rode south towards Ferlin. I kept my veil off as long as possible to allow Ketrick to observe me and make his own judgment. His life would depend on my performance as well as his own. I patted his hand, grinning when he jumped.

The ride through town at mid-day was crowded with onlookers. The women were once again more bellicose than the men, a few actually forcing me to turn my horse. As we left town, a woman with large breasts I recognized before as being overly aggressive blocked my way to shout insults of slaves, sluts, and serum girls. I had had enough.

I removed my veil and leaned over the saddle to address her. “Large cow, either get out of my way, or I will tell your husband that you are a natural slave.”

Whether it was the surprise of a serum girl replying to her insults, or perhaps the dark man standing next to her really was her husband, she recoiled from my words. I tended to think it was the latter. Before we started forward, she was already cringing under his examination.

Ketrick grinned when we had passed. “Do you think that was wise?” he asked me.

I shrugged. “I don’t know if it was wise, but it made me feel better. I won’t be coming back here anymore, anyway.” I explained that the camp wouldn’t let me back in because they had decided the training had been too effective.

“I agree with them. If Tisa hadn’t been there, I would have had you on my silks tonight.”

Tisa glared at him, but I laughed. “I had to get an idea what it was like. To do that, I had to let my will go.”

“Very dangerous. How well did it work?”

My heart beat faster when I looked at him. “I learned a dance. I could show you tonight.”

Tisa stared at me. “You will do no such thing, sister! Hold!” She pulled in front of us and halted her horse. We stopped. She pointed to us both. “I don’t trust either of you! There is something going on between you two, and I want to know what it is!”

Ketrick spoke disgustedly to me. “This is exactly why I didn’t want anyone else to know about this. Now there may be complications.”

“This complication is my sister,” I pointed out, “and she has already saved me once today. Go ahead, Tisa, what do you want to know?”

“I want to know if there is a chance that you will make my sister a slave.”

He shook his head. “I told her that I would not force her to submit. It would be her choice after this was over.”

She lifted her chin in my direction. “And you, is it possible that you'd you submit to Ketrick afterwards?”

I sighed. “Barely possible, I suppose. I don’t know how I'll feel after being with him for so long. I offered to marry him afterwards, but he refused.”

She nodded to me respectfully. “That would have been an honorable solution.” Glaring at Ketrick: “And just what is wrong with my sister?”

This was too much and too personal. “You go too far!”

“What do you want, Tisa,” asked Ketrick impatiently.

“I want to give her a fair chance to make her own decisions when you come back! I don’t want to see her your slave when she returns here.”

“Tisa, I already promised…” Ketrick began, more than a little annoyed.

“Forgive me, Ketrick. I believe that you’ll stay within the letter of your word. It’s your influence on Tyra on the trip back that I’m worried about. You were going to brand her before going to Tulem, weren’t you? Look at her! In her condition, she'd be overpowered. She would be yours for the asking. There must be a safeguard.”

I wondered about that. It would fit his pattern of pressing to the limit. The way I felt now, if he tried, it wouldn’t take more than a day or two before he had me willing to fit his collar. “Ketrick, you wouldn’t do that to me, say on the way back to Batuk, would you?”

He looked at me straight on. “Honestly, Tyra, I wouldn’t try to make you my slave. After six months or so with me, you might naturally want to submit. I wouldn’t make some special effort, though. Your sister is making me out to be too devious.”

I wasn’t as sure of his appeal, but Ketrick had three hundred years of experience. “Tisa, what did you have in mind?” I asked.

She smiled brightly. “I have two conditions: Ketrick must marry me and you, dear sister, must become my slave.”

“What? This is insanity!”

Ketrick laughed. “Tisa, you have two minutes to tell me why I shouldn’t tie you up like a sack, deposit you in your room and leave a note to let you out when we leave for Tulem. I assume that if you didn’t get your way you were going to tell your father?”

Her hands whitened on the reins. “Yes.”

“Damn it!” I yelled. “I feel like tying you up myself!”

“Think!” she insisted. “If Ketrick marries me, then he must return to Batuk. He would be a disgrace everywhere if he abandoned his wife. If you are my slave, technically, then Ketrick can’t take you for his own without my permission, which I would never give. When you get back from Tulem, I'd keep you here separate from Ketrick to expunge his influence, if necessary, and then free you. You would be free to choose what you wanted to do then. Ketrick and I would get a divorce and that would be the end of the matter. No one would have to know of this except the magistrate who signs the documents and performs the ceremony.”

Ketrick and I looked at each other. “Tyra, you have a smart sister. I accept the conditions. I suggest that you do as well.”

My mouth dropped. “You want me to become my own sister’s slave?”

He chuckled, but his mirth failed to lift my spirits; the joke was not on him. “This is ideal. A slave of a woman is affected differently. A man’s slave almost invariably stays a slave in her heart forever. But a woman isn’t dominant like a man. She doesn’t have the physical power or the chemistry. It would be a weak bond. From her point of view it protects you from me, and she’s probably right.”

“My own sister’s slave?” I repeated. It was incomprehensible.

“I know it sounds odd,” Tisa soothed, “but it’s for your own good.”

I hated it, but I could see the logic. I tried to think of a better option and failed. “Very well,” I sighed, “I’ll do it.”

I was less animated during the ride back. Tisa held my hand occasionally trying to console me, but what I felt was the hand of my future mistress. I looked at her apprehensively. The effects of a stamped slave mark were bad enough, but the actual brand made a deep psychological impression on a girl. I was to be branded anyway for the journey, but it would have been impartial, with a smith doing the work.

By the Gods, my sister?

Ketrick tried to cheer me up with anecdotes of the men in Eagles, but my heart wasn’t in it. According to the timetable, I was to be enslaved that evening. We rode through the gates of the estate in silence. Under my dress, my left thigh was sensitive even now, anticipating the pain.

I had returned to my room after a supper I had barely touched when the knock came. It was Tisa and Ketrick, of course. I took my cloak and a slave tunic that Angel had worn and following them out, astonished that things had proceeded so far and so fast. We walked in silence to a city magistrate that Father and Mother didn't know. Tisa had spoken to him earlier in the day and made the arrangements. My heart beat itself against my chest when a pretty servant opened the ornate door of the magistrate’s house, and pounded even faster in the basement where I saw the branding equipment. The iron was already fiery yellow-white.

Once down the cold steps to the basement I approached the magistrate. He seemed an upright sort with a sharp nose and gray eyes. He looked me over. The process was legal but very unusual. Women very rarely submitted to women.

“Do you submit voluntarily to Tisa l’Fay?” he asked me carefully, making absolutely sure I knew what I was doing. My name didn’t matter. Unless I was freed again, my old name would mean nothing.

I swallowed. “Yes, Magistrate.”

He nodded. “Let the record show that this woman voluntarily submits to Tisa l’Fay,” he said to the notary.

The scribe inked my right palm and pressed it onto a page. Then he cleaned the ink from my hand. “Remove your clothes, girl,” he reminded me. “Slaves don’t wear the clothing of freewomen.” Nervously, I removed my clothes and put them into a small sack I had brought with me. I stood naked before everyone.

“Submit, girl,” said the Magistrate.

Numb, I knelt in slave position on the cold stone floor, my knees apart. I glanced down and crossed my wrists. I looked around the room briefly then up into my sister’s blue eyes. As soon as I said the words and she accepted, I would be her property. “I submit myself to you, Tisa l’Fay -- as your slave.”

She looked down at me with sympathy — and confidence. She took a leather bond and secured my wrists loosely; it was all the ceremony required. The most peculiar sensation swept through me, as pleasurable as it was horrifying. I belonged to her now.

“Rise, slave and move to the branding irons,” Tisa said with authority, again according to form.

The notary made another check on the document.

It was the custom in Batuk for an owner to do his or her own branding. As if I were watching another, I slipped my left leg into the stirrup. Tisa clamped the cold, black metal of the brace over my left thigh, holding it firmly in place. Tisa gave me a last confident look, then put on a leather glove too large for her and extracted the iron from the fire. I looked away briefly, but returned my stare to the glowing brand. It took forever. I felt the heat over a foot away. I tried to squirm at the last moment, but it was useless; I was helpless in the branding brace.

She brought it close, adjusted her hands for a the final thrust, and pushed it against my flesh!

I screamed. Tisa must have pressed the iron deep in my thigh for the customary three long seconds, but it felt much longer before she backed away. As I wept uncontrollably, I felt cool water poured over the brand.

The notary bent to examine the mark; any defects on the brand would have to be noted on the bill of sale. “Congratulations, Tisa l’Fay,” he said. “It was a perfect brand. You have a steady hand.” He rose and shook her hand. I continued weeping. By all the laws of Zhor, she owned me. I was her slave.

Tisa couldn’t treat me like her sister for some time. She commanded me to put on the slave tunic, and locked a black leather slave collar around my neck. To ensure I couldn't run away, she locked it to a ring on the wall with a black chain. The Magistrate and notary waited for her. She glanced back briefly — any more would have been considered weakness — and then left the room. She still had to marry Ketrick. I cried on the cold floor. Slave to a woman or not, I felt the effects of the brand. I touched it in amazement, tracing the outline of the red and swollen vaec in my flesh. Ruefully, I recalled a similar reaction from Angel after I had branded her.

It was cold in the basement, but I was a real slave now, legally, just an animal not fit to witness weddings. I sat and waited, then rose to rub my arms and legs. They returned about an hour later. Tisa unlocked the chain from the wall and whispered to me, “Tyra, you're going to have to act like a slave for a while longer until we get close to the estate. Do you understand?”

I noted that she was suddenly talking to me as if I were a child. “Yes, Mistress.”

She paused at my form of address, and then nodded. It was what I was in fact, and what I would have to call her. “You don’t have to call me mistress in private,” she whispered.

“Mistress,” I pleaded, “if I used your real name, it would look suspicious. Someone might even beat me for insolence. The brand’s effect makes me submissive. It feels natural to call you mistress. Even if you aren’t a man, Mistress, the compulsion to obey you is powerful.”

Her eyes were unreadable. “Tyra, if there were a better way…”

“If I might make a suggestion, you should give me a new name.”

“You’re right. What were you called in the slave camp?”

“Amelia.”

She nodded. “That will be your name, then. Come with me, Amelia,” she ordered. I followed on the chain. I waited at the top of the stairs while she exchanged pleasantries with the Magistrate, and then we left. It was dark, but there was enough light from the houses on the street to illuminate the way. It was cold in the slave tunic, but a slave is just a slave. So soon after the brand and with the effects of the slave camp still upon me, it felt natural to adopt the slave attitude, reacting unconsciously to the men passing by. It actually felt comfortable, but not so powerful that I was lost to it; I found that I could turn it off and on at will. Tisa looked back at me, biting her lip at what she saw. Ketrick saw what I was doing, and gave me an approving nod. We stopped at a park not far from the estate, where I dressed in my freewomen’s clothing.

Once through the back gate, we separated. Tisa walked close by Ketrick’s side, practically skipping as if it were all a wonderful adventure, sneaking occasional glances up to his face like a filly with a thoroughbred. I’d never been jealous of Angel or Wanda, but here, it turned my insides. Ketrick may have been indifferent to her, but she would be sharing her bed that night as his wife, not me.

That night the mirror reflected a lost slave girl. New slaves looked like that. I concentrated, remembering the time in camp when I was submissive, but proud to be a slave. When I looked again, I saw a trained slave, like Angel or Wanda.

The brand made me restless. Having a mistress didn’t remove my need for a man. Unfortunately, until the slave mark was removed, I would have to lie with men who believed I was a slave, or with Ketrick; the serum girl clubs wouldn’t accept me anymore. I went to bed that night writhing in the pelt, pretending I had a master.

By the Gods, I'm a slave. If Father knew about this, he’d beat Tisa nearly to death and sell me to the first slave trader passing through Batuk.

It was the brand and my time in the slave camp hat made me roll like a hot slut in the fur, but that was enough. I touched myself shamelessly, partly to prolong the moment and partly to forget what must be happening in Tisa’s, my mistress’ room. I managed, but I knew that I would have to do better in the morning.

I went to breakfast as usual. To my great relief, I could act as a freewoman or slave as necessary. The men were more attractive and interesting, but unless I was caught off-guard, it was manageable.

Ketrick visited me later that morning while I practiced. The brand's effect had mostly faded by then. He wanted to watch, so I continued to throw darts into a wooded board from different angles.

“You’re not bad at all for the time you’ve had to practice.”

“Thanks,” I said, throwing a dart from low to high. I wanted to ask him about last night, but it was none of my business.

“I asked Tisa for permission to satisfy you. I know how the urges must be for you now.”

I sagged, the blood draining from my head. “For you to tell me this, she must have said no.”

“She owns you; it's her right. Tisa is ... complex. For as long as we’re in Batuk, she’s decided to be a traditional wife. She wants her husband to herself.”

“All to herself? What about Angel and Wanda?”

“They’re just slaves to her. You, however, are her sister and a direct competitor for me.”

“Ketrick,” I said nervously, half-joking, “you aren’t trying to make her fall in love with you, are you?”

He snorted. “She’s young, too impressionable, and last night affected her unexpectedly. We’ll have a talk before we leave.” He shrugged. “I’ve given up trying to understand freewomen. I suppose that I am a rather handsome fellow.”

“Rugged, not handsome,” I pointed out.

“As you say. Seriously, I’m going to have to remind her that you're the one risking your neck, and the only reason you went along with this charade was to stay free. You can do your part, too. Don’t act like a slave around her unless you have to. Be her sister as much as possible.”

“I will. What time do we leave?”

I’ll come to your room around midnight. Don’t bother to pack anything. I’ll bring everything we need. First, I’ll wrap you up and put you on my horse. Then it will be several cold hours in a wagon until the Lion Gate opens. After that we’ll be on the road. Can you hold out until tomorrow afternoon?”

I shook my head. “I’d rather not. The brand and the camp brought back my urges in the worst way. I hate to ask you this, but I need a man.”

“It won't be hard to find a pair. I’ll be back in about an hour to pick you up.”

“I appreciate this.”

He took my hand. “Be strong, Tyra,” he said, then turned and left, taking the darts and knives with him.

I went to kick and punch practice to fill the time and to help stop some of the slut urges from getting to me. I was used to the split dress by then and experimented, using it as a distraction as I kicked and whirled.

After several minutes, I heard a knock. “Who’s there?” I called.

“It’s me, Tisa.”

She sounded tentative, not surprising after all that had happened. Regardless, she was my sister, not to mention my mistress. I had to remember to call her by name; such was the power of the brand. “Come in, Tisa!”

I smiled when she came through the door. The brand was having its impact; our easy relationship was missing a key element, equality. Trying to be her sister, I gave her a hug, but I felt some resistance.

“Keep going. I'll watch,” she said.

She watched me practice for a few moments. It was impossible to forget her, and her cool demeanor didn’t make it any easier. Eventually, I got around to the front kick/back fist combination.

She grunted. “That’s what you hit me with yesterday,” she said.

I stopped. “Yes. I’m sorry about that. It was a brave thing you did, breaking me out of that.” I smiled. “The bruising is barely noticeable. Are you still angry with me?”

She shook her head. “No. The physician was good. It was almost normal before the wedding last night.” She sighed. The way she examined me made me nervous. “We need to discuss a few things. Put on a good dress and meet me in the garden.” She turned and left abruptly, leaving me flustered.

It had been an order, still, she was my sister and she just wanted to talk to me in the garden, I rationalized. What could be wrong with that? I put on a new dress and a veil, and left to meet her.

I found her on the bench under the tree. She pointed to a spot beside her and said, “Sit.”

Her eyes were harder than I had known. “Tisa…”

“Sit!”

I did what I was told.

“This is not an easy time for us. When you became a serum girl, it was a terrible thing. We fought it together. Despite the visits to the slave club, you were my sister and were making progress. I thought there was a good chance for you to remain free.”

Shocked at this talk, I flipped up my veil. “Tisa, I still can! How can you say these things? I was doing just fine until it was necessary to go to Tulem. You saw! I was doing well at the accounts and I was free!”

She knit her brow, remembering. “Yes, you were,” she admitted, “but that was then. I’ve never seen you so happy as yesterday when you wanted to submit to Ketrick. If Ketrick took you now and dominated you, you would submit to him, wouldn’t you?”

“Before I crossed my wrists to you, any strong man could have forced my submission without some mental preparation. In a way, I’m glad you own me. You were right; it will give some protection.”

“Yet, if I sold you to a strong master who would dominate you, you would be happy?”

My blood ran cold. “That is not what I want. All this is to protect me. I don’t believe what I'm hearing. You can’t possibly want that for me!”

She shook her head. “You wouldn't do much good in Tulem as Ketrick's slave. Saving Batuk is everything. But afterwards, what then? Can you really survive months of acting as a slave? I saw you after the slave club and the way you walked after I branded you. You're not the same.”

“That’s ... that's why I’m your slave now, to help me get through it. After you release me, I’ll soon be back to normal — I’m sure of it!”

“I’ve never questioned your courage. Of course, you'll fight as long and as hard as you can, but I wonder if that's enough. You admit that you changed in the serum girl camp. Even now, as my slave, you barely maintain control. If I ordered you to do something, you would obey.”

What is wrong with you? “It was necessary to get close to the slave urges. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to be convincing in Tulem. Remember that, Tisa. I had to do it.”

“It was courageous to do what you did, and for the right reasons. Still, where are we? I have to know how much of you is still my sister, if you haven't come too far already.” Her eyes tunneled into mine relentlessly.

There was nothing I could say to that, but I was sure as Marten's bloody spear that it wasn’t just me she was worried about. “Does this have something to do with Ketrick?” I asked finally.

She stood suddenly and slapped my face. “You will never refer to my husband in that way! Do you understand?”

The blow hurt me, but my sorrow was greater; Ketrick had been right. On another level, my mistress had just slapped me. With my branding and the camp so close, the old reflexes returned. “Yes, Mistress! I understand,” I blurted before I could stop myself.

She smiled grimly, as if seeing something she had suspected. “Come with me, Amelia,” she said. My body wanted to follow her, but I managed to hold back. I had to know how far she would take this.

She glowered when she saw me freeze. “I could drag you to the street, and show your brand to men. As submissive as you are, you would not be able to stop me. They would strip you naked and beat you for disobeying your mistress. Or, you could avoid all that. Which is it to be?”

I bowed my head. “I will obey you, Mistress,” I said. I followed her out the gate into the streets of Batuk. I had my answer, but I would have to cry about it later. Mistress Tisa still had plans for me.

We walked to a deserted alcove where she had me change into a slave tunic from a bag she carried, then she put a slave collar around my neck. I wanted to weep. When this was over I couldn’t see how it could ever be the same between us again.

“Oh, don't be so unhappy! After all that stress, you must be feeling like a slut. This will make you feel better. My husband wanted to brol you himself, but that wouldn’t be right, would it?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Of course, not. When I return you will be a slave, Amelia. You do understand what that means, don’t you?” I nodded. She locked my collar to a chain, then secured the chain to a tree.

She left, returning a few minutes with a solidly-built workman. From his gray cotton tunic and the sawdust in his hair, I guessed him to be a carpenter. “This is your slave?” he asked.

“That’s her; her name is Amelia.”

His eyes roamed my body. I allowed my urges, barely under control anyway, to loosen, and I moved for him. He had calloused hands and clean sweat — and what I needed. I could have fought my desire; the bond to Tisa wasn’t that strong, but it had to be this way. One way or the other, Tisa was determined to see what she wanted to see.

“You want me to brol her — and you’ll pay me for it?” he asked unbelievably.

“Indeed, I will. One silver to brol her, but you must use her well, and I will watch.”

“Is this a jest?” It was scandalous that a freewoman would want to see such a thing.

“No jest. Are we agreed?”

He paused. “We are if you make sure nobody comes by.”

“I will be vigilant, have no fear,” she assured him. “I have no wish to appear before a magistrate.”

“Right.” He unbuckled his belt and kicked off his boots.

Tisa unlocked my collar. The man removed my tunic with a single motion and started slowly, stroking my breasts and body. After a week of training in the camp, I responded easily. Tisa was right: I was feeling like a slut. He was good, and had me moaning in very little time. Soon, I lay on his tunic in the grass in the warmth of midday, forgetting all about Tisa as my urges took over. I held him, moving as he wished.

Between a pair of intense slave orgasms, I spared a moment of gratitude for my Mistress. Here, finally, I could be myself, a natural slave, with no fear of being taken as a slave, for I was already branded and owned. My thanks were misplaced. Watching the carpenter brol me was calculated to burn an image of a shameless slave to replace the memories of the sister she had loved, and who had loved her.

He had been told to use me well. After an hour, if anyone had asked, I would have opined that he had earned his coin. I was ready for more, but Tisa had seen enough. After he was gone, Tisa ordered me to put on my freewoman clothing, and we left the alcove for home. Tisa didn't say a word, her tight-lipped visage said enough.

She left me in my quarters with a last look, sad, cold and dead; it was like seeing a stranger. I stifled a gasp; my sister was gone. She had been my best friend, had helped me immeasurably over the months adjusting to life as a woman — and I loved her. Thinking that we had come so far only to finish like this, I went to the pelts and sobbed until I could no more.

When Ketrick arrived, I told him what happened.

By that time I was through crying. Sick, worn out and furious, I ached to get out of Batuk. Tulem, with all its dangers, seemed like a better place.

Ketrick said, softly, “I had no idea it had come to this point. Tisa isn’t acting rationally.”

I glared at him. “Rationally? Ketrick, I think she loves you. I didn’t see it, but she must have been attracted to you for some time.”

He sat back on the divan and stroked his chin. “Tisa has watched me at practice, but most women find me attractive, and I thought little of it. I don’t doubt that she wants me; after all, I am a fine, handsome, rugged specimen, and, as you once claimed, good husband material, but I can’t be the only reason for her actions; she must be jealous of you.”

“What in ... Why in Hades would she be jealous of me?”

“You were proving that you could adjust as a freewoman, despite the odds, and I know from personal experience that you enjoyed your times at the slave club. You consider it a curse, but to her, it might have seemed the best of both worlds. Consider; you may have hours of the finest orgasms a woman can have, as often as you like, approved by the family. Compare this to Tisa, where the wrong glance at a man might earn her a lecture from her mother. Add to that the adventure, romance, and glory of saving your city, your beauty, your formidable fighting skills that protect you from abductors, and what do you have?”

“What you have is horseshit,” I said, dismissing it with a chop of my hand. “She’s not like that.”

“I understand that you would want to protect her…”

“It’s not that. I know her….” I stopped at a thought, and frowned. “She actually believes that I’m a slave in my heart, or will be very soon — and as angry as I am with her, I can’t say that I blame her very much.”

“You aren’t giving up, surely?”

I shot him a nasty look. “Of course not! She’s wrong, but look what she’s seen. When I saw you after the slave camp, I wanted to cross my wrists to you. Tell me that wouldn’t make a lasting impression on a young girl. She’s been clear with me from the beginning that she would support me until I submitted, and she was equally clear that she didn’t think a slave was human -- and certainly not a sister.”

I rubbed my eyes and wiped away a few tears that threatened to roll down my face. I shook my head, angered, disgusted.

“Gods, Ketrick, what Tisa must have seen. I submitted to her on my knees, naked. She branded me! I, her strong sister, call her mistress. I was completely submissive and obeyed her…” I gave him a frosty glare. “It forced her to the edge, but I was still her sister until this morning. Something else pushed her over the line, making her take that extra step to try to prove to herself that the sister she loved was a slave and lost to her.” I pointed straight at him. “It was you, Ketrick! You fool!”

He narrowed his eyes and shifted his weight, making him look like a cat ready to spring. “Urr. You’d better explain that.”

“Easily, you dolt. When you brolled my sister last night, did you seal the wedding perfunctorily, penetrating her but no more — or did you dominate her as you would any siolat girl?”

“Well … a girl should enjoy her first time.”

“Ketrick! Arh!” I screamed. “Did you ever think about what a man with great natural talent and three hundred years of experience would do to a twenty year-old virgin on her wedding night? She didn’t stand a chance. Tisa loves you, or thinks she does. She knows how I feel about you, and you just made me her rival. Of course she would want to think of me as a slave -- less than her -- and not a threat to her anymore.”

Ketrick rubbed his chin for an unusually long time. “I may have gone too far,” he admitted. “This is why I prefer slaves. They are infinitely more predictable.”

I would have fried him with a stare if if could. “Tisa talked about selling me. I don’t trust her anymore. Even if we survive, is this my future, a serum girl, alone in a foreign city, or returning to Batuk where my own sister might sell me?” I put my head in my hands and pressed my palms to my eyes. Damn it! This is self-pity. I will not cry!

Ketrick crossed the room and grasped my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “I swear to you, this will not happen. I’ll make sure that she frees you immediately. You have my word on it.”

I looked up. Ketrick was as grim as I’d ever seen him. I placed my hand on his above my shoulder and rested it there. “I believe you, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t want to depend on someone else for my freedom.”

“Understandable. As bad as that is, it’s a matter that won’t affect us for several months. I’m more concerned about what Tisa might do in the near future. If she’s jealous enough, she might come to Tulem in a few months to check on her husband, and you. That would be a disaster. Angel and Wanda would sense something almost immediately, and her presence as an outsider — even the attempt to get inside would bring unwanted attention. It could potentially ruin everything.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen this side of her. She might do it. You did say that she doesn’t care about Angel and Wanda.” He nodded. “Then I think I have a solution.” I told Ketrick, who agreed, but looked on sympathetically. I reminded myself that all days end, and started preparing for the evening.

***

I knocked on Tisa’s door. With me, I had a pushcart draped in a covering fur. Tisa answered the door and observed me curiously. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

I looked down the hall for anyone who could hear my reply. “Mistress, your husband asked that I prepare a special late supper for you both.” Ketrick approached from behind her.

“Ah, very good,” he said to Tisa, “she’s here. I wanted our last night to be special and didn’t think you would mind me borrowing Amelia.” He put his arm around her waist and squeezed. The way she moved, it was apparent that she enjoyed his touch a great deal.

“Of course, not.” She smiled. “Come in, Amelia.”

After I rolled in the cart, I removed my freewoman’s clothes and donned a slave tunic. Tisa looked on, mildly surprised, but relaxed when Ketrick took it in stride.

Ketrick took over then, ordering me to serve them supper, using specific commands, so that I would be alert and attentive throughout the process. Tisa’s eyes opened wide as I served and bowed. It took her about a half-hour before she became accustomed enough to my presence to order me about for small tasks.

When I had taken the plates away and moved them to the cart, Ketrick pulled Tisa into his lap, moved her long blond hair away from her neck and kissed her, the first time I’d ever seen Tisa kiss anyone. There was no sign of the nerves a young bride might be expected to have. Knowing Ketrick, all that had been burned away in waves of powerful orgasms the night before.

She was aware of my presence, but it didn’t seem to bother her: I didn’t miss the flush of her skin and the deep breathing. When Ketrick moved his hand to her breast, though, she turned to watch me. Ketrick whispered something in her ear and she laughed. Whatever it was, she relaxed and moaned while his expert hands teased her hard points through the thin cotton. A moment later her blouse and halter had been removed, and then the rest of her clothing.

As they lay together on the bed, she stopped Ketrick’s hand on her breast for a moment and looked at me. “Amelia, what was your name when you were born?”

“My name was Tyr t’Pol, Mistress.”

She smiled so easily, my sister who was my Mistress. “What was your name before I made you my slave?”

I bowed my head. “I was called Tyra l’Fay, Mistress.”

She nodded. “That’s good. When you serve me it will always be as yourself, Amelia, no fantasies.”

I bowed my head again. “Yes, Mistress.”

She sighed contentedly as Ketrick resumed. His mouth went to her breast, and she gasped. I watched the man I wanted arouse my Mistress. Her nipples stood supremely firm, her back arched gracefully, and the rest of her moved to his every touch. He controlled her movements, guiding her gently into positions he preferred. There was little, if any, resistance to it. Without knowing it, she was submitting to his dominance. Her responses were signs that any dominant male would recognize in a submissive female. I doubted that Tisa was a natural slave, but in Ketrick’s talented hands, there was little practical difference. Very soon, her legs eased open and they were making love. Again, Tisa submitted to him unconsciously, only pausing occasionally from shuddering ecstasy to watch me.

After an interminable time, Ketrick finished her with some prolonged pleasure of his own, filling his wife with his seed. When he withdrew, Tisa was in a state I recognized, having been there many times myself. It wasn’t the complete satisfaction of the well-used slut, and her orgasms hadn’t been as intense as mine, but for a freewoman, she must have been feeling very good. She stayed in his arms for a short while then made motions of rolling out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Ketrick asked.

“To the bathroom, husband,” she smiled. “You left me a happy mess.”

He held her arm. “If you will indulge me, you'll see something instructive.” He turned to me. “Amelia, clean me.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, moving towards the bed.

“What is this?” Tisa exclaimed in alarm.

“Watch and learn. A slave lives to please. She enjoys serving and obeying, and the more dominant the master or mistress is, the greater her contentment.”

I watched her watch me carefully as I knelt on the bed and cleaned Ketrick with my mouth and tongue. I had been well trained at this in the camp, and had learned to love it as a slave pleasing her master. With my slut instincts already high from watching Ketrick brol Tisa, I performing this small task as a slave would, submissively and with attention to detail. I enjoyed it, surprising myself with my slave response, even getting an odd thrill at tasting my mistress on him. When I finished him, I retired to my position out of the way.

Ketrick nudged his wife’s arm, jolting her from her wide-eyed stare. “It’s your turn,“ he said in a command voice. “Go ahead, use her as a slave should be used.”

She licked her lips, took a fleeting look at Ketrick, and then spoke hesitantly. “Come, clean me, Amelia.”

I approached her, allowing my submissive desires, still strong from the brand, to come through fully. My Mistress wants me to clean her. Tisa spread her legs wide for me and raised her hips so that I might have easier access. I felt her eyes on me, and the warmth of her heavy breathing teased my hair as I applied myself.

Save for a natural slave’s enjoyment at pleasing her mistress, I didn’t like it. Serum girls weren’t designed to enjoy women or to please them in this way. I was also sure that my sister only liked men. This was all about showing Tisa how low I had become, that despite looking like her sister, I was really just a slave. I believe I was successful in this. To clean properly, I had to use my tongue in some sensitive places. If I were her sister to her then, I doubt that she would have been as aroused as she was when I finished with her.

Ketrick smiled when I backed away. “How was that, wife?” he asked her, although it was fairly obvious, her face was hot and her nipples were hard again.

She laughed. “That was much better than I thought it would be!” She looked at me with more arrogance than I had ever seen. There was no fear or remorse anymore; she clearly felt herself dominant and superior. “You really are nothing but a slave and a slut, aren’t you, Amelia?” she asked me amusedly.

I bowed slightly. “Yes, Mistress.”

With a gleam in her eye, she leaned over and whispered something in her husband’s ear.

His expression changed to surprise. “I suppose I could, but what about you? Are you done for the night?”

“I think so. Would you do this for me, please?” she asked him sweetly, stroking the hair on his chest and batting her eyes.

He shrugged. “Well, I suppose I could try.”

She laughed. “You jest! Tyr once told me that you were with a hot serum girl all night.”

He stroked his chin. “I do recall something of the incident. Very well. Amelia, come here.” he ordered. I came to his side at once. He removed the slave tunic in a motion, tied my hands behind my back with a leather cord, placed me on the bed beside his wife, and took me, allowing me no freedom to do anything but please him precisely as he wanted. I screamed several times with slave orgasms that he muffled with a pelt in my mouth. There was no reason to fake anything; I loved being a slut and a slave in his arms. I saw Tisa through the mists of domination long enough to know that she enjoyed my helplessness. I saw no jealousy in her any more, just satisfaction. After Ketrick had satisfied himself, he told me to dress in my freewoman’s clothes and return to my room. It appeared that Tisa wanted a little more of her husband after all.
 
 

 
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was quite possibly the hardest to write of them all, but necessary to show *that* side of Tyra, which is always there, under the surface, a part of her she never wanted, but *might* prove to be both a blessing and a curse. Much more to come. :) ~Aardvark

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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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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

A girl is unhappy, or Angel turns jealous. A meeting with Marco and Drago Giovanni in the tavern. Wanda uncovers a secret. Drago takes a girl home to Paolo's castle. An unpleasant encounter with Alanna Borodin. Drago sends Tyra to the guards, or a spear is bent. Plans are made, or hanging cats by the tails. A lesson on Batuk for the new aristocracy.

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 9
 
 
I opened my eyes and waited until the world came into focus. I was back in my bed in the apartments above The Queen’s Cup. My back and legs felt like a bruise; and my knees were a dull ache. Angel came into view, leaning over my head.

“Good morning, first girl,” I croaked. I raised a bandaged wrist to my neck. My throat was sore, from screaming, I imagined.

She smiled at me tentatively. “I heard what happened.”

“Then you know more than I do. I don’t know how it ended or how I came to be here.” I gripped her arm abruptly. “How is our Master?”

“Our Master is well. While they were beating you, some man said something to the King, and now some other man is in trouble.” She said it like this was my fault.

“Thank the Gods.” Then I remembered my kneecaps. I'd been nearly sure they would be all right. “Angel! How are my knees?”

She shrugged, flicking her hand casually. “The physician said that your knees will be completely healed in a month or so.”

I drew a long breath and sighed. “That’s good to hear.”

Her eyes blazed. “Yes, you will need to be healthy. When you recover, we will fight. I don’t like this game you’re playing. One way or the other, things will change.”

“All right, Angel, what in Hades are you so angry about?”

“You follow orders, but do not submit to my authority!” she snarled.

I shifted to my elbows and tossed the hair from my eyes. There could be only one serious issue with Angel: Ketrick.

“Horseshit. You speak as if Wanda had always followed your orders before. We both know differently. What’s the real problem?”

She sighed raggedly. “There's something between you and our Master, something I can’t touch.”

I shrugged, forgetting momentarily how abused my back was. “True.”

She stared at me. “You don’t deny it?”

“Why should I? We were friends before I was given Ruk’s Serum. It pleases him to allow some of that to continue.”

She dismissed it with a sharp gesture. “No! It’s more than that. I don't know exactly what happened, but you withstood torture — for him.”

“You love our Master, don’t you?” I touched her arm with my fingers. She batted my hand away.

“Of course, you idiot! And so do you!”

“Oh, for the Gods' sakes, Angel!”

“Hah! You think you've won him back with your tricks, but I'll have him in the end.” She got up and went to the doorway. There, she turned to the side to pose, rolled a look of utter disdain at me over her nose, and then thrust her hip in my direction.

It nearly made me regret not fighting her for first girl, but that wouldn't have made her any easier to live with. When she was unhappy, she made everyone know it, and only Ketrick made her happy. Yes, I had my own interest in him, but I was damned if I was going to compete with Angel for him. I sagged back onto the bed. Wonderful, just wonderful.

I slept until late in the afternoon, and woke up again, this time with a hand against my cheek. I knew his touch and smiled before I opened my eyes. “Hello, Master.”

He put his hand on my hair and smoothed it back. “We’re alone, Tyra. I sent Angel and Wanda on an errand. How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’ll be happier when I’m strong enough to return to your bed.” Even he raised an eyebrow at that. Gods, what am I saying?

“Eagles would have been proud of you,” he said in a way that warmed me. “You were superb, but that was a chance you took.”

“Less than the alternative, I think. When I saw Terrence, I remembered him as an honorable, brave man. Such men wouldn't let an injustice stand, and I didn't think it was a coincidence that he was there. He didn't come forward immediately, so I thought that he might need some persuading.”

“That's very close to what happened. 'The trader I'd left a letter for didn't want me to be punished for something I didn't do, but he also didn't want to be directly involved, so he sent Terrence in his place. Terrence was to testify if things looked bad for me. When you collapsed, he announced himself and backed my side of the story.”

“Well, he took his time about it. He didn't have to wait so long.”

“Ah,” Ketrick said, nodding. “I suppose that it's possible, being busy in the rack as you were, that you didn't have the chance to think it through properly. I believe that Terrence was waiting for an appropriate moment to leap into action, say right after you had given up like a normal slave girl and started answering the questions. It wasn't really necessary to go through all that. If you had broken along with your first knee, most would have said that you had made your point.”

My body ached too much for me to let that go. “How can you be so sure? I thought that the King needed something impressive to decide it our way. King Bruno’s decisions earlier that morning were based as much on flair as reason.”

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Very astute. It's true that your drama made Terrence's words more effective. You were that rarest of creatures, a slave with honor. The King could barely believe it when Bertram tortured you unconscious.” Ketrick lifted me under my arms into a sitting position, and kissed me until the pain went away. “You make me want you more than ever. You would be the finest slave I have ever owned,” he said in a low, powerful voice.

Predictably, I was aroused.

“Tell me, would you rather have me as a slave who would kill you the first chance I had, or as a wife, who would not?”

He laughed boomed in the apartment, and his eyes disclosed amusement. “Get well quickly, Tyra.”

My back healed within the first week, but I spent two long weeks in bed and on crutches while my knees knit before the physician allowed me to walk unassisted. I didn’t see much of Ketrick except at night. During the day he was mainly in the city, contacting old friends and looking for a suitable front to gather information.

In the meantime, Angel and I had come to a truce. Still disgruntled with my special relationship with our Master, she was willing to curb her jealousy as long as she took the favored last turn at night. At times I wondered if it possible to become true friends with her. Her world, like most other pleasure slaves, was wrapped around her master.

I understood her, nearly envied her, the bliss she enjoyed whenever Ketrick was near. It was the same with Wanda, although they expressed it differently, as a volcano and the swell of the rising tide. It was inevitable that a tiny, insistent voice spoke at the edge of my mind, growing stronger the longer I was with them, Would it be so bad to be what I was made to be?

There was plenty of what I called “Tyr” around. When I thought of him, the warrior set me straight on that idea. As seductive as life in Ketrick’s stable often was, it was not me; I needed to get away. For long stretches, I went to the window to watch the streets, imagined myself outside in freewoman's clothing as Tyra, freewoman. Finally, the time came when I was well enough to be brolled in Ketrick's bed. That night he used me well, the first time in a month that Ketrick hadn’t held back for fear of injuring me, and practically the first time in that long I'd had an excuse to speak with him privately.

“Ketrick, I’m ready to work in the tavern.” I whispered, lying against him in the silks.

“Are you sure? The physician advised another week.”

I nodded. “I can manage. I need to do it.”

“Good. I’ve made a few friends in the palace and have contacts inside the Giovanni and Borodin castles. I’m buying a hardware store. That should keep me informed to some extent on the contracts and what people are doing. What we also need are the rumors, the hatreds and rivalries. I need detailed information of relationships between the factions, and the King.”

“And people will say the most interesting things in a tavern after a few drinks.”

“Yes, often it’s a lot of pieces of interesting things that make sense when put together.”

“Of course,” I replied, a little annoyed at him for stating the obvious. “I was the commander in Eagles, in case you’ve forgotten.”

His hand paused on my rear end. “It’s sometimes easy to forget, Tyra. Forgive me.”

I sighed, remembering how close I came to becoming who I pretended to be. “Forgive my abruptness. I sometimes forget it myself.”

“Certainly.” He held me quietly for a time, then, “Do you miss being a warrior? Would you go back to being Tyr?”

I laughed quietly, as not to wake Angel or Wanda. “Hades yes.”

“You have regrets?” he asked, teasing my left breast delectably.

I watched him carefully; he rarely asked an idle question. “I was born to be a warrior. I had a life. I had a slave I loved, and held the respect of my men and family. Now I fight just to be free. Would I regret you? I think you know the answer already. Do you know something? Being a woman isn’t all that terrible. There are compensations for some of what is lost, but these damned urges!” I shook my head, furious again, as I always was when I thought about it. “But one cannot argue with what is. My name is Tyra l’Fay. I am now and always will be a woman.”

“I prefer Tyra.”

His words warmed me like a soft pelt on a cold night. “There are times when I’m content to be Tyra -- times like this.” I fell asleep very soon afterwards.

***

I started in the tavern that morning. I used a fantasy, being myself, but adding a preference for nobles.

Normally, I couldn’t stand the aristocracy. They wore their green or blue sashes as if it was proof of superior life. They paid for nothing. Disrespect was punished either directly, or by the blue-clad enforcers, who, it seemed, were never too far away when they were around. Most of all I didn't like the way they affected the commoners, who barely minded it, and deferred automatically, as they were their due.

Mekor welcomed my help in The Queen’s Cup as much for my notoriety as my help in the tavern. The slave who held up under torture was a curiosity, and many wished to sample me.

A few days after I started, around midday, I approached a pair of nobles isolated at a table by the window. The fantasy was hard at work: when I knelt to take their order my nipples were already firm. They had the black hair and hooked nose of the Giovanni’s. Both were well built, their muscles well-defined, filling their gold embroidered silk tunics. The man to the left was the taller of the two with a neat goatee and mustache, the other, clean-shaven. His arrogant gaze towards my breasts pleased me.

I bowed my head modestly. “How may I serve you, Masters?”

The clean-shaven one spoke. “Ultimately, that remains to be seen,” he said, smiling at his little joke. “Marco, what do you say? A bowl of the Queen’s spiced stew and Bron’s Bread?”

“That would do.” I felt his eyes upon me. He took my chin in his hand and moved it higher so he might examine me closer. “You were the slave on the rack?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Drago, this is the former raid leader from Batuk. I watched her testify before the King. She is not the usual pliant siolat girl.”

Drago raised an eyebrow and looked me over. “She's a pretty one. Perhaps I’ll use her later. Cold siolat with the stew?”

“Yes.”

I bowed and left. Marco and Drago together had to be the sons of Paolo Giovanni, the ruler of the first castle we'd passed on our way to the city.

After Drago finished eating, he brought me to a special alcove reserved for the nobility,a bit larger than the norm, about the size of a bed with room enough to stand. He preferred his slaves helpless, and manacled my hands to iron rings in the walls. Preferring the nobility in my fantasy, I screamed for him in my slave orgasm, calling him “Noble Master.” He enjoyed the words, for he filled me seconds later.

“What is your name, slave, and why did you call me that?” he inquired. I was pleased he asked my name. From my experience in the siolat taverns, few cared.

“My Master calls me Amelia, Master. In Batuk, we don’t have nobility. The government there is a Council of Administrators.” I hesitated, but if he liked me and liked to talk, it was a good time to find out. The worst he could do was beat me for insolence. “Master, if you don’t mind me asking, how did the nobility start in Tulem?”

He didn’t beat me, instead, he was amused by my interest. “The aristocracy in Tulem goes far back. Over a thousand years ago a band of several hundred brave men and women crossed over the pass and entered the valley. My family led them. Luigi and Angela Giovanni are the founders of Tulem. Since then, it has been the Giovannis’ fate to rule here, and we have accepted the responsibility.”

Even through the fantasy, I distrusted his version of events. Power is taken, not given. Regardless, his mastery and confidence thrilled me, and I pressed closer. He stroked my breast casually, probably pleased to acquaint someone new, even a slave, with his greatness.

“So, Master, are the Giovannis the true aristocracy? What of the Borodins?”

“They are also aristocracy,” he admitted reluctantly. “They chose a path of deceit and betrayal to gain their position, attaining their rule almost three hundred years ago. But the Giovannis hold no grudge -- especially as matters have a way of working themselves out.”

“In Batuk, there is no ruling class. The Council is elected by citizens.”

He laughed uproariously. “And what a clumsy system. There is no such inefficiency here. There are the rulers and the ruled.” He shook his head. “Pretty Amelia, it’s not natural what has occurred in Batuk; the ruled cannot truly rule themselves. Inevitably someone stronger will come and sweep such pretenses away.”

“Master, is it always strength that proves the best way?”

He considered me curiously. “That’s an odd question from a former warrior. Winning is all that ultimately matters on Zhor, and he who has the most powerful forces inevitably wins.”

“Militarily, all things being equal, that is true, but in my experience there are other factors.”

“Of course. There is the intelligent application of force, supply, terrain, deception, treachery…” He tossed his wrist casually. “Is this what you refer to?”

“Yes, Master, but there is also the quality of the men and women. Often, it is the determination and initiative of the individual that makes the difference.”

“Pah! Overrated. True strength is found in the will of a unified force, not among scattered individuals.”

I sighed into his strong chest. “Undoubtedly, you are right, Master.”

He laughed again. “You are a delightful slave, Amelia, but it's time I left.” He left me then, pulling on his trousers, tunic and sword.

It took me less time to clean up and wriggle into my slave tunic. I left the alcove just behind him and bowed respectfully as he and his brother left the tavern.

I served well during lunch and well past the dinner hour. I was disappointed that so few nobles took my full measure, but there were enough fine men to satisfy my urges. Ketrick picked me up when the tavern crowd thinned.

Angel and Wanda were already back from Ketrick's new store. They were more tired than usual. Ketrick had put them there to be pleasing and helpful to customers. Eventually, they would know much about projects, repairs and other miscellaneous things in the castles and elsewhere in Tulem, but first they had to learn their part of the business, and Ketrick worked them hard. Naturally, Ketrick hadn’t discussed the real reason they were working there.

In Ketrick’s arms that night, I told him of my encounter with Drago and Marco.

“That was well done. Drago is next in line to rule Paolo’s castle.”

I shrugged. “He didn’t tell me anything, though. He barely alluded to taking Batuk and I found out nothing except the Giovanni version of history.”

“It’s enough for now. You retained his interest as a beautiful intelligent slave. He’ll be back. How is his libido? Did he satisfy you?”

“What?”

He held a finger to my lips. “There's a reason I ask. I have an idea I’ve always wanted to try.”

“Hmm. Nobody has your deep well of energy in the silks, but he’s better than average, and I didn’t exhaust him. I think he left me because Marco was waiting.”

“That’s good. Try to stay on excellent terms with him. If he tells you something, fine, but it’s more important to keep his confidence.”

“Well, his personal confidence is certainly outstanding. He believes that Giovannis rule because they are rulers. Circular logic like that does wonders for the ego. He enjoys an interesting argument. It’s possible he hasn’t heard too many contradictory points of view.” I looked up sharply. “Ketrick, are you planning to sell me?”

He winced the smallest bit, but answered me without hesitating. “It’s almost certain that I will sell you at some point. There's no other practical way of getting inside their circle.”

I held him to avoid showing him my tears. I didn’t know why I even bothered to try; my emotions came through far too easily. I sobbed into his shoulder, and he held me for a long time. “I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my eyes, “I won’t cry about it again. Do what you must.”

The next two weeks in the tavern were similar to that first day. I didn’t learn much except that the Giovannis and Borodins despised each other, which was common knowledge, and a few furtive references to a special dislike or hatred. The aristocracy, it seemed, was trained to keep their life and resentments private.

Drago took me many more times, each time ending our session on the silks with a discussion. Bing a former warrior fascinated him. Gradually, my perspective of him changed. Drago wasn’t a bad man: his arrogance and view of the world came from his upbringing. When I argued one point of view or another, he listened. After a couple of weeks, he looked for me to serve him. In the tavern the other girls teased me, calling me, “Drago’s slut.”

The first break came from Wanda. Her way to ferret out rumors and politics was to respond to a customer the longer he talked. A hundred years of experience had taught her the subtleties of the male. An especially worthy piece of information earned a man a trip to the back room to be expertly relieved.

A fortunate carpenter from Paolo’s castle remembered an incident about ten years before. When Paolo’s father was poisoned, he had overheard Paolo raging at Ivan Borodin. The staff was still under orders never to mention Ivan’s name.

Wanda’s screamed like I’d never heard her that night. When she tapped me on the shoulder I was already long awake. The night lamp cast her clearly. Afterglow softened her face, making her appear more innocent than her years, and her eyes held a trace of awe. “Thank you for selling us to the finest master on Zhor. Amelia, he touched my core. I was a pure woman tonight!” I watched, amazed as this beautiful but seasoned slave collapsed gracefully in her bed, curling up next to her pillow like a child.

My urges never needed much to bring them to life, and I rolled to feet, already wet. When Ketrick finished with me he hadn’t touch “my core,” but I was limp as only the well-used can be. “Ketrick,” I whispered to his ear, “you were pleased with Wanda today.”

“I thought you would recognize the screams of a woman permitted to be only herself. Every once in a while I try my best. I can’t do it too often -- it ruins the slave -- but Wanda earned her reward.” He rolled to face me. “Wanda has possibly given us the wedge to pry apart this truce between the Giovannis and the Borodins.”

“Do you have something in mind?”

“Ideas but nothing firm. Obviously, the focus will be on Paolo and Ivan. The difficulty is making trouble between them look real and not something caused from the outside.”

“I … If you need me to, I think I could get into Paolo’s castle. Drago likes me. If you offered me for sale he might buy me.”

He examined me very closely. “Are you ready for this? I doubt that Drago could completely satisfy your needs. If he tired of you then you would likely become a pleasure girl for his guards or servants. If you were there too long you could lose yourself.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to talk me out of it,” I said, smiling uneasily.

He sighed heavily. “No. I’m trying to talk myself out of it. It’s an excellent opportunity to get on the inside. I worry about you,” he admitted.

“We knew there would be risks. I am free in my heart and have the citizen’s obligation to defend my city.”

“I respect that, of course. Even if Drago decides to buy you, it may be some time before I could contact you. You’ll have to hold Drago’s interest for a month or more. Can you do that?”

“Haven’t I held your interest at least that long?” His smile was my reward.

I was nearly asleep when I heard him say, “Whatever happens, Tyra, I will not abandon you in Tulem.”

That brought me awake. I rolled to my knees, and looked down at him in rage. “Don’t you ever say that to me again! If necessary, you will leave me behind.” But, while the warrior seethed, the female inside me basked like a flower in the sun. Here was a man willing to risk everything for me. Half of me wanted to slap him; the other half wished to mount him then and there.

He’s a man. What can you expect? “Ketrick,” I said softer, “please understand. My oath to Batuk is everything.” I grinned. “However, if you are captured, I assure you that I will not leave you behind.”

“Urr! Normal freewomen are bad enough,” he said in disgust, “but you…”

I silenced him with a kiss, and wriggled until he was inside me. That lasted about two seconds before I was on my back, and not long afterwards I screamed my pleasure beneath the man I desired most in the world.

***

I pretended not to know what was going on the next day in the tavern. Ketrick had told Mekor that he wanted to sell me to Drago and offered him a agent's fee. Drago arrived as usual. He sat at his normal table by the window, and I started off to take his order.

Mekor took my arm, told me to go the kitchen. From there I watched through the curtain while they bargained for me. The natural slave hoped that Drago would pay well for me, and I wished to be a two gold girl.

Mekor finally bowed to Drago: one way or the other the deal was concluded. I waited nervously as Mekor came for me. He pulled me aside. “Drago will be your new master if he approves,” he said gruffly, pointing towards his table. “Go serve him now, then go with him when he leaves.”

“Yes, Master.” I went to his table, served him food and drink, and then served him again in the alcove. This time it was more serious. He dominated me as usual, but inspected me, checking my responses.

Before he dressed, he regarded my nakedness with a grin, and squeezed a breast playfully. “Amelia, I will own you soon.”

“Yes, Master, Mekor told me.”

“Are you pleased, Amelia?”

I looked up from one of my better poses. “A slave is always pleased to serve, Master.”

“Of course,” he said impatiently. “But will you be pleased to serve me more than your master?”

I bowed my head submissively. It was possible he would beat me, but I thought I knew this line of questioning. “Master,” I said humbly, “unless my Master permits, I cannot answer personal questions about him.”

He smiled. “Excellent. I’ll expect the same loyalty from you.”

“Yes, Master.”

Drago collected Mekor from the office and we left the tavern, walking south down the street. I kept to the rear and to his left, the normal slave place. Following Drago was surprisingly easy; the streets were crowded with carts and men that time of day in this, the commercial area of Tulem, but he was a nobleman, and subjects instinctively deferred to him.

Tulem's market was old. Batuk’s market was dynamic, often expanding or changing. Here, the stores were built solidly, as if for the ages. The sidewalks were worn and the flat gray paving showed signs of replacement where wagon wheels passed. Walking past establishments that sold everything from the mundane to the exotic, we entered Ketrick’s store, Eastside Hardware.

Ketrick left his office when he saw us come through the door. “Lord Drago, Mekor, does this visit mean what I think it means?”

“It does,” Drago said. “Mekor is a tough man. He managed to take two golds for her.”

So, I was a two gold girl. I found that it meant little to me. Wanda, and Angel, finished with her customer, watched us. In a few minutes we would be parted, perhaps forever.

“She's a bargain, Lord Drago. It was difficult to sell her.” Ketrick motioned to his office. “Do you wish to take possession now?”

“I do.”

“Very good, then. I have the documents prepared.” Ketrick took a chain and secured me to a ring on the wall, then he entered the office followed by Drago and Mekor.

Angel and Wanda approached me hesitantly. “Amelia, this is a surprise,” Angel offered feebly.

That irritated me. I had hoped for a better goodbye from my friend and former love slave. “I’ll miss you, too, Angel. Don’t worry. Lord Drago seems like a fine dominating master, and yes, I’ll be all right.”

She bit her lip, and at least tried to look like she would miss me. “I didn’t expect it would be you. I really thought Wanda or I would go first.”

I took her hand and Wanda’s, who had come closer. “Life is long, and maybe we'll see each other again. It’s a pity -- you’ll have to work very hard now to satisfy him. I won’t be there to help you anymore.”

Wanda and Angel gave me a quick hug, and it was over. The office door opened and my new master appeared, tucking some papers into his tunic. “Lord Drago owns you now, Amelia,” Ketrick informed me when he came through. I bowed to my new master.

Drago disconnected the chain from the wall and swept his arm towards the door. “Come, Amelia,” he said.

“Yes, Master.” I followed him out to the street without a backward glance, assuming the slave’s place behind him. He led me to the palace stables where his horse was already saddled and waiting. Upon mounting the gelding he held a hand down to me.

“Take my hand, Amelia. You will ride with me.” I took it and swung up in front of him. “We’re going to my father’s castle. It will be your new home.” He motioned to the busy city streets around us. “Have you ever seen a finer city?” he asked proudly.

It seemed he was in a talking mood. “No, Master. I’ve seen Batuk, Ademar, and Teshruk. In most ways, Tulem is by far the finest of them all. The valley is beautiful and the people are healthy and well-fed.”

“The valley was not always thus. A few hundred years ago there were malcontents among the commoners who caused strife. It took a strong hand from the Giovannis to make the paradise you see.”

“Master, what sort of strife? It appears very calm now.”

“There were excesses. Some did not care to be reasonable, or to follow guidelines made for the good of all. There were even some who contested Tulem’s rightful rulers.” He mentioned this last as if such challenges defiled the Gods. “How would you have dealt with it, pretty Amelia?”

“In Batuk, there are always challenges to the Council. If the members don’t perform well, the people can and do replace them. This kind of challenge is a part of Batuk law.”

He chuckled. “Here, the aristocracy is the law. We have an awesome responsibility to maintain the tranquility of the valley, and we must not be constrained in our duty. But answer my other question. How would you have dealt with the strife caused by recidivist non-conformers?”

“Master, few on Zhor would even think to try. People are not the same, and therefore strife is inevitable. There are the weak and the strong, those who think differently, those who persevere and others who do not.”

He laughed. “Yet, my pretty Amelia, it was done in Tulem. How?”

The idea was grotesque. Why try to control life? Why put a cage around someone? The answer was so obvious that I almost missed it — and with it the valley lost its sheen. “Master, Tulem is different from most cities. It’s easy to put anyone outside the gate.”

“Yes! That's exactly what happened.” I was rewarded for a correct answer, or perhaps my breast was pleasing just then because he took it in his hand and squeezed the nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure through me, but it was less than it might have been.

“Are malcontents still exiled?”

“Of course. Although there are few left who do not conform, each year those who do not respond properly are sent away.”

By the Gods and Overlords. I didn’t have to imagine the effects of hundreds of years of human pruning. It surrounded us. Except for the aristocracy and warriors, only the weak and easily led were left inside the valley. The wolves ruled the sheep in Tulem.

We passed the picturesque castles of Alfredo and Mario with their exquisite gardens, well-kept lawns and colorful pennants. Paolo’s castle, slightly larger than the others, came into view around a bend of trees and hedges, the light gray and white walls breathtaking against its mountain background. Drago turned down the paved side road and entered the castle through an iron reinforced wooden gate, several guards in Giovanni green saluting him as he rode through.

The interior had long ago been modified from its original purpose as a stronghold. It was still a rough square with wide towers at each corner, but the outer walls had been carved out to form apartments, storehouses, a barracks, kitchen, and even a garden and pool. The interior wall of the keep had been torn down, leaving a courtyard of gray stone blocks surrounding the old palace in the middle. A dozen workmen and servants walked purposefully, while noblemen and noblewomen ambled at their own pace.

We dismounted at the stable, and a man in leathers took the horse. Drago turned to me, his new purchase, and grinned. “Come with me,” he said.

I followed him across the courtyard, holding my head up as any slave would, proud to be a complete woman and desired by men. We passed a cluster of nobles by the garden: the men, dashing with swords and green sashes, the ladies with hair bound high, bedecked in dresses of pastels with green trim. The men watched me with varying degrees of interest, and my well-honed slave responses reacted. The women cast me disdainful looks or just ignored me. Drago’s brother detached himself from the group and caught up with us, grinning as if I were a fine joke..

“Drago, I can't believe it! Alanna will not be pleased.”

“Before I descend into domestic banality with her, I will enjoy myself.”

Marco chuckled. “I’m with you in spirit, but Father will be less amused.”

“I’ll deal with that tonight. He may be more understanding than you think.”

Marco clapped his older brother on the back. “I hope so, for your sake. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Of course.”

We stopped at the slave quarters where Drago selected slave tunics for me and amused himself watching me use the standard positions, becoming petulant, angry or shy in various outfits. Finished there, I followed him back to a tower close by the main gate. Drago’s quarters were at the top. The room was circular, entirely wrapped around the wall of the staircase.

“Familiarize yourself with my quarters, but disturb nothing,” he said when we arrived.

“Yes, Master.”

Thick blue carpet covered the floor, a possible reference to his antipathy to the Borodins, whose color it was. Tapestries lined most of the wall space. A small fireplace served as heater, and had a place for pots and grill. His furniture was a compromise between strong and comfortable, cabinets were filled with books, and a wine rack stood in the corner out of the sun. A small ceramic water latrine lay separated by a wall from a sunken tub in a small room to the side.

There were two beds: a small one in the back by a window overlooking the inside of the castle that I supposed would be mine when I wasn’t required in Drago’s. His bed was large and solidly made, set far back from the outside looking window. The bed looked good now; the movement of the horse against my saer had aroused me on the way over.

“You feel it, now, don’t you, the urges?”

I nodded. An experienced man would almost always know. “Yes, Master.”

He had me run a bath. After I prepared it, he lowered his himself into the water. Unlike Ketrick, who had several old scars he’d never bothered to have removed, Drago’s body was smooth.

“Not bad, but I prefer a little less hot water.” He sat for a moment just looking at me. “You are beautiful, Amelia.”

“Thank you, Master.” He still wore an appraising look. “Would you like me to clean you?” I hinted. He had never said, but I suspected that I was the first slave he owned.

“Yes. Join me,” he said.

I washed him all over. Not sure what he wanted, I began to arouse him, but he stopped me with his hand, so I just finished and dried him off. He took me in his arms and kissed me, a hard master’s kiss that brought me to full heat. He grinned. “I think it’s about time I took you.”

“I hope so!”

He laughed. And Drago took me in his bed, allowing me no freedom save to squirm, submit and scream.

“Amelia, these are trying times,” he said later.

“How so, Master?”

“You’re from Batuk.”

“I was, but to my family, I'm dead.”

“You would not like to return?”

I shook my head. “No, Master. I would disgrace my family. Master?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think your father will force you to sell me?”

He jerked at the question. “I could sell you right now. Perhaps I should.”

“Oh! You could, Master. You are strong!”

He rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he thought. “It can do no harm to talk about it. My father desires a quick wedding to Alanna. She is fair enough but insipid.”

It was a common complaint about freewomen after a man had experienced slaves. It was still a sore point with Mother and Father. “Master, why not marry her and keep me, too?”

“Alanna is the daughter of Lord Ivan Borodin,” he replied patiently. “The Borodins would be insulted. Take a slave? Perhaps, but only after a child is born.”

I didn’t like what I was hearing. Drago was using me as a diversion before his wife closed off that pleasurable option. He seemed uncertain, wondering now if he should have bought me.

I quoted the old sage, Herth Tarr: “A man is strongest when he knows himself. A woman, when she sows doubt and confusion. Master, you are strong. You will do what you need to do on your terms.” I sighed and snuggled against him while he pondered my words.

“It is difficult to go against such proven truths,” he said, this time with more determination. He swatted my rear end with authority. “Time to rise.”

I rolled to my feet and donned the diaphanous pink tunic he’d selected for me. He dressed as well. “Stay here, Amelia. I’ll be back to feed you after dinner,” he commanded; then departed.

An hour later, someone pounded on the door. A shrill voice screamed at me to open. I was almost sure that this was Drago’s betrothed, Alanna. I opened the door and bowed, feeling the wind as she passed by. “Where is he?” she shouted.

I looked up to enraged blue eyes under a mass of pinned-up blonde hair. Without the fury blotching and distorting her features, she was probably very pretty, but not as pretty as I, a point she was sure to note. I held my head high, proud to be the pleasure slave of Drago Giovanni. “Mistress, my Master is not here now, but you may wait for him.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. I, a mere slave and the object of her rage, was treating her as a guest. “Mistress, would you like me to get you something to drink while you wait for my Master?” I asked her brightly.

Alanna knock me to the floor with her fist, and spat on me on her way out. I made it to my feet rubbing my jaw, closed the door, and wiped away the warm spittle. I had done what I could for the moment. Now it was all up to Drago.

Drago returned later that evening looking grim. “Rise, Amelia,” he growled.

I did so, my heart skipping a beat.

His expression became a victorious leer, and I relaxed. It seemed that I was to remain his slave, at least for the time being.

A few days after he had won his right to me, a problem I thought might surface, did. As I lay against his side after an hour of domination, all he could manage that night, a terrible emptiness remained within me, demanding to be filled. Frustrated, I sought to create firmness where there was none, but I was not rewarded.

“Amelia, you are a slut,” he said.

I lifted my head to respond. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “You can’t help it. You’re just a serum girl.”

“Yes, Master,” I replied sorrowfully, returning to work.

A pause, then: “By the Overlords, Amelia, how did Ketrick satisfy you?”

“Ketrick is remarkable, but even for him it was a strain. He lost sleep. I’m sure it was a relief when I went to work in the tavern.”

“It’s beginning to affect your concentration. I look forward to your insights and odd points of view. It’s annoying to find you constantly aroused and in need.”

“I’m sorry, Master!” I exclaimed in anguish.

“I'll give you to the guards occasionally. You will let me know when you need them.” He slowed his breathing. In a moment he would be asleep.

Aroused and in need described me accurately. My skin was hot and sensitive; my saer flushed with desire. “Master?”

“What?”

“I need to go now if you want my best tomorrow.”

“Serum girls! Amelia, go and don’t return until you are satisfied!” He rolled to his side, very deliberately away from me.

“Yes, Master.” I crept away silently, slipped into a sheer tunic, and brushed my hair smooth. I descended the cool stairs in the dark and jogged across the moonlit courtyard to the guards’ quarters.

When I explained my master’s instructions to the guard outside the entrance, he called for the watch leader. After a short explanation, he escorted me inside. Most guards were already asleep, but a few played cards or huddled over a board game. I was relieved to find a sufficient number of guards interested in me. Left with them, the guards took me for over three hours. Finally, I left their pelts and thanked the guards for using me so well and helping me satisfy my Master’s commands. They, in turn, expressed willingness to use me again when I was ready. I returned to Drago’s bed after a quick wash a few hours before daybreak, rested and completely sated for the first time since my sale.

The next day he woke me in the morning with a rousing slap to my flanks. “Amelia, set out my riding clothes. Set out an undergarment for yourself. You will be astride a horse.”

“Yes, Master.”

I obeyed then went to breakfast at the slave quarters while he breakfasted in the great hall with most of the nobility. In the few days in Paolo’s castle, I knew the names and faces of almost twenty noblemen and women, and a rough idea of how Drago felt about them. A few overheard comments indicated deep resentment of the Borodins, but nothing specific.

When Drago returned, we left the castle, with me riding a small mare tethered to a ring to Drago’s saddle. Once on the road south to the city, he gave my horse’s tether more slack, and motioned me forward.

“Pretty Amelia, I would be hard pressed to find a more beautiful leader of warriors.”

I blushed. “That’s all in the past, Master. No one would follow me now, least of all warriors.”

“True,” he said, and then he reached far to his left and pinched my right breast playfully, “unless they desired a pretty slave wriggling beneath them in the silks!”

I laughed. “I spoke too soon.”

“Are you still capable of judging warriors?”

The way he asked made it seem important, and I framed my reply accordingly. “I can’t fight anymore, but my father always thought I had a fine eye for detail. I don’t think that I’ve lost any of that, Master.”

He nodded. “We shall see. We ride to inspect the warriors.”

“The warriors, Master?”

“Part of the combined forces of Tulem, Amelia. You will evaluate them for me.”

Can this be a test? I couldn’t pretend to be a fool or ignorant. Drago knew me too well and, as a part of this game, would be weighing every word.

Our path took us past the city to the south. From there, Drago led me to the top of a low hill overlooking a large military force, the largest I had ever seen. Most armies were small. The cost to maintain a sizable army for any amount of time can be ruinous, yet there it was, spread out over a mile. A quick estimate put the number at close to twenty thousand.

“Your first impression?”

“Master, The only reason for an army this size is to defend against another army’s aggression or to conquer a city. I know of no other army close-by anywhere near this size nor any city-state that threatens Tulem.” I waved towards to the field of horsemen on maneuvers, and groups of warriors practicing with spears, wooden swords and javelins. “I can only conclude that this is an army being prepared to attack another city.”

He leaned forward and grasped my right arm in a painful grip. “Amelia,” he asked, staring intently into my eyes, “what else do you see?”

I took a deep breath. “Master, this army is going to invade Batuk!”

I felt his pleasure, although his face remained impassive. “And what is the basis of this astounding conclusion?”

“I wondered why, after more than a two hundred years of profitable peace, Tulem decided to dispute the borders. It makes sense now in hindsight as a pretext to start a war, yet I am still puzzled, Master.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, Master. The Fortress of Batuk is very strong. Even if an army could swarm the outer wall, it could not take the Fortress. Unless…” I put my hand on my chin and pretended to consider the matter.

“Unless?” Drago prompted impatiently.

“Unless this attack was planned long ago, unless there are already agents of Tulem in place in the Fortress!” I finished, speaking as if I had just come to a terrible realization. “Master, is this true?” I cried, my eyes becoming wide-open pools of horror.

He shrugged. “And what if it is true? Did you not already say that inequality is normal, that strife is inevitable, and that there are the strong and the weak? If Batuk is too weak to defend itself, wouldn’t a successful invasion prove the natural superiority of the invaders?” He laughed. “Come now, even the Overlords agree, else why would they allow these things in the world?”

Privately, I had to agree. When a city fell, few on Zhor mourned its passing besides the inhabitants. I was angry with our council, but even angrier with my fellow citizens for choosing well-oiled tongues over strength and wisdom. If Batuk lost, it would be a bitter lesson learned at the cost of our freedom. I would that we learned the lesson, but not under the heel of an aristocracy.

“Yes, Master, if Batuk lost a war with Tulem they would deserve to lose.” I pouted like a slave, though I felt stronger emotions.

“Good, pretty Amelia, you are consistent.”

We rode down the slope into a far section of the training area and dismounted. He pointed to a group of about one hundred heavy spearmen in green and gold tunics over chain mail. “These are part of my unit. What do you think of them?”

Drago waited patiently as I watched for a few minutes. “Most are fairly good. That one in the dark cap is very good.”

“He's the best of the lot. I heard that you were very good. Could you have beaten him?”

I nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“Really? What are his flaws and how would you defeat him?”

I pointed to his feet. “Master, he has a bad habit. His back foot is always planted just before he charges. It gives him a powerful drive, but limits his balance. It’s also a giveaway to his intent. Against an observant opponent he would be dead. One need merely wait until he commits, block the first thrust and move in.” I shrugged. “Of course, in actual battle, few would have the time to analyze such details; otherwise, he is a fine fighter,” I admitted.

He waved a burly spearman over. “Yuri, Gregor plants his foot when he charges. Pair off against him, block the first thrust and move in.”

He bowed his head. “Yes, Lord Drago!”

The match was over quickly. Gregor feinted several times, but when he lunged, Yuri was ready for him. Drago laughed. “I will not tell Yuri who told me that. A man must not owe a slave anything.”

I bowed my head. “Yes, Master.”

Drago and I walked through the section, and for the next few hours he monitored the practice and made himself visible to his troops. He seemed generally satisfied.

We mounted and left the field, riding back the way we came. The army looked ready to me. The cavalry seemed practiced, the formations were tight and the men’s spirits were high. With the wedding of Drago to Alanna, I had thought I had a solid three-month window before the attack on Batuk. I wasn’t so sure any more.

“Amelia, you surprise me. You do know weapons and fighting. What did you think of our army?”

I looked at him sadly then lowered my eyes. “It’s a powerful force. Depending on the depth of treachery lurking within Batuk’s walls and Fortress, the army could take the city after a difficult fight. There are just not enough men in Batuk to defend against so many.”

“And this makes you unhappy.”

“Many will die. Batuk will fight hard with what it has. I am only a slave, Master, but I will weep for Batuk when the city falls.” Drago was not a cruel man; he rode forward and allowed me to cry in peace.

He dominated me that night and tried harder than ever before to satisfy my urges. I awoke in the morning to his eyes. He had been watching me sleep. I stretched, knowing he liked to see me like that, and smiled. “Good morning, Master,” I said sleepily.

“Rise, Amelia, we visit Alexander’s castle this morning.”

I got to my feet, excited. This would be the first Borodin castle I visited. ”Yes, Master.”

Alexander’s castle was only two miles away, just opposite our castle on the other side of the lake. The lake was exceptional: sculpted centuries into a perfect rectangle about five miles long and a half-mile wide, it ran directly north-south, across the heart of the valley. A few brightly colored pleasure boats with billowing white sails shared the expanse with fishermen in dull brown and red dhows and prams. This early in the morning, when the waters were nearly quiescent, they seemed to float in the air amidst the steep snow-capped mountains reflected from behind.

For the moment, my mission was forgotten. Even the road we traveled was thickly lined with yellow and blue flowers, their sweet fragrance wafted to our noses by the gentlest of breezes.

“Master, this is beautiful!”

“I take it that Batuk is not so well favored?”

“It is not; although, it has a stark charm of its own. Its features are dominated by the black Fortress. Tulem is like a garden.”

He nodded as if what I said had confirmed something he had known all along. “Many never leave the valley except to visit the towns and nearby cities. Inevitably, they fail to compare to Tulem’s majesty. Everything one needs and could desire is right here.”

I didn’t agree: to me, Tulem’s beauty was diminished by a sense of confinement, but I wasn’t going to argue the point with him. Looking around the valley, I tried to see it through his eyes. From where we were, impossibly steep mountains pierced the ground, forming an impenetrable barrier to the outside Tulem's Gate was hidden behind a fold in the terrain, completing the illusion. To Drago and most of the nobility, this was the world. Here they ruled utterly and were secure. Beyond the gate lay uncertainty and fear.

This was an opening for a reasonable question from a slave worried about her Master. “Master, how could anyone bear to leave this sanctuary and rule Batuk?”

“There’s no harm in telling you the rest of it now. The Giovannis will stay. After the fighting is over, the Borodins will rule in Batuk.”

That was more than passably interesting, but as a slave, I couldn’t ask the questions I really wanted to ask. “Yet, you still must marry Alanna Borodin,” I pointed out.

He sighed. “Batuk must be truly backwards. You have no idea of the obligations of the ruling class. For hundreds of years Giovannis and Borodins kept separate. Old feuds and rivalries created hatred and jealousy between us. Now at the parting, the heads of the Giovanni and Borodin families, Niccolo and Markus, have decided to end the enmity between us for all time, burying the old differences through marriage. I will marry Alanna to end a blood feud between our two castles. Two other marriages will conclude similar unpleasantness.”

“What will the King do afterwards? The succession…”

He laughed. “The King!” He shook his head. “Don’t worry about politics, Amelia,” he told me sternly, “it does not concern you.”

I bowed my head. “Yes, Master.”

He stroked my hair softly. “You were made for other things, pretty slave.”

At his touch, I leaned against his hand. He wasn’t a bad man, really. Drago was only a few years older than I was, and, given the chance, would grow to become a fine man. I hoped I wouldn’t have to kill him.

We passed Ivan’s castle where Alanna lived, and eventually took a tree-lined road to the right. Alexander’s castle was newer than the Giovannis’, built at a time when defense against an assault or siege wasn’t so important. More of a residence than a castle, it was a high square building with a slate roof and a generous courtyard in the center. We left our horses outside with a stableman in blue and brown and walked to the front.

As soon as the castle had come into sight, I’d started looking for places in and out. It didn’t look easy. The windows I could see were inlayed with solid iron bars. Of the dormers set back on the steep roof fifty feet up, only one, thicker at the sides, looked as if the bars might open on a hinge.

The main entrance was through a tunnel. Just inside it, a massive iron grating peeked through a slot in the ceiling, ready to be dropped in an emergency. Where a moat would have been, gardeners cared for rows of long-stemmed flowers surrounding two oval pools. One gardener stood in the pool, the water above his waist as he trimmed the plants.

We passed by four guards with heavy spears standing inside. They wore long tunics of Borodin blue with white trim, and I judged them alert enough. Once through the gate tunnel, we emerged into the light of the courtyard. Instead of a small palace like Paolo’s castle, its centerpiece was a large garden with a central fountain. The nobles were cast different as well; their sashes were blue as opposed to my master’s green, and instead of black hair and the distinctive Giovanni nose, the Borodin nobility had universally blond hair and blue eyes, a matter of centuries of inbreeding.

“You’re early, Drago,” spoke a cool voice from the side. A slim Borodin about Drago’s height sauntered towards us. He glanced at me with distaste. “And you have brought your slave. Doubtless, she is to table dance at the meeting.”

“Good morning, Nikolai,” replied Drago with a smile. “You might thank me that I brought her later.” He turned to me. “Amelia, go to the central fountain and stay there until I return.”

I would have liked to hear more, but I could only do as he commanded. “Yes, Master.” I turned and walked straight to the fountain in the center of the garden, its waters cascading in a solid sheet over the sides of a white marble bowl into a larger bowl beneath it. I stood and watched over the bushes and flowers, hoping to spy something useful.

At first there was little to see other than a crowd of Borodin lords, some ladies, and later, several Giovanni lords. I matched faces with names as best I could, and strained to hear snips of conversation, although the fountain’s noise made it difficult. Soon, the men, in small groups and singly, passed through a pair of open doors in the left adjacent wall, the meeting room.

Four more Giovanni men arrived through the main gate, and made their way towards the meeting. I recognized three: Paolo, Mario, and Alfredo, the heads of the Giovanni castles. I knew the last by his description and the way the others deferred to him: the man with the neat beard was Niccolo Giovanni, the head of the Giovanni family. They were the last. A guard closed the doors behind them with a heavy thud. By my count, all the heads of both families, and perhaps two-thirds of the lords in the valley were inside.

This left the courtyard to several workmen and a few roving clusters of ladies. A clutch of three blondes entered the garden. I did my best to join the background, but it was too much to hope for. A pair of Borodin eyes looked me up and down as if I were a filthy beast, but all her disdain couldn’t deny that I was prettier than she was, and that men preferred me.

“What a preening, arrogant slave,” she said, hands on hips. “You’re Drago’s slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I replied.

One of the other women took her arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let the slave be. Besides, Alanna already has plans for this one after she is married.”

Whether that was true or just something to make me worry, the first woman nodded, and then the blondes passed on, leaving me alone again.

I was resigned to wait out the meeting when I barely heard a familiar voice. “Tyra!”

I froze then looked around casually. A workman one bench over adjusted a boot, his belt of tools set temporarily beside him. Ketrick’s hair was long and brown, now; his skin was darker; the face sported a full mustache; and his eyes, when I saw them, were light brown, but the voice was the same.

“Yes!” I hissed over the sound of the water. I moved closer and turned to face the other path to the fountain. “Go ahead, it’s clear,” I whispered as loud as I dared.

“What have you found so far?” he uttered, as he examined his boot for pebbles.

Quickly, I told him details of the army, the marriages, the Borodin’s plans for Batuk, and my status in Drago’s quarters.

“Not bad. That confirms everything that I've heard. I wouldn’t worry about the army leaving for at least a month, though.”

“How do you know that?”

“They need food and supplies for nearly twenty thousand. That means wagons to carry them. The warehouses contain enough food and supplies for a decent campaign. But they don’t have the wagons yet and it will take about a month to make them.”

“A month.” It was a terribly short time, but it would have to do. “What have you decided?”

“In a week I'll kill Ivan, followed closely by Paolo, if possible. That should make things interesting.”

“Huh! Like hanging cats together by their tails.”

“That’s the idea. Then your work begins. I’m leaving a leather cylinder containing everything you should need. There are instructions inside, but use your best judgment. I have to go now. I’ll see you when I can.” He walked away, but as promised, he left a tan cylinder behind. I groaned; as a slave, there were only two places where I could hide it and only one I would consider.

As best I could measure the sun’s shadow, the meeting ended about an hour after it started. The doors opened and the lords streamed into the courtyard. Their strides were confidant; their demeanors bright and satisfied. Paolo and Niccolo stopped together in the yard opposite Alexander, the Lord of the castle and his wife. Niccolo gestured to the sky, making some unknown point. Alexander grinned, nodded, and laughed. This was not the picture of discord between the families we’d hoped for.

Drago left the building with Nikolai and waved for me to come to him. I walked towards them as normally as anyone could with a cylinder in their saer.

Drago smiled at his companion as I came close. “Nikolai, this is my gift to you, the famous raid leader from Batuk. You may borrow her for the rest of the day. Any questions you have about your new city she can probably answer.”

“I will not accept a slave’s instruction.”

Drago laughed and held my right breast in his hand, guiding me around to face the Borodin. “Look at her. If you ask a slave something of her birthplace, that is hardly instruction. See her stand, mute, until you order her to answer a question about her home. Is she a teacher, or is she a book to be read, bound in a pleasing cover?”

Nikolai’s aspect grew more thoughtful. “Hmm. True. It is our responsibility as rulers to know our subjects. As well, her answers could be construed as her interpretation of her people. Whatever she says would then be instructive, but not instruction.”

Drago slapped him on the back, a familiarity Nikolai didn’t care for. “Very good, my friend! Bring your friends with you and interrogate her. Discover the people you are about to rule. I’ll be back in a few hours. Send her to the slave quarters when you’re through.” Drago pivoted on his heel and strolled away whistling a happy tune.

Drago’s last glance clarified matters. If Drago wanted the Borodins to know their new subjects, it wasn’t as a favor. I bowed my head submissively to cover a smile and waited for Nikolai’s commands. I would be happy to show the Borodins what they could expect from their new subjects.
 
 

 

Tyra tells the Borodins about Batuk and is punished. The contents of the cylinder are revealed and a daring plot is hatched. The assassinations begin. The investigation gets too close. A life-changing event for Drago. The Lady of the castle visits Ketrick.

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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 10
 
 
Drago found me in the anteroom of the slave quarters a few hours later, pouting because I had been unjustly punished. Beneath my swollen face, though, I smiled. It had been worth it.

Drago raised my head. I looked up at him sorrowfully and sniffled.

He frowned. “Amelia, what happened?”

“Master, I have been punished for insolence, although I tried my best to answer their questions!”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Now, what happened?”

“Master, I accurately described the likely reaction of a Batuk citizen to the Borodin’s view of natural rulers and ruled, as they told me to. When I answered, Nikolai struck me.”

He placed his hand over his mouth and chin to suppress a grin. “And what did you answer, pretty Amelia?”

“I replied that a Batuk citizen would probably laugh, or use any number of colorful epithets.”

His right eyebrow rose slightly. “And in your zeal for accuracy, did you actually utter any of these obscenities?”

“I suppose, in the interest of completeness, I may have mentioned one or two.” I admitted.

“And that is when Nikolai struck you?”

“Yes, Master.”

He grinned. “Now that was insolence. Tell me the rest; you were struck twice.”

“Yes, Master. In a reply to a question, I stated that I doubted that the Borodins would ever be safe in Batuk. It is simply the truth, Master! Unless an armed escort went everywhere with them, or if they remained in the Fortress, there would always be the resentful resident with a crossbow or knife.” I touched my face tenderly. “Another struck me then. Did I speak wrongly?”

“No. They should have an idea of this already from our agents’ reports, but it’s different hearing threats, even indirectly, from a native, an example of the people they intend to rule.”

“It seemed to bother them, Master,” I offered, gently moving my chin back and forth.

“So it would seem, and I am not displeased. You were honest and direct, as I intended. Come, we will return to the castle.”

Safely back in Drago’s quarters, I retrieved the cylinder, relieved to get rid of it -- the ride back on the horse had been progressive torture -- and hid it under my mattress to open later. My saer recovered quickly, and that night, after Drago took me pleasantly but incompletely, I visited the guards to finish the job.

The next day, after I was fed in the slaves’ quarters, I opened the cylinder while Drago was still at breakfast. Inside were several objects tightly wrapped in a thin, strong line: a three-pronged hook, a tube about six inches long, a small bottle of some black substance, three long narrow poison throw darts with protective coverings, a many-times folded piece of paper, and the surprise, injector blow darts.

I read Ketrick’s instructions and laughed. The plan was at the same time clever and bold enough to be the work of a lunatic. He’d left the final details to me, but the gains to be made by being daring! I lay on my bed thinking about it, and settled on a course of action. When Drago returned, I saw a man confident in his power and future. I almost pitied him.

Most of the rest of the week, Drago took me with him almost everywhere he went, and I memorized names and everything I could of Drago’s life. Mostly, though, I just watched Drago.

After a fierce brolling one night, I cuddled up to him and sighed, “A slave might wish to be kept, Master.”

“Amelia, I will not keep you. Before Alanna and I are wed you will be sold.”

“Yes, Master. I’m sorry. I’m just a slave, but I will miss you. I will miss our conversations most of all. I may never find a master again who will permit me to speak my mind.”

“Yes,” he said amusedly, “and one who would allow you to visit the guards when you need to. Your next master should own a tavern or serve armies. One thing has always puzzled me. Why would Ketrick abduct you, a hot serum girl? Surely you were about to submit to any man who would have you?”

I was an opening to say what I’d wanted to say for days, and I took it. “I am only a serum girl slave now, best fit to serve many,” I acknowledged, “yet I found a way to remain a freewoman. I had hopes of staying free, but Ketrick wanted me. He grew tired of waiting for me to submit voluntarily, so he took possession.” I shrugged. “It's my fate to be a slave, Master, but it might have been otherwise.”

“It's your fate to sleep now, unless you require the guards’ twylls again.”

“Yes, Master.” I went to sleep satisfied. I had just planted a seed in his head, much as he had so recently planted his in my saer. Unlike his, mine had a chance of growing.

That afternoon, Drago took me to the palace for an appearance at court, the first I had seen of that room since my torture. We did not stay together. Alanna stood on the Borodin side of the room; my presence next to her betrothed would have added spice to an open wound. Instead, Drago chained my slave collar to an iron ring in the back of the audience chamber next to two other girls in blue tunics, Borodin slaves. Other than sideways glances to determine who was prettier, we ignored each other. Talking, of course, was out of the question.

The King had just seated himself, when a messenger burst through the door and rushed to Markus Borodin’s side. From my place in the very rear of the room, I heard harsh words and fury, but couldn’t make out what was said, and then shouts of “murder!”, “shame!”, and curses filled the room; women cried and shrieked, and furious stares crossed the aisle, mainly directed at Paolo Giovanni.

“Silence!” shouted the King, rising from the throne.

“Your Majesty, Ivan Borodin and his wife have been murdered!” Markus bellowed.

King Bruno’s anger turned to deadly calm. He pointed to the doors. “Seal the room,” he said.

Guards moved quickly and slammed the doors shut, locking them with a loud “snick!”

The King jerked his head to the side. “Markus, what’s going on?”

The head of the Borodins shouldered his way through to the aisle and walked stiffly towards the King, fists clenched and fighting for control.

Lord Markus made a perfunctory bow before beginning. “Majesty, I have just heard that Lord Ivan and his wife, Katerina, were murdered on the road. Their bodies were found in a ditch, both with their throats slit!”

King Bruno lowered his head, wincing in sympathy. “You have my sincere condolences. I’ll do everything in my power to find the killers.” The King located Niccolo Giovanni and waved him forward. Niccolo staggered forward, as stunned as Markus.

“Your Majesty, Markus,” he said in a quavering voice, “I have no idea who committed this foul deed or why. The Giovannis will cooperate fully in any investigation, of course.”

“I expect no less, Niccolo,” the King said. “No one leaves the room until we have statements from everyone. I'm assigning my Chief of Inspectors, Tam Polgher, to bring the murderer to justice.” He turned to a guard on his right. “Bring him here as soon as possible.” He spoke to the two lords. “Tam is mundane, but under the circumstances, that would be best. He is also very clever, I assure you.”

“I know of him. An excellent choice, your Majesty,” Niccolo said.

“I approve of anyone who finds my son’s murderer!” Markus declared.

The guard returned with a sharp-eyed man in the purple sash of the royal service. Short brown hair and a peculiar perpetual curiosity distinguished him from the aristocracy. He brought an assistant with him, a freewoman in a tan and gold dress with striking white hair and odd purple eyes. Tam spoke with King Bruno quietly; then proceeded. He didn’t have a powerful voice, but he compensated with the authority of the extremely competent.

“Lords and Ladies, remain where you are and do not attempt to communicate with one another. Each of you will be interviewed one at a time, then released. It’s vital that you don’t mention anything that happens within these walls to anyone. Even the investigation must remain a secret for the time being. I thank you all for your cooperation in this terrible time. Lord Niccolo, may I see you first, please?”

Three hours later, Drago entered a small room just outside the audience chamber. A few minutes later, he returned with Tam and led me inside to join my Master. I entered in full slave mode, proud that I was extremely attractive to anyone who preferred women.

“Sit down, Amelia,” Tam said, pointing to the chair in front of his own.

“Yes, Master.” I sat.

“You are the slave who resisted the torturer, are you not?” he asked, a strange question for a murder investigation, I thought.

“Yes, Master.”

“That was extraordinary. Explain why you resisted the torture and where you found the strength.”

“My former master, Ketrick, wanted me to testify for him. When he abducted me he disgraced my family and our friendship by bringing me to Tulem to testify for him. If he abducted me to dominate, that would be one thing, but if he abducted me just to testify for him, it was a dishonorable act. I resisted according to my conscience. As far as my strength to resist, Master, I was a warrior.” I didn’t like that question. It had nothing at all to do with where I was at the time of the murders.

He paused and just looked at me. “That is odd, but just barely possible. You and your former master were certainly fortunate that someone was there to refute Heydar’s statement, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Mm. Yes. Why did Ketrick come to Tulem, Amelia?”

“I think he just wanted to return to a familiar city, Master. Also, it was a good place to go to escape the wrath of my family.”

“Do you still think that Ketrick brought you here because he wanted to clear his name?”

I nodded. “Partly, but I think he desired me as well. His actions in the silks afterwards convinced me.”

He smiled. “I can see why. You are charming, spirited slave -- and yet he sold you in the end.” He moved closer. “That brand shows a steady hand. Did Ketrick give you that?”

I smiled. “Yes, Master. He brought me to a blacksmith and branded me the first night.” I was alarmed. This was false territory that Ketrick and I had never planned on needing much detail for. He asked many more questions about our relationship before he abducted me and the actual details of our faked abduction. As time went by, I found myself inventing more and more. The simple questions I thought I would face never came. My alarm turned to terror.

“Tam, I don’t see the point of this inquiry,” objected Drago impatiently. “My slave has been with me the entire time except for very brief periods. And even then I knew precisely where she was. There is no chance at all that she was involved in this.”

“No doubt, you are correct, Lord Drago. But I have often found it valuable to explore mysteries of all kinds; they so often unlock the answers to other questions. Your slave is remarkable. Her strength of character is quite unusual.” He grinned disarmingly. “I think we’re finished here, Lord Drago. You may go, and thank you for cooperating.”

When we left the room, I smiled and bowed my head respectfully, but my heart pounded like a hammer. He would only go through that level of detail if he had sniffed something rancid in my story. It might be just his curiosity, but it would be little trouble to ask Ketrick, or have someone ask him the same questions. When his answers didn’t match my on-the-spot creations, the rack would soon seem a pleasant interlude. Having experienced Tam’s thoroughness first hand, it was just a matter of time.

But how could I warn Ketrick? I was just a slave on a leash, and had no way to deliver a message. We mounted the horses and Drago led me away. By the time we left the palace gates, I was worried enough about it to make me sick. Ketrick wasn’t supposed to contact me for days. Tam might let a loose end wait because of the investigation, but my gut told me he wouldn’t.

We rode down the busy street, with me trailing behind as usual. An ugly distraction entered my view: a man pantomimed picking his nose, a startling sight where enforcers roamed the streets looking for customs and good taste violations. Then he put the offending finger in his mouth -- and winked at me! It had to be Ketrick. His cheekbones were higher and his hair was darker, but the eyes were the same. I pointed behind me to the side of my saddle away from the traffic.

He walked casually around, sped up to match us, and watched me, a healthy man appreciating a fine slave. I touched my collar as if it chafed and drew a sharp line across my throat. Then I spelled out “Tam Polgher” in Eagles hand script on my thigh. I turning my head enough to see him, and waited. He mouthed it back to me. I nodded very slightly then spelled “get notes.” He mouthed the full message and I nodded again. A moment later we were through the city's outer gate and on the road. Drago waved me forward.

He massaged my breast with his free hand and, despite my fears, my body responded. I sat straighter in the saddle, shook the hair on my back free, and enjoyed his desire. A new kind of tension replaced the old.

“Don’t worry, pretty Amelia, this is one time the Giovannis and Borodins agree. Whoever did this will be caught.”

“Yes Master.” With my breast being ministered to, it was easy to ignore things out of my control, after all, I had done what I could; now it was up to Ketrick -- but I managed.

Gods, I missed the action! It was what I’d trained for all my life. For that moment I remembered my life before, and with it came the old anger. The fingers teasing my nipple, the softness of my skin, the weight of my breasts, they felt right but were wrong; I should have been taller, stronger -- a man. The moment passed. My nipple hardened, and pleasure flowed through my body the only way it could now, making me soft, moist, and desiring his touch. Drago had used me too often and well to deny my attraction to him. It was a reassuring constant to a woman, however she came to be, who had decided that she enjoyed being beautiful.

Besides, I am a valuable part of this team. I can go places, do things that Ketrick cannot, and my role is not necessarily any less important.

I submitted to Drago for the last time that night, leaving him sleeping to visit the guards. After they used me, I thanked them and left, returning to Drago’s quarters. Once I knew Drago was still asleep, I crept slowly across the room to the window under the flickering night lamp in the corner, to where I'd set aside what I’d need. I unrolled the leather packet, and paid out the weighted end of the thin line through the window opening and placed the three-pronged hook on the other end over an iron crossbar in the window grid. Then I added my own touch: I wrapped the fingers of one of Drago’s black gloves around a lower bar on the outside.

That done, I took an empty injection dart and thrust it into the back of my shoulder. With the pain came the peace of commitment. I wasn't strong enough to wield a sword or to use a heavy spear as before, but once again I tasted the excitement before a battle; once again, I would soon be either victorious or dead. Rising to my feet, I looked down on Drago’s superb body. The female in me wanted him again, to feel his twyll inside me, his seed pounding against my inner walls in an affirmation of lust and life. A small voice from my natural slave heart also demanded that I pull out the dart in my back and return to my Master, that my place was in his collar — I squashed it like an insect.

I lowered myself carefully to my side of the bed, the side facing the window. The dart in my shoulder throbbed, and made movement awkward, but I persevered until I molded myself against him. He stirred in his sleep, but accepted my body, as I knew he would. Then I waited. I had to give Ketrick time to kill the guard patrolling outside.

It was time enough to reflect on how much I had changed. My breasts pressed pleasantly into his back; his slow breathing was a metronome, solid and comforting. The slave part of me would have been content with him if matters had been very different. I missed Drago in advance, and recited his praises in my head.

I judged the time right a few hours before daylight, and broke the silence with a scream. Drago thrashed awake and thrust me away.

“By the Gods, Amelia, what is it!”

I rolled off the bed, showing him the dart in my back. “Aiiee! Master, I have been shot! Ahh!” I pointed to the glove, dimly visible in the light of the lamp. “There is a man in the window. Get out, Master, get out!” I lurched to my feet with apparent difficulty, stumbling towards the window. “Master, I think I’m dying. Please save yourself!” I pleaded, panting heavily.

He could move quickly when he wanted to. With the bed backed against the wall, there was nowhere he could hide. I shuffled close to the window then yelped. “Master, I’ve been hit again!” I collapsed in the dark shadow of a couch and picked up the injection dart, already in the paper tube I had constructed earlier. I shifted sideways and blew hard, hitting him in the back just as he touched the door latch.

He bellowed in terror. He lurched against the door, opened it clumsily, and passed through. He yelled for the guards, then I heard him stumble and fall. The drug had acted as quickly as I had hoped, but now I had to move fast. I retrieved the glove from the window and returned it to the drawer. Next, I took the lamp, set the tube on fire in the fireplace and put the lamp back. With the last bit of evidence burning, I stabbed myself in my thigh with the remaining dart and collapsed to the floor, pretending to be unconscious in case the guards arrived faster than I thought they would. A few seconds later the drug took me and I wasn’t pretending anymore.

***

I awoke inside the infirmary, a collar hung loosely around my neck, the links of a restraining chain clinking when I moved my head. My mind was a fog, but I had thought this out beforehand. I would be expected to show surprise. I rose to my elbows and looked down. I squealed, and my hand went to my throat, shocked at my slightly deeper voice. I was naked. My skin was fair and I was leaner, even a little skinny. There was a needle bruise in my arm. I frowned; my breasts seemed slightly smaller. With the change in DNA, the slave brand on my thigh had vanished. I caught the figures of two men and a woman watching me from the side, and turned towards them.

“Amelia,” spoke the man in a tan uniform with the purple sash of an inspector. “What happened the night you were attacked in Lord Drago’s quarters?”

His voice was cold and frustrated. My first reaction to it was elation: he wasn’t Tam Polgher. I shook my head to clear it, causing long yellow hair to spill over my face. I’m a blonde again?

“Master, I was sleeping, when something sharp flew into my shoulder. I screamed and saw a man in the window. I warned my Master and ran to block the window until my Master could leave the room. I felt another pain around here,” I pointed to my thigh, “saw it was a dart, and then I collapsed. Please, Master, is my Master all right?” I shed a real tear for Drago. This was war, but he wasn’t really an evil man; his fate had been determined by expedience, not the clean justice of the battlefield.

The Inspector regarded me neutrally. “Just answer the questions, slave.”

“Yes, Master,” I replied, chastened.

“What did the man look like?”

I pursed my lips for a moment, pretended to think. “He had a black hood. He wore a black glove of peculiar design and he hung on a bar. The palms were strange. I didn’t see his face, but I saw his eyes; they were either brown or black — I think; the light wasn’t good.”

“They weren’t blue?”

“Master?” I shrugged helplessly. “I only had a quick glimpse. I don’t think they were blue.”

“You said the gloves were peculiar.”

I nodded. “I saw something similar in Batuk, Master. There are gloves designed for climbing, gloves with connected convex blocks of rough stone that, when squeezed together, can grip small diameter rope or line very hard, hard enough to climb. The glove I saw had two pieces of wood or stone in the palm.”

“How do you know this?”

“I was raised a warrior. I once saw such a pair; their use was explained to me.”

“Do you know who uses them most often?”

“Yes, Master, the Assassin’s Guild.”

He nodded. That assassins used climbing gloves was common knowledge; he would have suspected it from the evidence left behind. He asked me a few more questions about the sequence of events, but nothing remarkable, a very good sign. From the bruise in my arm, they had kept me unconscious until they were ready to see me. He and his assistant left me with Ovid, the castle’s physician. She reminded me something of Hana l’Lina, the scholar in Batuk, attractive rather than beautiful, and self-assured.

“How do you feeling this morning?” she asked me.

She had the type of smile that made me want to smile back. “Different, Mistress, but I feel fine. Could you tell me what happened to my Master?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t my place, but if you have the sense I think you do, you might guess.”

I sighed. “Yes, Mistress. Could you tell me how many days I’ve been here?”

“Five days.”

“Thank you.” Five days meant that Drago had been a serum girl for two days.

This body was slightly larger, and I had to fill it out. For the next three days, I ate an enormous quantity of food, and followed an exercise program to ensure that I would be pleasingly sleek, flexible, and healthy. I didn’t feel that different. I had gained two inches, my nose was aquiline, but it fit my higher cheekbones. I almost laughed when I saw myself for the first time; Ketrick’s choice of DNA would insult the Giovannis. I looked like a Borodin, and could have been Alanna’s cousin.

I needed a man. Since I'd awoken, the urges had been creeping up on me. Some of it was the thrill that events were proceeding our way, and relief that Tam wasn’t a danger anymore. Part of it was the exercises. Some were designed strictly to please men in the silks. Why else prescribe hundreds of pelvic rises a day with legs spread, serpentine motions wrapped around a pole suspended above me, or the internal squeezing of the ball? After several days, I had to touch myself at night just to sleep. The old pattern had returned with a vengeance.

Physician Ovid knew my misery for what it was, of course. I’d been complaining enough.

“I know your needs, Amelia; the urges are particularly strong in you. Unfortunately, your future hasn’t been determined.”

“But Mistress, the urges are too powerful. I don’t want to be whipped, but I don’t know if I can control it any longer. My Master ordered me to see the guards whenever I wasn’t satisfied. Unless I have a new Master, doesn’t that make it right that I see the guards immediately? Please, Mistress won’t you let me see them?” I fell to floor and wept.

I waited as Physician Ovid watched me writhe and squirm. In the end, she threw up her hands. “I’ll check your story with the guards.” She left muttering, reappearing a few minutes later. She went to a cabinet and opened a door at its base, removing a block and stamp pad similar to the one at The Slave’s Dream.

“I will permit this,” she said, holding up the stamp and warning me sternly with her finger, “but return here immediately after you finish with the guards.”

I leaped to my feet and wept with joy. “Thank you, Mistress!”

“Serum girls,” she chuckled, applying the mark quickly and blowing it dry. She motioned to the door with her head. “Go!”

I almost ran to the guard at the entrance. I knew him by name and twyll. The first sight of a man in days caused my legs to rub together. I began to explain my purpose there, but he stopped me.

“You are Amelia, the transformed slave we knew so well?” he asked unnecessarily. Ovid must have told him I was coming.

“Yes, Master.”

“Hmm,” he considered, watching me stir flagrantly under his scrutiny. “And you claim to be in heat?”

I laughed in complete exasperation. Would he never allow me inside? “Yes, Master! I am in heat! I am hot and very wet!” I wailed, causing a trio of passing noblewomen to frown.

He shrugged. “Very well.” He turned to allow me access and whispered, “I’m off-duty in two hours. I trust you will have a warm space for my spear?”

“Master, you may expect that your spear will be well cared for. It may, however, be bent when returned.”

He winked. “Excellent. It’s good to see you back, Amelia, even if you do look like a Borodin.”

Three hours later, I returned to the infirmary. I was slightly sore -- with my new body came new virginity -- but I could relax and think again. I worried about Drago; I had hoped to see her by this time. She was almost certainly having a worse time than I had: I'd been a warrior, but she had been a nobleman, a superior man. To an aristocrat, descending to become a serum girl, a short step from a slave, was unimaginable horror.

The next day in the early afternoon, a veiled Giovanni noblewoman appeared in the doorway. She paused at the threshold for a minute, watching me exercise. Her hair was glossy black and pinned up in a series of concentric circles a few inches high, the remainder falling over her back attractively; her eyes were dark and cold. She had dyed her hair and altered the color of her eyes, but I knew her. She was my genetic twin, after all.

I finished a set of squats and twists and was reaching for a cup of water when she entered. I bowed. “Good afternoon, Mistress,” I said, as I would have to any freewoman.

She took a deep breath that puffed the veil out, building her courage to speak. “Amelia, I am Drago,” she said in our shared voice.

I bowed immediately and waited.

“Straighten up, Amelia,” she said wearily.

“Oh, Mistress, I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to stop the dart.”

“These last days I’ve thought of little else except what happened in that room. You did what you could. I could have asked no more of any slave or warrior. May whoever did this to me rot in Hades, but you were not the cause.”

Some would have lashed out in spite. That she did not was a measure of the woman, and of the man she had been.

“Mistress, may I ask if you plan to sell me?”

Her eyes flashed. “It is well that you asked first. I would have struck you for the actual question.” She ripped the veil aside and glared. “It doesn’t matter if you look like me or not. You are still my slave.”

“I meant no offense, Mistress. I wanted to let you know, from loyalty to you, that I still have my uses.”

“That may be, but I will decide. I may put you on the slave block in the palace square -- or sell you to a pig farmer!”

“Yes, Mistress. Of course.”

She sighed, composing herself. “You told me once that you managed to stay free. You are a slut. You must have had a powerful libido as a man. I want to know how you did it.”

Thank the Gods. “I learned a way to fool myself into thinking that I had submitted to a man. It satisfied my slave urges and kept me free.”

“Ketrick abducted you and made you his slave.”

“The technique only lasts hours. I was unprepared when Ketrick stole me, else I would be a freewoman in Batuk right now.”

“Can you teach me this mind trick?”

“I think so, Mistress.”

Drago smiled, and if she had not been so grim, she would have been beautiful. “I’ll keep you for now. You may still have your uses.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She pointed to my left thigh. “Is that a temporary mark?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Where is Physician Ovid? I will tattoo you now.”

Here, I thought, was an opportunity to use the organic dye Ketrick had put in the cylinder. With it the tattoo would fade in a week.

“I don’t know where Physician Ovid is. Sometimes she’s gone for hours.” That stretched the truth. She was probably at lunch, but I didn’t know it.

Drago shrugged and reconnected her veil. “Then I’ll come back for you this evening.”

“Mistress, if you’d like, I could stay here and bring the tattooing equipment to you as soon as she returns.”

She considered it. “Yes. Do that. I want you back in my quarters as soon as possible.” She pulled a piece of paper from a stack, wrote the instructions for Ovid and handed it to me. “Give this to Ovid when she returns.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Ovid returned twenty minutes later. I gave her Drago’s instructions and left with what Drago wanted. I stopped in the hall outside of Drago’s quarters, and reached into an old crack on the stairs I had widened in the old mortar, and pulled out the organic dye bottle, switching it with the real dye before entering. Drago tattooed me immediately, anxious to mark me as different from her. It hurt, but nothing like when Tisa had branded me. I returned the equipment to Ovid and then came back.

When I returned, Drago was sitting on her bed cross-legged, gazing out the window with the kind of look that sees nothing. She issued no commands. I began to move away when she lifted her hand.

“How did you stand it? How does a man accept being a woman?” she asked bitterly.

“I accepted it because I had to, Mistress.” I watched her, waiting. She was between shock and tears. I moved slowly forward until I was well within her sight, almost in front of the window. “Mistress, do you have a sister or brother to talk about these things? I had my sister, Tisa.”

She glared at me, her dark eyes brimming with humiliation and resentment. She searched for reasons to punish me: Was I insolent? Did I stray into a private place without good reason? Was I disobedient? Was I disloyal? She sagged resignedly as she rejected each in turn. Pointing to a place beside her on the bed, she said, “Sit, Amelia. Tell me about your sister.”

I told her of the good things, of waking to her concern and acceptance, the lessons in womanhood, and, most especially, the fight with me to stay free, find a new life and ultimately to be happy. I couldn’t help shedding tears as I remembered us as we were.

Drago’s hand touched my arm tentatively as I wept. I wiped my tears away, and was not surprised to see a glimmer in her own eye. I remembered how fast the emotions had come to me.

“I have no one like that. As bad as it was for you in Batuk, the stigma is worse here. It’s been over a hundred years since a noble has taken Ruk’s Serum. The Giovannis and Borodins agreed long ago that death was a preferable option for vendettas; the faintest possibility that a commoner could be using an alcove girl who was their Lord the month before is an obscenity, and would damage the stability we have in the valley between the rulers and ruled.

“Some wish I would kill myself. I wanted to when I first awoke — like this. My father and brother were there. Their disgust for me was a stench in the air. But I remembered that you had overcome Vanora’s curse, at least to a degree. If it’s possible to live free, I would live.”

“Mistress, may I be honest about your chances to remain free and what it would require?”

She stared at me. “That is very direct for a slave,” she warned.

I bowed my head submissively. “Yes, but I would do you little good now if I were passive, merely waiting for specific orders to help.”

“Explain!” she snapped.

I looked into the face so much like my own, except for the fury. “Mistress,” I said gently, “at the risk of offending you further, you don’t need a slave to command. You need someone who understands what you are going through, and someone who cares about you. A slave who only does what she is ordered can’t really help you, but I would do much more if given the chance.”

She laughed hysterically. “Gods! How low you have brought me. My slave wants to be my friend.”

I stayed silent. If she wouldn’t accept me as a friend, I would likely have to kill her.

“You actually meant what you said,” she said in amazement.

“Mistress, as soon as the urges strike, without all the help I can give you, I think you’ll be a slave in a month. Naturally, it goes without saying that I will serve you in any capacity you desire.”

“Naturally,” she snorted. “And what 'advice' would you give me to help me stay free?”

“You haven’t fully accepted that you’re a woman. You should take a new name.”

“That sounds like the first step of many, but I see your point. Do you have a name already picked for me?” she asked sarcastically.

As a matter of fact, I had. “You look like a Dana to me. Strong, intelligent, and beautiful.”

“Dana Giovanni,” she said quietly. “A pretty name for a girl,” she said, making the words brittle. “A woman’s name -- and this ... beautiful…”

I gambled, staring her straight in the face and willing her to believe me. “You are a beautiful woman, Mistress. In time you will discover that it is not such a bad thing to be.”

Dana searched my face, gnashing her teeth as she warred with her deepest instincts. I expected to be struck, but she surprised me. “What's next?” she said.

“If you haven’t been shown already, you're going to have to learn all those things that women have to know and men don’t want to know.” She winced, but nodded her assent.

At the end of the evening we weren’t friends. She didn’t ask for insights or reminiscences, and I still treated her with the respect due my Mistress, but she looked me in the eye when she talked to me and considered my opinions. It was enough.

That night, while we slept, Ketrick killed Paolo with a crossbow as Paolo stood framed in the window of his quarters. The castle guards found a patch of worn turf beside a tree with a low branch that might have proved suitable for a brace. A pair of dogs that sniffed the spot for his scent died horribly, coughing blood and twitching uncontrollably. But these details I found out hours later.

I awoke with pounding at the door. “Lady Drago, open the door, your father is dead!” bellowed a deep voice partly out of breath.

I rolled from my bed and sped to Dana’s side, but she was already up in her nightgown. She attached her veil, slid the heavy bolt and pulled the door inward. “My father is dead?” she demanded in disbelief.

The taller of the two guards nodded. “Yes, Lady Drago. What are your instructions?”

“How did he die and what has been done so far?”

“A crossbow bolt at his window. We searched the grounds for an hour, but didn’t find anyone.”

“Pull back indoors, issue orders to stay away from windows and we will search at first light. Send messengers to all castles and bring back reports of all comings and goings last night and this morning. I want to know the names of all Borodins and Giovannis not accounted for. With my father dead, I expect even the Borodins will understand.”

They both bowed. “Yes, Lady Drago. It shall be done!” They left abruptly, pounding down the stairs.

She turned to me in tears, ripped off her veil and released her grief on my shoulder. I had to hold her from sinking to the floor.

“Why did you do it?” she shouted out the window into the darkness. “Why kill my father?” she screamed, staring at me. “He had done nothing. If they wished to punish my family for killing Ivan, why wasn’t I enough revenge?”

Having the answers to her questions didn’t help me.

“What will you do, Mistress?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know yet. Frankly, I’m surprised the guards came to me. They know I’m a serum girl. Perhaps they couldn’t find Marco -- not so unusual -- my brother is more interested in saers than command. I suppose he will take over in the morning.”

“Mistress, who is next in line for this castle? Is it you or Marco?”

“I am. My father was going to change the succession, but he never had the time. It’s not completely unheard of for a woman to rule; there have been women rulers; Tulem even had a queen once. But who would follow me, a serum girl?”

“The guards, for one. You have the right and the duty to rule here. In the absence of power, the one who commands is often the one who steps forward.” I shrugged. “I am but a humble slave, but is it possible that Marco would rather not rule this castle?”

Dana’s brown eyes crinkled in wry amusement. “You are anything but a humble slave. About Marco … I don’t know. Marco never told me he wanted to rule; the matter never come up. How can I rule men?” she cried. “I’m just a weak woman now, a natural slave!”

“Mistress, you’re still a noble with the right to rule here. I fear for you. If you turn away from this, you may regret it later.”

She closed her eyes and gradually her breathing slowed. “I was a nobleman and now I am a noblewoman. It will be very different looking up to men, but I will command and see what happens.” She nodded firmly. “Amelia, prepare a bath and my best ... dress -- and wake up the seamstress and bring her here; she has work to do.”

“Yes, Mistress.” I moved to obey.

That morning Dana and I walked to the main hall. She wore her finest silk dress with her green trim extended farther than ladies were normally permitted to wear. A white veil concealed her nervousness. She strode confidently on the thick green carpet, crossed a length of white marble and mounted the ancient oak chair of her dead father. Dana waited and called out to the first guard who entered.

“Jedha!”

Surprised, the wiry man jerked to a halt, and bowed stiffly, his long spear planted in the floor at his side. “Lady Drago, I’m very sorry for your loss, but you should not be sitting on the castle throne. Please leave the hall and return to your apartments where we might protect you.”

“On the contrary, Jedha,” she articulated clearly, “I should be exactly where I am. My name is now Dana, and I will rule here. Bring the Master of the Guards to me.”

Jedha was too smart to be involved in succession politics; he merely bowed again. “Yes, Lady Dana,” he replied, and departed in a hurry, eager to pass this problem to his superior.

Jedha returned with Captain Malchor, who arrived wearing his sword and mail. He spoke briefly to Jedha, who left the hall, and walked forward, stopping several feet away. “You may have the right, Lady Dana, but do you think this is wise?” he asked her, his tone making it clear that he did not.

“I must, Malchor. If I can’t rule this castle with honor, I will step down. Will you bend your knee to me, old friend?”

“If you can’t rule with honor, you won’t have to step down; you will be removed by force. This can only end badly.”

“I intend to surprise you all. Now, will you bend your knee to me?”

Malchor reluctantly lowered his right knee to the carpet and addressed her evenly. “I will serve you, Lady Dana, as I served your father.”

“Thank you. Please stay while I summon the others.”

“Of course.”

She summoned each in turn, the heads of the kitchen, Armory, Records, Finance and lastly, Urban, her father’s Chief of Staff, a man of average height with a thin mustache, nattily dressed in embroidered green. When confronted by the serum girl sitting in her father’s chair, already surrounded by department heads who had pledged their service, the castle’s second bent his knee, but smiled as if this was just a passing phase to be tolerated.

Whatever their private reservations, with their oaths, it was official. For the time being, Dana ruled the castle. She held breakfast in the hall later that morning, securing the high end of the great table, this time bringing me along, where I stood inconspicuously out of the way.

Most broke openly into stares at some point, unable to believe what they saw: their ruler was a serum girl. The women, at best, were ambivalent: they had respected Lord Drago, but not Lady Dana, a poseur elevated above the rest of them, who looked and dressed as they did, but had never been a girl, nor had gained a lady’s refinement. The lords alternated between amusement and affront. She had their grudging sympathy, but none believed that she would last.

Only Dana’s determination to make breakfast routine saved it from being tomb silent. She forced a discussion of ordinary matters with lords and ladies she had known as a man, and gradually a semblance of normalcy appeared. Conversations started, sputtered, and started again.

Paolo’s funeral was held that same day. The High Priest of Tulem, splendorous in a robe of red velour overlaid with heavenly symbols, arrived by black carriage in the sunny afternoon. Assistants in white robes and shaven heads had already paved the way to the heavens with an hour of ritual wailing and the burning of scented woods and herbs deemed pleasing to the nostrils of the Gods.

Dana took her place by the grave. The High Priest droned an invocation to the Gods and Overlords, performed a holy gesticulation, and finished by scattering gold dust over Paolo’s casket as it was lowered into the ground. Most of the fifty or so Giovannis wept, but beneath lay an undercurrent of rage. First, their Lord Drago had been disgraced, transformed, and now Paolo had been murdered. The perpetrators had not even been identified, much less caught. The few Borodins at the funeral, themselves furious over Lord Ivan and his wife’s murder, were treated with respect but no more.

When the first shovel of dirt entered the grave, the ceremony was over. I was most concerned with Marco. He was at the funeral, but had chosen to keep his distance from Dana. His expression when he looked at her was pensive.

The long day ended with a few routine documents to sign and decisions that could not wait another day. Dana and I returned to her quarters. I was the last one through, and closed the door and shot the bolt.

Dana tore off her veil and threw it on the bed. “I hate that thing. I wouldn’t even wear it if weren’t for the scandal of having the same DNA as my slave.”

“Yes, Mistress. I, also, had to wear the veil in Batuk.”

She looked my way sourly. “How do you feel now? Do you need to visit the guards?”

“Maybe tonight. I saw many good-looking, dominating men who could use me well. It brings out the slut in me.”

Dana dropped her mouth, aghast. “By the Gods, will I talk like that, too? Will I routinely speak of domination and being used well?”

“Perhaps, Mistress, but unlike a slave, you will decide when you will be dominated and used.”

She shook her head vigorously, trying to deny that it could ever happen to her, but all it really did was to swing her tail from side to side. She knew too much to pretend for long.

“When did you first feel the urges?” she asked in a low voice.

“Two weeks after the transformation. Mistress, please don’t take this wrong, but you will become feminine, enjoy men and eventually get the urges. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. Your libido is greater than average and the higher the libido in a man, the greater the needs in the serum girl -- and the faster they come.”

“I’m aware of that!” she snarled.

“I’m sorry, Mistress, of course you are.” I said, bowing my head. “What few know is that as your body changes you, there is a way of controlling its effects.”

“Explain.”

“I studied other serum girls and applied what I’d learned. Most who knew me before and afterwards said that I was still the same inside. I believe this to be true. Properly done, the Lady Dana who emerges will be similar in the ways that matter.”

“You have always been an unusually strong-willed slave,” she said, considering me. “I sometimes imagine the warrior you were. But in the end, you were broken to the collar.”

“Yes, Mistress. Ketrick forced me to his will before I could prepare.” I touched the tattoo on my thigh with my fingertips. “After I ignited in his arms and crossed my wrists, it was all over for me. My desire to be a freewoman departed like the stars at sunrise.”

“Before this happened, you were living free.”

“I was.”

“Amelia, you will teach me everything you know.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Breakfast the next day was an improvement from the day before. Dana had earned some respect for her behavior at the table and at the funeral. As usual, I stayed with Dana through the day and watched from my place in the corner.

After breakfast, Dana brought me to Tulem to buy ingredients from a list I’d made up. Amidst certain herbs that were occasionally smoked, was a quantity of afkal leaf -- for pain, I told her, in case the process gave her a headache.

Late that afternoon came a knock at the door.

“Dana, this is Marco. I need to speak with you.”

Dana adjusted the veil on her face and opened the door, motioning him inside. “Welcome, Marco. I’ve been expecting you.”

“No doubt.” He sat in the seat she offered him, grinning not at all. “I’m going to have to get used to that name, ‘Lady Dana,’ ‘sister,' ‘Lady of the castle,'” he said, becoming progressively angrier. “What in Hades possessed you?” he shouted in her face.

“I believe I can rule well.” She waved her hand as he began to sputter. “I know your objections. You’re about to say that I’m a serum girl, that I will inevitably disgrace the family and become a slut and a slave. It’s possible, but not certain. If I fail, I will step down and leave Tulem.”

“As simple as that?” Marco scoffed. “You risk a great deal on an extremely unlikely outcome.”

“Let me ask you a question, brother. Did you really want to be the Lord of this castle?”

He snorted. “Of course not. I never even thought of it, and I’m still not enamored with the idea -- it looks too much like work. But let me be blunt. You rule on a technicality. You shouldn’t be gone and we would have mourned you honorably as one dead. Now we must worry about an almost certain scandal, affecting not only you, and this castle, but the entire aristocracy. Imagine a Lady of a castle, brolling servants, farmers, or actors! I’d need just cause to remove you now, but I’ll be watching for a hint of scandal.” He regarded her coolly, “At least you had the sense to veil yourself and change your appearance,” he acknowledged grudgingly.

“I’m not an idiot. And I hope you haven’t told anyone that my slave and I have the same DNA.”

“As far as I know, it’s just you, me, and Ovid. I give you fair warning. If you feel yourself failing, then leave as fast and go as far away as you can. You would not care for the alternative.”

When he left, she removed the veil and slid backwards into a chair. “Marco has a butcher’s delicacy sometimes, but he lets you know how you stand. I can’t fault him for his position. If our places were reversed, I’d likely be telling Marco to seek out a good master.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She gazed up at me, nervous or scared, I thought. “I look to you as my hope, Amelia, the living example of what is possible.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“I ... I hate being weak,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “I don’t mind the ladies. If they don’t respect me or like me, at least they aren’t dangerous. It’s the men. Men are so much bigger and stronger than me now. Sometimes they look at me like a possible ... conquest, and if ... if they wanted to I couldn’t ... I couldn’t stop them.” She brought her hands to her face with a soft cry.

I’d seen this in her before. She would fight it, sometimes winning, and sometimes breaking into sobs. This time, she won, breathing away the tension in one long breath. “You went through the same thing, didn’t you?”

“Mistress, in the beginning, men were all muscle and threats. You adjust to it in time, like learning which streets are dangerous in a new city, until it becomes as natural as wearing a dress.”

“Adjust,” she said, biting her lip. “What was your name before you were collared?”

“Tyra.”

“A pretty name. That's what I’ll call you, Tyra. I think that I … I would prefer that you call me Dana when we’re alone.”

“Yes, Dana,” I said softly.

It was fear, not desire to be my friend that brought her close to me, I thought, but she needed me, trusted me. I lodged precious little satisfaction in that fact.

She reached up and wiped away a tear. “I saw myself in the mirror earlier today. I saw a pretty girl, and I liked what I saw. I’m not really Drago anymore. You told me that this would happen and not to fear it, and I don’t -- at least not so much.”

“There will be more changes. Please don’t fear any of them.”

“I won’t,” she said, making a solemn promise to herself, “although it’s unimaginable that I will come to like men.”

I lay awake that night. If I remained very quiet, I could hear her breathing. Dana was not the same as Drago. She'd retained the arrogance, but had a softer side now. I had liked Drago, but as long as he was prepared to lead men against my city, to kill my friends and family, I could kill him without a qualm. But Dana….

It didn't seem right that she should be involved in this war anymore. Dana wasn’t my friend; we were far from equals, but she trusted me. It wasn’t reasonable to see her this way. If she knew who I was she would have had me killed, but I still felt like a snake.

A week later:

“Tyra, I do not have weeks,” Dana said quietly after returning from dinner.

I eased next to her on the bed and took her hand, a gesture we had grown accustomed to by then. “I understand completely what you’re going through.”

She smiled ruefully. “Yes, you would. There was a man in the courtyard this afternoon who made me feel weak and strange, like I’d never felt before. It wasn’t just attraction this time. The feeling started at my breasts and spread downward. I…” She turned away in embarrassment.

“Were you wet, Dana? Was your skin sensitive, your nipples firm, and did you ache for his touch? Did you wonder how his lips would feel, and did you want his body pressed against yours; his arms around you?”

She blushed crimson. “Yes!”

“And was there anything else?”

“You know there was. Gods, Tyra. I wanted him to … I needed him ... needed him to force me, to ‘use me well’ as you are fond of saying. I imagined him without clothes, standing above me tall and firm, unyielding, hard in every way.”

“And did you want his twyll penetrating you, filling your emptiness, making you his?”

“Are you enjoying this?” she exclaimed, staring at me.

I'd hoped for this. Drago's libido had been almost as strong as mine, and, unlike me, Dana was around men all day; it was impossible to avoid them. “The urges are frightening at first, but managing them can be magnificent. As long as it wasn’t the cook or the tanner who brought them on, I understand.”

She produced a nervous laugh. “As a serum girl, it seems I have better taste. If you must know, it was my good friend, Captain Malchor.”

Malchor wasn’t as pretty as most of the dandies, but he had presence. With me to show her that it wasn’t hopeless, Dana had accepted her changes better than I had. She wasn’t like me, but then again, she had never been like me to begin with.

“You’re doing well with the mental exercises We’re ready to begin the process in earnest. I need only mix a few ingredients.” I held her hand. “My first time, I imagined that I was a slave who had just been captured. During the fantasy, I submitted to a master in a slave club. Oh, Dana, I felt wonderful afterwards!”

She shuddered. “Are you sure this will work?”

“I’m sure it varies from person to person, but you have a knack for it. I’ll guide you through it.” I squeezed her hand confidently. “I’m sure you have what it takes.”

“Naturally, I hope so, but I can’t imagine myself as a slave. The idea is disgusting.”

“When the urges hit you hard enough, you’ll find it appealing enough.”

“Tyra,” she said, suddenly frightened, “there are no slave clubs in Tulem. There might be a few dozen serum girls in the entire valley.”

I grimaced, although I knew it already. “That’s troublesome, but any dominant man would do. Of course, you’d have to trust him,” I mused. “Perhaps an honorable man from outside Tulem would do best, at least until you establish your right to the castle. Then you could find more permanent arrangements. Ketrick would be ideal. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never broken a contract or his word. He is also the only one I know who has the stamina to handle a serum girl by himself. He satisfied me and two other slaves every night for some time.”

“An impressive feat, knowing you.”

“He is a wonderful master, superb at dominating women.”

Her cheeks burned bright red. “I -- I suppose that a man like that would be best.”

I went to see the guards that night. When I came back I heard Dana moan as she pleasured herself. I became aroused listening to it, possibly more so because she sounded exactly like me. I finally put a pillow over my head and fell asleep.

The next day was routine, but I recognized the signs in her, especially in the afternoon. That night after she returned, she tore off her veil and confronted me with the same wild look I had seen before in my own reflection.

“Do you know the worst of it? she said, pacing the room and waving her arms around. “I just saw my own brother as an attractive man. This afternoon I saw attractive men all over the castle. I even enjoyed watching a good-looking cook serve me lunch.” She shook her head in wonder. “I liked it; I liked looking at them. I imagined myself beneath them.”

“I think you’re ready. Fortunately, we can begin creating a fantasy for you as soon as we mark your thigh.”

“By the Gods, must this be?” she breathed. In Tulem, even a temporary mark was enough to collar a woman.

“It works best that way.”

“Very well. I’ll return with the temporary mark, ink and solvent from the infirmary. Apply the mark, and then guide me through. Verify that it works and release me with the word.”

I nodded. “Yes, Dana.”

She frowned. “Tyra, if I am to be a slave in the fantasy, you will have to act as me for the duration, otherwise you wouldn’t have the authority to keep me here. You’ll have to wear my clothes and I’ll need to put on a slave tunic. Can you do that?”

I put my hand under my chin and pondered fate. That she was the one to suggest switching clothes was a great stroke of luck. “It will be difficult, Dana, but I think so.”

“Good. I’ll be back soon.” She put on the veil and left.

She returned in a few minutes with the materials wrapped in a cloth. “Tyra, there are some empty bottles in the cabinet. Fill two of the small ones with the ink and solvent. We may need this later. And when you use the stamp, imprint the mark on a paper. You’ll need to make a stamp for later.”

“Yes, Dana. Of course.” I did as she ordered, then put on some of Dana’s clothes while she chose a blue tunic that revealed much. She examined herself in the mirror, frowning. She was beautiful in a slave tunic, but it was obviously wrong.

“I’ll have to take my hair down and put yours up for this to work I look like a Giovanni woman pretending to be a slave. You don’t look much better.”

It took a half-hour to pin-up my hair. Finally, she was satisfied. “You look much like my former betrothed,” she remarked.

“An advantage to being a serum girl, you won’t have to marry her now. Please, relax. I’m going to apply the mark now.” I pushed the stamp gently to her thigh and it was done. She looked down. When she saw herself marked, she stiffened. “Easy. The mark comes off with solvent.”

“I can feel it,” she said in shock. “I -- I don’t feel the same.”

I smoothed her hair gently to ease her fears. “It is frightening. The slave mark makes a serum girl submissive at first, but it fades. You’ll be fine. You can call me Mistress if it makes you relax. We both know the truth.”

“M -- Mistress. Mistress.” She sighed. “By the Gods, it does help.”

I lit the pipe with the herbs, with the afkal, the substance I hadn’t told her about, making up nearly all of it. “Here, it shouldn’t take long.”

When the drug had done its work, I talked her to the place where she could become a slave. It took longer than it had for me, but a half-hour later, she was ready.

“Dana, here is where you must choose the person you will be. Settle on her; choose her city, her name and family, and how she feels about them. Give her some emotions and character. Give her a history of how she was taken or abducted.”

“It would be easier to become someone I already knew than to invent someone.”

I thought about it, but I didn’t see anything wrong with it. In fact, it seemed to be a pretty good short cut. “Fine. Take on her name, her history and her character. Remember to tell her that I’m her Mistress, or she may be confused and go looking for her on her own.”

“I think I have her.”

“Can you feel her, Dana? Is she a part of you now, someone comfortable and familiar?”

“Yes, I can see her. She’s right here, so close I could step inside.”

“Excellent. The start will be ‘Priest’ and the end will be ‘Fortress.’ Can you remember that?”

“I believe I can remember two simple words.”

“Good.” I brought her to her feet and shook her until she came out of it. “Priest,” I said.

Her eyes changed slightly as she focused on me. The change in her demeanor was startling. She held her head high. She was a little off: a slave would have been unconsciously proud, but it was close.

“Mistress?” she said, concerned for me.

“I’m fine.” My hands shook the tiniest bit. I suddenly had a good idea who she patterned herself after. “Prepare some tea,” I said to keep her busy.

“Yes, Mistress,” she said, and went to the kitchen. I followed her in to watch. There, she had some trouble; she wasn’t sure where everything was, but she made do. She had a few problems: she wasn’t as graceful or as modest as a slave usually is in a slave tunic, but overall, she was convincing. She brought the tea in on a small platter and served me adequately.

“This is superb tea, Tyra.”

She smiled like the sun. “Thank you, Dana.”

I nearly cried. It isn’t often that a person sees themselves through another’s eyes. I liked this kind woman with quiet strength. I couldn’t dwell on it, though; there was still a test to perform. I pointed to a chair. “Sit, and tell me of your sister Tisa.”

“Tisa?”

“How did she help you stay free, Tyra?”

She gave me a close approximation of what I had told her. Some of the facts were wrong but the love I had for my sister shone on her face, a light in a dark room. This time I cried, missing her. She stopped and came to me.

“Please, Dana, everything will be all right,” she said confidently, holding my hand.

I had seen enough, perhaps more than enough. “Fortress.”

With a shift of her eyes, Tyra was once again Lady Dana, the ruler of the castle. She grinned, clenching her fist in victory. “I was you! By the Gods, I made tea for you and thought nothing of it.” She blinked tears of happiness. “I actually believe I have a chance. If we hurry, we can arrive in Tulem by early evening and discuss the arrangements with Ketrick. I must know if this works as soon as possible.”

“It works. The only question is how long you can sustain the fantasy. If it wears off in the middle, it can be an awful shock, and dangerous. For tonight it should be fine; merely tell Ketrick to stop if the fantasy ends with you still spread and pinioned.”

“I have no choice. I don’t want to spend another night moaning for a man. Do we need a new fantasy?”

“No, but I would have to be your mistress again at the end, ‘giving’ your use to Ketrick.”

She waved the matter away. “We’ll do it.”

We left a half-hour later with Dana leading me at a fast trot to the city gates. The sun had descended below the mountains in the west and Tulem was in shadow. By that time, most were at home eating supper, but men and women in evening garb thronged the streets, on their way to taverns, restaurants, and pubs. After tying the horses to a public hitch we walked towards The Queen’s Cup. This close to our destination and relief, with each handsome male who looked her over, Dana anticipated a little more. By the time we were in sight of our goal, she approached heat.
 
 

 
This is beginning to heat up again. With time running out, Ketrick and Tyra are going to pull out all the stops. Thanks for the comments, I love them. ~Aardvark

Lady Dana requires Ketrick's services and seals her fate. Tyra is forced to betray a friend who never was. Another Lord is killed and the valley teeters on the edge as the plot unfolds.

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 11
 
 
Dana knocked on the door. Wanda answered. Squeals from within told me that Ketrick and Angel were engaged in some diversion.

“Mistress, what can I do for you?” Wanda asked politely.

“I want to see your Master. I am Lady Dana.”

“Yes, Mistress. I will see what my Master says.”

Seconds later, she was back, bowing and showing the way. “Please come in, Mistress.” She and I entered. Ketrick came from the other room, with Angel trailing, adjusting her slave tunic.

Ketrick grinned in welcome. “Lady Dana, a pleasant surprise. Please take a seat. Would you like cool siolat or some Gendorian wine?”

“Later perhaps. What I need is some privacy,” she said, flicking a glance towards Angel and Wanda. I admired her equanimity. As she sat, she held her hands interlaced in her lap -- I suspected to keep them from shaking -- and her posture was casual. Only a patina of moisture on her brow and the faint bloom across the top of her breasts expressed the depth of her desire.

“Angel, Wanda, go downstairs and give my compliments to Mekor. Tell him that you are available to serve for the time being.” They bowed and left. Angel gave me a curious look on the way out. “Now, what can I do for you, Lady Dana?”

“I was Lord Drago and this is Amelia. I call her Tyra, now. You’ve heard of the incident that made me a woman, of course.”

“The whole valley sympathizes with your plight and demands justice, Lady Dana,” he said, rolling his hand in a gallant, aristocratic gesture I’d never seen him do before.

Dana sighed. “Ketrick, I have ... I have a favor to ask…” She stopped, steeling herself to form the right words.

“Let me make this easy,” he said, chuckling disarmingly. “You have needs, and are here to have them satisfied. Am I correct, or will I be apologizing soon?”

Dana's color deepened, embarrassed to find herself so transparent, but she persevered. “You’re right. I want your services. Tyra recommended you as an honorable, discreet man.”

“If you were followed, such services might be deadly to me. Lady Dana, I mean you no insult, but why should I risk my life?”

“I don’t think I was followed, but as far as the world outside the door knows, I’m here trying to sell Tyra back to you.”

He nodded. “A plausible story -- for the first time -- but after that, no. I’ll do this for you from our friendship, but after tonight, you must find solace elsewhere. I’m sorry.”

“I understand. I suppose that I should thank you for this much.”

Ketrick spread his hands generously. “It’s nothing, Lady Dana. I will enjoy your body as you will enjoy mine. What could be more natural?”

“Ah … yes.” Dana replied, shifting her bottom in the chair. “I, ah, may not seem myself while we are together. You see…”

“You will be using a fantasy?”

She stared at me. “I thought it was a secret, Ketrick.”

“I know it exists,” he said, “but only Tyra knew exactly what it was. She must be loyal to you to volunteer the knowledge. I know that within a fantasy, I could force you to submit, and when the fantasy ended, you would be back to normal. In other words, Lady Dana, you would be completely satisfied without the attendant risks.. How much do you require?”

“I think I’ll need the full treatment. Those urges are, ah, extremely distracting.” Her laugh had a sharp edge. She twitched in her chair.

“Then you shall be used hard and well. Please, make whatever preparations you require.” He crossed his arms and waited.

We undressed and switched clothing. Dana helped me with my hair, fumbling it a couple of times in her haste, but within ten minutes, we were ready.

“Say the word,” she panted.

“You’re going to love this,” I said sincerely. “Priest.” Her eyes changed only subtly, her aristocratic mien dispersed, but she still blazed to be taken. “Wait here while I negotiate, Tyra.”

“Yes, Dana,” she said breathlessly.

I crossed the room to where Ketrick stood. “She thinks she’s you?” he asked, amused.

I shrugged. “Her idea. I don’t know how long the fantasy will last. If it ends prematurely, she is supposed to tell you to stop before she really submits.”

“Right. Making a slave of her now wouldn’t be productive.”

“I want to find a way for Dana to stay free,” I blurted before I could think about it.

He looked down at me in surprise then thrust his chin in her direction. “Look at her! She’s a natural slave and needs a man. You’re the exception; there will be no more.”

“She’s not Drago now, just a woman who wants to be free.”

“This ‘helpless woman’ was ready to invade Batuk and kill your people,” he said, his eyes cold as a frozen lake. “Given the chance, she would have you skinned.” He growled at my continuing frown. “She’s more dangerous than ever. Get used to it: there is no chance at all that Dana will be free at the end of this, and if she gets in the way, she dies.”

I suddenly saw myself from his point of view. Far from the stalwart warrior he had known, I had become a vacillating female, making irrational demands. What is wrong with me? He’s right!

I'd become too close. I wanted to protect her. If she were to be free then I'd have to tell her about the afkal and not pretend it was a mix of herbs. Could I trust her with that secret? Was I insane? I would have grabbed my head and shaken it had Dana not been watching. My mind was awash with feelings that interfered with what must be done. I would resolve this conflict and restore order later, I vowed, but for the moment, I couldn’t deny my emotions.

“Ketrick!” I hissed through my teeth. “I’ll do my duty, but I despise this part of it.”

“Betrayal is never easy, even in the best causes,” he said in a voice softer than before. “If there are options, I will try my best to take the one that keeps Dana alive.”

He'd spoken to me like a woman instead of a warrior; although well-meant, it was a slap across the face. I refused to be ashamed of being a woman, but Ketrick and Batuk needed a warrior, now, purely committed to the cause, not a sentimental female! I stood a little taller and narrowed my gaze. “I won’t allow her to be a danger to Batuk. If I have to, I’ll kill her myself.”

He took my shoulders in his powerful hands and nodded. “Good. I have someone to brol. Bring her over here and I’ll give her a dominating ride she won’t ever forget.”

“Tyra, come here,” I ordered. I watched the poor woman approach, rubbing her legs together as she walked. Ketrick took her in a master’s kiss that made me weak. Dana barely fought it, submitting to his will in a few seconds. Her picked her up in his arms as she lay gasping, and retired to his bedroom. Minutes later, moans, and soon afterwards, howls of unbearable pleasure, echoed throughout the apartment. When an hour passed, I heard the screaming of a woman in thrall, a constant string of wild orgasms that touch the very core of the pure female. After this, Dana would never be the same; she would be more accepting of her womanhood now, more aware of her needs.

Dana’s fantasy expired after two hours. She begged Ketrick to continue, and he complied. When I saw her again, she listed in her walk, her nether regions sore and her internal muscles fatigued after the unaccustomed usage. She wore a silly smile. Naked and musky, she walked into my arms and cried on my shoulder.

“I was a woman tonight and, by the Overlords, I loved it! I was forced to submit. He forced me to be who I am. I couldn’t hide it!”

She went on and on. In the main, I shared her joy. I knew what it meant to discover the truth about one’s self, where no denial is possible. Every natural slave who submits knows the feeling. Books had been written on the subject.

“I’m glad for you, Dana.” I told her. And I was. But now I was aroused.

Ketrick appeared in the door naked with a cup of siolat in his hand, seemingly ready to go another two hours, which he probably was. “Dana, Tyra has a steady source of men to satisfy her. You have no such supply.”

Dana smiled. After that brolling, her body was perfectly at ease, her unlined face seemingly at peace with her true self, the Gods, life, the planet, and the stars. “Yes?” she said.

“Until you find someone else, there’s no reason why you can’t visit the guards as Tyra with a little practice.”

“I’ve thought of that. But could Tyra impersonate me if I were indisposed beneath a guard? An incautious moment, and I would be on the blocks beside her being sold.”

“She was heir to Eagles at one time, a family similar in many respects to royalty. Doesn’t she live with you and know you better than anyone else? Teach her what she needs to know, and she can teach you the necessary details of the guards.” He grinned. “Of course, you could always get married.”

She waved her hand at him. “You jape. The only reason a man would marry me would be to take power.” Dana glanced in my direction. “Could you ‘be’ me for a short time -- in public?”

“I think so, Mistress.”

“We’ll have to find out,” she answered, tapping her finger against the couch thoughtfully. “We will return now before my brother becomes concerned.”

“If I might make a suggestion, Lady Dana,” interrupted Ketrick as she began to rise, “why not enjoy the night? We should be seen eating and enjoying ourselves. Bring Tyra. She’ll lend credibility to your purported reason for being here. We could talk about her sale and amuse ourselves.”

“That’s … hmm … probably a good idea. Where do you suggest?”

“Morgana’s Hope.”

“A good choice. What’s the entertainment tonight?”

“Maggie the Barbarian dances the drefa-cefnell in the main hall.”

“That would bring comment. A lady would be unlikely to watch a woman remove her clothes slowly.”

“I was thinking of the privacy alcoves in the minor hall. The food is good, too. I don’t know about you, Lady Dana, but domination makes me hungry.”

She blushed. “Then you should be ravenous.”

When we arrived, I knelt in slave position chained to a ring while Dana and Ketrick fed me bits and pieces of their meal. In full slave mode, it was pleasant and satisfying. The floor in that section boasted thick carpets that were easy on my knees, and a flute played a relaxing melody. Ketrick and Dana discussed my sale for potential listeners, referring light-heartedly to my various physical and mental attributes, both good and bad.

After a moment, Ketrick unhooked the chain from my collar. “Come with me, Tyra,” he ordered. I followed him through the lobby to the main hall. There, the normally subdued men of Tulem yelled wildly as Maggie the Barbarian twirled an undergarment while shimmying a pole as if it were a gigantic twyll. She was shameless. Her green eyes kindled in lust, complementing her tossed and unruly copper hair. My eyes met hers, and touched her untamed hunger. Men brushed me as I passed by the crowded tables. I reacted to them instinctively as any unrestrained natural slave girl would in a room full of aroused and happy men.

I crawled inside the slave alcove wet and eager. Ketrick followed just behind. He pulled the tunic over my shoulders, removed his clothes, and quickly had me on my back and open beneath him. I squirmed in the thick pelts to demonstrate my helplessness. He restrained me without much effort.

“Does this mean you didn’t bring me here to talk?” I asked prettily.

He laughed heartily. “For that I will make you beg for it,” he told me, and gave me a kiss that kept me quiet for a while. Although all strong men are capable of forcing a natural slave to submit and release the female inside, to the girl, to have the man she desires above all others dominate her is far better. Ketrick managed to squeeze much into a half-hour. It wasn’t enough for me, but time was a factor with my Mistress waiting.

“Tyra, the army ordered the wagons last week. I estimate that we have about three weeks before the invasion starts.”

I sighed, but it wasn’t anything I hadn’t been expecting. “I’m a little surprised that the families aren’t up in arms about Ivan and Paolo’s murders. The Giovannis are fairly sure that some of the Borodins are responsible, but no one is talking about starting a vendetta. They seem willing to wait for the Borodins to leave.”

“These aren’t normal times. My sources tell me that the families and the King formed a sworn alliance, where the object is to see the last of each other as soon as possible. But all alliances can be broken. I’m starting over. This time it’s Mario, and, if I have a chance, Alfredo, the other two Giovanni Lords. If that doesn’t start a war, then nothing will.”

“The nobility is scared. They’re on their guard.”

“Killing them now will be difficult.”

It was an incredible understatement. “I would think so.”

“I don’t have much choice. To be honest, I’m concerned. If this doesn’t work, I’ll be forced to create a bloodbath. That’s something I don’t want; it would be messy and more dangerous than I like.”

“Then I’ll be the optimist for both of us. What do you need me to do?”

“Information about the families isn’t critical any longer. Our options are dwindling. I’ll need you free in case the worst happens. That means becoming Lady Dana, and the sooner the better.”

“You set her up beautifully with the suggestion about the guards. I should be able to switch with her then, but making it permanent would be a problem. It would look strange if ‘Tyra’ simply disappeared, and Dana is being watched,” I said, telling him about Dana’s meeting with Marco.

“You’ve done an excellent job with her so far. You’ll think of something.”

“Dana -- Dana is still forming, I think,” I said, looking away. “She’s nicer than she used to be and she trusts me. I could use that against her,” I said, the words tasting like excrement. “We are closer to friends now than mistress and slave.”

He took my head in his large hand and forced me to look up into coal black eyes. “She isn’t your friend, and she isn’t your ‘twin.’ I’ve had you both this evening. Dana is not you. We don't have the time to discuss it. You’re going have to take my word for it.”

He had three hundred years of experience on his side, but I resented the casual way he classified us. How would you know, anyway? You see it from only one side. When I was a man, I'd made my own evaluations of natural slave, had thought I was right most of the time, but this was Dana and me! I knew something of women from this side, now, and I was no longer so willing to allow a man the automatic right to judge us.

I bit the corner of my lip, feeling more powerless and small than I had in some time. Of the tens of thousands of girls you’ve known, Ketrick, how do I compare? It was a question I didn’t want answered, and a reminder of how much Ketrick had come to mean to me. Am I then so weak? But how strong could I be in this man’s world? As a serum girl, I wasn’t the kind to bring home to the family: my choices were limited. He was the only man I knew who desired me as a freewoman, knowing who I was -- although he made no secret that he would prefer me as a his slave. Who else could satisfy my needs? Who else could accept me as I am?

I forced my pounding heart to relax. By the Gods, the tortuous twists and turns of my mind lately. There was a war to be won, and my emotions were running like dogs loose in a field of rabbits. All women couldn’t be that adrift between emotion and reason. It had to be a matter of practice to separate the two.

I lay my hand on Ketrick’s powerful forearm. “Batuk must be saved. I’ll do what I must.”

“As must we both. I have something for you.” He pulled out a familiar shape from his pants, a leather cylinder.

I groaned in disgust. “I hate those things. I wish you knew how it felt to carry one around.” He only grinned. I shook my head, already resigned to an uncomfortable ride back. “What’s in it this time?”

“Darts and a bottle of shalimar. Be very careful with it. A knick and you would be dead.”

I felt suddenly queasy. “A leak and I could be dead, too. It isn’t going into your saer.”

“Without risk, where is the excitement, the thrill of living? Don’t worry, I was careful; I plan on visiting your saer frequently.”

“Well, in that case….” I had little choice anyway. “How will we communicate?”

“Try to be available. I’ll find a way when I have to and so will you.” He touched my cheek. “We have to get back now.”

“Right.”

Dana was unusually quiet most of the way back to the castle. It was cool, and I was thankful for my horse’s warmth. The moon lit the way well enough through the trees lining the road; the clopping of the horses and a few night insects were the only sounds. It wasn’t until just a few miles away from the castle that she spoke.

“Tyra, is it always like that?” she asked hesitantly.

“Not all the time. Ketrick is extraordinary, but it’s rarely bad. I think you discovered tonight that being a natural slave has its advantages; most women will never understand what it means to give themselves completely.”

“I’m confused. Most of my memories are those of a man. I remember forcing you to submit not long ago, but it’s as if it were another life.” She turned her head, removed a corner of the bothersome veil and let it drop. She waved her arm in a circle encompassing the world. “This is like a rebirth. I feel things differently. My body’s needs have been altered greatly. My perceptions of men and women have changed.”

“It becomes normal fast enough.”

“Who am I, Tyra?” she asked me wonderingly. “I’m not Lord Drago anymore. I just submitted to a man who took it for granted that I was a natural slave.” She sighed, tossing her head unconsciously. It was a comely movement and the long black tresses swept her back gracefully. “He was right. I recognized my own responses -- when I was able to recognize anything, that is. I can’t deny what I am.”

“You have a natural slave’s responses, true, but you are the Lady of the castle, and free. Except for the urges and the furtive means of your satisfaction, isn’t this the finest mix of the free and slave? When I was free, I could have never aspired to such heights. Just being free, doing something that kept my interest, perhaps being married to a good man, was all I dreamed of. You have so much more and eventually you could manipulate things to greater advantage.”

She smiled wanly. “Your attempt to break my mood is appreciated. In truth, I am disturbed because I am not disturbed by what happened tonight.” She drew herself up deliberately. “Enough. This is as good a time as any to fill you in on events. Some you know already, having been with me most of the time. That will continue; you should be by my side the entire day if necessary.” She paused to reattach her veil as a commoner on a horse passed, going the other way. He waved politely to the fine lady. She, in turn, acknowledged his existence with a nod.

She dropped the veil again when he was gone, and resumed: “There's always been tension between the Giovannis and the Borodins, from rude behavior and vendettas to skirmishes across the valley -- at times bordering on war. No one was safe until we made peace a couple of hundred years ago, absolutely dividing the valley. Now, there are too many of us. There are only so many positions worthy of a noble: the rule of villages under the castle’s control, certain positions in the palace, and in the castles. When those were exhausted, many of us became bravos and wastrels, having the privileges of the class, but none of the authority and responsibility a nobleman should have. The ladies languish for suitable men of stature.

“It finally reached the point where expansion beyond this beautiful valley became necessary. Batuk was chosen. It’s taken years of negotiations, but the Borodins agreed to leave Tulem for a city they could rule completely, as well as a sizable compensation for their losses here.

“With the agreement our hatreds cooled — or so it was thought until these inexplicable killings and my ... my disgrace. A pity Tam Polgher was murdered. He had the confidence of the King and both our families — and yet, the truce still holds.” She regarded me. “We attack Batuk in three weeks. Everyone hopes that this cycle of revenge has run its course. Can you think of any more background you need to pretend to be me for an hour or two?”

I could think of a few things she hadn’t mentioned, but none that wouldn’t be dangerous to bring up.

“Our hair and eyes are different,” I prompted.

She barely shrugged. “I’ll return my hair to its original color tomorrow afternoon and use a washable coloring dye from now on. I use eye drops for the eyes that are easily changed with a neutralizer. The hairstyle can be simplified. And now it’s time to ask you what I’ll need to know of the guards.”

“Well, some of them are fairly crude compared to Ketrick. It’s nothing that you haven’t demanded of me when you were Drago, but they are often enthusiastic.” I explained what a typical session in the guard’s quarters might be, and even in the waning moonlight I saw her blush.

“How did you manage?” she asked, disgusted, but I sensed curiosity as well.

“They are men who follow their natures. Most are very appreciative. I thank them afterwards and mean it.”

“Of course. You are a slave,” she explained.

“I would enjoy them anyway. I think that you would too. You’ll need to be more convincing. I have techniques to please men I can teach you, but the main thing is your attitude. You must be proud to serve well.” I straightened in my saddle, brushed back my hair and brought my head up to look at the mountains straight ahead. “You have great worth to men. You are the most attractive of women, a natural slave. You feel deeper and enjoy more than other women. Freewomen despise you because they’re jealous. A slave walks proudly, yet is humble. You must learn how it feels.”

The castle was not far away by then, and a few guards were in view. Dana watched them for a time. “I must be convincing,” she stated firmly. “There can’t be a hint that there are two of us. Teach me what I need to know.”

“Yes, Dana.” We rode through the well-lit gate past the curious guards, wondering, no doubt, what we were doing out so late. One of them smiled at me. I smiled back. I remembered him fondly; he had always used me well.

The next day, in the late afternoon, we began. The first hour we changed our hair and eye color. For the simplified hairstyle, I used a trick my sister showed me with a pin and clip. The results were simple and elegant; my hair made a large, thick knot with the hair coming through the top. Instead of the twenty minutes another might need to pin it up, I could do it myself in several seconds. After I donned her clothes, she wriggled into a yellow slave tunic and we went to the mirror together. We stared at each other. I was a Lady in the finest clothes with my slave. She stared at herself and touched the vaec on her thigh. Except for her uncertain demeanor, she could have been me.

“I understand, now, Tyra. I don’t emit the quiet pride, the self-respect you have.”

“I wish there was time to really train you. A real slave is put in slave position in front of a mirror for a week to just stare at herself. The next week is spent saying ‘I am a slave girl’ over and over until the girl knows completely who she is. After that, the training begins. The girl soon learns that resistance is useless, that way always resulting in correction. She learns that, in the end, no matter what she does, a master always gets his way. A slave is allowed no rights, no privileges. Everything she wears, everything she eats, comes from her master. She owns nothing, least of all herself.

“When she fully understands this, a transformation overcomes her; she understands her needs and purpose in life. Her existence is to please her master, and through the joy of her submission, be well pleased in return. She desires men to dominate her, to bring her to that place where she can be only herself. She is unashamed because she is not permitted shame. She is proud because she is the essence of a pure female and knows that men desire her above all others. Do not pity the slave, Dana; she can only be herself. There is great delight in it. Peace and, very often, great kindness flows from deep within the woman’s heart. Few women know who they were meant to be. A slave has no doubt.”

Dana’s reactions during my explanation intrigued me. Her nipples firmed through the thin fabric; her breathing deepened and her eyes dilated. By the end, she appeared ready to be taken.

Being aware of this, she blushed a faint pink. “I presume you went through this training?”

“No. What knowledge I have I acquired at a slave camp in a week. I wouldn’t recommend the full training for you, it might make you unsuitable to command men. I’ll try to teach you how to walk and feel men like a slave.” I sighed. “This might be difficult. I’m not a man and can’t pretend to be.”

“You do have some plan, some device that I might feel the presence and needs of men as acutely as you do?” she asked worriedly. “If I can’t act the slave in public….” She shuddered.

“I think you have the means within you. Do you remember your desire to clench tightly to him, the increased sensitivity of your skin just after he had forced you to submit?”

By her expression, there was little need to respond. “Yes! Gods, how I wanted him. His touch was incredible. Just a brush of his hand or lips launched a swell of sensation and pleasure.”

I smiled, remembering it myself. “That’s it. Now you must imagine the anticipation of a special man touching you, knowing the pleasure of his touch. Can you do that?”

“Tyra, I’m not sure. I don’t have the imagination you do. I have to imagine someone I know. Maybe if I tried to imagine every man as a potential Ketrick?”

I shrugged. He was certainly a worthy model. “Why not? If I may suggest as a test, walking outside in the courtyard. There'll be enough men to practice on.”

She blushed again. “I think of Ketrick outside, his touch and the feel of him; this might work.”

Judging by her state, I agreed. “Excellent. Now we need to create a fantasy where you are me, just proud, and aware of men. All we need is for you to feel it for a little while. Once you’ve done it, it’s hard to forget.”

“I think I can do that. And you?”

“I’ll create a fantasy of my own where I'm you and want to stay out for about a half-hour, then come in,” I lied.

Not long afterwards we descended the stairs together, I in Dana's dress and she in a pretty yellow slave tunic. The sun cast deep shadows across the courtyard. A brief glance told me she was less nervous than I. Of course, she believed that she was me. I worried more about my own performance. Dana was safe; I doubted that she would be tested too often with me around. I, however, could be, if any of Dana’s acquaintances wanted to talk to me. If I weren’t convincing, Dana might decide to discard the idea, and if I were too convincing, she might get suspicious. I looked around. The courtyard was unusually busy this time of day. Besides the few dozen servants and attendants, commoners whom I could safely ignore, were perhaps two-dozen of the nobility. Several lords in fine embroidered tunics, and ladies, in dresses of subdued colors, like mine but with a narrower green Giovanni trim around the hem, either walked the grounds, or collected in small groups mostly near the garden.

I headed for the garden. A few nobles drifted away at my approach, still awkward to be around the natural slave Lady of the castle. I adopted a confident, easy pace. I didn’t want to engage them in conversation where my lack of knowledge might show, so I greeted them with “Good afternoon,” and a friendly look. Most were aloof, still uncertain after weeks how much respect to give a serum girl who might “fail” at any moment, even if she was the Lady of the castle. I spotted a familiar face.

“Good afternoon, Captain Malchor,” I said, inclining my head.

He smiled slightly, and checked my eyes and posture -- for signs of stimulation, I supposed. “Good afternoon to you as well, Lady Dana. You're in good spirits.”

I took a deep breath, inhaling the floral scents of the garden. “It’s a fine day, too fine to be indoors.”

He nodded. “That it is. We missed Amelia last night. Your slave is a favorite with my men.”

Dana bore his comment well, her demeanor holding more pride than before. Her body settled into an attractive pose for the Captain of the Guards, and I had to stifle a laugh. “As are your men with her. Perhaps she will pay you a visit tonight, Captain.”

“The guards anticipate her return. I wish you good afternoon, Lady Dana.” He bowed and left.

I chose to stay in the garden. As Tyra, slave, I’d never seen all of it. Southern flora grew in this strangely warm valley in the mountains. Roses, tulips, and others I couldn’t identify startled the eye with color. An enclosed brook ran through it, the circulation provided by a narrow shaft running up the side of the wall to a slowly turning wind wheel. I watched my reflection in a quiet part of the brook from a low bridge, a black-haired woman in a white veil.

“You weren’t always so meditative, sister,” came a voice I recognized.

“I didn’t have so much to be meditative about, Marco,” I replied cautiously. The man, even though I'd known him from the Tavern, was still an enigma to me. Dana hadn’t talked to him since the visit to her quarters. He joined me at the rail where his immediacy forced me to note how handsome and well built he was.

“You’re doing better than I thought you would, but I’m still watching you,” he informed me in a jovial but not-too-friendly tone of voice.

I looked up, annoyed. “Must we discuss that? You and I have said all that needs to be said.”

“You went to Tulem last night.”

I nodded impatiently. “Yes. To Ketrick, the man who sold me Amelia, and then to Morgana’s Hope.”

“You stayed long in Ketrick’s apartments,” he said pointedly.

So, we had been followed. I used the lie Dana had prepared. “I was attempting to sell Amelia back to him. He didn’t meet my price. He brolled her in her new body, took me out to negotiate, and then he brolled her again. All in all, an exciting evening.”

He nudged his chin in Dana’s direction where she stood inconspicuously at the end of the bridge. “I’ll buy her.”

I made a rude sound. “I’d never sell her to you, or any other resident of the valley.”

He smiled, amused rather than disappointed. “Really? Why not?”

“You know. If you owned her, brother, brolling her would be like incest. Making her submit would be obscene. And what if I sold her to someone else in the valley and it was discovered that we were identical? Her owner would be brolling a duplicate of the Lady of this castle and might even share her with others.” I shook my head firmly. “No, I’m keeping her.”

He nodded. “Probably wise, at least until enough time has passed to safely change her DNA again — or yours -- if you can last that long.”

“Let it go, at least until the Borodins have left. I feel fine. I’ve already told you what I’d do if I felt I couldn’t control myself. Why won’t you accept it?”

He shifted his attention to Dana. “Amelia, come here!” he ordered. She scuttled forward quickly and stood by me. He studied us both with a hand under his chin. “Amelia seems to be hot.” He bent under her slave tunic and checked her. “Yes, she is hot and wet.” He looked at me with an evil grin and took a step towards me with two fingers raised. My eyes widened.

“Don’t even think about checking me, Marco!” I yelled, backing away rapidly.

His eyes twinkled mischievously. “It was a joke, Dana. Where is your sense of humor?” He tsked theatrically and shook his head as if fun had departed the world. “It’s obvious that there are still significant differences between you two. Very well, I won’t worry about you for now. It would be disruptive to remove you at this critical point anyway.“ He bowed halfway while I stared at him in frustrated fury. Then he turned and left us.

I supposed that both of us had passed our tests. I was angry and Dana was aroused. After we returned to the apartments I released Dana’s fantasy: “Fortress,” I said.

She blinked and looked at me in shock. Tears were in her eyes. “So, that’s what it’s like,” she said, rushing into my arms.

I held her, stroking her hair as she soaked my shoulder, not knowing what comfort was needed or for what. “Dana, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. What’s wrong?” I asked.

She heaved one last sigh and raked her fingers through her loose blond hair, pulling it behind her. “Tyra, is that what it feels like? Is that what it’s like to be a slave?”

I rubbed my face, at a loss for the right words. “I can’t say for certain without knowing what you felt, but you looked like a slave. Did you enjoy it?”

Dana dropped her jaw and examined me as if I were mentally flawed. “Yes, I enjoyed it! Even when Marco touched me, it … it wasn’t as he were my…” She flushed crimson and looked away. “I … I wasn’t offended. My ego was gone, replaced by deep female desires. I didn’t think. My body let me know what to do — it was marvelous, Tyra!”

“Oh. Yes. Being a slave can certainly be wonderful,” I said, trying to mean it. And I did, more or less: the need to submit was a part of me and would be forever — I had just never felt like celebrating it.

Some of the calmer, controlled Dana returned. Her forehead creased in thought. “You were surprisingly good, Tyra,” she said, considering me. “You weren’t me completely, of course. There are private things you couldn’t possibly know about. Marco has a peculiar sense of humor, for instance, that takes getting used to, but….” She gave me a piercing look, then said, “I’m satisfied that this arrangement can work. You must learn more about my duties and how the castle operates.”

“Yes, Dana.” I said, taken aback that it was moving so fast.

“I’ll visit the guards tonight. Is there anything else I should know?”

This was coming too fast. “A review of the guards -- and what they like… Dana, are you ready for this? Your last fantasy at Ketrick’s lasted barely two hours.”

“You did say that it increases with practice,” she reminded me.

“It does. If you are fatigued it lessens, with practice it increases,” I said quickly, alarmed by her recklessness. “Please allow me to retrieve you after two hours.”

“Yes. That would be wise,” she said.

After supper, I prepared her for that night. Her turn-around was as odd as it was impressive. She asked me questions about pleasing men, and I did my best to oblige. Even advice on dyff and teur was devoured eagerly. I walked to the kitchen and ordered dinner, making sure a sausage of suitable size was included for practice. At her insistence; it was as Dana in Dana's bed and shift that I slept that night, and she as me in mine.

The mechanical alarm awoke us at the appointed hour just before midnight. I prepared the mix. She inhaled enough to make her receptive.

As she lay on the bed, I guided her through it. “Dana, tonight you will Tyra. The guards will know you as Amelia.”

“Yes, I know. I’m already at that place to become you.”

“You’ve learned well.”

She reached up and took my hand. “It’s hard to think of you as just a slave. I consider you much more.”

“I’m as much as you allow me to be,” I replied.

“I allow you to be my mistress from time to time. Most would say that is a lot.”

I chuckled. “Yes. But it’s done in a good cause -- it keeps you free.”

She pursed her lips. “Tyra, why were you confused when I told you how much I enjoyed my time as a slave?”

“When I was free I used the fantasies to get relief from the slave and slut urges. I loved those times. I felt the pull of it, the need to be fully owned and dominated, but I never gave in to it; I loved freedom more.”

“I see,” she said, looking up towards the ceiling. “Most say that it is the natural destiny of a natural slave to be a slave. Do you agree?”

“I used to ask myself that question many times. I think the happiest women are slaves. They say that the deepest love is between a love slave and a love master.”

“Yet you fought it.”

“Often a girl doesn’t know she is a slave before she becomes a slave. I had the means to stay free, and I used it. And now, so do you, Dana.”

She smiled and squeezed my hand. “You’ve given me this gift. I will use it to see both sides. My destiny, whatever it may be, will be through my choice, not compulsion to the serum girl urges.”

I looked into her eyes, trying to understand this most oblique statement. I wondered if even she was sure what she meant. I wanted to understand her, to warn her that she played a dangerous game. Perhaps it was because freedom had been handed to her; she hadn't been forced to fight for it; she didn't know how seductive the urges. Perhaps.... And in the end, it didn't matter what she thought, what she felt. Her destiny, whatever she decided, was not hers to choose.

Dana still held my hand. I looked down and made myself smile, like the worst sort of thief, and imagined the slave she would become — if I didn't decide to kill her first.

“Yes, Dana.”

“Good. Now I must go back to that place and become Amelia, the wanton slut who submits to guards. I will enjoy being you.”

I had no doubts at all.

I set the alarm for two hours and met her at the door. Dana’s face had a tinge of pink, and her eyes drifted longingly towards the guard’s quarters. She wore a diaphanous green slave tunic that revealed a great deal. “Priest,” I said, beginning her fantasy. “I’ll be at the guards in two hours to collect you. Tell the guard on duty.”

She smiled eagerly, a hot slut who couldn’t wait to be brolled. “Yes, Mistress,” she replied, clapping her hands in joy, and almost ran down the stairs.

In the meantime, I removed the leather cylinder Ketrick had given me from its hiding place under the bed. After cracking the hard sealant lining the top, the deadly cargo, wrapped by cotton surrounded by waxy paper, slid onto my bed. The most striking were five long steel darts, their needles deeply scored with poison grooves, suitable for penetrating armor at close range. Also included were two-dozen smaller, rough-pitted dart needles, a tightly wrapped bundle of feathering, a small amount of glue, and, most importantly, a small bottle of a viscous green substance. Ketrick had labeled the bottle with a passable picture of a skull so I would have no doubt what it was.

I made a thigh harness for the long darts by cutting pieces from a leather coat I retrieved from a trunk of Drago’s old clothes and sewed pockets for them in the same way I’d found effective for me in Eagles. Not wanting to damage Dana’s dress, I took off my clothes. I threw one dart into a chair before I had to get ready to retrieve Dana. The motion and release felt right and, with a solid “thunk” the dart struck hard and fast, the point piercing the wooden backing and upholstery close to where I’d aimed it from across the room.

Standing naked with hands on hips, I threw back my head and laughed; the new body felt wonderful with a feeling of robust health, much like my older Tyra form. No one would mistake me for a warrior, certainly. With breasts, wider hips, and the smooth flat muscles of a woman, I would never fight again as a warrior, but this I could do. For the first time since coming to Tulem, I didn’t feel helpless.

When the alarm clanged, I was ready. I finished adjusting the dress on my hips and with a final turn in the mirror, I left Dana’s quarters to pick-up the hot slut of the moment.

It was quiet on the courtyard. Only a few flickering courtyard lamps broke the serene darkness under the waning moon. As I approached the guards’ quarters, I heard men’s voices and answering feminine laughter. I saw her then, a guard’s hand manipulating her breast. Dana had survived her fantasy with time to spare.

The guards straightened at my appearance. I noted who was on duty and smiled under the veil at the one who'd been fondling the Lady of the castle. “Hiddle, did Amelia please everyone satisfactorily?”

The rough man with the thick mustache nodded. “Lady Dana, a hot serum girl is always a treat,” he rumbled. He reddened, realizing just then whom he was talking to. “I’m sorry, Lady Dana. I meant no offense.”

I projected annoyance to stay in character before forgiving him. “Is she satisfied?”

“I, ah, think she has some left, Lady Dana.”

I sighed, shaking my head affectionately. “Amelia, you are such a slut!”

“Yes, Mistress,” she murmured. Her head was bowed submissively, but I knew that stance, the contented cast of her face. Dana had been well-brolled.

“Let’s go. It’s time to go back,” I said. I made sure she was following and began the walk across the courtyard.

I waited before we returned before I asked her questions. The plan was to let her fantasy run out naturally to see how long it would last. “Tyra, were the guards dominant tonight?”

“Oh, they were, Dana,” she said as in a dream, her hips swiveling from side to side as she recollected the past two hours. “I think I need another hour to be completely relieved,” she said, looking at me hopefully. “The guards are strong men with powerful desires.”

That we could agree on. “Tyra, you are such a slut.”

“Yes, Dana.”

I had her clean the apartment and make tea, make-work activities to keep her occupied. I waited over an hour and a half, impressed to see her still in character, but it was getting late; we would have to rise in a few hours for the day.

“Tyra!” I called. She stopped mopping the floor and came to me.

“Yes?”

“Fortress.”

She flashed a brilliant smile at me. “Actually, the fantasy ran out about a half-hour ago.”

I stood quickly and bowed. “I’m sorry, Dana, I didn’t know!”

“Because I didn’t want you to know. I wanted to see if I was convincing. It appears that I was.”

“You were. You move well, and your submissive posture is excellent.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Sit beside me on the bed.” When I sat, her demeanor seemed nervous and slightly embarrassed. “I enjoyed last night very much,” she said. “I loved the guards, of course, but I wanted to feel what a slave would feel during the day. Obviously, being a slave isn’t all submission and pleasing men: it is other things, some drudgery and the like.” Her eyes lit up. “I didn’t mind it. Imagining you as my mistress, I actually enjoyed doing what I was told.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. “Dana…” I hesitated; then began again, hating this double role I was playing. “Dana, don’t you think this might be a game to you?”

She smiled. “I think that you care about keeping me free more than I do. Of course, cleaning doesn’t mean much, but it does make me think.” She squeezed my hand firmly. “I'll have to leave Tulem someday. This castle is a trap. We can’t keep switching nights with the guards indefinitely. I know Marco. He isn’t going to let go of his bone. When the Borodins depart, he’ll watch me in earnest, and I will be caught.”

“Surely something is possible: a secret lover, an apartment in the city or the palace?”

“It might work for a few months, but I’m too visible. Anything I do in the valley would eventually be found out.”

“Perhaps Ketrick can take you out of Tulem and set you up in another city far away where they have slave clubs.”

“True,” she said, averting her eyes, “although being a freewoman alone in a foreign city hiring oernids or visiting slave clubs is not what I want.”

“Are you thinking of submitting to a man?” I asked, shocked.

“I'm not saying that!” Jabbing a finger between her breasts, she said, “You have no idea. I'm a noble, a member of the aristocracy.” She thrust her hand north, towards the gate. “Out there, I'm nothing. I'd be alone, a foreign woman in a strange city with no one who knows me.” Dana shot me a glare. “I'm weak, and men could take me whenever they want. Not much of a life to look forward to.” She turned her back to me and walked to window, gripping the iron bars and gazing into the darkness. “Sometimes ... sometimes, I think that, whatever I do, I might be just delaying the inevitable,” she said softly, bowing her head.

Damning myself, I saw an opportunity and took it. “All of this, the guards, isn't really a good representation of what you would find in another city. I could be you for a day and you could get a taste for what it might be like out there, get used to it. Ketrick would be ideal, but you must not stay longer than a day, Dana. He is a very powerful, dominant male.”

She pulled her head back and stared at me. “That wasn’t what I was thinking!”

I backed away immediately, bowing halfway. “I’m sorry, Mistress! I was presumptuous!”

It was inevitable: her eyes lost their animosity as she thought of Ketrick above her and between her legs. She began pacing, her hands locked behind her.

“I suppose that, theoretically, it would be possible to ... try myself with Ketrick,” she said. “The castle mainly runs itself. I supervise more than run the departments. Tyra, you have been watching me.”

“All the time.”

“You’ve seen the routine? You know the people, the schedule, the lists, seals and papers?”

I nodded.

“Tell me,” she ordered. She crossed her arms and waited.

I described a typical day, addressing the people and items she’d brought up. “The castle’s methods are similar to Eagles. I learned to do the complete accounts for my family after I became a serum girl.”

“Impressive. There’s little enough to do for the next week or so. This morning we will see. If you understand the process well enough, I could tell my departments to handle the routines for a day while you remain indoors as much as possible.”

I bowed. “Dana, please don’t see Ketrick for more than a day. You know how marvelously dominating he is and how much better he makes a girl feel than the guards. He could make any natural slave shake like jelly.”

“I am in no danger. I’ll simply tell him to treat me as one of his own for a normal day. and I will see for myself how best I can manage. He might even be able to advise me.”

That morning and afternoon I watched Dana go through her routines in the castle carefully. Dana tested my knowledge at the end of day, and told me I that I would likely be adequate in an emergency.

We left the castle in the morning, just after breakfast. The mist over the lake to our right had almost dissipated and the sun was just coming up over our part of the valley. To our left, farmers and villagers were leaving their modest stone houses for the fields, shops, and city. I was dressed as Dana, and rode the lead horse with Dana trailing. She came forward when we were out of sight of the castle.

“Have you ever seen a finer valley in your life?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Never,” I admitted honestly. “It amazes me every time I see it.”

“I’ve never known anything different.”

“There are some amazing places: the graceful towers of Ademar, the palace in Teshruk, even the Fortress of Batuk has its majesty, and there are greater places on Zhor. Life is long. Perhaps you will find a place you will love as much.”

She shook her head. “Your home city is always first in your heart. That never changes.”

“Truth.”

We rode past the farms and villages, packed tightly all the way to the mountains. Seen one way, it was the best-organized use of land I had ever seen or heard of. The subjects of Tulem were content, healthy, and peaceful. Seen another, it was an inhuman dystopia. There was no room to expand a farmer’s holdings, and it was accounted rare to change one’s occupation. The garden valley owed its perfection as much to the culling of ambition in its inhabitants as to the cultivation of its fields. It saddened me; compared to Batuk, Tulem had the soul of a beehive.

Approaching the gates, she brought her horse alongside. “This is the time I will start acting like you, and you, me. Remember, bring me into his office where Ketrick and I may negotiate in private.”

“Yes, Dana. I should talk to him first, though. It would look very odd, otherwise.”

“Of course,” she said impatiently. “Just don’t take too long.”

We passed through the gates and were soon were outside Ketrick’s store. Angel and Wanda stood behind the counter. They bowed to me, thinking I was Dana, and smiled. I barely acknowledged them, and chained Dana’s collar to a convenient ring. Ketrick was inside behind the window, busy with paperwork. I knocked, and he waved me through. I entered, closing the door behind me.

“Lady Dana, what can I do for you?” he asked, rising to his feet.

With Dana finally out of sight, I leaned my back against the door and exhaled. “I’m Tyra.” I motioned behind me with my head. “Dana is on the chain outside.”

“Excellent. You’re ready to switch with her then?”

“Yes,” I said, glaring at him. It had to be done, but he was too unemotional about it.

“All right, let’s get this in the open,” Ketrick growled, coming around the desk to tower over me. “What are you so angry about?”

I looked up into his coal black eyes and planted my hands at my hips. “Go ahead, Ketrick! Make her a slave; force her to cross her wrists and tattoo her thigh!”

“So, she is not this ‘twin soul’ you thought she might be?” he asked with the slightest of grins, as if he had known the answer all along, which, after taken her measure a few days before, he probably thought he did. Taking my measure that same night, he might think that he knew everything he needed to know about me, too. Damn the man!

“No,” I said with ill grace, “she isn't me. If I were her, I'd have jumped at the chance to be a freewoman anywhere, but we didn't grow up the same, did we? She and I can't talk about it, can we? And it doesn't matter anyway, does it?”

“Well, you may be assured that Dana will not be worrying about it by the end of the day.”

“You won’t kill her, will you?”

”Not if she can’t connect us to Batuk. She will believe that I’m a foreign merchant taken with her beauty and nobility. I will lead her to believe that you were tricked, and are simply a poor slave out of her depth, forced to continue to pretend to be her. With luck, this will all be over soon, and I will sell her to a caravan traveling to some distant land where they will change her body and never permit her to return.”

“Thank the Gods,” I sighed. “I know that she'll be happy eventually. Dana is our enemy, but --”

He placed his large right hand on my shoulder. “I will try to let her live.”

I was going to say something more, thank him, make him promise to keep her alive, but that was stupid. What is wrong with me? Dana is deadly. “I’m going to need some relief in a couple of days or so. I won’t be able to visit the guards anymore, and for the lords and ladies, spotting signs of arousal in their serum girl ruler is a favored pastime.”

“You can expect some help in three or four days.”

I suppressed a groan; that was a long time to be without a man. I turned to go, but as I placed my hand on the doorknob, I paused. “Ketrick, thank you for not killing her outright.”

“I don’t kill lightly, but if she becomes too much of a threat, I will.”

“I understand. It’s just that … I’m being a hypocrite. Do what you must do.”

I returned with Dana. She “negotiated” with Ketrick and paid him five silvers for a day of slavery. I watched this farce with disgust, yet I didn’t know a better way to leave her. Dana turned to me afterwards and gave me a hug, then told me not to worry. She even waved goodbye to me as I left.

I rode back to the castle alone. The veil concealed most of my tears, and I wiped them away as best I could when I drew within sight of the castle walls, my castle walls. When I returned to my quarters I collapsed on the bed and cried. Dana was probably already a slave. Drago the man, and now, Lady Dana, the freewoman, were gone.

There was no time to wallow in the loss of a friendship that never was. There were routines to perform, men and women to meet to make everything look normal. I cleaned my temporary brand off with the solvent, pleased to find only the barest trace of the organic tattoo left underneath.

At lunch, I sat at Dana’s accustomed place at the head of the main table and faced the stares and inquisitive glances of my lords and ladies. Not feeling particularly festive, I found it easiest to be arrogant, initiating conversation with those who stared the longest. I knew something of most of them from listening to Dana, and inquired about the health of their favorite tavern girl or mistress.

This brought me a few stares, but more amused glances, recognizing the game I played. My “sisters,” Gina and Daphne, viewed my repartee with something between derision and disgust, which suited my mood just fine.

Most of the afternoon was spent making darts and modifying dresses to rip at a pull. I practiced unhindered in my apartment, accustoming my new body to unarmed combat. Free in Tulem for the first time, I worked out my frustrations by throwing darts into the back of a chair until the wood was nearly splinters.

I returned to dinner more sanguine. Later, back in my apartments, I heard a knock at the door.

“Messenger!”

I pulled the door open to a wiry man with a swordsman’s arms and shoulders in green riding leathers. “Lady Dana, your cousin Mario has been murdered!” he shouted. “Lord Niccolo Giovanni calls a meeting at his quarters in Tulem.”

I’d expected something like this sooner or later, but that was fast work. “Gods and Overlords!” I cried. “How did he die?”

“Lord Mario and his two guards were ambushed not far from his castle. They were all shot with a bow, Lady Dana.”

My already great respect for Ketrick's prowess increased a notch. Shooting men on horseback was not easy. “I assume that you will be riding back with me?” I asked.

“Yes, Lady!”

“Good. I’ll need a minute or so to get ready. Go to the guard’s quarters, explain the situation to Captain Malchor, or whoever is on duty, ready two guards to ride with us and meet me down at the stables with four fast horses.”

“Yes, Lady Dana!” He bobbed and left quickly, bounding down the stairs two at a time. I found a green split riding dress and pulled it on. I was at the stables in less than three minutes, before the horses had been completely saddled, and very soon thereafter, we were on the road to Tulem, the messenger in the lead, with me behind him flanked by Malchor and Jedha.

The moon provided enough light to see, but not so much that it was safe to ride at our pace. Certainly, if there had been any assassins in the shadows we wouldn’t have had much success seeing them. I wasn’t concerned, of course, but the guards’ faces, what I could see of them, were tense. It was a fast half-hour to the city gates, down illuminated streets close to the palace and through a guarded archway into the cobblestone courtyard of Niccolo Giovanni’s fortified residence. Handing our horses to stablemen, I left my companions, lifted the hem of my dress and ascended a flight of stairs.

Niccolo awaited at the top, pulling nervously at his neat beard, perhaps two finger widths long, which descended from the underside of his chin. He glowered when he saw me, and waved me through an open door impatiently. “Hurry! Dana, you are the last here!”

Considering that I was from the furthest Giovanni castle, I wasn’t too surprised, and I was certain he wasn’t either. Fury and grief wore lines in his face. We were enemies, but I pitied him. There was no place where he could legitimately lash out for the death of his son, no face to which he could assign hate. I touched his arm with my fingers in the woman’s way. “I’m very sorry, Lord Niccolo,” I said quietly.

He stiffened and glared down at me. Clearly, to him, I was a serum girl lady, an obscene contradiction that should be in a collar. I held my head high, like an aristocrat would, and passed around him.

Two men were inside. Alfredo, Niccolo’s son, was well-muscled, with a striking Giovanni nose, and handsome in a severe way. The other, was Franco, a nervous, distraught fellow in shoulder-length hair combed directly back from his scalp, the deceased’s oldest son. Both watched me enter with the distaste for natural slaves who pretended to be noblewomen, mixed with uneasiness. For all they knew, with all the goings-on, they might be next in line to wear a dress and halter.

I nodded to Alfredo, and spoke softly to Franco, placing my hand on his shoulder. “I’m very sorry to hear of your loss. Your father was a fine man.”

He accepted my touch better than Niccolo, and nodded politely to my words. “Thank you, Dana, as was your father, Paolo.” I decided then that I liked Franco. That level of civility to a serum girl bespoke unusual tolerance in a noble.

The room was elegant, and was spacious with only four occupants. I took a seat in a soft red chair next to Franco, facing Niccolo and Alfredo on the other side of the long, polished table.

Niccolo continued to glare at me tediously, but said nothing. It seemed that I, as Dana, was there only because my absence would be more scandalous. He may not have pleased with my appearance, but I was just a beetle in the broth compared to his son’s murder. He slammed his hand on the table. “This must stop!” he shouted.

“Father, this could only be the Borodins,” Alfredo asserted in a low, driving voice. “They take advantage of us at this late date, thinking we will not strike back.”

Niccolo sighed hard and ran his fingers through his short, thick hair. “Son, by the Overlords, I wish I were as sure as you. Marcus Borodin was as surprised as I was when he heard the news. He sliced his hand in front of me tonight and swore by the blood on his knife that it was no one he knew of. I’ve known him for over a hundred years and I believe him.”

Alfredo looked to the ceiling and clenched his fists. “But father, that leaves us with nothing! If I am to die, I want to know who kills me! Surely you know that I am next on this murderer’s list?”

“I am aware that it is a possibility,” Niccolo corrected coolly. He regarded us, meeting our eyes one at a time, narrowing slightly when he met mine. “We will start at the beginning.” He recounted the sequence of murders to that point. “Does anyone have anything to add to this?”

I had the barest glimmering of an idea. “Who has something to gain from this?” I asked.

Alfredo glared at me. “The Borodins, you idiot serum girl!” he shouted.

I ignored him and continued: “There are the Borodins, of course, but it could be just a few malcontents. Batuk would also have something to gain, and so would the King. We should try to eliminate each possibility one at a time.”

Alfredo opened his mouth to yell something, but Niccolo restrained him with a hand on his shoulder. “Let her speak,” he said. “Go ahead. This treads on some old ground, but maybe you have something new.”

“Thank you, Lord Niccolo. I believe Marcus Borodin when he tells you he knows nothing of a plot to kill Giovannis.” I spread my hands. “What does it gain Andrei, Alexander or Marcus, a little satisfaction at the risk of being assassinated themselves? I can’t believe that the Borodin castle lords are involved; however, there might be a faction at work that would like to kill us, some disgruntled Borodins who would rather stay in the valley than move to rule an angry populace in Batuk.”

Franco regarded me. “Batuk is a city of commoners. They will be ruled by those who are their natural rulers, the same as here.”

“I thought so at one time, but I don’t anymore. My slave is from Batuk, a former warrior and a remarkable creature. Her insights forced me to consider that the commoners of Batuk are different from our own. The city of Batuk could be defeated, but the Borodins wouldn’t be safe on the streets for many years, if ever. I think you know this, too, Lord Niccolo.”

“The Borodins were warned.”

“Maybe they didn’t believe it until recently. I offer it as a possible motivation. They might feel cheated and betrayed. A few hotheads might have hired assassins.”

He considered it briefly. “I doubt it. Someone would know and report it. What’s next?”

“Lord Niccolo, is it possible that Batuk knows of our plans to invade them? Could they have sent a team of assassins to start a war in Tulem?”

He grinned very darkly. “Ruk’s Serum gave you a convoluted woman’s mind, but you give them too much credit. Absolutely not.”

“How exactly do we know this?”

“As you know, there are dozens of agents in the city and Fortress,” he explained impatiently, “including a senior Council member. Don’t you think we would have seen something? No, they are like sheep waiting to be sheared.”

The information on the senior Council member was interesting: there were only two.

“Is it possible that Batuk is aware of agents in the city, Lord Niccolo? Wouldn’t they keep such knowledge very secret?”

“Enough! You seek phantoms. Speak with the King’s spymaster if you need further convincing. We also know everyone who is in the valley. Do you have anything else?”

I raised a finger. “One more. The King isn’t stupid; he’d be worried about an assassination after the Borodins were gone.”

He glared at me. “Unlikely. The King would not risk a war that would kill his relatives.”

“And yet, someone is doing it!” I stood abruptly, lifted my dress and shift above my hips to show what I was, and held a breast in my free hand. “Look! Look, Lord Niccolo, what has been done to me!” I wailed. “I, also, want revenge! It’s happening; there can be no question of it, and yet you have just rejected every possible source! Unless you can think of somebody else that wants to kill us or make us serum girls, you must think the unlikely and impossible. Paralysis will bring death or a lifetime of service in an alcove!” I sat, folded my arms and waited for the inevitable eruption.

Alfredo leaped to his feet and leaned across the table. He held a finger in my face. I followed it back to a strong arm that I couldn’t help but think could restrain a woman easily, and then on to a face quivering in fury. “You will never speak to my father like that again!”

“I don’t think I’ll have to,” I said soothingly. Ignoring the digit before my eyes, I chose instead to frown at an imperfection on one of my fingernails.

“Pah!” he exclaimed disgustedly, and sat back in a huff, his scabbard clattering noisily against the table.

Franco took my forearm in a tight grip, interrupting my personal grooming. “That was not well done. You have changed from the Drago I knew.”

I resisted making the obvious rejoinder. “I have only my duty left. I will do it as I see fit,” I assured him coolly. I stared into his eyes. “Release my arm!”

“Hold!” commanded Niccolo, raising his hand. “Franco, let her go. This is neither the time nor the place -- and she may have a point,” he admitted grudgingly. “No matter how unlikely the source, we must consider it and take precautions.” He pondered in silence for a time deep in his chair, his face furrowed in thought. “There might be a way to protect ourselves, or at least come to know who the murderers are.”

Niccolo leaned forward. “I completely reject the possibility of a force hired by Batuk. Batuk is not unknown to us; we’ve been watching it closely for years. It’s utterly impossible for the Council to make a decision that we wouldn’t know about. They would have the most reason, but it’s not them. We must look elsewhere.

“If it’s the Borodins, then they are more ruthless than I thought. Recall that the first killed were of their own, a Lord and his wife! To slit the throat of one of their own Lords just to provide misdirection for a vendetta?” He shrugged wearily. “Anything is possible in these last days and I suppose a few might see this as their last chance to even old scores. Yet, this doesn’t make sense. Why would any sane Borodin provoke us with actions that could start a war?

“Reluctantly, I also have to consider the King. I would not have thought it of him, but I can’t be sure of anything when nobles are being killed almost every day.

“I think we can assume that when the Borodins leave, the killing will stop. Alfredo and the rest of you, stay inside as much as possible and leave only with a very heavy escort. I don’t think it’s any of the Borodins themselves that are doing the actual killings. The entire Borodin family had alibis when Paolo was killed and when Dana was injected. This is the work of hired men or the King’s followers.”

Alfredo stared at his father. “Surely you don’t expect to just let them get away with this? Father, they killed my brother and uncle! Their bodies cry out for justice!”

Niccolo slammed his hand on the table again. “Don’t you think I know that, you imbecile? I have to be sure of the right target. Either someone is trying to provoke a civil war, or someone is being very, very clever.” He stood and faced us. “This meeting is over. Return to your castles.” When I made to follow Alfredo and Franco, Niccolo took my arm. “I want to talk to you, Dana.”

I nodded. “Of course, Lord Niccolo.” He closed the door and motioned to a chair.

After I sat, he took a seat directly across from me and faced me levelly. “I want you to resign your authority in the castle.”

“I’ll be happy to — just as soon as the Borodins leave Tulem.”

All traces of his smile vanished. “You will do it now.”

I observed him curiously. “You have no authority over my castle, Lord. In my opinion, rule is best left in my experienced hands until the war is won. What precisely is your objection?”

“Must I say it? You’re a serum girl! Inevitably, you will disgrace us.”

I shook my head. “I’ll leave before that happens. I’ve already discussed this with Marco, and he has agreed. Unless I can’t control myself, I’ll stay until this crisis is over.” I rose from my seat and bowed my head. “Once again, I am sorry about Mario. He was a fine Lord and man.”

“Get out, Dana,” he replied coldly. I nodded slowly and retired as quickly as dignity would allow, wondering at his rudeness.
 
 

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Poor Dana, but I have a feeling that she'll end up satisfied someday. There are surprises ahead, and the action hasn't really started yet. Hang in there. Soon.... ~Aadrvark

The new Lady of the castle takes control. A narrow escape proves fortuitous. Marco finds Tyra more trouble than he'd imagined. Tyra vs. Angel or how not to free a slave. The final battle plans are made.

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 12
 
 
I went to bed alone as Lady of the castle that night in Dana’s nightdress or, more probably, her former nightdress -- as slaves are not permitted to own anything. She might have been learning the basics of how to please men under Wanda’s able direction or, it being late, perhaps she was in Ketrick’s arms now, understanding what it was to be a natural slave. She was happier, I told myself over and over. I'd done the only thing I could. Thinking about her with Ketrick, my hand strayed to my breast. I had to force it away and cursed Met yet again for the urges. It was long before I slept.

Breakfast was civil on my first full day as Lady of the castle. With each day, the ladies and lords granted a little more respect and familiarity. Malfree, a lord I’d barely known, assailed me with words of beauty and admiration, a new experience. Privately, I applauded his enterprise. For a young lord, I was likely to be his only chance for power, and if his advances insulted me — well, I would probably be a slave soon anyway.

After breakfast, I walked to the guard’s quarters, finding Malchor huddled over his desk, busy with some routine.

He looked up at the shadow at his door. “Lady Dana, what can I do for you?”

“I’d like a tour of security, Captain, at your convenience.”

His eyebrows lifted a fraction. Dana had always stayed out of the day-to-day arrangements. “If you wish, Lady Dana, we can do it now.”

“I would like that, Captain.”

The Captain was a handsome man in a warrior's body with doe-brown eyes and a face that could laugh, smile, or glare in an instant. As he pointed out details of the guards at practice and the castle defenses, I thought of his hands on my breasts and how my fingers would delight in his thick brown hair. Like most warriors, Malchor lacked the servility so prevalent in most of the valley. I thought he was a good leader; he cared for his men but could be hard as necessary, and he kept a degree of separation; he was one of the few guards who hadn’t used me.

While we were alone outside, checking the perimeter, I told him the important points from the meeting with Niccolo.

He rubbed his face while he read what he could from a woman who wore a veil. “We should be extra vigilant until the Borodins leave Tulem if someone is trying to start a war.”

“Those are my thoughts as well.”

He grunted, and for a moment became distant..“Lady Dana, we have been friends for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“Let me tell you a story of a far-away land where a Lord and his slave were struck down with Ruk’s Serum, both being injected with the exact same DNA-changing variety. It was an embarrassing situation. The new Lady veiled herself and changed her eyes and hair to conceal this. When the urges struck, to save herself she changed places with her slave, who already frequented the guard’s quarters, a horrible risk.”

My blood didn’t quite freeze; Captain Malchor’s demeanor was protective, not threatening. “A terrible tale, Captain. And what happened to the Lady?”

His face held only concern. “I don’t know. If she had only known that a friend in that far-off place, a Captain, as it happens, would have helped her satisfy the, ah, pressures, she might have had an easier time of it.”

It was the kind of gesture that made one weep. He'd taken a grave risk to tell me, and more to offer himself as his Lady’s outlet. It was brave, gallant -- and it had been made for another.

When I looked up again there were tears in my eyes. “How did you know?”

“I saw gold in your hair, and recalled a few remarks about Amelia’s latest visit. You can’t keep doing this; it’s too dangerous. That was you a couple of nights ago, wasn’t it?”

“The … the urges are strong.” I counted myself a lucky fool -- if Marco had discovered the blonde roots, I would have been in a slave wagon by now. I really didn't have much of a choice. I drew back my veil and smiled. “If we are to know each other better, please call me Dana.”

“You are beautiful, Dana,” he said, as sincerely as if he was the first man to ever say the words. “I am at your service.”

My urges, never far away, ignited like a brush fire. Before I could stop myself, I said, “If you should try my door around midnight, you would find it open.”

He bowed his head the smallest amount. “I’ll be glad to adjust my schedule.”

Hot blood filled my cheeks. The way his eyes kindled as they roamed my body, I had no doubts at all.

I spent the rest of the morning with Dana’s routine, meeting with the department heads briefly, and then it was back into my rooms to train with the darts. Late in the afternoon I walked across the courtyard to Urban’s office. The saturnine man sat upright behind the broad polished wood of his desk, the papers arranged just so. A rich black carpet in the shape of a “T” directed visitors across a spotless marble floor to places of his choosing: a single chair before his desk, and chairs to either side.

I took the center chair as he looked up. His sour disposition was too practiced to be real, I thought, and I waited, saying nothing, while he tapped the back of his pen against the desk. Finally, Urban placed his pen back into a brass penholder very deliberately, and turned to me.

“You are always welcome in my office, Lady Dana. May I ask why you are here?”

“I need your help,” I said, and went on to describe the meeting with Niccolo. “Lord Niccolo wants to hide and hope the killing goes away, but I don’t think this is a vendetta; I’d say that someone is trying to start a civil war before the Borodins depart. If I’m right, this could mean a massacre on a scale never before seen in the valley.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, thinking his own private thoughts of the aristocracy. “I see. Thank you. It’s never good to be caught unawares. Still, I don’t see how I…”

“The Giovannis aren’t behind it. It has to be either a bad batch of Borodins or the King. I want to know who killed my father -- and who did this to me.”

He nodded, curbing his disapproval of his serum girl Lady, at least for the moment. “And how would you do that, Lady Dana?”

“What happens next will determine who is responsible. If a group of angry Borodins hired assassins to kill Giovannis as a last parting shot, then we can be reasonably sure that no more Borodins will die. I also doubt that too many more Giovannis will die: Lord Niccolo is a cautious man, but we’re close to a civil war now.”

Urban frowned. “I see. And if the King is the cause?”

“After the Borodins rule Batuk, King Bruno will have to be worried about the Giovannis. The Giovannis have sworn fealty, but with no Borodins in Tulem to counter the Giovanni side, the King would be in a weaker position. A civil war now would suit the King’s objectives by either weakening the Giovannis to the point where they wouldn’t be a threat, or it would kill enough lords in both families so the Borodins would no longer need to leave the valley, preserving the status quo. Either outcome would be satisfactory to King Bruno.”

“The King is a Borodin. He would kill his own kin?”

“Who knows? He has been the King for over fifty years; he’s unpredictable, a power unto himself.”

“Could it be Batuk?” he asked me after a pause.

“Batuk is taking no measures whatsoever to protect itself -- no talk in their Council -- nothing. I’ve already spoken to Captain Malchor this morning about increasing security. We Giovannis plan to keep our heads down and emerge when the Borodins depart. If the King wants to start a civil war now, he’d likely seek the easier target, the Borodins, and find a way to blame it on us.”

“Why don’t you just tell the Borodins your theory? If they were attacked, they’d blame the King.”

“Coming from me, the Borodins would just think that it was a Giovanni trick.” I shook my head. “No, Urban. If the killing starts, I have to be with the Borodins, willing to lay down my life to prove that it wasn’t the Giovannis who were doing the deed. I need to know when the Borodins meet or form in numbers, and be there.”

“You actually want to be with the Borodins as they are being killed?” he asked, leaning back and forming a triangle with his fingers under his chin.

“If it happens; I’m not sure that it will. When it comes down to it, I’m just a serum girl likely to be a slave someday. I think it’s worth a little risk to make sure the right person is blamed, don’t you?”

“I’ll do my best to find out when and where the Borodins meet, Lady Dana.”

“I expect you will. You’re my Chief of Staff, aren’t you?”

He nodded slowly. “I am until you decide otherwise.”

***

I spun to my left and threw a dart chest high into the back of the chair, then dropped to my stomach, on the way flicking low into a wooden case set at calf height. I sought speed, silence, and accuracy more than velocity, assuming low light and no armor. I’d done this before in Batuk, had prepared for this, I thought, but each time I hit a target another man died.

At least assassins have an excuse. They were taught to feel nothing for their victims. My warrior instincts raged -- I trained to kill men without giving them a chance to defend themselves -- with poison!

I snarled to clear my head. “Do your thinking before the battle, Tyr,” my father once said. “If you can’t kill efficiently when you have to, without thought, you might as well cut off your suren and join the Temple of Ashtar.”

I slammed home the last dart of the set and rolled onto my back, heaving and sweating like a horse ridden too hard. It was damned annoying being so emotional: the only clear thoughts in my tangled female brain were that I hoped I wouldn’t have to do what I trained for; that Ketrick could start a civil war, we could all go home, and somehow I would fix things with Tisa and my family — uncomfortably girlish thoughts when I needed to be strong.

There should have been another way. But the warrior in me didn’t have a clue how it could be otherwise. Wishes were fine things, but could only come true if the world allowed it.

By the Gods, maybe I just need a good brolling.

After supper, I bathed once more, washed my hair thoroughly and re-dyed it. After a moment’s indecision, I found a scent I liked among Dana’s perfumes and applied it. I smelled like a bouquet, so unlike the freewoman I imagined myself to be that I nearly washed it off, but I let it stay. If Malchor was going to risk his life for me, the least I could do was smell nice for him.

The midnight hour approached. I had done what I could to make our meeting secret by greasing the door hinges and reducing the interior lights. The rest was up to him. Malchor’s footsteps on the stairs outside were almost silent. The bar on the door slid sideways with the slightest grate of iron to iron, and swung inward, bringing a light draft. When the bar slipped back into place, I stepped out of the shadows.

The Captain struck a striking profile in the yellow glow of the single oil lamp I’d permitted to burn. The rustling of my dress made him turn. “Lady Dana, I…” he began then stopped, likely surprised to see my hair already down. I swept forward quickly.

“I’m not a lady tonight. I’m just a woman who needs you very badly.” I held him, pressing the curves of my body against him. This brought measurable success, and I looked up, meeting his lips as they descended. His kiss was tentative at first, and then more demanding as I yielded.

I let him take the lead in all things, encouraging him with small cries when he did well, which was often. At the end I wasn’t completely satisfied, he was only fairly dominant. Doubtless, brolling what he thought was his former lord and drinking companion was an adjustment, and I was sure he could do better. Afterwards, I nestled comfortably in his arms, waiting for him to speak.

“You are not the Drago I knew,” he said finally.

“Yes. That’s very true.”

“I remember a time when you and I…”

“Malchor,” I interrupted gently, “that is the past. It's just me here, the woman you just brolled.”

Malchor turned his head, looking down at me strangely. “You can’t reject the past. Within it lays our friendship.”

“I don’t reject the past, but I remember it as if it happened to someone else. My feelings, the way I see the world -- and you….” I stopped to touch his face with my fingertips. “I perceive those old memories through a woman’s eyes. The friend I once knew has become handsome, strong, and a man in a way you were not -- could not have been with me before.” I slid my hand slowly down his chest until it rested in his palm. “My name is Dana. Accept me for who I am, for Drago is no more.” I wrapped my arms around him. The tears flowed easier than I thought they would. He held me until I sniffled an ending. “Please, let’s not talk about him. I’d rather think of the present and the future. I would talk with you of that if you wish,” I said.

His return smile was bemused, probably still recalling my compliments. I smiled. The Captain was caught inside his honor; he could not deny me my wish to let the old days go, and the reminiscences that could have caught me were now harmless.

Fortunately, men and women have other ways to amuse themselves than speak of the old days.

He tweaked a nipple, making me gasp. “During the day, you are the Lady of the castle, a ruler in all ways, but now you show me this side of you. What am I to think?”

“Think whatever you want, but I think that if you are brave enough to sleep with me, then my bed is yours until the Borodins leave Tulem.”

“Your life won’t stop when the Borodins leave,” he said, looking down at me with an expression I’d never seen before from a man -- at least not directed at me.

With that look of love, meant for another, I cried a few real tears, even knowing it to be a foolish sentiment. I had stolen Dana from him, but even if they had found each other, Ketrick and I would have probably killed them both so that I could take Dana’s place.

“Dana, what are you planning to do after the Borodins leave?”

“I’m giving the castle to Marco. Then I’ll leave Tulem.”

“I thought it was something like that. Where will you go?”

I shrugged. “Zhor is a big place. I’ll find a city, but it won’t make much difference in the end. The urges are too strong. Try not to be unhappy for me. It is said that slaves are the happiest women. After what I’ve experienced with you, I believe it.”

I did not think he was unhappy; his interest re-manifested itself before my eyes. It was time, I thought, to try a technique Wanda had taught me. Flushing under his gaze, I tossed back my hair, shifted my hips in a certain way, and dared him with my eyes.

“We will speak later,” he decided, and took me. This time I had no complaints.

***

Two days later, well-brolled and rested, I took a walk in the morning before breakfast. It began pleasantly enough. It was irrational, but for as long as I had the power, I found it easy to imagine the castle to be mine. Unlike the first days, as I strolled towards the garden, noblemen met my eyes more often than not, and ladies bobbed their heads politely as if they had all arrived at a secret consensus.

This was the day that Ketrick said he would contact me, but I didn’t expect anything until at least late morning. I stood on the bridge over the waters of the garden stream, still now with the winds quiet. This had been Dana’s favorite spot. I could see why. The mountains a few miles away rose over the castle walls like giants protecting the peace of the valley.

“Enjoying it while it lasts?” Marco asked me. I had missed his approach somehow, again, which annoyed me.

“Yes, while it lasts,” I said, determined that he would not spoil my ambiance.

He joined me at the rail. “I was angry when you took the castle, you know. You should have spoken to me first.”

“I won’t apologize for claiming my birthright, but under the circumstances I should have told you beforehand. I apologize for that.”

“It was personally embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll rule here soon enough, and everyone will forget all about me.”

“I’m not so sure. I heard what you did in the meeting with Niccolo after Mario was killed. You created a scene. You’ve created a few scenes, Dana.”

I turned and looked up. Even from a suspicious brother, Marco’s comments were rude, incredibly rude to the ruler of the castle: he questioned my actions as if I were a little girl. His face was pale, his demeanor tense, as if he concealed some strong emotion. And he was confident. He was working up to something, and I knew I wouldn’t like it.

He had, as far as I knew, only one concern about me: my chastity. He’d always held the threat of my banishment and slavery like a boulder poised above me at the edge of a cliff. With those few poisonous sentences he had shown me the fulcrum in his hands. Suddenly furious, I became weary of cowering. Marco had just crossed the line where I could tolerate any more from him.

“Come with me. There is something you should know.” I stepped off the bridge briskly, and started across the courtyard towards my quarters.

His longer strides caught up to me quickly. “Can’t it wait?”

“We have a half-hour before breakfast. That should be sufficient.”

Once through the door of my apartments I locked the door, removed my veil, and faced him. “I haven’t been forthcoming with you. As heir, there is much that you must know.” My calm words did not reflect what I felt. Marco, in the brief time he had been there had glanced twice at my bed. He knows about us!

“What do you mean?”

“Sit and I will explain.” I brought him up-to-date on the meeting with Niccolo.

“The King,” he said unsteadily, licking his lips. “Niccolo thinks that the King might be behind this?”

“We both think that it’s possible. If I’m right, there could be a lot of dead Borodins in the next week or so, and I plan to be there to stop a civil war. Marco, you seemed distracted in the garden. Did you have something you were going to tell me?”

Eyes narrowing, he rose to his feet and stepped forward where he towered above me. “Damn you. Malchor brolled you last night. I warned you what would happen!”

“Yes, the urges are here,” I admitted sadly, lowering my head. “I did what I had to do to control them. I’ll leave when the Borodins leave Tulem, but I must finish what I started.”

“You’re finished now. You will transfer the castle’s authority to me, and then guards will escort you away immediately afterwards. This stain to the Giovanni honor must never come to light.”

I had my answer. He wanted to banish me, but he was afraid of a scandal. I covered my face with my hands and sank to my knees. “Please, Marco. Don’t send me away. I had to do it. Don’t blame me, blame whoever gave me Ruk’s Serum.”

He hands gradually unclenched as he watched me blubber. “Really, Dana, I thought you were stronger than this.”

I wailed and collapsed on the floor, just a girl lost to despair. I whimpered there for at least a minute.

Marco muttered in disgust, but took pity on me and pulled me to my feet. I cried miserably and clung to him. He bore it briefly, then sighed. “Stop embarrassing yourself. You will have to leave. I have a document you will sign and stamp, and then you will be brought to a city far from here. I hope you find a good master who meets your needs.”

“I’m sorry, Marco. I didn’t want to do it. Oh, Gods!” I leaned back and laughed as if were insane. “I thought I was clever! Malchor and I planned this so well. How ever did you find out?”

He snorted. “Clever? You were pathetic. I merely had my servant watch the entrance to your apartment.”

I released him; he had told me what I needed to know. Then I kneed him hard in the suren. He bent over, gasping for breath. I leaped to the wall, ripping a curtain rod from the window, and clobbered him with it just behind the ear, dropping him to the floor. A few well-placed blows to the ribs, arms, legs, and back immobilized him. Securing him in curtain cords and gag was the work of less than a minute.

While he struggled in his bonds, I prepared four letters at the desk, signing, and then sealing them in paraffin with the castle’s stamp. Making no attempt to hide what I was doing from my wriggling guest, I stuffed them into a leather folder. Before I left, I checked Marco’s bonds -- not that I was too worried, years of experience with slaves had taught me knots -- and locked the door behind me just in time to hear the gongs for breakfast.

“Choose wisely, for what is done is forever out of reach.” and “Look to the present and the future, for that is your life.” go the old sayings from the sage. On the way, I went over the details, looking for ways Marco could break the bars of the cage I was constructing for him. Once seated at the table, I watched to see if Marco was missed, but other than the occasional glance at his empty seat, no one seemed to care.

Gradually, I relaxed. That morning I favored my “sister,” Gina, seated by my side, with polite conversation. Dana had detested her, the first-born by ten years. Gina had resented Drago’s birth and had spared few opportunities to emasculate him until he reached his majority. Sleekly beautiful, talented, and clever, it usually took some time to discover her cruel side. Unfortunately for her, anti-aging drugs provided just that. I could not imagine a worse choice for ruler of the castle.

After breakfast, I sought out Urban in his office.

“I have some letters for you to keep,” I said, pulling two from the folder and handed them over. “If I disappear or die suspiciously, open them immediately and make them public. After the Borodins leave, destroy them without looking at them.”

He raised one eyebrow precipitously. “Lady Dana, as your Chief of Staff, I can hardly help you if you keep secrets from me.”

“It’s a family matter, Urban.”

He winced at the word “family” then cast a jaundiced eye onto the documents in his hand, speculating on their sordid contents. “I assume this to be a means of protection, Lady Dana?”

“It’s insurance.”

“Yes,” he replied, his tone cool. “This is alarming. You will let me know when I can be of service -- other than as a letter holder.”

I smiled, although he couldn’t see it behind the veil. “Finding where the Borodins meet will be more than enough for the present.”

***

I found Malchor on the practice field engaged in a match with sword and shield. The arms that had mastered me earlier wielded his weapon with equal efficiency. The dance of death, the deadly edge, the bravery in the face of danger: I still missed it. My body, with hips made now for birthing and breasts for suckling infants, even now swayed to it, recapturing the ghost of what had been stolen from me. It was one reason I rarely watched men practice anymore.

Malchor finished with a thrust to his opponent’s chest. Pounding the loser on the back, he parted with a few encouraging words. He spotted me and smiled, a warrior confident in his abilities, a dominating lover who would protect me at the risk of his own life, a man many woman would be proud to be with.

“Lady Dana?”

I liked his self-control. Many men would have assumed a greater familiarity after brolling a woman. “Walk with me, Captain Malchor. We walked to a copse of trees far enough from curious ears to be safe.

Malchor grinned. “Lady Dana, I didn’t expect to see you so soon. You must give me a chance to redeem myself. This time I promise that I will force you to writhe and squeal in orgiastic abandonment.”

So much for self-control and familiarity. “You were far from inadequate, but I’m not here to discuss matters of the silks.” I told him about Marco.

“You actually tied Marco up in your apartments?” he asked, staring at me.

“Gagged and secured in slaver knots. I’m giving you these papers. Keeping them safe should keep Marco in line, at least until I leave Tulem.” I reached over and touched his arm lightly. “I’m very sorry. This means that you must leave Tulem, too. Marco will be unlikely to forgive either of us.”

He laughed. “I should say not. You completely humiliated him.”

“I regret this. I’ll provide you with gold to aid you wherever you decide to go. It is my fault, after all.”

He shook his head. “No gold. I made the offer. I’ll take responsible for my own actions.”

To insist otherwise would have insulted him, and to tell the truth, I was proud that he didn’t want to mix the memory of our night together with coin. “You’re taking this well,” I said.

“I’m not as displeased as you might think. My father was exiled a half-century ago. I have a home in Rudyer.” He leaned against a nearby tree and shook his head slowly, looking me up and down. “You have Marco wrapped and sealed. I still find that hard to believe.”

“It’s not my place to bring this up, but I hope this hasn’t affected our relationship. I’m still willing if you are.”

He laughed. “By the Gods, you’ve changed.”

“I hear that a lot lately. I don’t know why people keep saying such things.” I handed him the folder with the letters.

He flipped them over front and back, glancing at them briefly before tucking them away inside his tunic. “I’ll have Marco watched while he’s in the castle just in case. Likely he won’t do anything, but….” He shrugged.

“Thank you, Malchor. As you say, just in case. Well, it’s time to cut him free. I hope to see you soon.”

I returned to my apartments in a better mood. Marco, by contrast, had thrashed himself red. Maybe Dana would have understood his petulance, but I had no patience for it. As far as he knew, I was the Lady of the castle, and he should have respected me more. All I’d asked for was three weeks! The rhadus should have been helping me instead of doing his best to bring me down, justifying it with a ludicrously strict interpretation of family honor.

“Marco, you are an idiot, but I’m in a position to forgive you. I’ve written certain letters: some disinheriting you, making Gina the heir; some exposing my scandalous conduct. In case I disappear, they will be opened. This is your own fault, you know. You lack perspective. You think it’s more important to make sure no one brols me than to save Tulem from a civil war. I will finish what I started.”

“I’ll kill you for this, Dana!” he shouted as soon as I removed his gag.

“No, you won’t! You’ll be watched until I’m gone. You’ll have the castle when I leave, but only if you behave, and you will not interfere with Malchor and me. In fact, you’d better hope everything continues very damn smoothly.”

His eyes flashed. “Release me, serum girl!”

I had hoped for better.

“I will release you, Marco, but listen to me first. If it helps, I apologize for doing you in with a woman’s trick. You’re doing what you believe is right, as misguided as I think it is, but so am I. Can we agree on that, at least?”

The muscles around his jaw tightened, as if death were preferable to answering me.

“You disappoint me,” I said. I went to the kitchen and selected a small knife. With it, I cut his restraints.

I tie my bonds tightly; he staggered to his feet in pain as circulation returned to his limbs. His eyes wild, he raised his fist stiffly and shook it in my face.

“I don’t care how long it takes! I’ll track you down, slut from Hades! You won’t get away with this!”

That does it!

I leaned forward and slapped him with all the rage and fear I had accumulated in the last few months. “Fool!” I screamed in his face. “Do you think I care bat shit about your threats? Don’t you understand? I’ll probably be dead or a slave anyway!” I picked up the heavy wooden curtain rod, twirled it until it hummed, and stopped it pointing towards the door. “Get out!”

His backwards glance was murderous but laced with fear at the sight of the rod. After I kicked the door shut behind him, my hands shook with reaction. I stayed inside the rest of the morning, not trusting myself to face others until lunchtime. I unwound with the darts, imagining every target with Marco’s face, and my aim was uncommonly good.

Urban visited me in my apartments in the early afternoon. He took notice of the damage to the curtain mountings and curtains, but said nothing.

“Lady Dana, I have the information you requested. The Borodins will meet together in three nights in Lord Alexander’s castle.”

“Wonderful. How many and who will be there?”

“All the Borodin lords and ladies, a final meeting and celebration before they start serious preparations for war.”

“You don’t seem happy. Why? Will it be difficult to gain admittance?”

He shook his head. “No. I should be able to secure an invitation from my counterpart at Alexander’s castle. From what I’ve heard, you and Niccolo will be the only Giovannis attending. If your suspicions are correct, it would make sense to strike then. After that night, the Borodin men will be primarily with their military units.”

I cocked my head, not quite sure of his point. “And that’s exactly why I must go. Do you disapprove? Are you worried?”

“I see an aura of fatalism surrounding you.”

I snorted. “Perhaps I should ease the strain by marveling as Maggie the barbarian graces the pole. And I haven’t been seriously drunk since my last visit to an alcove girl.” I placed the back of my hand to my forehead and swayed. “Yes! I feel it, Urban; I long for her arms.”

“You should get out and have a few drinks. Relax. You’re like a taut string.”

“Thank you Urban, I’ll take your advice when I have the opportunity.” I waited, but he did not depart.

“Is there something else?”

“Your brother is very angry with you.”

“He encountered some unpleasantness in my quarters earlier today. He’ll get over it in a couple of weeks or so.”

He gave me a careful going-over. “I wish I were as sure, Lady Dana.” He turned and left.

I closed the door and waited for a sign from Ketrick, throwing a few small darts into the back of a chair to pass the time. I had expected a messenger since mid-morning. When mid-afternoon came, I wondered for a while if I shouldn’t take a horse and ride outside for a time, making myself more available. Before too long, though, I saw a bright wavering light on the wall. I rushed to the window and saw the brilliant flash of a mirror by a tree in the distance. Marking the spot, I waved until the flashing stopped.

It had been a long three days. I rode out to the castle gate, stopping to speak to the four guards there -- it would have looked odd if I hadn’t -- and explained that I wished to ride alone.

I rode from the gate, setting a good pace, relishing my freedom and the wind in my hair. I galloped down past the twin gardens and swung right down the trim gravel path, slowing as I reached the road to Tulem, then headed for the tree I’d seen from the window. The main road was busy with farmers with produce on carts, couples in riding dress, groups of riders, mainly men, often in thick leather military garb, a few who walked, and individual riders like me.

I found the tree easily enough and tied my horse to a low branch of a tree closer to the water. The grass was dry there, so I spread my dress beneath me in the sun and waited, alone amidst broad oak trees and a view overlooking the idyllic lake.

I stood when I heard horses. When I saw Ketrick, I removed the veil. When I saw who followed him, my smile evaporated. My DNA twin wore a short slave tunic and had a vaec on her left thigh. I looked to Ketrick in shock.

“Tyra, wait. It’s not who you think it is. It’s Angel.”

After a moment’s reflection, it made sense. Ketrick had injected Angel with the same Ruk’s serum Dana and I had, almost immediately after I had left his store, I realized. She was to have been my relief, substituting as Amelia so that I could visit the guards when I needed to. It was a good idea, but one that had been made obsolete with Malchor.

It was no wonder that she was unhappy: Angel had awoken this morning confused and hurt that her master preferred her to look like me. More than that, her transformation had stolen the body of her birth. Angel had been proud of her original beauty; she would never see it again, and seeing me as a freewoman, she would realize that our time together as slaves had been a lie.

“Good afternoon, Mistress,” she said in a small voice, barely able to look at me.

I wanted to say or do something, she looked so betrayed and hurt, but what could I say that wouldn’t make it worse?

“Angel, stay here,” Ketrick said. Taking my arm, he led me away. I glanced over my shoulder to see her look after us sadly. “I’m giving her to you, at least for the time being.”

“As to that…” I explained the lapse that brought Malchor into my bed, and then the rest of it: the meeting with Niccolo, the complications with Marco, and the upcoming meeting with the Borodins, the last of which, it turned out, he’d already known about.

“May you live in interesting times,” he said under his breath.

I looked at him curiously, but he didn’t elaborate. “Is Dana all right?”

“I brolled her until she crossed her wrists to me that first afternoon, and I tattooed her that evening. She is generally a well-behaved girl, but she won't be safe or truly submissive until she feels herself helpless, far away from Tulem. I keep her chained most of the time. For now, Wanda stays with her.”

A few tears escaped my eyes. “Gods, I wish her a happy fate with a strong master. Ketrick, what about the risk?”

“As long as she doesn’t know about us Dana isn’t that dangerous, and so far she’s been worth the trouble. I have diagrams of Alexander’s castle, and Dana pointed out a few key details. She thinks I’m a contractor, so she wasn’t suspicious. I’ve arranged to do some work there two days from now.”

“Alexander’s castle? Then … then you couldn’t?”

“I couldn’t get to them,” he said, and for the first time, I saw lines of strain in his face. “Niccolo and Alfredo are hiding within their castle walls under heavy guard. I might have killed one, but I wouldn’t have escaped. When I go to Alexander’s castle, I’ll bring in some weapons, including your darts. I’m sorry.”

With that, my last hope faded. I had pledged to give my life to Batuk if necessary, and I thought I had steeled my heart to my death, but at the critical moment it played me false.

As soon as I knew my fate, why did the sun feel so good upon my face? The wind in my hair, the way it brushed my dress against my legs, the ground beneath my feet, became connections to the world. For a fey instant my awareness stretched to the grass, the farmer in the nearby village and his wife; I became the people in the valley, their dreams, and hopes; and passed beyond, past thriving towns and green valleys to the dry, craggy plains -- even to far Batuk.

Like a spirit, I swept through the streets and markets, sensing, exhilarating in it -- life! But bound to this wondrous vision was the ache for what would not be. I covered the place where a child would never grow. I would not have that house and quiet place with the man I loved.

Gods! As Tyr, when my death was a question, I took strength knowing that my cause was just, that my sacrifice would serve my family, city, and those who would live on and preserve what I loved and held dear. When facing an enemy, I left it to the Gods to decide if I fell or lived. It was the warrior’s way.

With this woman’s body, I had become one of them, whom I had protected, a preserver of life. This was, I understood now, what had destroyed my equanimity while practicing the darts. The deepest part of me, the core of my being, needed to create and nurture. The clean death of a warrior would not be for me! I would die, not with a warrior’s glory, but as a woman whose destiny to be a wife and mother had been denied.

No! I will not cry!

I reached back for those reasons why I was there: to preserve thousands of lives, to keep my home free, and to save my family. It was a cause worth dying for, and I seized it, clasped it to my breast until it was once again a part of my being. Thusly armed, I fought my womanly instincts to a standstill, and then submerged them. When I opened my eyes again, it was as a warrior.

“So, you were unable to get to Niccolo and Alfredo. The Gods have decided. I will kill as many Borodins as I can, and hope it is enough.” Warriors understood the inevitable. If I had still been a man, Ketrick would not have looked like he had failed me. He hurt for me because I was a woman. I could do nothing about that, but I would not make it worse by giving him tears in return. “No one could have done more. I regret nothing. Ketrick, I have a way inside that night, but you…”

“I’ll be there with you in the castle,” he said, his visage hard as iron. “Actually, it’s not getting in that has me worried, it’s getting out. Alexander’s Castle is too easily sealed, and security will be tight.”

It was enough for me that he would be there at the end. The fight would at least be memorable. A recent memory tugged at my mind, and I clutched his arm. “Ketrick, I think I saw another way out besides the front gate.”

“Indeed? Tell me about this other way.”

“When Drago took me to Alexander’s castle, I noticed the shape of the bars in one of the windows in the dormers on the roof. The sides were thicker than the other windows, as if there were an interior window on a hinge.”

“Which dormer?”

“The one closest to the entrance.”

It was much too far away to see any of the detail, but he took his time examining the castle’s front, nodding a few times. “It could be. It isn’t on the original plans, and Dana wasn’t aware of it, but it could be a later addition. The surrounding gardens and pools were added less than a century ago. Ladders long enough to reach the roof would damage sections of the garden, so it makes sense to have at least one window available to access the roof for maintenance and repairs. Of course, if it exists, it would be locked from the inside, opened infrequently, and maybe rusted shut, but it’s something.” He rubbed his chin. “The location is terrible, right over the gate, but the window itself can’t be seen from directly below.”

“Could we use it?”

“Possibly, if we can get to it and get the window open. Dana told me that most of the top floor is storage.”

That sliver of hope was all I needed. I stepped forward and hugged him. He held me, and for the moment I was satisfied to forget the world; then he spoke softly to my ear. “You know, this still isn’t going to be easy.”

“I know that! But, admit it, we have a chance.”

He shrugged, and the old, confident Ketrick was back, grinning me a crooked smile. “The odds are slightly better now.”

“That’s all I need to hear.” I looked past him to Angel, still standing by the tree. “Ketrick, can you still give me Angel?”

“What for?”

“I want her, but not as a loan. I want to free her before we leave to go to Alexander’s castle. It would give her a chance to choose her own master in case we don’t return. I’m assuming the vaec is a temporary stamp?”

He shook his head. “Always, this talk about freeing natural slaves. Yes, the vaec is a temporary stamp. Hmm. As the Lady of the castle, you probably have a better chance than I do of making sure she’s safe if events don’t go our way.”

“That’s what I intend to do.”

“Then she’s yours. I’ll work on a plan tonight. Can you meet me here tomorrow at the same time?”

“Yes, but I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t be followed. You could come to my castle. Tell the guards you were hired to repair the curtain fixture in my room. I’ll let them know to expect you.”

“Even better. Are you ready to meet your new slave?”

“Yes.” We started walking back. “How much have you told her?”

“Nothing. But she must have figured some of it out by now.”

Angel watched us approach sadly. Ketrick would be forgiven anything, I knew. She loved her Master, but me…. I stopped before we came so close that Angel could hear us.

“I want to tell her everything, from the beginning,” I said.

“It can’t do any harm now,” he decided; then considered me. “You mean to keep her safe by freeing her, which is well, but I think to you, freeing her is as much personal -- you want her to understand why you had to deceive her in the stable. I'll give you some advice. You are both superb. In her own way, Angel has nearly as much strength and spirit as you do, but be warned: if you free her: Angel is unpredictable. You and she are as different as the eagle and lynx.”

Although he didn't quite say so, Ketrick once again referred to the notion that an experienced man can grasp the true nature of a natural slave. I held my tongue with an effort. Although he’d been right about Dana, I didn’t care to be evaluated that way, even for “helpful advice.”

When we were all together, he said, “Angel, Tyra is your new mistress. She owns you now.”

It was like a turn of the screw to see Angel’s hurt and confusion. She swallowed hard, but managed a fair bow towards me. “Yes, Mistress. You own me.”

“Tulem knows me as Lady Dana. Call me Dana in private, Angel. In public, I will call you Amelia.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she said, giving Ketrick a long, sad last look.

I said goodbye to Ketrick and led Angel’s horse on a leash back the way I’d come. There was too much traffic to talk. It wasn’t until we turned down the path to the castle that I brought her horse forward.

“Angel, the guards at the gate will be happy to see you. When I pretended to be Dana’s slave, they brolled me frequently. Smile nicely as you pass. They are fine, dominating men and brought me much pleasure.”

“Yes, Mistress.” She did well enough, and we passed through uneventfully.

We turned to the stables where I saw Captain Malchor waiting for me. He leaned against a post, displeased with me, but I had expected this. “Good afternoon, Malchor,” I said cheerfully.

“Lady Dana. Good afternoon.” He looked to Angel, then back to me. Seeing her, he would have questions, of course.

Dismounting, I handed the reins to the stableman, waiting until he walked away with my horse before speaking. “I missed her, Malchor, that’s all. I’m not resuming my former activities with the guards. Nothing has changed between us. My pledge to you is the same, and my gratitude is undiminished.”

He relaxed a fraction. “I’m glad to hear it. I was concerned when you didn’t take an escort when you left.”

I frowned. He had brolled me well, and I was appreciative, but that didn’t make him my keeper. On the other hand, he was a man, and he meant well. “I’m a serum girl. Who would want to kill me?”

He looked as he wanted to argue, but he let it go. I might have moved to his tune at night, but during the day, I was still his superior. “Lady Dana.” He bowed stiffly. “Good afternoon.” He strode away without waiting for a response.

“Good afternoon, Malchor,” I replied to his departing back. I shrugged and turned to my slave. “This way.” I led her up to my quarters and locked the door.

Once safely inside, I removed the veil. The friendship Angel and I had developed so tenuously was gone. The barrier between slave and mistress was up like a steel curtain. As much as I wanted to explain myself, to recapture our closeness, kind words would have only frustrated her. In the meantime, she waited for orders.

I sighed. “Make me some tea, Angel.”

“Yes, Dana.”

While she was busy, I worried about my next move. I would tell her all, or nearly all, of course, but what then?

“Here is your tea, Dana.”

I took the cup, took a sip, and sat cross-legged on the bed, pointing to a place beside me. “Angel, sit down. It’s time to tell you why we’re here.” I composed my thoughts and began. “It all started several months ago, when I was Tyr, on the raiding party that took Ketrick …”

Over an hour later: “… when we go to Alexander’s castle, we might not survive. We don’t want to leave you alone in Tulem.” I didn’t like the distracted look on her.

“Dana…”

“Call me Tyra for now, but only when we’re absolutely alone.”

“Tyra, why do you tell me this?”

I blinked back a tear or two. Was she so lost? We had been friends and now she seemed completely unconcerned about anything. “We want to do what's right for you. What do you want, Angel?”

She looked down. “I am only a slave. I am pleased to serve.”

This cool servile creature wasn’t the woman I had known! “Angel, I could free you. You could do what you wanted.”

“I want to belong to Ketrick.”

She would think of him first, naturally. “Of course. If we survive, then I would give you back to him. He would be pleased to own you again.”

She bit her lip anxiously. “Tyra,” she replied, hesitating, “if you don’t survive, how could you give me back to him?”

“If I don’t survive, and he does, then you can submit to him if you are free, Angel,” I said impatiently. “The point is that neither of us may live. If you were free, I could give you money and give you a place to stay until you could leave Tulem. Then you could go where you wanted and submit to whomever you desire.”

She held her head in her hands and cried. I took her hand before I realized what I did. I thought I understood her: it must have been frightening to think of freedom and risks, choices, and the death of the master she loved.

She stopped after only a few sobs and regarded me with sudden resolve. “Tyra, I would like to be free now. Would you free me please?”

I wiped away a tear. I would speak with her as an equal, at least for the moment, explain myself and hopefully recapture something of the old friendship, no matter how short-lived. “Of course.”

I applied the solvent to her thigh. Her eyes grew large as the vaec disappeared. I unlocked her collar, and her hand rubbed her neck in wonder. Going to her knees, she spread her legs in the submission position. I placed a cord around her wrists loosely and smiled. By the Gods, I had missed her so much! Soon, she will be with me again!

My heart swelled as I spoke the simple words of freedom: “I release you from bondage. Rise, freewoman.” I undid the loose cords and she rose to her feet.

Eyes blurring through tears of happiness, I opened my arms and moved forward for an embrace. The barest moment later I was on the floor holding my jaw, reeling from Angel’s blow.

“Bitch!” she screamed and kicked me in the side.

My ribs hurt like Hades, and I gasped for breath. The next kick connected, too, but I managed to roll with it. I cursed myself for a fool! Angel had always been an excitable woman. Her fire and passion was what attracted me to her in the first place. At that moment it was less appealing. She bent to grab my hair, something I’ve always hated. Spread out as it was on the floor, she managed a handful, but so did I of hers.

“Aiii!” she shrieked. Her free hand went to scratch my face. I barely blocked it, grabbing her wrist. We rolled on the floor where she had the advantage in her looser clothes, and she tore at my hair with everything she had. I yanked her own face close and snapped a blow to her nose with my forehead that gave her pause. With that edge, I rolled on top of her and bent her free hand back.

“Damn it, Angel! Let go of my hair or, by the Gods, I’m going to have to hurt you!”

She pulled my hair hard enough to bring more tears, and I bent her wrist to the breaking point. Yet she still fought! Her face reeked of hate and determination. I had little option if I wanted to keep my hair. I pressed my elbow to her throat and leaned, cutting off her air. She released me, but only to make another grab for my hair the instant the pressure was gone. This time I eluded her, staggered to my feet, and tore my dress for combat. My hair ached and my ribs felt like the time Ketrick had hit them with the heavy spear. Furious, I threw my disheveled hair behind me and glared at my former slave and lover, inviting her forward with an extended arm as I took a fighting stance.

“Come on, Angel! Try me now!” I hissed through clenched teeth.

Once she had her breath back, she looked at me sorrowfully and cried. I recognized it as a variation of “regret,” a slave pose Wanda had taught me earlier, and I laughed at her pathetic deception. Enraged, she launched herself at my face with arms outstretched, her claws flexing, eager to score and rend. Prepared for it, I slipped to the side easily, beat her closest arm safely down and away, and took her by the throat from behind. I gave her a disabling blow to a kidney with my fist, arching her back. We dropped to the floor together and I made very sure she hit the ground hard and flat. As she lay gasping, I grasped the cord I had just used to free her with, and soon had her hands tied behind her back. She screamed obscenities and tried to kick me, so I took her by the throat again and held her nose shut until I wedged a nether garment between her teeth and tie it down.

Soon, she squirmed on the floor pelts, completely secure and severely displeased at her predicament. If I had been a man, I might have found her efforts attractive. As she tired, I checked myself in the mirror. Angel had grabbed the tail of my hair, it being the most convenient. It had spread the strain over my head and only a few hairs had actually been torn away. My jaw would be slightly swollen, but again, it was struck with the flat of her hand, a blow that spread the damage. My side was bruised and would color, but nothing had been broken. There was a tiny scratch just below my eye where a fingernail had tried to slice or gouge, but that was easily washed away. I’d been very fortunate not to suffer worse.

When I returned, I knelt over her, turning her outraged face from side to side to examine it from different angles. She was relatively unharmed as well. The blow to the nose had been the worst, but I had placed it carefully and I doubted that it would even swell to any degree.

“So, who is first girl?” I asked her pleasantly. I grinned at her answering glare.

I should have known better. Without the restraint of slavery, her passion had been released. She loved Ketrick. She saw me as a rival. And that had been enough. I had heard of such things before, but slaves were so rarely freed, I had disregarded it.

I looked into her eyes, a fierce blue match for my own brown. “I will allow you to speak, Angel. If you misbehave, I will punish you.” I removed her gag and was pleased to see that she had calmed enough to remain silent. “I’m not your rival, Angel. I don’t want to be a slave.”

The fire was back. “I saw you with him! I’ve heard your screams in the night. You submitted to him. You love him, you bitch!”

I frowned. “We’ve already been through this before. I told you. I love him, but I want to be his wife, not his slave. And I’m not his slave -- I never really was. You’re a freewoman now, at least for the moment. Act like one!”

“I never asked to be a freewoman!” she wailed.

“Yes, you did!”

Chagrined for a few seconds, she retorted, “Well, that was only to get at you!”

I considered her very carefully. Her anger seemed to be mostly spent. “If I let you loose, would you attack me again?”

“No. You would just beat me again,” she sighed.

“This time I would break your arm. If you persisted, I would break your nose. When Ketrick saw you again, it would be gross and twisted.”

She glared at me. “I will not attack you. I will behave myself.”

“Good.” I rolled to my feet and released her bonds a few seconds later. She stood to rub her wrists and feet, and bit her lip, looking at me sullenly, but she remained gratifyingly non-violent. I pointed to the floor. Grumbling, she sat again.

I joined her a moment later. “We still have to decide what to do with you. We’ll probably be dead in a couple of days. Ketrick gave you up because he wants you to be happy. If he lives, he’ll own you again.”

“I feel that I should be grateful for a choice,” she said, “but it is a cold thing. I love him, and it’s all I can think about. I would die in his place if I could.”

I moved to hold her. This time she allowed my embrace and cried in my arms.

I went to supper alone. I returned, bringing a man from the kitchen carrying a tray of food and a jug of fine siolat. It wasn’t long before the jug was opened.

An hour later:

“Buuuurrrrp!” Angel lay on her back in the floor pelts and rubbed her protruding belly. “Ah, that felt good,” she sighed.

“You ex-slaves have no control. You ate at least three times your normal allowance.” I handed her another small cup of siolat. She grinned and took it carefully.

“When the masters away….” She drained the potent beverage through her lips, savored it for a few seconds and swallowed. Her hand stretched in my direction with the empty cup, and looked up at me hopefully -- again.

“Angel, you’re drunk.” I poured her another cup, using extreme care not to spill anything.

“Like you, you mean?”

I laughed. I couldn’t deny it. With identical DNA, we’d matched each other cup for cup and the jug was mostly gone. I held it close in my lap like some treasured possession. “I’m taking my chief of staff’s suggestion and having a few drinks.”

She rolled to her side. Propped up on her elbow, she poked my arm with her free hand. “I’m sorry, Tyra, this must be hard for you, too. I’ve been so worried about losing Ketrick that I haven’t thought about you very much.”

I shrugged. “I understand. I’m not your master anymore and he’s possibly the finest on Zhor. Of course, you love him, too.”

She rolled her head in the hand supporting it, a nod, I supposed. “I want to belong to him again, but I’m free now, and I should use that time to gain perspective.” She giggled. The last word had sounded like “pershpective.” “Tyra, why did you want to be my friend when we were together? I wonder that I didn’t question it more then. Slaves of the same master are rarely friends, especially if they are rivals. You could have beaten me easily and become first girl.”

I embraced the jug like a lover and sighed. “I still remember how you submitted to me in the plains, and when you ignited in my arms. Even with Ruk’s Serum, those memories are still there. I didn’t give you up, you were taken from me.”

She looked into my eyes blearily. “And you still feel that way to this day, even as a serum girl.”

I shrugged. “I don’t want to brol you any more -- not that I could, anyway -- but there is still something when I look at you.”

She collapsed onto her back. “Ah, Tyra! Perhaps it’s easier for me because I see you changed with breasts and saer, whereas for you, I look the exactly the same, at least until Ketrick changed my body. I’m a natural slave and happy to be one. I have room in my heart for my master and little more unless he wills it so. In this brief interlude of freedom, I remember how much I loved you as Tyr, but Tyr is gone. I can’t hold onto you like that, Tyra.”

“I know. But I had hoped that you and I wouldn’t be enemies, at least.”

“If I were a normal freewoman, we would be friends. If you were another slave in Ketrick’s stable, we would fight, you would be first girl, and I could live with that. We shouldn’t be around each other, though, not as free and slave. Ketrick loves you, and, I think, me. Someday he’ll have to choose between us, and the loser will be miserable.”

I sighed and lay back down, placing a pillow behind my head. I hated it, and the tears flowed, but she was probably right. “If we survive this and Ketrick chooses you, I’ll leave. If he chooses me, then I’ll make sure that you’re sold to a fine master.”

She rolled her heads towards me and took my hand. “I’m truly sorry. It’s best this way.”

Malchor did not appear at my door that night at midnight. I waited several minutes then slid the bolt home. For once I did not regret not having a strong man in bed with me. Whether he was displeased with me or just assumed that brolling the Lady of the castle every night was a poor plan, I was glad for the rest.

The next day I informed the guards in the early morning to expect a workman to repair my curtains. In the meantime, I wanted to take a last look around Tulem. Angel had never seen much of the valley, so I led her on a ride. Both of us had hangovers, but I had plenty of afkal. Angel brewed it as a painkilling tea that morning and it proved effective enough.

I took the road by the north side of the lake to the Borodin side of the valley. The traffic on the flower and tree-lined road wasn’t too heavy there, not like the roads that led to Tulem. We rode slowly, keeping our distance from the clusters of horses ahead and behind us for privacy..

I breathed in the fragrant morning air to clear the residual wooliness from my head. The sun had risen enough to just cover the base of the mountains in the west. It was warmer than usual for the spring, and fog hung thickly over the lake.

“Ketrick never took you away from Tulem, not even to see the lake?” I asked.

“No. I understand, though. With so many people in the valley there are fewer slaves here than the average city. Our presence would have been remarked. And you know how Wanda likes to talk. She might have blurted out something to another slave that would have cast suspicion on our Master!”

I laughed. Angel had always been the chatterbox of the two.

She looked at me curiously. “What?” she asked.

I waved it off and pointed to a castle coming into view. “That’s Ivan’s castle, or it used to be before Ketrick killed him. It belongs to his son, Tyrone, now.”

It was similar in structure and design to Alexander’s Castle, essentially a courtyard surrounded by a square gray stone building three stories high. The main difference were four small towers, one in each corner. Alanna would be inside, I considered idly.

“It’s beautiful, like most things in Tulem. Is this why we came this way?”

“No. I wanted to give you a chance to see some of Tulem, but I really wanted to look at Alexander’s castle. There might be something I missed about it earlier.” As we passed Tyrone’s castle, I saw Alexander’s through the trees. Several minutes later we were in front of it, a few hundred yards away across a field. I stopped and stared. The sun had just reached the front, giving it a wonderful sharp glow in front of retreating shadows. It looked beautiful, not at all like a potential slaughterhouse.

Angel interrupted me. “Did you want to go inside?”

I shook my head. “I don’t have a reason, and it would look strange to simply appear at the gate. I’m looking for anything I missed before.” I suddenly thought how odd we must have looked to passersby. “Let’s stop down by the lake.” We crossed the road and tied the horses to a tree. I spread a quilt on the dew-wet ground and sat facing the castle. I had no idea what I was looking for. A few carts turned to go down the path to the castle. I wondered what they were for.

“Those are from Frank’s workshop.”

I turned to Angel abruptly. “What?”

She pointed to the carts. “Working in Ketrick’s hardware store, I met most of the craftsmen in Tulem at one time or another. Those are from Frank’s workshop. He’s a carpenter.”

“They must be preparing for the final celebration inside. Keep watching, Angel. Let me know what you can about them.”

We watched for hours until it came time for lunch. I paid close attention to everything, but especially to the way they entered the castle. Only a few more carts and several workmen on horses arrived, but I noticed with interest that the guards treated certain carts differently.

When the sun filled the entire valley, it was time to leave. Angel packed the quilt and we started back faster than our leisurely pace earlier that morning, hurrying to make it back in time for lunch. Angel pulled up beside me when there was no one around.

“Tyra, you don’t think you’re going to live, do you?”

I disliked being reminded of that fact unnecessarily. I had accepted it, but it was a private matter. “Didn’t you listen to anything I said yesterday?”

“I understand, but if you don’t live, then it means that Ketrick will probably not survive either.”

I sagged in the saddle and just looked at her. Why do I even bother?

She blushed. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I do care about you, Tyra. I’ve been Ketrick’s slave for so long, though…”

I shrugged. “It’s all right. What were you going to say?”

She took a deep breath, as if what followed was of the greatest importance. “I want to help.”

I blinked in surprise. I had no idea how she could help us, but she did love Ketrick, and she could be brave when she wanted to be.

“Let’s talk about it when Ketrick arrives.”

Her eyes lit up euphorically. “Yes! When we see him.”

“Angel, have you noticed that you’re not acting like a slave? You fight me, get drunk, volunteer to help us -- are you thinking of staying free?”

She stared at me in horror.

“Fine. But if you don’t start acting like a slave again, you could give us away.”

She groaned and mocked me in singsong: “Angel, act like a freewoman. Angel, act like a slave.”

Lunch was a curious affair. My acceptance as Lady of the castle continued to grow. Marco had returned to the table, although it was a gesture, I was sure, to keep me off-balance. His knowing looks and odd expressions at strange times were to make me pay attention to him, to acknowledge his disturbing presence. I countered by speaking with Gina, his older sister and the bitch who would take my place if I died or disappeared unexpectedly.

Soon after I returned to my quarters, there was a knock at the door. “Lady Dana, the craftsman you requested is here.”

I winked at Angel, who stood nervously. She had been Ketrick’s slave a bare twenty-four hours before, but one might have thought it years. I opened the door. Behind the guard stood Ketrick, in the same disguise with the higher cheekbones and darker hair I’d seen him in before on the street. A heavy wooden workman’s box was by his feet.

“Thank you,” I said to the guard, dismissing him. “Well, come inside, there is much to do!” I said to Ketrick, smiling.

He hoisted his box and entered. “Yes, Lady Dana.” Once the door was closed and latched, Angel ran past me into his arms, crying with happiness. I supposed that her passion could have been spontaneous, until she stuck her tongue out at me.

I should have broken her nose when I had the chance.

Ketrick rubbed her back with his hands. She looked very comfortable pressed against his chest.

“Ah, Angel, I miss my little slave already.” He smacked her rear smartly and released her. She left his embrace pleased. I was less enthusiastic.

He favored me with a disarming smile that brought forth the slut. I sighed at the power he had over me. “We have much to discuss,” he said, bringing us back to the point of this meeting.

“Angel has volunteered to help us,” I said reluctantly, knowing that she would be brought into the planning and discussion.

He grinned, and gave Angel a nod. “It appears there are advantages to freewomen, after all.” I disgraced myself when I succumbed to an urge, sticking my tongue out at her when he wasn’t looking.

He took a roll of heavy gray paper from his workman’s box and spread it on the dining table, holding the edges down with tools. We stood to either side of him. “This is the plan to Alexander’s castle.” He pointed to the first floor diagram. “I’m not sure how many guards will be at the celebration, but I estimate about thirty. I figure about ten at the main gate. About a dozen or so would guard the courtyard with the rest on the perimeter outside. The meeting will be here.” He pointed to the room in the corner, to the left of the main gate.

“That’s where they had their last meeting, the last time I was in the castle,” I said.

“Right. There will be about twenty to thirty Borodin men inside: Markus, the Borodin heads of the castles, of course, and key members of the Borodin invasion force.”

There were two entrances into the room. The smaller one exited to a nearby staircase. I mentally assigned two guards to the main entrance and one to the other door.

He pointed to the third floor and slapped my back softly. “There is a window that swings inwards for access to the roof. I have no idea what condition it’s in. If we get out, it will have to be through that.” He pointed to the storage room’s diagram. “Dana wasn’t sure, but she thinks that all the rooms on the third floor there are connected. It would make sense as a floor plan. This door closest to the entrance is our best bet, though.”

Usually, I could see the beginnings of some devious plan forming after hearing the main points. Often, many options suggested themselves. This time, there wasn’t anything. I saw my role very clearly: I would kill a guard or two, kill as many Borodins as I could, then sneak to the third floor, get into a locked room, open a locked window, get down a rope just outside the main gate of a castle that would undoubtedly be teeming with furious Borodins and get away, knowing that the entire valley would be looking for Dana Giovanni. It was insane. I wanted to cry.

“I’ll bet you have a few questions,” he said.

The confident way he said it disentangled a large knot in my throat. “That couldn’t possibly be all of it.”

“It isn’t. I go into the castle tomorrow for repairs. Once there, I plan to open the door to the storage room, plant the weapons, the escape ropes, and tackle.”

“Well, that’s ambitious.”

“All I need is an excuse to get into the storage room. I’ll break a privy fixture. Castles always have duplicate items like that handy. With all those people there the next night, they’ll want everything working. If I can’t get in it’s all off. Your weapons will have to be there.”

“And the window?”

He grimaced. “That’s the weak point. The Borodins would at least check to see if it was secured before the meeting. The window will have to be opened on the way out. We’ll just have to hope it opens easily.”

I didn’t like it, but it was better than nothing. “How are you going to get inside?”

“That’s going to be difficult. I’ll either kill a Borodin and take his place, ride in along with a carriage or throw a line over the roof and climb up.” He shrugged at the shock on my face. “The last really might be possible: there will be no moon that night, and the air pressure is dropping. It’s likely to be cloudy and very dark with possible rain.”

“Ketrick!” None of those options gave me much hope. My part would be extremely dangerous, but getting in for him would be close to impossible. The thought of him climbing three stories outlined against the wall by torchlight ran through my mind like a fever. It was possible to do it undetected, but by the Overlords, not damn likely!

“I’ll get inside,” he stated confidently.

I believed him. Even if he had to kill half a dozen guards at the main gate, something, with surprise, he was capable of, he would do what he said. Timed right, and bloody enough, it could conceivably create a diversion, but he would surely die. I turned away to keep him from seeing my tears.

“If you can get me the weapons, I think I can do it alone,” I lied.

He grabbed me and swung me around, forcing me to look at him. I’d never seen him so angry. “You can’t do it alone. Trust me, damn you!”

“I do trust you! I just don’t want you to die. Ketrick, it’s just too risky. Let’s think this again.”

He seemed ready to explode and his grip on my shoulders tightened painfully.

“I might be able to help.”

We both turned to Angel in surprise. She glowered at our skepticism, and put her hands on her hips. “Well, I think I can! If you smuggle me into the storage room along with the weapons, I could do a lot.”

“It might be possible,” I said. “We were watching the castle this morning and noticed a few things.”

“That’s right! I could work on the window to open it quietly, all night, if necessary. If you get to the roof, I could let you in. I could let Tyra in through the door.”

With a great effort, he submerged his anger; actually more like worry, as I could see now. “Go ahead, Angel,” he said.

Angel smiled beatifically. She had Ketrick’s attention, and he approved of her. “Best of all, if Tyra and I could change clothes. If she covered her face, while she was out killing people, I could take her place at the celebration. If … when she escaped, nobody would think she did it.”

He grunted noncommittally. “How would you plan to smuggle yourself inside?”

I responded: “They didn’t check everything going into the castle. The guards were lazy; the heavy things that would make inspection tedious, like masonry and tile, were barely looked at.”

He nodded slowly. “It might work.” He appraised his ex-slave. “Can you really pretend to be Tyra?”

She furrowed her brow. “Well ... as long as I don’t have to do anything complicated.”

He raised an eyebrow in my direction, leaving it up to me.

“I like this better. With most of the men in the meeting, I’d probably be expected to be with the women. If I can make them believe that I am really Lady Dana before the fight, then when Angel comes out, she shouldn’t have to do or say very much. With some instruction, Angel might do all right if she can be taught to hold her tongue.”

“Huh!” Angel exclaimed indignantly.

“We’ll do it that way, then,” Ketrick said, ignoring her. He rubbed his chin. “Strange,” he said to me as an aside, “I thought that if you freed Angel, her jealousy would have started a fight.”

I frowned. If he had known this, he could have warned me. Of course, in hindsight, that is more or less what he did, warning me about her unpredictable reaction to me with his dominant male insight into our “natures.” I refused to give him the satisfaction.

“I have no idea what you mean. As you can see, Angel and I are both uninjured, and are the best of friends.”

“I am ecstatic to be wrong. Doubtless, the bruise on the bridge of Angel’s nose is due to some misfortune.”

I dismissed it with a wave. “She is clumsy, always bumping into things.”

He peered closely. “Is that a slight swelling on your jaw?”

“Pay it no heed, Ketrick; the lighting here can be tricky.”

“Yes, the sun is like that. I think we have a fighting chance. There are details to work out, but, with luck, we might both survive.” He pulled me in and kissed me as if it was our last, and for all I knew, it was. I wanted him desperately. Then I groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Captain Malchor. There’s no time for this. He worries about me, and is probably having the room watched right now.”

“Then I’ll start my work.” Ketrick repaired the wall and reattached the fixtures with smooth efficiency. In a half-hour he was finished.

“Tyra, I’ll need Angel at my rooms tomorrow before the lunch hour. Will that give you enough time to prepare her?”

I nodded. “It will do. Fortunately, she won’t have to pretend for very long before our activities make things interesting.” I gave him my darts, poison, and carrying pockets and he stored them in his workman’s box.

“While I applied the mortar, I thought of a way into the castle for me.”

“Oh?”

“You should like this. It will make it less dangerous for me to get to the roof. It uses a winch and pulleys and will require your assistance.” He told me the details. “What do you think?”

I pictured it in my mind; forcing myself to be dispassionate. It was daring, and tricky. The warrior in me loved the idea; the woman was horrified at the risks.

“Unless it was a dark night, it would be insanity, but otherwise, it’s crazy enough to work. Have you actually done something like this before?”

“Not under these conditions, but if done properly, it’s quieter, and the ascent is three times as fast.”

I could see no better way. Plans like that were all or nothing and should be executed with the correct attitude. I grinned like a feral cat. “I like it, Ketrick!”

“I thought you would. I’ll see you tomorrow at my apartments.” He motioned Angel to his side. He said a few words to her that warmed her, and then gave her a master’s kiss so powerful I felt the heat of it, but in my heart I could not begrudge Angel her pleasure. She, too, would be with us that night. And then he was gone.
 
 

 
I hoped you liked this chapter. The next chapter is kick-ass. I guarantee it. ~Aardvark

A final encounter with Dana. Ketrick and Tyra in a last stand at Alexander's castle. A fitting end for Heydar. Marco hunts for Tyra with a crossbow. Angel makes a surprising revelation. (Much violence)

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 13
 
 
When Angel and I were alone, I wrote down the names and descriptions of the lady Borodins and gave them to her to study. While she was busy with that, I left my quarters to look for Malchor. Fighting and thoughts of battle brought forth the urges faster than seeing a company of handsome men, and seeing Ketrick again hadn’t helped. I didn’t have to have a man now, but I’d need one before I went to Alexander’s Castle if I wanted to stay sharp.

I found Malchor inspecting the perimeter on the east side of the castle from his horse. Malchor waited for me, tipping his hat as I came close.

“Lady Dana, it’s nice to see you again. What can I do for you?”

“I’m just out for a ride — and to see you.”

He was not a fool. “Does this mean that your door might be open around midnight tonight?”

I pretended to think for a moment. “Why, I believe that it does.”

“Does this mean that you wish to be reduced to a rolling mass of quivering gelatin, allowed only helpless, desperate, screaming, unending orgasms?”

The man was outrageous, but accurate enough. “Malchor, please!” I laughed. “If you keep this up, my door will be open before dinner.”

“Duty forbids me that, but you may be certain that I will be at your door at the appointed hour.”

“And I will be inside waiting, quivering, perhaps, in anticipation.”

“You know, you’re different than I expected. I won’t delve into the past, but you’re more lively as a woman than I would have thought.”

“Does that displease you?”

“Not at all. You are just -- different. I wish that you wouldn’t take so many chances riding alone.”

“Is Marco causing problems, or do you have another threat in mind?”

He grunted. “I worry about Marco. Only the welfare of the castle restrains him. Other than he, there are no specific threats that I’m aware of. But no specific threats killed Ivan, Paolo, Tam or Mario.”

“I’m glad you’re having him watched. As for the rest, I don’t think that the people who did this to me would kill me now. I’m one of their successes, a walking nightmare for any man.”

“No nightmare for me, and I hope you’re right about being safe.”

After dinner, back in my quarters, I told Angel the rest of what I knew about the Borodin women, which wasn’t as much as I liked. I didn’t know the Borodins as well as the Giovannis, and the women, far more than the men, stayed inside the castle walls and formed social circles among themselves. I knew a few basic facts about them all, but very little personal information, particularly their rare meetings with Drago. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was what exactly the knowledge I needed to establish a solid alibi as Dana so that when Angel switched with me, no one would question who she was.

I didn’t like where my thoughts were taking me, but I didn’t see an alternative. I might get by without knowing more, but the opposite, that I might miss a key piece of information, ‘forget’ a memory that ‘I’ would never have forgotten, was just as real, and I had no way of knowing which was more likely. All our lives could depend on it.

“Angel, I need to find out more about the Borodin women,” I decided at last.

“Goddess. Tyra, we don’t have much time,” she said nervously.

“I’ll have to talk to Dana,” I sighed, dreading what that was likely to mean. “We’ll ride to Tulem early tomorrow.”

By the time Malchor stole through the door, I was sick with worry. I didn’t feel much like a warrior that night. He sensed that I didn’t want to talk. It was a time I was glad to be a woman. I didn’t have to be strong, just soft and desirable, and he was strong enough for us both. For hours, he took me to places where deceit, lies, and death were not a part of the world. He fulfilled his promise made earlier in the day, and I did my part, giving him as much as he gave me. Malchor left me well before dawn, warm and content, kissing me gently on the lips. I fell asleep almost instantly.

***

Dawn in Tulem is different than almost anywhere else in the world. A reddish sheen to the sky is the first indication, if it is cloudy, suffusing the valley in faint rose, turning to amber as the sun rises. When the sun strikes the chilly heights of the western mountains, light reflects brilliantly from the snow and ice. It was at that time we left the castle, just as most were beginning to awaken.

The fog was unusually thick that morning on the lake, a sure sign of changing weather. It was dense enough that the mountain light cast a white glow on the road to Tulem, rather than penetrating all the way to the ground, making distances hard to judge. Few shared the road that early, just a few farmers on their way to market, passing in and out of white shadow like wraiths. Angel rode up beside me when the way was clear.

“You enjoyed yourself last night,” she hissed. “I have needs as well, you know!”

And so ended the calm contemplation of an ethereal morning after a good brolling.

“Malchor is not a means to your satisfaction; he's a man risking his life to be with me. Likely, Ketrick will fill you before you leaving for the castle — if only to shut you up.”

The thought of Ketrick produced a smile on the ex-slave’s face. “True.”

After leaving our horses at a stable a block away, we climbed the outside stairs of the The Queen’s Cup, making sure we were alone before I knocked on the door.

“Who’s there?” Wanda asked from behind the door.

I made a final look down the alley. “Wanda, this is Tyra with Angel,” I said.

She opened the door just wide enough to see. I dropped the veil and she nodded, allowing us to enter. “My Master is with Dana,” she said. “Please wait.”

A moment later, Ketrick appeared in a brown tunic and loose cotton pants. He closed the door behind him and motioned for quiet. “You are early.”

I explained what I needed from Dana.

“How long will this last?” he asked without expression.

“Maybe the rest of the morning. When she sees me, she’ll know I betrayed her. It won’t take her long to figure it all out.”

His face was like granite. “Yes.”

My heart sank into my stomach; I knew what that look meant. “Ketrick, please don’t kill her.”

“If you walk through that door, she dies. Once she knows about us, she would kill us all with a word at the first opportunity.”

“Wait!” I said, grabbing his wrist. “I have an idea, or at least I have the beginnings of one.” And, to my surprise, I actually did.

He watched me as if I’d gone soft-headed. “I’m listening.”

“Why don’t we continue this discussion in a couple of days, after we finish what we came here to do? That will give me time to work out the details.”

He mulled it over for a while. “It can wait that long. I can drug her. If we don’t return she won't wake up. Do you want to do this now, or do you need to prepare?”

Pulling out a small stylus and notepad from a side pocket, I said, “I’m ready.”

Dana was in a collar, naked in Ketrick’s pelts, chained to a link in the wall. She didn’t look unhappy; likely, Ketrick had been with her all night. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, and she leaped to her feet.

“Tyra! Oh, thank the Gods that you’re all…” Dana’s voice froze when she had a good look at my face, and she looked on in horror when she saw Ketrick’s.

It was over. There was no reason to deceive her any longer.

“I came here from Batuk to stop the invasion. I gave you the Ruk’s Serum myself. You will remain a slave for the rest of your life. I have questions and you will answer them.”

She stared at me, and within her beautiful blue eyes, I saw her world die, replaced with so much pain I could barely breath. The former man, Drago, now a slave girl named Dana, sagged in her chains to the pelts.

She might have killed my family. She might still kill us all. I darted a glance towards Ketrick. His countenance was as cold as winter. He nodded for me to continue.

I wiped my eyes dry, then went to the first woman on my list. “Tell me what you know of Deana Borodin and her relationship to you as Drago.”

She said nothing. I stepped forward before Ketrick could reach her and I slapped her head back. “Answer me!” I screamed into her face.

A line of blood trickled down the corner of her mouth. Dana covered it in shock; then she gazed at me, saddened beyond anything I’d ever seen, beyond hope and, only now realizing the totality of her betrayal. “I ... I,” she said in a weak voice.

Ketrick sprung forward and roared at her, “Answer your mistress!”

Dana never stood a chance. I'd seen grown warriors jerk to attention when he shouted that way. The vaec on her thigh, the days under Ketrick's control, dominating her as few men on the planet could, and, most of all, her natural slave nature, all conspired against her. She cowered instinctively, so much a woman, now, smaller, weaker, with her master practically breathing in her eyes. “Yes, Master!” she cried.

She sobbed once and began. With Ketrick looming at her side with all the menace he could supply, she went on and on, unable to stop herself even as she glared at me in hatred. I despised every filthy second of it. When I had everything I felt I needed, I left the room. Angel made to approach me, but backed away when I glared at her. I wouldn’t, couldn’t share this shame with her! Collapsing into the divan, I sobbed into a pillow for long minutes.

Ketrick left the room with Dana wailing, a sound that ripped my heart. He motioned Wanda inside, and closed the door.

He settled down beside me and placed his large hand on my back. “Dana will be as dangerous as a wounded lion now. Do you really have a plan for her?”

I nodded, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “I have a man with a reason to take her far away. If we survive, I should be able to come up with some way to put them together.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Good. We have little time. I have to prepare Angel for her trip.”

I gave Angel a summary of what I had learned from Dana, as Ketrick prepared a special crate with marble blocks arranged and buttressed to conceal her. I hugged her, and reminded her not to drink anything before being bundled, kissed Ketrick goodbye and walked back to the stable alone. I rode my horse hard, and made it in time for lunch, where I ate and conversed with lords and ladies. I said less, and had almost no appetite, but no one saw enough amiss to say anything.

After memorizing the notes from Dana, there was nothing to do but wait. Late in the afternoon, not long before the shadow of the sun crossed the castle, I saw a shimmer of light at the wall. I ran to the window, I waved and saw three flashes followed by three more, the signal that Ketrick had been successful. Angel was in the castle store room. We were committed.

Malchor did not visit me that night and in truth, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to face him. For once, my urges were quiet.

I made everything as normal as possible that day. After a breakfast where I continued to mystify my fellow nobles with my new fondness for Gina, I coasted through my duties. In the afternoon, I made last preparations for my appearance in Alexander’s castle with a pair of maidservants who fussed over my dress and hair until I lost patience and sent them away.

By late afternoon, the weather had turned. The sky darkened with threatening clouds. It seemed that the Borodin celebration was to be welcomed with a deluge from the Gods. Urban knocked on the door just before it was time to go. I embraced him as an old friend. “Good afternoon, Urban. Fine, bracing weather for tonight’s event!”

“Lady Dana,” he said, nonplussed, “you are in a fine mood.”

“Why not?” I had a sudden suspicion. “Urban, are you here to wish me luck?”

“In a practical sense. I urge you to consider bringing a pair of guards with you when you visit Alexander’s castle.”

That would have ordinarily been a good idea, but not on that night, and not for me. I shook my head. “I want everyone to stay inside tonight.”

He sighed, exasperated. “Lady…”

“Doesn’t a set of Giovanni guards on Borodin ground violate protocol?”

I thought he might out-dour himself for a moment. “Well, technically, but no one would hold you to that standard, considering the murders of late.”

“I will ride alone. The only real threat I have is within these walls.”

“As you wish, Lady Dana.” He bowed and left me. Walking away, I heard him mutter, “I tried!”

I donned my green weather cloak, walked to the stables where my mount awaited, and rode away. By the time I arrived outside the main gate to Alexander’s castle, it had begun to rain. Stablemen took my horse to the stables outside. Five guards stationed just inside the portcullis were polite but thorough, and a woman finished the inspection behind a partition.

I strolled out into the courtyard. Blue-striped awnings formed four voluminous open-ended tents centered about the garden and its central fountain. Ladies in pastels, and for the daring in this wet weather, white, all with distinctive Borodin blue trim, mixed with their male counterparts in hose, doublets, and blue sashes. I lifted a glass of wine from a passing tray and took a sip. Keeping my cloak on to cover my hair in the rain, I cruised the perimeter of tents, and observed.

All four sides of the interior were guarded about equally. Except for the side opposite the main gate, all sides had balconies on all three floors extending their length. Staircases rose from the corners on either side of the main gate. A single guard stood watch from the center of the central balconies, their spears grounded at parade rest. Most of the other guards were scattered throughout the crowd of over three hundred, most of them invited guests and well-wishers from the surrounding villages as well as servants and entertainers.

Two of the tents sheltered musicians, one, a small band, played music suitable for light dances, although this early in evening, really the last gasp of afternoon, no one had as yet taken the floor.

The meeting room was in the South Hall, as expected, to the right of the main gate. As I had surmised earlier, there were two guards at the entrance, each with a heavy spear. From what I had seen from the outside on the way in, there were about a dozen guards for the perimeter. All in all, the castle was well guarded, and I approved it as a professional job.

“Lady Dana?” a feminine voice called out to me.

I whirled in my cloak and faced the source. It was Barbara, blond haired and blue-eyed like the rest of her ilk, and one of the nicer Borodins. From Dana’s notes, she had known Drago since he was born and was thirty years older.

I smiled behind the veil. “Barbara. I haven’t seen you for a while, since the last time I was here, in fact. Are you all packed and ready?”

That disconcerted her a bit, since it was Drago, not Dana who had met her then. “Ah, well, no, but you know that. Until Batuk is secure, the ladies will remain behind, probably a week or so. I came to ask you about Batuk. Your slave is from there, I understand.”

I nodded. “She is, the little minx.” I took another sip of wine. “You want to know what you can expect in Batuk? Honestly, I wouldn’t worry. My slave has been known to exaggerate. If the people there are not as tractable as those of Tulem, after a period of beneficial rule, they should come around.”

“I’m glad to hear it. There was some talk … Dana, why don’t you visit with us in the North Hall while the men have their meeting? We shouldn’t part as enemies, and you were always a decent sort -- for a Giovanni.” She smiled to take the sting from her barb.

“Thank you. I think I will. When will the men meet?”

“Oh, about the eighth hour or so.”

“I’ll be there. I may not be welcome with all the ladies, but I still want to say goodbye to you Borodins. After all, Giovannis and Borodins will still be neighbors.”

“True. I hope to see you there, Dana.” With a wave, she retired into a tent where bright music played, and Borodin men drank, laughed, and plotted my city’s destruction.

I waited for more than an hour just under a tent flap, out of the rain, aloof with my drink in hand, watching. The guards on the balconies changed on the hour. It would be tricky to get by one. There were no true blind spots on the third floor, just shadows that would deepen as the night went on, and there were few reasons to go there during the party.

An event at the main gate diverted my attention: another figure in green had just appeared from the torch-lit entrance. The deep cloak concealed his face, but his shape and confident stride announced him. It was Lord Niccolo, and he had seen me. I left my sanctuary under the tent to meet him.

“Good evening, Lord Niccolo. I’d heard that you would be here.”

His eyes were cool. “Why are you here, Dana?”

“I didn’t want to be unfriendly to the Borodins. This is the last chance to reassure them that we mean them no ill will.” My tone added an unspoken “of course.”

“You aren’t planning to settle old scores with insults or practical jokes, are you?”

“Absolutely not, Lord Niccolo!”

“No one is easy with what you are. Your presence here is a practical joke. It’s too late to ask you to return without offending our hosts, but you and I will continue this conversation.” He pulled out a finger and directed it at my chest. “In the meantime, you will behave yourself.”

I lowered my head demurely and curtseyed. “Whatever you say, Lord Niccolo.”

He glared at me, then left to enter a tent with several prominent Borodin men. I returned to my place under the awning to wait and watch. Several more women and a few curious men approached me to exchange pleasantries and sometimes faintly mocking repartee.

Worsening weather forced me further inside. Narrow blue and gold flags above the roof, dimly illuminated in the lights of the courtyard, whipped and snapped in the storm that had descended suddenly into the valley. The castle’s high walls smoothed the winds in the courtyard, with only an occasional swirl bringing a deluge of rain onto those incautious enough to stand too close to the tent openings. Far from dampening the revelers' spirits, the rain and thunder buoyed them; it would be the last time they would all be together in Tulem, their home for a millennium, and what better way, they seemed to think, then to end the era with tumultuous style?

Night fell; siolat and wine flowed; dancers filled the open spaces under the tents. I nursed a second glass of wine and smiled as necessary. An over-stimulated Borodin, feeling the moment, even asked me to dance, which I accepted graciously. He was good-looking and polite, and if not for the nature of my mission, I would have enjoyed it.

I took a turn around the perimeter. Men about to go to war and the women who wished them well paired-off, seeking privacy. There were no good places in the tents, so a few took the stairs to the balconies or, for the serious, left for interior rooms. The balcony, it turned out, wasn’t a bad choice. From there, a couple could watch the tents below beneath the overhang, and, should a lord take minor liberties with his lady in the wind-sputtered torchlight, it would likely go unnoticed.

Just before the eighth hour, twenty-five Borodin lords and Lord Niccolo, entered the South Hall. They came laughing, many bringing drinks. All wore swords, and most were sober enough to give a good accounting of themselves if given the chance. Two guards stood in the rain outside the main entrance, and one manned the smaller entrance by the stairwell.

I had seen enough. I hitched my hood around my head, and hiked my skirts, jogging through the rain and avoiding puddles, as I made my way to the North Hall and the women. A bolt of lightning struck nearby, blasting the flags and the roof in white light. Thunder slammed the air around us nearly instantaneously, then echoed twice more from the mountains. Men laughed and women cried out in surprise and delight. The Gods themselves seemed to be in the mood for death and mayhem.

I entered the women’s meeting room, and passed my cloak to a servant girl. The laughter and conversation I’d heard in this packed room dropped as the Borodin women saw me. I pretended not to notice, and refreshed my glass with wine from the long central table.

I spotted Barbara in a chair at by the wall, speaking to Ludmilla, a Borodin that Drago had disliked mildly, and Alanna. Alanna was one I had hoped to avoid, but she was already rising to speak with me. She didn’t look happy.

“Good evening, Alanna,” I said.

“How dare you show up here,” she hissed, her voice dripping venom. “I could barely stomach you as Drago, and now you have the effrontery to appear before me on this final celebration?”

“You must concentrate on being more forthcoming, Alanna. In any case, I’m not here to meet you, although that is always a joy.” I raised my glass and looked around the room. “I’m here in the spirit of goodwill, to say goodbye to the Borodins as you prepare to depart Tulem to rule your new city. I celebrate the end of strife between our families and to wish you good fortune!”

Alanna shook her fist under my nose. “You are a perversion! You are an insult to women!” she shouted. Up close, her breath brought me the sweet smell of expensive wine.

Barbara and another woman took her arms and held her. I backed away a few feet to a safe distance. I was there to be recognized as Lady Dana, but the last thing I wanted was this kind of attention.

Alanna shrugged off the arms restraining her. Glaring at me the entire time, she yanked her cloak from the servant, and marched from the room in a huff. The room heaved a collective sigh, and slowly all returned to normal.

Barbara placed her hand on my forearm. “I’m so sorry for that. When I invited you, I had no idea she’d be so antagonistic.”

“A lot has happened since we pledged each other. I can’t blame her for feeling the way she does.” I assumed the slave pose, “sorrow,” and shed a tear.

She collected me in her arms, and allowed me a few sniffles on her shoulder. “Oh, Dana, this is not your fault! Please, pay no attention to Alanna. She can be heartless at times.”

“Perhaps I should return to the tents.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I invited you and we will give you courtesy.” She brought me to her corner of the room and soon, several friends of hers engaged me in conversation.

Dana’s notes were useful, and I held up my end of the conversation with barely a stumble. I listened more than I spoke and made a few comments that only Dana would know. When I judged that about a half-hour had passed, I begged off, laughing that I had to return to the tents to the legions of men who wanted to dance with me. I picked up my cloak at the door and waved goodbye. They had been polite, but I was sure that I wouldn’t be missed.

I had just left the bright confines of the meeting room when I felt my veil ripped away by a dark figure from the side. “You filthy serum girl, pretending that you’re a lady! We’ll soon find out what you look like underneath the veil!”

It was Alanna, of course, and her eyes danced in the glimmer of the lamps. She laughed wildly when she saw me. “A slave! You look like your slave!” she shrieked. She thrust me away and staggered towards the meeting room.

In a few seconds, my secret would be exposed. A smart investigator might make something with it, and even worse, Alanna had picked the worst possible time to link me with another who looked like me.

I grabbed her cloak from behind and jerked her onto her back. She cried out in alarm and pain. When she saw my expression she looked back in terror, and started to shake her head. It was too late for her. I knelt beside her then twisted her neck and cracked the back of her head with my elbow just above the ear. Her head fell back to the hard stone of the courtyard with a sickening thud.

I dragged her into the neighboring stairwell, praying to the Gods that no one was there. This time my prayers were answered. There was a small locked storage closet under the first flight of stairs. A blow with my foot cracked the flimsy bolt fastenings and another brought it away from its mounting. I stuffed her inside over someone’s box of tools and covered her with her cloak. She wasn’t dead, just unconscious, but a complication to be fixed later.

My heart pounded now, and every sense was ablaze. I took off my cloak, shook it free of water and turned it inside out to reveal the dull black of an assassin. I stood in the shadows of the stairwell and waited, watching men and women, arm-in-arm, traipse up and down the stairs. Finally, a couple, laughing and inebriated, took a step towards the third floor. It was a chance and I took it, lifting the hem of my skirts and flying up the stairs as silently as I could. As they stepped onto the third floor I wasn’t far behind. I followed them, using the woman’s skirts and voluminous cloak as a shield from the guard's idle curiosity.

The first door was the one I wanted. I crept quickly to it, taking only a few seconds. Standing up in the doorway, I was nearly invisible in shadow. I knocked three taps followed by a pause, and then three more. Nothing happened for several seconds and I cursed under my breath. I tried again and this time the door opened a crack. I slipped inside and closed it as quickly as I could. I turned to face Angel, whose newly dyed brown eyes watched me anxiously.

I brought her into my arms, and gave her a reassuring hug. “Nearly everything went well, Angel. Did you get the window open?”

“Well, not exactly,” she said vaguely, averting her eyes.

“Not exactly?” I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Angel, we don’t have much time!” When I saw her fright, I let her go. “All right. What’s wrong?”

“I cut the bolt off, but the window is rusted shut. I loosened it almost all the way. I can feel it want to move, Tyra, but it won’t open!”

“All right. We’ll both try to pull it open. If we can’t then I’ll have to use the hammer.” I went to the window and examined it quickly. It definitely opened inward. From its position in the wall, there was no way to effectively use the block and tackle and winch Angel had already laid out. When the lighting struck across the valley I saw the considerable work Angel had done. I pulled on it and felt it move on the top, but the base stayed frozen. We tried together, putting everything we had into it, but it still wouldn’t budge.

I searched the floor in the dimness. “Where’s the Gods-cursed hammer?” I demanded, searching the floor.

“It’s by the winch. I didn’t dare use it because it’s very loud and the guard isn’t far away.”

“Right. We’ll have to do it when the thunder strikes.”

It was agony, waiting for lightning to strike and timing the thunder. A few nerve-fraying minutes later, Angel spotted lightning strike Mario’s castle across the lake. I waited and smacked the chisel with everything I had, feeling it give. We strained at the window and finally, it budged. One more solid effort and it creaked on its hinges and swung inward.

There was no time for congratulations. We switched clothes in the darkness. She had already dyed her hair black. I changed my eyes back to their original blue, washing the hair dye out from a bucket of water and remover, and then threw it all out the window to mix with the rain on the roof. Now wearing the tight black garment Angel had worn, I put on the black hood and pulled my hair through a hole in the back.

I buckled a belt over my hips, and attached a set of pulleys and the end of a braided steel cable, which led inside to a winch. Grabbing a special three-pronged hook and line, I rolled it up my hand. I jumped to the window and turned around, grinning. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I swung around the side of the window, my left hand holding onto the window grating while my right paid out the hook’s line, measuring it against the roof. I needed to use just the right length for the hook to swing over the top of the roof and slide down the other side to catch against the overhang. Too far, and I would risk the hook being seen by a guard on the balcony, too little and it would catch in a shingle, possibly too weak to support my weight.

The dormer window was almost exactly halfway up the side of the roof. I figured three times the amount of line to the edge of the roof on my side, leaned over as far as I could, and threw. The hook, with its line trailing, made it over the top, the weight of it dragging it down the other side. When it reached the end, I pulled on it, finding it stuck almost immediately, a good sign. It was the moment of truth. I let go of the window and put all my weight onto the hook’s line. It held and I pulled myself up the steep wet roof as fast as I could.

Once on top, the full force of the wind forced me to straddle the rooftop. I yanked on the release line. When the hook’s claws folded back, I drew it in; then crawled as fast as I safely could, realizing that I was a black break in the outline of the castle’s peak for anyone who bothered to look up. Lightning smote a huge tree several hundred yards away, the crack of thunder following almost instantaneously. The thought that it could easily have been the roof with me attached to a metal line added to the chill of the wind and driven rain, and I tried to move faster.

I almost slid down the side of the roof when the cable I dragged caught somewhere, but I freed it with a shake and moved on until I was directly adjacent the second of four dormers. I fed out the line with the hook and let it slide down the interior side of the roof until I saw it slip over the side. I let myself down to the dormer window and connected one of the pulleys, threading the cable through it. I pulled my way up the roof again and repeated the process, threading the cable through pulleys on each dormer window. Finally, I paid the cable over the side of the roof on the end and then measured forty feet more to the ground.

I returned tired but elated, immediately going for the winch. “Come on! If Ketrick was watching me, it might not be long.”

A minute later, we felt three sharp tugs against the cable. We turned on the handle, one on each side, and winched him in with all our might for fifty revolutions. At this stage, Ketrick should have been just below the last window. Seconds later, he tugged again and we reeled him in a little more to the next window. Two more times, and Ketrick, dressed in gray to match the wall, was at the bars. He swung in and dropped to the floor with his backpack. Angel, dressed as Lady Dana, wanted to rush into his arms, but this time I didn’t let her.

Death was in his eyes; his grin against the blackface was frightening. He opened his backpack and pulled out an arsenal. Coolly, he changed from gray to a black matte outfit like mine, and wrapped a thick leather belt around his waist that bristled with knives and a sheaf of arrows to go along with a double-curved bow of wood and steel.

“That was well done on the roof, Tyra. Were there any unforeseen problems?”

“Alanna.” I explained what I did with her as I strapped on my darts.

“That is a problem.” He thought for a moment. “It can’t be helped. I don’t want to risk being seen there. Angel, you must kill her with a dart.”

Her mouth dropped. “What?” she said faintly.

Ketrick’s face was cold, black, and hard. “Take the dart and stick it in her chest,” he growled right in her face. “Then drag her from the storage room, place her a short distance away and drop her. If it isn’t safe to do that, then kill her and leave her where she is. Our lives depend on it.”

She lowered her eyes and nodded numbly. “All right, I’ll do it.”

I reached into my thigh belt and pulled out a small dart. “Be very careful with it,” I said as I handed it to her.

She gritted her teeth and took it as if it were dipped in deadly poison, which was certainly true.

We waited with the door ajar, watching the balcony with a small mirror, until a couple passed by. Angel slipped out quietly, using the woman’s dress for cover until she reached the stairs. We waited a few interminable seconds, but there were no shouts. Ketrick grinned, but it wasn’t one of the more pleasant varieties.

“Be ready with the cords as soon as the lovers leave the balcony.”

I cleared my throat; then: “I’m ready.”

After a few minutes of embracing and liberties, the couple turned back and passed out of sight below the level of the stairs. Ketrick waited until the guard turned his head, and then moved, almost leaping from his crouch in the door. He was upon him in a flash, and in the pouring rain, I’m sure the guard never heard him coming. I was right behind. Ketrick thrust his long, black knife through rear armor plate, mail, and heart with incredible power all the way to the hilt. His hand over the guard’s mouth prevented any outcry, and I prevented his heavy spear from falling. Between the two of us, he was soon secured to a balcony post and balustrade in an upright position that would probably fool the casual observer from below. With luck, his death wouldn’t be discovered for the next twenty minutes, the time of the next shift change.

We crept quickly towards the stairwell and hugged the shadows past the 2nd floor and an unsuspecting guard. Ketrick was ready with an arrow as we came in sight of the guard at the stairwell entrance to the meeting room and skewered his head with it. I jumped the railing at the same time and managed to catch most of him as he collapsed to the ground, preventing a clatter of armor.

He followed me over the rail and helped me move the guard out of the way of the door. With all the people moving around, we probably had seconds. He pulled out two balls from his belt. “These have a five-second charge. Make sure you close your eyes until the effect is over.”

We had been over this before, but I didn’t complain; the next minute would be the most hazardous of my life. I took a few deep breaths, and became purpose. “Let’s do it!” I hissed.

I opened the door. He crushed the top of the balls and tossed them inside. I shut the door, closed my eyes, and started counting. Shrieks and powerful oaths replaced laughing and conversation as the powerful flares expired in an incredible white blaze. Ketrick moved instantly to the side of the meeting room to cover the guards there. As soon as the time was up, I opened the door again and shut it with a kick. The flares left an acrid haze that hurt the eyes and burned the lungs, but I barely noticed. Of far more importance was killing the men inside.

I threw the darts with both hands as fast as I could down both sides of the table. The first two struck helpless men in the sides as they rubbed their eyes. The next pair went down the same way. They howled in agony as they collapsed to the floor, writhing and twisting, after a few seconds unable to control their limbs, even to pull the poison from their bodies. I cast a third and forth set, and the room filled with a terrible din.

All were not completely incapacitated. One saw me early and grabbed his sword. There was trouble unsheathing it in the tight spaces with dying men jerking about, and I made a dart appear in his chest before he managed to climb over the first three bodies as they convulsed their lives away. He wasted his last few seconds scrambling to remove it. I rolled to the floor below the level of the table as more recovered their sight. Legs were as good as arms or a chest in a pinch and I hit several more.

Screams and curses mounted as the poison paralyzed limbs. They lost bodily functions, and noxious stenches mixed with the burning haze. A guard burst through the main door, sword in hand, and looked around wildly. I took a heavy dart from my thigh and threw it with all my might from under the table. He bellowed in fear when it pierced his chest armor and he went down several seconds later. The other guard appeared in the door, but flopped over with a shriek from an arrow in his side; Ketrick had already killed him.

It was more dangerous now as the men, perhaps half still alive, discovered the killer in their midst. I stood to throw more darts and nearly died as a dagger creased one of my ribs, only a desperate twist to the side saving me. I threw four more darts, hitting three and had to dodge a dart coming back, pulled from a dead man. A few escaped through the main door, but from the screaming outside, it appeared that Ketrick’s arrows had handled at least some of them.

I dove under the table as another dart flew past me. Rolling quickly to the other side, I spotted movement. I tossed two darts in his direction and was gratified with a scream of horror. Another movement and another dart, this time under the table with a sidearm motion. The table vibrated as a body slide on the tabletop and I flicked a dart over the top into his leg as his sword passed beyond me.

“Gods!” he shouted, a startled cry. He writhed, and whined like an infant by the time he slid off the end of the table.

It was time to leave. I had two darts left, both heavy guard killers. There were only three men left in the room alive, all hiding behind the dead, none of them Borodin leaders or Niccolo Giovanni. That group had been at the head of the table, and had been among the first killed. Niccolo stared at me with gray eyes frozen in death, the frothy mouth, characteristic of shalimar, drooling onto the floor. I yanked the dart from his side and a dart from another, and ran through the stairwell door, vaulting a man who stared uncomprehendingly at his killer, helplessly twitching his last.

I waved my hand around the corner, signaling Ketrick not to shoot me and stepped out. A crossbow bolt came from somewhere in the dark rain and whizzed past my head. I ducked instinctively, too late to have prevented it killing me if it had been better aimed. Ketrick was already running towards me. I dashed to the stairs, ran to the 2nd floor and threw a heavy dart into the guard there before he could run me through with his spear. Ketrick’s arrow sank into a guard’s chest I hadn’t seen coming from behind. I ran upwards, my heart beating like a hammer as another quarrel struck the balustrade on the 3rd floor with a loud “thwack!” and ricocheted upwards past my arm.

All I had to do now was run past a Borodin man and his lady on the wrong floor at the wrong time. The man had a sword and I couldn’t take the chance that he would remain befuddled as I passed him. I struck him with a light dart and he fell, as his girlfriend, a woman I had just met that evening, shrieked in horror. I pushed her down and Ketrick did the same as he passed her just behind me. I beat him to the door an instant before he arrived. The door was as open as we had left it and he slammed it shut and shoved the bolt home just as a quarrel smashed into the door, its point protruding through a couple of inches.

The grin was still there, but there was an edge to it. “I had hoped that our escape wouldn’t be so obvious.” He ran to the window and threw it open, grabbing the lines and hooks we had prepared. He turned to me and yelled through the pouring rain. “Let’s hope the commander is incompetent enough to let us slide down the cable!”

If that was a joke, then it sounded too much like last words to crack a grin.

He climbed onto the edge of the window and swung wide, flinging his hook over the roof. A second later, he passed from my sight.

I leaped to the window and stepped out into the raging storm. Grabbing his line, I followed after him towards the top of the roof. I yelled, “There is an option I had considered, but I always thought that it was too risky to try, until now!”

He called back, “Tell me. I’m unusually open to risky ideas this evening.”

“It involves the placement of certain decorative pools!” I explained as quickly as I could.

He laughed. “Tyra, should I meet you in the afterlife, we will have a drink. Why not?”

We stayed close to the top of the roof, scuttling along just barely on the inside part of the castle to avoid being outlined against the sky at every lightning strike. The glow of torches refracting through the driving rain illuminated everything below the roof. The commander was not incompetent; guards surrounded every point on the wall. They weren’t sure where we were else we’d been meat on the ground, already, but it was a matter of time.

When we came to the point on the roof I remembered, I shouted, “This is the place, at least one of them! You can’t see them from the top of the roof, but the pool is about twenty feet from the wall! It’s about fifteen feet long, about ten feet wide, and maybe four feet deep!”

“Shall we go on the next lightning strike?”

I nodded, taking lunatic comfort from his calm. We would live or die in the next few seconds. Then I yelled when I realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes!”

“Good. I don’t like delaying this too much. I figure about two seconds for the fall and about three seconds for the slide and jump. If lightning strikes near your castle then we go after five seconds. If it strikes close to Franco’s Castle then we go immediately!”

I grinned; his mood was catching. “Right!”

Fate decided for Franco’s castle. We rolled over the roof and slid rapidly, riding our butts down the rain-slick slate until we approached the end. I saw Ketrick out of the corner of my eye as I launched myself fifty feet into space. For a moment, I felt like a bird with my arms spread wide. I saw a guard with a torch burning dimly in the rain pass below me, his concentration all on the wall. Then I flew beyond. As the blackness approached, I braced for impact.

A tremendous boom of thunder greeted my arrival to the pool. The force of the water pounded the wind from my lungs and stung my legs and breasts. But I was alive! I surfaced slowly, lifting my eyes and nose out of the water, half-expecting to find guards with spears in my face. The guards were there, but not facing us. A hand touched me on the shoulder, and I almost died from shock. Ketrick had survived the jump, too.

He sidled up close to me, his head barely out of the water. “I have a plan, Tyra.”

I nodded, still elated that we lived. Every shake and shiver from the cold pool was like a gift from the gods.

“Plans are good — when they work.”

His eyes and teeth showed white in his blackened face. He gave me a quick squeeze. “The hard part is over, but we’re not done yet. I have four arrows. Do you have any heavy darts?”

“I have one left.”

“That’s good. I see exactly five guards.”

“This seems a simple plan, Ketrick.”

“Your part is simple. You need merely kill the guard on the end closest to us. I will do the rest.”

The furthest guard was about fifty yards away, well within his range. “Fine. Do you want me to kill him first?”

He shook his head. “No. Wait until he runs by.”

“Very well.” I pulled out my last heavy dart from my thigh pocket. “I’m ready.”

He pulled his bow from the water and shot. The first guard went down with barely a whimper. He hit the second guard, but this one managed a scream. The third guard went down when he thought the arrows were coming from the roof. Ketrick’s fourth guard fell despite running because he was so close. My guard ran past me towards the main gate and I hit him squarely in the back from about twenty feet from my hidden position.

Ketrick rose from the pool and pulled me out. He pointed towards the tree line to the south, the side towards Tulem. “Now we run for the trees. I have some unfinished business there.”

With no more guards to delay us, we made it easily. Behind a tree, gagged and tied securely, in clothes similar to Ketrick’s, was a familiar face. “Heydar, it’s time,” Ketrick said coldly.

Heydar thrashed in his bonds ineffectually, his demeanor pure hatred. Ketrick pulled a crossbow from behind the tree and cut him free. “Go. I’m curious to see how far you make it before you die.”

“I’ll see you in Hades, Ketrick!” Heydar snarled. Then he ran, dodging fairly well through the rain and darkness.

Ketrick raised the crossbow slowly and waited for him to lurch left. When he did, he loosed, catching him below the shoulder blades. Heydar staggered forward for another twenty yards or so, but finally fell.

I shook my head. “I wish that hadn’t been necessary. It seemed cruel to play with him like that.”

“It was. But we needed a dead man killed by a Borodin quarrel in black clothes who has connections with the King. Heydar, dressed properly, fit the specifications.”

“He also lied about you to the King.”

“It’s true that I didn’t like him overmuch. He also lacked a sense of humor, and his language was too often crude and unattractive. Let’s go; Angel might be at the rendezvous sooner than we think.” He crouched to stay low and jogged silently towards the lake. I increased my speed to pace him.

“I’m going to be thinking about those faces for a long time, Ketrick. I hope I never have to do that again.”

“I hope we killed enough. The nobility here is more resilient than most.”

We crossed the road to Tulem and skirted the area between the lake and trees, always staying to the shadows in the departing storm. We came to a copse on the north side of the lake, close to the road to my castle. There, Ketrick had tied a pair of horses to a low branch. Ketrick donned his normal garb, stuffing his other garments into a hole, and I, a cloak for warmth.

The storm faded quickly. The rain thinned to a trickle and then cleared until the brighter stars shone through breaks in the clouds, reflecting crisply against wet leaves, grass and small ripples in the lake. It was as if nature had cleansed the valley of the horrors of an hour before.

I couldn’t get the image of the man on the third floor out of my mind, the last man inside the castle I had killed. His name was Horace, I recalled, and the woman I had pushed aside as she wailed over her fallen love was Beata, his fiancée. I remembered his face as the dart found its mark, changing from confusion to pain to understanding that he’d been poisoned. I would never know if it was necessary to kill him. Beata’s anguished cries echoed in my memory. She would never completely get over him, not the way he had died. There would be deep, never-ending hatred for me, the unknown woman who had so casually stolen her betrothed’s life and destroyed her dreams.

I closed my eyes to the beauty of the valley. My hand twitched in sympathetic remembrance of that last toss. I didn’t want to think about it any more. Was it necessary? Stop it! I must have said it aloud, or cried out, because he took me in his arms. I wanted to cry and sob against his chest, but he didn’t permit it. Instead, he forced me to look at him. His eyes were warm but firm.

“Later. There will be time for it later. We still have a job to do.”

I took a long, deep breath. “I know. This isn’t as easy to do as it was before.”

“There isn’t anything easy about this, but it is necessary.” He turned me around to face the expanse of the lake and held my waist from behind, drawing me to his warmth. His long, powerful right arm pointed over my shoulder to the city across the lake, clear and shining bright after the rains. “There is great beauty here, Tyra. Fine people, little crime, great organization and management, but where would you rather live, Tulem or Batuk?”

“Batuk,” I replied without hesitation. “With all its faults, it has a presence, a sense of destiny, hope, and pride. There are few there who would hesitate to defend it. Tulem works because its citizens have no choice; they are almost bred for the life. Some of the farmers labor in the fields with all the placidity of a cow. They work neither to expand their holdings nor to improve their lives, yet they are content.”

“And they would spread this peculiar method to other places.”

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t work in Batuk. The people would never go along with it.”

“Maybe. Maybe it would turn into something even worse.”

The harshness in his voice startled me. I turned and looked up. “You being here is more than loyalty to Batuk or a desire to own me. You have another reason.” It hit me then: as hard as it had been in Tulem, it should have been much harder. “This is more than experience in a war. You’ve done things like this before!”

“I’ve had a long life. I admit doing more than studying my navel.”

“Hah!” His glibness notwithstanding, he looked caught, as if he had let on something he hadn’t intended. I was thinking over the portents of that when I heard a woman’s scream in the distance, towards Alexander’s castle. There was no mistaking that scream -- it was my own.

Ketrick released me instantly. “Tyra, what weapons do you have?” he called as he ran for the horses.

“Just a small dart!” I exclaimed, running just behind him.

He grunted. “That will have to do to protect yourself. I have a dagger. Try to let me face whatever it is and stay out of sight as much as possible. It would not do for two Lady Danas to meet on the road.”

We mounted seconds later and rode hard. I stayed by the lake just out of the trees, while Ketrick stayed parallel with me on the main road. I saw the dark outline of her horse about a minute later walking through the gloom of the trees. Angel looked terrible. The feathers of a crossbow quarrel protruded from her back. She lay, leaned over her horse, barely conscious and ready to fall.

“Gerras!” I called out, not willing to shout Ketrick’s name in the dark. “She is here, shot with a crossbow!”

I jumped from my steed, managing to catch her in my arms before she tumbled to the ground. I brought her to sit, leaning against a tree. I almost wept at the sight. The bolt had just missed her heart, but there was no question that it had hit a lung; the head was through her chest. She barely breathed, and then, only with heavy wheezing. She saw me, and I spotted a spark of recognition through what must have been horrendous pain. “Tyra,” she moaned, “I hurt!”

“Hold on, Angel, we’ll get you to a physician!” I scrambled to help and stripped off her cloak. The bolt was of the lighter variety, a thick wooden shaft with a double triangle point. I needed to pull it through, but had nothing to strip the feathering and lacked the strength to snap the end. Even the attempt might cause her terrible damage. It was difficult to watch her blood soak through the dress and do nothing. I swung my focus to the trees anxiously; we could only wait for Ketrick to arrive.

And then he did! He cleared the trees in a reckless gallop and saw us almost immediately. Leaping from his horse, he saw the problem and knelt to her side.

“Angel, this is going to hurt a lot. Try not to scream too much.”

She calmed at the sound of his voice. “I will try,” she said. And then she smiled. If there was ever a doubt that she truly loved him, there was none then. In the starlight, I recognized the force of it, having felt it myself. Even as a freewoman, her heart and her very being belonged to him. A glance to his face showed that he felt himself to be her true owner. I dropped my head and fought the tears.

There are some things in life better left unseen, some truths better left unknown. For an unworthy instant, a part of me wished her dead. My dishonor was fortunately brief; I remembered times that Ketrick and I had together, and moments we had shared. In truth, I did not think our love was lessened by its difference. If it wasn't the all-consuming deepness of Angel’s for Ketrick, it was wider.

Angel did scream, but not very loud. Ketrick held the razor edges of the bolt in a hand wrapped with his cloak and snapped the other end in a single flex of his powerful hand. One side now smooth around the shaft, he drew it slowly through her until finally it was out, the bolt black with blood and the wound oozing freely. There was no time to waste. We removed her clothes quickly. I tore the hem of my dress and Ketrick ripped two pieces of heavy leather from a saddlebag. We placed them front and back and tied them down tightly just under her breasts. It was cool then and I wrapped her shivering body in two cloaks. It was all we could do.

“Ketrick, the man who did this…”

“I know. If he were on horseback I would have seen him. If I were to guess, it was probably Marco Giovanni.”

“If it is Marco, he must be stopped before he reaches my castle. There will be no way to explain how I arrived unharmed when he had seen Lady Dana with a quarrel through her. He would ask questions that could not be answered.”

He mounted his horse. “I’ll get whoever it was. Even running, he wouldn’t have had time to return yet.”

“He has a crossbow,” I reminded him.

“If he still has it, it will slow him down.” He bent over the saddle. “I may be long coming back and Angel will die if she doesn’t get help soon. And you must get back to the castle soon as well.”

I nodded, understanding. “I think I can save her without risking the mission unnecessarily.”

He touched my cheek gently and nodded. “Good.” And then he was gone, riding north, keeping to the land between the lake and trees.

I didn’t envy him, going against a man with a crossbow in the darkness, but if there was anyone better, I didn't know his name. In the meantime, I’d decided what I had to do before he disappeared. “I’m going to get you to a doctor, Angel, but we have to switch now.”

She moaned, holding her side, but nodded her understanding. I applied the neutralizer to her eyes and washed her hair with the remover. I also reverted to my own appearance as Lady Dana. I removed my clothes and dressed Angel in a slave tunic as carefully as I could and then moved, naked, to the few yards to the lake to remove the worst of the blood from the cloak and the front of my expensive dress. The hair color remover worked well enough with the water to get most of it, or at least it looked a little lighter in the starlight.

I splashed quietly in the shallows, my back to the woods, and listened for sounds. Actually, I had been listening all along. It was hard to tell in the light rustling of the leaves from the storm’s aftereffects, but I thought that I’d sensed movement among the trees. I imagined Marco as he would come across this strange scene; the woman he thought he’d killed or severely injured was now a blonde, and another, with his transformed sister’s customary black hair, washed clothes at night. There would be sharp questions and suspicions. I was betting that if the movements were his, he would demand a few answers before killing us.

I knew instantly when he came onto the grass. The deluge had made the ground wet, and his first step squished. He paused and perhaps even took a step back, but I thought I had his position. I removed the dart from my hair while sweeping the wet mass out of the way of my eyes. If I was correct, he was on the ground with a crossbow pointed at me less than twenty feet away. I dared not even look in his direction and forced myself to walk casually.

“Hold, whoever you are…!”

I had him! I threw the clothes towards where he lay and jumped to the side, simultaneously tossing the dart into the dark. I rolled at his curse and hot fire skimmed my leg as the bolt creased me, but no more. I stood, knowing that he would have to reload to shoot again. If I had missed, I would almost surely die, but the throw had felt good. I heard screaming, violent thrashing, painful gurgles, and then the eternal silence of death.

There was no time to recount Marco’s virtues and faults, now forever lost to this world. I removed the dart from his shoulder and tossed it into the lake. Then I dragged him over the lake wall. Filling his pockets with rocks, I towed his body out into the lake until I felt the bottom fall away. He sunk slowly and then faster as his lungs filled.

After drying off quickly, I put on the dress. I bent to Angel, who moaned miserably. “Angel, we have to move now. I’m taking you to a physician, but I need your help to get you into the saddle.”

She clenched her teeth and nodded. “I’ll do what I can. I have things to tell you on the way.”

I helped her to her feet and assisted her to the horse. I had to lift her leg to the stirrup, but she managed, with great pain, to lift herself over the side. Springing up behind her, I held her carefully upright. I squeezed my horse forward, slowly at first until I felt stickiness under her tunic.

I kicked the bay into a trot. “It won’t be long, now, Angel,” I whispered in her ear. On horseback, it was only a ten-minute ride, but it felt interminable. I winced with her at every jolt. I passed my castle and took the next road to a village I’d been to before. The roads were quiet after the storm, about half of the well-maintained stone and mortar houses lit from the inside. But the help I wanted would be in the village center.

“Tyra, I have to tell you something,” she said breathlessly.

“Can’t it wait? I’m trying to save your life.”

She reached back and squeezed me feebly on the leg. “I’ll live! Slow down, Tyra,” she panted. “I can’t say anything like this.”

I slowed the horse to a walk. “Is that better?”

“Yes, thank the Gods. I killed Alanna with the dart as ordered. I managed to pull her from the closet and left her under the stairs when the mayhem started.”

“Angel…” I hugged her a little closer. “I’m sorry that it had to be you.”

She shook her head weakly. “She was a bitch.” She paused to wheeze and take a few breaths. “She woke up in the closet and poured out filth and evil. It was easier to thrust the dart into her chest than I thought.”

I leaned back, puzzled. I was relieved that killing Alanna didn’t bother her too much, but it was a strange thing to tell me now. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

She coughed several times. “No. I cried after it was over. Shalimar does not lend itself to elegant expiration. After it was over and you had escaped, there was an incredible ruckus -- women screaming, men shouting, demanding death and swearing oaths. I wept over Alanna’s body. I believe that’s why they left me alone.”

I squeezed her hand firmly. “I understand, but now it’s over. You must stay silent until we get to a doctor. Try to relax.”

She shook her head. “There's more: I promised to lead them in a war against the King.”

I froze. “You what?”

“It was an emotional time, and I’m afraid I was caught up in the moment. I promised to lead an attack against the King before the night was out. I asked who would follow me. Many, most there, actually, were enthusiastic. There will be a meeting at your castle tonight at midnight to plan for the attack. The Borodins expect a lot of Giovanni help.” She stopped to cough a few more times. Her injury didn’t sound good, but I decided that she would live -- at least for the moment.

Through my growing rage at my former slave, I tried to be objective. We had sought to start a war with assassinations. That had failed. We had tried to kill enough Borodins in Alexander’s castle to make a war with Batuk impossible. Yet, if the Borodins were still cohesive and felt strong enough to challenge the King, it would appear that we had failed again. Our last chance to save Batuk might be a war with the King, and Angel might have provided the necessary spark.

A war against the King would require both families’ help, as neither trusted the other. The Borodins would have gone to the head of the Giovannis, but I had killed him earlier that evening. Alfredo was now senior and would normally be expected to take over Niccolo’s role.

The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. As a woman and junior to Alfredo, I could just hand over control to him. He would fight the King using whatever forces were required and I could protect my castle, sleeping well until the war was over.

We rode past the last house and entered a cobblestone circle of shops and businesses surrounding a heroic bronze statue of Luigi and Angela Giovanni, the historic founders of Tulem, set in a pose when they first viewed the valley.

I saw the sign I was looking for: “Angus Gerard, Physician for Men and Women” and altered course. Angel was weak and weakening, but was still conscious when I brought her from the horse to her feet. Lights still lit the small apartment above. I banged on the door with my free hand. “Open, physician!” I yelled. “You have a patient in dire need of your skills!”

I heard movement from above. A stocky man with sleep-tussled brown hair in night robe and slippers opened the door. He nodded quickly as he saw Angel in the lantern’s light. Placing it to the side, he applied his shoulder to Angel’s other side and helped her inside.

“What happened?” he asked abruptly, as he examined her on the table, ripping away her garments to expose the wound.

“She was shot with a quarrel. I’m Lady Dana from the castle.” I lowered my hood and parted the cloak, permitting a view of the thick green trim of my hem.

He backed away and began to bow. “Lady Dana…”

“There’s no time for that, Physician. I need to leave her in good hands.”

“I’m confused. Physician Ovid in your own castle is a fine physician with excellent…”

I raised a hand. “I have my reasons. I have to know if you can save her life.”

He sighed. “Probably. I can drain her lung, re-inflate it and apply the anti-infection agents, but she has lost a lot of blood.”

I rolled up my sleeve. “Can I trust you, Physician?”

“Of course, Lady Dana!” This time he did bow.

I removed my veil and allowed him a good look. “We have the same blood. Take what you need from me, and keep this quiet until I retrieve her.”

I left a little weaker, drinking a restorative to replace the lost fluids and minerals. Angel had recovered enough to smile and the drugs had made her comfortable. I tried to give the physician a gold, but he refused, insisting that it was an honor to serve his Lady.

Galloping by starlight, I rode to the main road just off the turn off to my castle, yelling, “Garras!” from time to time. I rode a little further, looking for suitable points to ambush a man, and found Ketrick watching me approach.

I rode fast and pulled up beside him. Grinning joyfully, I exclaimed, “Success! Marco now feeds the fish. Angel is in the village by the castle, under the care of Physician Gerard, and should recover. And there’s a meeting tonight in my castle with the Borodins to attack the King!”

“I waste my time in Tulem. I should have just sent you. And when did you decide to attack the King?”

I threw back my head and laughed. “Angel decided to attack the King while she was in Alexander’s castle, and the Borodins fell in right along with her!” I turned my horse towards my castle, already thinking of the tasks ahead. “I must return to the castle immediately.”

He held up his hand. “Hold! What do you plan to do?”

“I’ll give command to Alfredo. Let him worry about fighting the King!”

“I wouldn’t count on it. Be prepared to take over the fight if he declines.”

I frowned. “Why would he do that? As far as he knows, the King has been killing Giovannis, his own family. Any man would want revenge.”

“Consider: Alfredo’s instincts were to hide in his castle when Giovannis were dying around him. Take into account also that he despises Borodins. Is this the man who would risk his life to fight the King and help avenge the murderer of his hated enemy?”

I didn’t like what I was hearing, but it might be true. Even at the meeting with Niccolo, Alfredo had been less than heroic, whining and demanding protection. On reflection, he didn’t sound like a bold war leader, one to lead Borodins and Giovannis into the palace against formidable opposition.

Newly thoughtful, I thought of alternatives. If the attack were to occur, it would have to happen tonight while the hate burned and nerve was greatest. The more Borodin casualties there were, the less likelihood there would be that there would be enough Borodins to conquer Batuk or to hold it. With three new Borodin leaders, it was doubtful that one of them would be up to the challenge of fighting the King.

I ground my teeth until they hurt. This wasn’t fair. I should have been celebrating our survival and Batuk’s freedom; instead, I might have to lead a Gods-damned war against the Gods-damned King.

“I’ll do what I have to, but I know next to nothing about the palace and its defenses. I couldn’t make an effective plan.”

“You’re a woman; they won’t expect strategy from you. If Alfredo refuses to lead, have the others make a plan and modify it as necessary. Provide the forces to get it done and execute.” He turned very serious for a moment. “Just don’t be an idiot and lead the charge; you would die against any warrior.”

He was right, of course. My days of fighting warriors were over. Yet, I had to be honest with myself; I was not as discontented with that as I once was. I was, rather, sickened with death, and longed for its conclusion. I glared at him and clenched my fist. “The only thing that pleases me about this night is that it will end! Somehow, this will be finished before morning!”

“It will. I won’t be idle either. You’ll have an ally inside the palace before you get there.”

“I won’t say goodbye because we will see each other again.” I raised my fist high in the air. “Until it’s over!” I dug in my heels and the bay leaped forward.

My cloak covered the bloodstains, and I passed through the gates unchallenged. Malchor and Urban met me just inside as I dismounted. I told them of the slaughter in Alexander’s castle. Their faces acquired a deathly cold aspect.

“There will likely be an attack on the King this morning. I need messengers to Franco and Alfredo’s castles immediately. Franco and Alfredo must be here by midnight.”

Malchor nodded. “I’ll take care of it, Lady Dana.” He moved away, probably glad for something to do.

“Lady Dana.”

“Yes, Urban?”

He pointed to an opening in the cloak. “Your dress; are you bleeding?”

“It isn’t my blood. By the way, Marco escaped the castle this evening, but don’t worry; he’s dead.”

Both eyebrows rose, for him an indication of high excitement. “Who killed your brother and where is he?”

“I was fortunate enough to kill him after he tried to kill me, and the rhadus lies at the bottom of the lake. I’m going to take a bath now. I’d like you and Malchor to be at the meeting with the rest of us.”

He paled. “Of course. Naturally I’m happy to see you alive. Would the guards I offered you earlier this evening have been of service?”

I laughed. Even now, Urban was still upset about being turned down. “Yes, they would have, Urban.” I lowered my head, acknowledging his good advice. “I’ll pay more attention to your recommendations in the future.”

“Then I recommend that you do, Lady Dana.”

A joke, from Urban? I smiled. Urban was an acquired taste, but I liked him.
 
 

 
The action is by no means over. I hope you liked this chapter. I'd love to see what you think. ~Aardvark

A chilly reception in the Great Hall leads to a bloody challenge. The fight for the palace commences, and Tyra faces the King in a final showdown. Could there possibly be a second queen in Tulem? Could a serum girl queen ever be confirmed by the nobility? And would she have the power to stop the war?

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 14
 
 
The ruined dress burned in the fireplace while I scrubbed myself clean in the bath, removing Angel’s blood and some of the feel of death. Afterwards, I chose one of my nicer tear-away dresses to replace it. Standing before the mirror, I looked normal, the black hair pinned-up in my characteristic simpler style, the aquiline nose complimenting the high cheekbones in a Borodin face with the black eyes of the Giovannis. It was a beautiful face in a fine body, one of the finest the Slaver’s Guild could find to duplicate.

It would not hide it behind a veil any longer. On this day, those who would follow, those who had come to know me, had the right to see me as I was. If there were rumors, let them take wing and spread; it didn’t matter. It was the least I could do for men who would die before the morning light. I gave my hair a final brush and left my apartments without a backward glance, stepping down the stairs quickly, and striding across the courtyard to the Great Hall. It was the appointed hour.

Urban had been standing outside, by the Hall’s gilded doors, and so saw me first.

“It suits you, Lady Dana. It is the right time to reveal yourself.”

“You knew? Is it common knowledge?”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. I had only guessed. The men will understand why you veiled yourself and why you chose to remove it tonight.”

“I hope you’re right. Much depends on what we do this morning.” I smiled, glad to let that expression free, and tossed my hair. Holding my arm out to my chief of staff, I asked, “Would you escort me inside, Urban?”

He smiled and took it. “I would be honored.”

The hall seemed large and empty with only the dozen or so clustered around the central table. To the side was Alfredo, his hulking figure loosely configured in a comfortable chair with a drink in his hand. His face bore a reddish tinge. Franco positioned himself by his side, embarrassed by Alfredo’s drunkenness, but showing loyalty to his older cousin. Just to the rear of them stood two of Alfredo’s guards with heavy spears.

The three Borodins stood around the table. I only knew one, Alexander’s son, Nikolai. He was one of the lucky two or three in the room who had survived my darts, and appeared shaken.

Next to him was Katrina, the Lady of her own castle now that I’d killed her father and brother. She looked lost, a woman who had thought of her future as a lord’s wife, thrust now into a command. The last was Lugar, Ivan’s last surviving son.

They had brought their own guards, two each, and they loomed behind each of them, alert in a Giovanni castle after the worst massacre in Tulem’s history.

Malchor joined Urban and me as I entered the light of the lamps set close to the table, where maps of the palace had already been spread and pinned.

I nodded to them all. “Thank you for coming. Does anyone doubt what we must do tonight?”

Alfredo burst out laughing. “So, that is why you concealed yourself, ‘Lady’ Dana. You have the face of your slave, and soon you will join her on her back, sweating like the slut you are beneath anything with a twyll!” He laughed again and regarded me contemptuously. “You aren’t ready to lead anything, serum girl. Nothing will happen tonight, so go find an owner.”

I sighed. This was even worse than I thought. The Borodins looked to Alfredo and me in confusion, their resolve shaken.

I pointed to the door. “Leave my castle immediately! You will not disguise your cowardice among the brave with insults!”

His face, so full of laughing glee a second before, constricted in rage. Being called a coward by a woman had stung. I waited for him to move. Either he would leave or he would not.

Alfredo rose to his feet slowly, tightening his muscles to expand them, and flexing his hands, his version of the unstoppable force, I imagined. “I will not be spoken to that way by a lowly serum girl,” he rumbled dangerously. He practically yanked off his leather jerkin and rolled his shoulders, like loosening them for battle.

I would have laughed if it were not so deadly. Alfredo made every indication of wanting to fight me, a woman. He may have looked like a buffoon, but it was a clever game he played. For whatever reason, he didn’t want us to attack the King. I was the focal point; without my leadership, it wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t challenge me: besides being scandalous, if challenged, as a woman, I could designate a champion.

On the other hand, the rhadus didn’t have to fight to stop me. He only needed to diminish me in the Borodins’ eyes. I supposed that I was supposed to cry, or rage in frustration. After all, as a woman, I was helpless. It was unheard of for a woman to challenge a man. Lacking size, strength, and skill-at-arms, it would inevitably be suicide.

I smiled and crossed my arms. “You’re drunk, Alfredo,” I declared magnanimously, “and words may be spoken in haste. I will allow you to stay if you apologize.”

“That, I will not do,” he replied, grinning uneasily.

I turned to Malchor. “Bring guards and escort this flatulence from my castle. His welcome is over!” Malchor bowed and strode towards the entrance.

“Afraid to remove me yourself?” he laughed.

I regarded him levelly. “Alfredo, don’t make it worse than it has to be. In your condition a child could beat you. Leave peacefully, and you will live to consider what you do another day.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t care to substantiate those words with action?” he sneered.

Malchor stopped a few paces from the door and turned, his eyes ablaze with fury. “Lady, if he makes challenge, I would be honored to accept in your place!”

I examined Alfredo closely. The slur to his words was not as pronounced as before, and I doubted that he was as drunk as he appeared. All he had to do was keep this sideshow going for a few more minutes until the Borodins had second thoughts. I had to end this now. Damn you, Alfredo. You leave me no choice.

“I won’t allow you to leave after all. You didn’t come to insult me. You came to stop the attack. If you leave now, I believe you would just warn the King.” I nodded towards my Captain of the Guards. “Malchor, bring back chains and a gag with the guards. Lord Alfredo will be staying with us tonight.”

Alfredo’s guards sprang to full alert, separating and leveling their spears. Alfredo stared at me, confused and startled that things had progressed so far and fast.

“You will not put me in chains, Lady Dana,” he snarled.

I noted his newfound respect for my position.

Urban stepped close to me very quickly and whispered in my ear, “Lady, what in Hades are you doing? I advise you to back off!”

I whispered back, “I’m afraid that I must reject your sound counsel twice in one night, Urban. I know what I’m doing.” I think. “Very well!” I shouted. “I accept your challenge, Alfredo. I choose the spear.”

“I don’t recall challenging you.” He laughed nervously, looking towards Malchor, who had stopped in mid-stride to stare at me.

“I am no master of semantics, but asking me to ‘substantiate my words with action’ sounds close enough to a challenge to me. Alfredo, don't bother to look to my Captain of the Guards! I'll fight you myself. Either apologize and shut up, or we will fight. In any case, I won’t allow you to leave before we are finished with the King, you ugly son of a slave girl.”

Urban blanched and rolled his eyes at this unforgivable insult. The Borodins looked as if they wished to be elsewhere. Alfredo nodded slowly and his eyes glared at me through narrowed apertures. “Very well. You have a challenge.”

I nodded. “We will fight immediately.”

“Lady Dana!” Malchor shouted.

“This shouldn’t take long.” For the moment, my womanly instincts were forgotten in the flush of hot blood. I went to the wall behind the high table where weapons were displayed and selected several short spears, judging them, spinning them to ascertain their balance. I chose one of the smaller, lighter ones, about six feet long, more of a child’s spear and close to a javelin. Alfredo chose a long heavy spear. He tilted his head back and loosed a throaty laugh at my choice.

“Is that the best you can do?” he chortled, but there was little real bravado. It was obvious that I was at least competent handling my weapon like a staff. A staff against a long spear is a mismatch, but not necessarily a fatal one. Once past the long head of a spear, the shorter, more maneuverable weapon can be deadly.

I motioned with my spear to a spot on the marble floor away from the green carpet. “Blood is difficult to clean; we will fight there.” Malchor appeared to be equal parts aghast and furious with me; Urban was more thoughtful. The Borodins stood to the side, from their expressions, certain they witnessed Giovanni insanity.

The gray marble was too slick for women’s slippers, so I put them aside. The stone lay cool beneath my feet.

I held up my hand and looked to those present in the hall. “All here are witnesses to a lawful challenge and acceptance. We fight to the death.” I waited until each nodded, grunted, or made some other acknowledging sign.

I turned my attention to my opponent and leveled my gaze from about twenty feet away, holding my short spear like a staff with two hands, forward and diagonal. There was a good chance that what I had planned would work, but nothing was certain except that Alfredo had to go.

“I’m ready. Are you ready, Alfredo?”

He lowered his spear to point at me and braced his feet. I noted his form and the positioning of his hands. He no longer smiled. Even if he won, he would be known forever as a challenger of women.

“I am,” he replied.

I tore my dress and whirled, hiding what I was doing behind the swirl of fabric. I threw the spear as hard as I could, sidearm, straining my elbow. It was an all or nothing move. Once the short spear was beyond the head of Alfredo’s heavy spear, a matter of several feet, it was too late. The spear flew the short distance too fast for Alfredo to block and lodged deep into his chest.

“You…” he managed. The shock in his eyes as he beheld the shaft through his heart faded quickly. His heavy spear clattered onto the marble, echoing in the cavernous hall, and he was dead before he hit the ground

The dead noble leaking on my tiles was just another life among the many I had taken that night. I was more concerned with Franco, who stood rigid in disbelief.

“Franco,” I said. He tore his gaze from Alfredo’s corpse, and looked at me. “I regret that I had to kill him.”

“I don’t think he would have told the King, but he should not have insulted you either -- and you did give him a chance.” He looked deeply into my eyes. “You have changed. That move you made…”

“It was legal. A spear is made to throw as well as block and stab.”

“I don’t question that. Concealing the movement with your dress was also legal -- legal, but too clever.”

For some reason that bothered me coming from him. “I didn’t want this fight, you know, and I could have lost. Franco, will you follow me and bring down the King?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Yes, my father must be avenged. You will have my men at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Franco.”

“I do this for the Giovannis, not you. I see that you’re in line to become Queen if King Bruno dies.”

I laughed; the idea was so absurd. “A queen? I’m a serum girl. Would you like to trade places with me?” I poked a finger into his handsome chest. “While you’re in a mood to consider my every act as part of a conspiracy, have you given a thought to your own rank? With all the recent deaths, you’re next in line after me.”

“I’ve never wanted to be King,” he declared indignantly. “I’ve never even thought about it.”

“No one did until a few hours ago, and a few weeks ago being a queen was surely the furthest thing from my mind.” I took his arm and pulled him towards the table. “Come, let’s plot strategy. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“No, we do not.”

As the servants wrapped Lord Alfredo’s body, the rest of us huddled over the maps and diagrams on the table. Taking Ketrick’s advice, I encouraged others to take the lead, and I learned much of the salient points as they argued.

Long ago, less than two hundred years after Tulem was settled, the founding Giovanni aristocracy spread out in the valley and built castles, true fortresses, not the comfortable domiciles of the day. Even then, the rich land was limited, and jealously guarded. Small wars occasionally stirred the valley into bloody turmoil. Personal armies of several hundred or a thousand were common for a holding of only several square miles. Battles were fierce and fast, and the survivors were constantly on alert.

It wasn’t until a true King of Tulem emerged and conquered the valley, did a semblance of calm settle onto the populace. From that day forward the massive, dangerous armies that ruled the valley ceased to be. The King reserved for himself a force of personal guards of about one thousand and restricted the castles to one hundred each. Over time, as the valley was pacified, and the rule of the aristocracy became absolute, this number dropped even more. It became the norm to settle nobles’ differences personally. Involving commoners or ‘mundanes’ to settle vendettas was discouraged, as it might give the commoners ideas. For centuries it kept the affairs of leader and follower separate, to the benefit of all.

With the murder of the Borodins and Giovannis, that long-standing policy was being tested. Two of the three Borodins, especially Nikolai, wanted to use the existing invasion forces to overrun the palace.

“No,” I said, the first word I had spoken in ten minutes.

Nikolai whirled to face me. “Lady Dana, you cannot throw away strength like that. It’s our best chance for victory!”

I observed the respect I enjoyed with some amusement, the unquestioned authority from killing Alfredo had settled upon my narrow shoulders.

“Is it, Lord Nikolai? Nearly half of those in the field are under the King’s command. And are you so sure of the men’s loyalty? You would order men pledged to the crown against the King himself.” I shook my head. “We’ll keep the warriors and levies out of the fight. If we plan this correctly, we won’t need them anyway.”

“She’s right, Nikolai,” Lady Katrina said. “The commoners would never understand if we involved them in this. If they killed nobility, the gates to barbarism would be open. It would be best if they stayed out of it.”

“I have a plan,” I announced, and explained what we'd do. “Ring the gong,” I told a guard. “I will speak to the nobles in fifteen minutes.” “Franco, we'll rendezvous at the northeast gate just outside the city in exactly two hours. Bring as many as you can.”

“I will, Lady Dana,” he said, and departed the hall. A moment later, the castle gong shattered the early morning calm for the first time in over a century.

All noblemen were taught the arts of war to a greater or lesser degree as part of their upbringing. Some excelled with a variety of weapons and practiced regularly; a few only learned enough to make competent swordplay. Regardless, it was ingrained in every nobleman to protect his castle.

I waited in front of the great hall with Urban, Malchor, and the three Borodins as few, at first, and then more nobles ran into the yard in various stages of dress, with swords or spears. Seeing nothing to fight, they walked towards us. Shortly, all the lords of my castle appeared in the courtyard, with the exception of Marco, who had a good excuse. Curious and frightened women opened windows and doors to see what was going on.

I looked the men over, standing behind a torch to give them a good view of my face. “The King attacked the Borodins tonight, killing twenty-five noblemen, one noblewoman and ten guards. This was done in an attempt to start a civil war between our families. Niccolo Giovanni was one of the dead.”

Most believed: with the recent spate of murders, anything could have happened, but it was not unanimous: I heard several mutter variations of “impossible!” and “ridiculous!”

I stepped aside while the Borodins confirmed the story in bloody, explicit detail. Katrina sobbed uncontrollably when she told of finding her father and older brother dead of shalimar poisoning, their bodies contorted with their eyes frozen open. It was a grim tale, and brave men wept in sympathy.

“It also solves the mystery of who killed my father, Mario, Lord Ivan, and his wife,” I said.

One of the younger nobles, Paoli, interrupted. “Lady Dana, how do you know this is the King’s work?”

Nikolai spat on the ground. “Because we found one of them! It was Heydar, the King’s creature. He died with a Borodin bolt in his back in the woods. The others got away. Gods curse them! Who in Hades else could it be? It wasn’t us; it wasn’t you. If the fools in Batuk had somehow found out about our plans, we would have known about it.”

I continued: “The King has reason to fear a strong Giovanni family after the Borodins leave, Paoli. Some of you know why already. Those who don’t can reason it.” I looked every man in the eye. “Get your weapons and armor ready. We attack the palace in less than two hours.”

Most nodded and began to move off, but an especially handsome man lingered. “Where is Alfredo?” he demanded.

“I killed him in a challenge, Malfree. Now get ready to go to war.”

Urban coughed politely to gain attention. “What she says is true, Lord Malfree. Lady Dana defeated Lord Alfredo in single combat with the spear. We were all witnesses.”

Nikolai didn’t even take that long. He nodded. “S’truth.”

Malfree stumbled and his face went a shade of pink. “But, Lady Dana, that would make you the successor! You would become Queen!”

I nodded coldly. “It would, for the time being. Unless you are applying for the position of King, I suggest you leave now.” He moved off gratifyingly quickly.

“Lady Dana.”

I turned to Malchor. “Yes?”

“Now that you are senior, you rule the Giovanni castle in Tulem. Does this mean that Lady Gina rules here?”

I shrugged. It was a detail I hadn’t thought of. “I suppose so, for now.”

“Very well,” he said, smiling strangely.

I looked at him curiously, but let it go. Whatever machinations he was thinking of wouldn’t concern me.

We rode out eighteen strong, leaving the guards behind to keep their role as defenders of the castle. As much as the guards were valued for their skills, in a place where nobles fought nobles, they could only be used defensively. We rode past Franco’s castle and then past Alfredo’s castle, now ruled by his younger brother.

After the rains, the air was crystal clear, wet, and cold. Tonight, I preferred it that way. I rode in the lead, Paoli and another noble, Klaus, to either side, but slightly to the rear. My riding cloak protected me from worst of the chill, but I left my hood down, allowing my hair, bound up in my usual way, to fall and dance behind me as it would, and the wind in my eyes provided the excuse for my tears.

I couldn’t face either Paoli or Klaus just yet. They were my enemies, but I knew them as decent men, loyal to the Giovannis and me, in that order, willing to lay down their lives in what they thought was a good cause. I had chosen them to lead two teams for the mission, hoping that neither might survive.

As I rode alone, crying silently into the wind, I searched for another reason to murder men. Drago’s philosophy on the subject mirrored most of Zhor: the strong would win out; the weak and inferior would fall. If we defeated Tulem’s plans for Batuk, most would say that Batuk’s cleverness had outwitted the might of Tulem, and thus had proven the stronger. The priests might interpret the event as the will of the Gods or Overlords.

My father’s thoughts were less transcendent. In war, according to him, it was comfortable to pretend that one’s belief or city was invariably superior to another, and to bury all thoughts or questions behind the wall thus raised, but that it was rarely so simple. There were still hard choices to be made, and there was scarcely a weighty matter that didn’t have consequences beyond those intended.

He would have approved of what we did, as did I. In naked numbers, it had cost almost nothing, and directly punished those who would dare invade our home with few innocent lives lost. Between the two of us, we had killed half the Borodin men, who would have ruled us. The Giovannis and the King, equally complicit in this enterprise, would hopefully be similarly chastised that morning. In the ways of Zhor, this justice would scarcely be enough — we would have been excused much more.

If we were successful, Ketrick would leave Tulem confident that he’d done the right thing. Tyr, I knew, would have felt much the same, perhaps thinking longer and praying for the souls of the dead, especially for the innocents like Tam, and Alanna, and for Dana’s understanding when we met again in the hereafter.

I longed for the clarity I once had. Ever since I'd come to Tulem, it had been difficult to separate my role from who I was. I’d become more a part of the world around me than someone on the outside looking in. These were my men with me, men whom I knew. One or two had even taken me in The Queen’s Cup.

They haven't done anything yet! They're misguided, raised that way — they follow the ways of Zhor! How d they have be the enemy? Why do they deserve to die?

A voice in my head, distinctly Tyr, answered, You know damn well why. You can't afford to be less than completely committed. Now do it.

The torches and great arch of the city gate came into sight. I wiped my eyes and waved Paoli forward.

“What time is it?” I asked him.

After a close look at the chronometer in the poor light, he replied, “Ten minutes before the rendezvous, Lady Dana.”

I nodded. “Very good.” I turned and raised my arm to slow our advance. Through the trees lining the lake, I saw a hint of movement in the reflection on the calm water, an image of a band of riders moving swiftly in this ridiculously early hour. That would be the Borodins. The others from Franco and Alfredo’s castles would arrive behind us. As the gate grew larger I halted the column and waited. A moment later came the distant clatter of men riding hard. From the darkness under the trees, I recognized Franco at the head of two columns, all in green.

I waved quietly, a subdued greeting for a morning of revenge. I estimated his numbers at twenty-five, an excellent figure, probably all of his nobility and half of Alfredo’s, an impressive accomplishment considering I had just killed their Lord.

He rode forward, looking uncharacteristically fierce, his hair pulled back into a topknot and heavy cloak pulled up at his left, revealing the long hilt of a war sword.

“Well met, Lady Dana.”

“And you, Lord Franco. Thank you for bringing as many as you have, they'll be need of them.” I pointed towards the gate. “We gather at the west side. There, I will give final instructions.”

He nodded, then twisted in his saddle and brought his force forward. We rode together, a mass of forty-three with Franco riding by my side.

We met the Borodins a hundred yards from the gate. A quick count showed all living Borodin Lords, and a surprise, Lady Katrina rode between Lords Nikolai and Lugar at the head of the three columns.

Nikolai, as the most senior Borodin, approached me. He looked like a man who had seen carnage and sought full recompense. “Lady Dana, we are here. Command us.”

I sent five Borodin and ten Giovanni Lords who held commands in Tulem’s army to return to their units and take charge. Their only objective was to keep the King’s forces from getting involved.

The palace grounds took up an entire city block: the exterior wall had four gates set next to observation towers and guard posts at each of the four corners. Just inside the wall were four roads that ran the circumference, each named for directions of the compass. Just inside that lay a ring of gardens, fountains and commemorative statuary. Within that, behind and separate from the palace, stood the Library complex, the Great Hall, and the Guards quarters and mess.

The Palace was shaped roughly like Alexander’s castle with an appendage to the west, the administrative wing. The King lived on its northern face occupying the entire top floor, with a view from a balcony of the north city and on across the lake. Getting there would be the hard part. His quarters were protected at both entrances with guards, heavily reinforced doors and steel bar barricades that could be dropped at an alarm.

Our greatest weapon would be surprise. The towers were granite cylinders fifty feet high. The two guards stationed in each could crank an alarm at need. When the alarm howled, unless we were already past the inner doors of the King’s apartment, it would take a battering ram to get inside.

We moved out a few at a time, laughing past the city guards, just a raucous group of nobles celebrating the Borodin’s departure. As we moved a block inside, we took our positions. Franco and his band of Giovannis rode to the southwest gate by the Guards’ Quarters. Paoli and Klaus with the other Giovannis had the northwest gate, and I had the northeast gate with Nikolai and the Borodins. The main problem was in the towers. Any overt attack would be seen and answered with the alarm.

My plan had been to create a diversion outside with the nobles, but since Lady Katrina had insisted on coming along, to offer moral support to her eight remaining nobles, I had a better idea. I called her to my side.

“Lady Katrina, I have a proposition…” Her hands shook as she listened, but she leaped at a chance to strike back at the man whom she thought had killed her father and brother.

The Borodins waited across the street in shadows. Katrina and I walked by the gate. The two guards, out of sight on the other side of the metal bars couldn’t help but hear us.

“Borodin bitch!” I screamed at Katrina. “You didn’t think you could just leave, did you?”

“Giovanni serum girl slut, brolls with dogs and pigs!” she shouted back.

I shattered the bottom of a bottle on the pavement. “Now you’re going to die, Borodin monkey.” I hissed.

Katrina cackled with laughter and pulled a knife from behind her back. “Try it, slave girl. I’ll have you for breakfast!”

The two guards on the inside appeared by the gate an instant later and watched us in disbelief. They recognized Katrina, and knew me by the broad green band on my dress. It must have looked like a murder was imminent; we were certainly trying. Hopefully, we had the attention of the nearby tower as well, for they were well within range of our voices.

“Hold, Ladies!” The larger guard shouted. He dropped his spear and held the bars in his hands. The other stood next to him in dismay, shaking his head as if to dispel a nightmare.

I observed him contemptuously. “Watch me kill this Borodin, guard. She’ll drop, her nose ripped off and eyes blinded. Then I’ll slit her lying throat.” I crept towards her until she backed away, just out of sight. I rushed her with a cry, and she screamed.

“Help me! Help me,” she cried. “She’s killing me! Ieeeee!”

“By the Gods!” The guard snapped the gate open and two bolts flashed from across the street, burying themselves in the guards’ chests. I leaped to the gate and leaned against it, countering the force of a dying guard expending his last strength trying to shut it again. A last bolt finished him.

I looked worriedly to the tower, but there was no alarm, which meant that the men inside were dead. While Katrina and I had been playing the death scene, three men had hauled on a cable attached to a pulley hooked to the tower parapet, yanking one of the lighter nobles over the wall and against the tower. When they’d pulled him to the tower window, he’d shot them down with a pair of crossbows. Ironically, they had used the same pulley and hook we’d used earlier that night in Alexander’s castle.

When the hero touched ground, several men pounding his back. Others dragged the guards who had died at the gate behind a bush. A moment later, two new guards with Borodin faces guarded the northeast gate.

“Magnificent, Ladies!” Nikolai said. “For a moment I thought you would kill each other.”

Katrina beamed under his praise. I shrugged modestly. “Thank you, Nikolai. Your men performed splendidly as well. And now for the other gate, it needs the same treatment. Katrina, are you ready to die again?”

“I am, Lady Dana.”

“Right. Let's go.” We did a repeat performance at the northwest gate with nearly identical results. It wasn’t too surprising. Few men would allow women to die in front of them, orders or no orders, especially noblewomen, relatives of the King himself. One of the guards on patrol saw the dead guards being hauled away but was shot down quickly. So far we had been very lucky. I suspected Ketrick's hand finding only a single guard on patrol.

Paoli knew the odds, too. “We must move now, Lady Dana, before the rest of the patrol finds us.”

By all rights, I should have let the men take charge and waited patiently from safety. No one would have objected. “I’m going with you, Paoli. I’ll try to stay out of the way.”

“Lady Dana!”

I understood his instinct to protect me, a woman, agreeing with the principle, yet not enough to dissuade me. “I might be useful. It may be that you could see fit to use a woman to distract a guard.”

“You have command,” he said, although it was clear that he thought I should hold command from a safe place. “If you insist on going, I can’t stop you.”

“I’ll do my best to stay out of danger.”

He grunted noncommittally. I took two javelins and followed Paoli’s team as they entered the gate, and slipped into a garden, staying low. Nikolai’s team moved out at the same time three hundred yards east of us at the first gate, and together we moved across the northern avenue. We ran into a pair of guards patrolling the garden we were sneaking through almost immediately. We must have seen each other at about the same time. One of the Giovanni men died on a long spear about the same time his killer was struck down with a sword through the throat. Unfortunately, the second guard yelled, although it was not long-lived.

At the scream, we abandoned stealth. Klaus rode through the gate with his team of twelve heading for the Guards’ Quarters, to bottle them up, and to let Franco and his men in the gate there. We didn’t worry about that. Our job was getting to the King before the inner gates fell.

Paoli dashed ahead of me and ran a man through who was about to lock the heavy doors of the palace. In the meantime, the Borodins swept around to the administration wing through the outdoor audience area. I heard yells from far off at the Guards’ Quarters, and soon the entire palace was fighting.

Paoli jabbed to the right and left, the two stairways, splitting his two teams. I went with Paoli, tearing my dress on the way. We kept running. On the third floor, the wail of sirens pushed us even harder; now there were only seconds before it was too late. To punctuate that point, the barriers, a massive set of bars, fell from the ceiling just behind us, slamming into slots in the floor, blocking our escape. We could only go forward, now, and we sprinted down the King’s gold-trimmed corridor towards the end, one of the two entrances to the King’s quarters.

Paoli shouted as he ran. Both guards at the King’s quarter's entrance abandoned their positions, and slowly pushed the massive door inwards. In a few seconds, the way would be closed!

I threw one of my javelins, but it lacked the hard, flat power of a warrior. It struck the floor, bouncing harmlessly off the steel to clatter noisily on the floor. I threw my last in desperation, but it was even worse, not even making it to the door in the air, sliding the rest of the way.

And then, a break! Just as the door was about to shut us out, my slim spearhead rolled into the gap. As we closed the distance, the guards tried twice to close the door, not realizing the problem in time. Paoli struck the door a tremendous blow just as the spear was kicked clear, an instant before it could snap shut. His momentum opened a small gap. Two more men slammed their shoulders against the door and the space increased, one more and the door opened wide enough to slip a man through with a sword. He was killed almost instantly, a sword thrust through his chest, but he managed a vicious cut to a leg bracing the door on the inside. The injured guard howled and fell away, and the door swung free!

We broke into the room in a rush, me dead last after collecting my spears. It was well I did; the first two Giovannis inside were killed quickly, the two guards from the other entrance having joined the fray. I slid on the floor; bottom down and spears up. When I passed a dark figure to my right with a gleam of steel in his hand, I threw towards his chest. With my weaker arms, it barely penetrated his armor, bringing forth an angry yell, but not much more.

The next guard almost had me then. It was little more than a feel that brought up my last spear to block a blow that would surely have split my head, and almost split the spear in half. Then I was by them, rolling to my feet.

The last guard nearly killed me again, but I skipped around his attempt to skewer me and started running across the room towards the other entrance, in the glow of the night lamps, getting a glimmer of royal opulence: rugs, curtains, tapestries, and stately furniture. The guard had to follow me if there were any men from the other half of Paoli’s team trapped on the other side of the door. If they were there, then I would be letting in an overwhelming force.

The guard ran after me, cursing, leaving only three guards for Paoli and the other noble to overcome. A scream of a man who had just realized his mortality pierced the night. I didn’t recognize the voice, so I figured the odds were even.

A motion ahead and to the side distracted me. It was the King, his majestic, naked profile a certain indicator of interrupted ardor. He wielded a sword. There would never be a better chance. As I passed through shadow, I used all the momentum and every ounce of muscle in my slim body to launch my spear. It flew straight and true, passing effortlessly through the diaphanous curtain surrounding his bed, running the King through the stomach. He staggered backwards with a gasp, and the woman in bed beside him screeched like a she-demon.

I had no time to admire my work; death was on my heels and gaining. I had few advantages. In the torn dress I was free to run, but the warrior behind me was as fast. With no weapon, I would have to slow him down somehow, or I would be dead the instant he caught me. There was no hope of reaching the door in time. Frantically, I looked around for something to use. I dove over a couch and rolled, he vaulted it. I passed by a chair and toppled it in his path, but he kicked it aside contemptuously with a steel-toed boot and gained a foot. I tore through a hanging tapestry, hoping to dodge around a heavy table, but he cut me off. The end of the room approached far too quickly!

An ornate wooden stand against the wall held a decanter of yellow liquid. I picked it up and threw it at his face. He ducked it, but it gave me enough time to pick up the stand and hold it in front of me. It was a poor shield and a couple of whacks cut deep into the sides. I saw my opponent’s face for the first time. His visage was all hate and agony. I had speared his King, his responsibility, and he was determined that I would die for it. I respected his devotion to duty. Yet, until that final blow ended my life, I would use whatever I had.

I tossed the hair out of my face and batted my eyes sweetly. “What’s the matter, weakling? Can’t you kill a defenseless girl?”

Taunting him would have been suicide if he had been thinking straight. His brows narrowed and he stabbed the nearly destroyed stand in front of my body. I twisted to avoid the worst of it as the blade buried itself almost the hilt, slicing a furrow along my ribs that I barely felt. Dropping the stand, I ducked past his sword arm as he struggled to free the blade.

I ran again, this time towards the King’s bed. The wound under my breasts made it painful, not that I cared a fig for it then. I dove over the bed, the slave or consort under the covers still screaming. I gasped as I hit the floor. I had hopes of finding the King dead and his sword free, but the point of his blade faced me, and amazingly, he was almost to his feet, the spear still through his body.

I admired the King’s fortitude, but there was no time for niceties. I dodged left, a move that brought more pain, but the King, who had to follow it, tightened in breathless agony. I kicked the end of the spear in his stomach and he dropped to the ground with a paralyzed gasp, releasing the sword. There was no time! I yanked the bloody spear from the King’s collapsing body just in time to block a thrust from the guard’s sword.

I could never have parried more than a few thrusts. The deep cut had impaired my mobility. The woman on the bed decided to get involved, and tossed a pair of pillows at my head. There was only a chance if I threw the spear, but the slice across my chest had split muscle I needed for power. I thrust, but he pushed my javelin aside as if it were a reed.

“Now you die,” smiled the guard toothily and moved forward.

I shuffled backwards and the King, still on his back and groaning, somehow managed to trip me. I fell, and lost the spear with a flick of the guard’s sword. From my elbows, I looked up to a blade hovering above my breasts, and beyond, to a confident smile. It seemed that it was not my day. And then, from behind me, a well-thrown long spear flashed in the lamplight, penetrating the guard’s breastplate and mail with a metallic “snick!” The spear’s power compelled him backwards to fall across the shrieking woman on the bed, where he passed from the world with a shuddering groan.

His sword, an instant earlier aligned to invade my heart, merely dropped, cutting a gash in the valley between softness. I caught the blade between my palms before it could do more damage. Reveling in my pain, I mumbled a tribute to the fickle God of Luck with the breath I didn’t think I’d have. Rolling over slowly, I crawled to the King on my knees. Yanking the spear from his stomach had done him further injury; it was all he could do now to hold his insides in place, but still, his wound, although very serious, wasn’t necessarily fatal with prompt attention, and I couldn’t allow him to survive. Grabbing the King’s jewel-encrusted sword, I held it under his chin, poised for a thrust into his brain. He was too weak to protest, but he was aware, and I bent to his ear.

“You are a brave man,” I whispered. “You deserve to know why you are going to die.”

He glared at me through eyes glazed in pain. “You Gods-cursed Giovannis came early,” he rasped. “I expected you after the Borodins left.”

I shook my head. Grinning, I met his glare. “I’m from Batuk.” I waited a few inches from his face until I saw the light of understanding, and then thrust the sword upwards. The point, designed to penetrate plate armor, had no problem with soft tissue. He collapsed and voided in death, fouling the air around me.

I stood slowly and leaned against the bloody blade, at the same time watching the terrified woman on the bed, a pretty girl with auburn hair and blue eyes. She appeared to regret throwing those pillows at me. When I smiled, she screamed.

I heard a footfall behind me and turned. The sudden movement made me dizzy, and I stumbled, grabbing a bedpost to steady myself.

“Lady Dana, you’re injured!” It was Paoli. Looking past him, I saw no one else who wasn’t supine or sprawled.

“Is anyone else alive, Paoli?” I hated the double role of the question. I needed dead lords to prevent the invasion of my home, but we had been through battle; I thought of them as the closest of brothers.

He gave his head a sober shake. “No. Geordi died after he threw the spear that killed the guard on the bed. He had no more weapons at hand and the last guard killed him before I, in turn, ended his life.”

The tears flowed, aching at his loss. He had been an enemy, yet had proven himself among the bravest of men, and I had barely known him.

“Geordi knew I was a serum girl! Why did he sacrifice himself for me?”

Paoli held me as I staggered, and my blood and tears stained his tunic.

“Most would say that you aren’t the usual serum girl. Honor his death by being strong for as long as you can.”

“A man who does not honor a hero’s death cheapens life,” said Herth Tarr after the battle of Detbow Field. So be it. I relinquished Paoli’s chest and stood up straight. Geordi’s memory, as would the others who perished in this brave fight, would be dishonored if it were known why they had died. In my eyes, they still died heroes, and as hateful as it was, I hoped that there were many more dead heroes, enough to save my city.

When I left this valley, I vowed, I would disappear into the mists, an aberration in Tulem’s long history, but not as the foul assassin demon-bitch who tricked men to their deaths. If we were successful, then no one besides a very few would ever know. If it meant that I would have to play this charade longer and better than I’d planned, then that was the price I’d pay.

Paoli looked down into my face, accepting what he saw there. “Come, you’re soaking your dress with blood.”

I held on as long as necessary. The barriers still blocked the corridors, so I rode a loop on a rope from the balcony to the ground to the accompaniment of raised weapons and cheers, and a guard of Giovannis and Borodins escorted me to the King’s infirmary. Paoli discovered the Royal Physician in his apartments next door and rousted him from his bed to treat me.

There is an element of civility to violent overthrows in Tulem. The ministers, nervous and appalled at their new monarch, presented themselves to me in the infirmary, and I insisted on taking their knees at my feet in the same bloody dress. When that was done, The Minister of Protocol rang the solemn Bells of Succession, and the valley awoke early that morning to wonder. To its surprise -- and to my own chagrin -- Tulem had its second queen.

***

As I lay in bed early in the afternoon, resting after surgery to repair torn muscle and flesh, I considered what had happened. In the only way that mattered to Batuk, the operation to kill King Bruno had been a failure. Paoli’s team had lost five; Klaus, two; and Franco, only one.

The Guards’ Quarters had been barred when Franco made it there, and the guards’ breakout had therefore been easily contained. I strongly suspected Ketrick’s hand in that as well. The Borodins hadn’t lost anyone, although there had been several casualties.

I had hoped for three times that number. A castle and its environs could be efficiently held and managed with five nobles. There were thirty-nine Giovanni lords, still far too many for three castles, twenty-five Borodin lords, and almost one hundred ladies.

I would have laughed if it wasn’t so damned painful. All the killing, and it still wasn’t enough! But Ketrick and I were alive and the invasion still had to be stopped. My wounds were healing well. In the meantime, I would not be an invalid. I decided to find out how much power I had as the first serum girl queen.

“Physician!” I yelled.

Assistant Physician Beti Kane answered the call immediately, rising swiftly from her attendant’s chair. Her slender body filled the tan physician’s dress well, the purple trim along her hem defining her as a part of the royal staff. She curtseyed low, twin tails of wavy blonde riding her back gracefully. “Your Majesty?” she inquired brightly.

“I will leave the infirmary now.”

She curtseyed even lower, her skin taking on a pinkish tinge. “Majesty, Physician Lees’n cautions most firmly against this. Your Majesty’s delicate tissues must remain completely stable for at least an entire day, and recover slowly for a week.”

She was probably right; every time I moved my chest muscles, I felt a twinge. I couldn’t do what I wanted to do anyway; there was no way to contact Ketrick without suspicion. It wasn’t necessary anyway; he knew where I was -- everyone in Tulem did. Nonetheless…. “Move me to my quarters and set up a reading stand in my bed.”

Deep blue eyes widened in puzzlement. “A reading stand, Your Majesty?”

I gave her a royal glance. “A device that I may use to read safely, without jostling ‘delicate tissues,’ Beti.”

She curtseyed again. “Instantly, Your Majesty. But your rooms are not ready. They still exude the stench of death and almost everything is being cleaned.”

That was surely true enough; it had been only a half-day since the attack.

“Very well. The infirmary will do nicely. Partition the bed from the rest of the room. Send for a carpenter and the Librarian.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She smiled, and left to comply. I lay back and rested while underlings scurried to obey. I suppose it won’t be too bad to be the Queen, at least until Batuk is saved.

It was my duty to honor those who died with me, and of those I had killed. As I tried to honor King Bruno's death by remembering his life, a single feature of his naked profile kept returning to prominence in my mind. The urges were retuning. Being in the midst of strong men doing manly things had impassioned my desires.

The Librarian arrived silently while my eyes were closed. He interrupted my mental asides with a discreet cough. He was a medium-sized, unexceptional in most ways, and his short hair and trimmed mustache were a nondescript brown. He held himself well enough, but there was a hint of fragility about him, odd, considering the medical wonders our Overlords had given us.

“Your Majesty.”

“Librarian Merton, I’d like to know the true history of Tulem. I also need a study of the King’s -- and Queen’s -- rights and obligations.”

“Majesty? That’s a large subject,” he replied, looking at me strangely.

“I have a free day or two in the infirmary. I never expected to be King, much less Queen, and I find my knowledge deficient.”

“I have some solid texts and studies of the early days that I can vouch for. As for rights and obligations, I can offer some historical perspectives. If you desire, I can provide you with enough material for a day or a year.”

“Two days would be enough.”

He bowed, but didn’t move towards the door.

“Yes, Librarian?”

“I could assign a scholar to teach, or to answer any questions you have.”

I nodded slowly. Its advantage was saving time. But whom could I trust? “That might be adequate, Merton -- depending on the scholar.”

He stiffened, grasping my meaning. “All scholars in the Library are dedicated to your service, Majesty.”

“I cast no disparagements, Merton. How long have you served the monarchy?”

“I have served six kings and a queen.”

I added that up in my head from my sketchy knowledge of Tulem history. That was over two hundred years, an extraordinary achievement. If he had survived so many reigns, it was because he was trusted. “A very long time. Did you know Queen Prudence well?”

“Majesty, I knew her as well as anyone, but it’s not customary to speak personally of past kings and queens.”

Queen Prudence, or Queen Prue, was the namesake of the Queen's Cup. I knew something of her. She had ruled for about four years after her husband, King Walker, had died in a hunting accident. She was unlikely to have remained celibate for all that time, yet there had been no scandal attached to her. I wanted to know how she did it. There was no way of knowing how long I would have to remain as Queen before our mission was accomplished, and I would need a man on occasion.

“Let me put it another way. If you can tell me something specific to queens that would help me, Merton, then please do.”

He bowed very low. “There is nothing I can tell you.”

I shrugged; it was possible that he knew nothing. “Very well. I commend your two hundred year discretion. Send a scholar to me as soon as possible.”

He bowed for a last time before he exited. “Yes, Your Majesty. I'll send Scholar Jillian.”

I sighed as he passed through the door. Even Merton, hardly the most attractive man I had seen in the palace, looked desirable. These were the times I hated the most, when my natural slave side ruled me.

It was well that the scholar was female.

Scholar Jillian curtseyed nervously when the guard ushered her inside. Gold trim on her gray robe indicated her seniority. Her black eyes were marginally too close together for true beauty and her coiffure followed no discernible fashion. She blew a lock of light brown hair away from her forehead as she struggled with a thick column of books.

“Majesty!” she exclaimed.

“Scholar Jillian, Librarian Merton recommended you.” I nodded towards a desk in the corner. “You won’t need the books, at least not right away. Pull the chair beside the bed.” She did so, then sat.

“I’m not sure what you want,” she said, biting her lip.

“I want three things: Give me an overview of Tulem, the real history, not the ones tinged with Giovanni or Borodin views; the history of King Bruno’s last year; and I want to know what Queen Prudence was like.”

“Majesty?”

“Indulge me, Scholar.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

After a few minutes, she warmed to her subject, the early history of the valley.

“… So you see, there was no original ‘source material’ until almost two hundred years after the first settlement. It’s certainly possible that Luigi and Angela Giovanni led an expedition to the valley, but it could also be that several families, including the Borodins, as they claim, settled the valley together. A DNA analysis of the valley shows at least five distinct families, including the Giovannis and Borodins. Interestingly, there is evidence of an earlier settlement…

“… There are two competing stories of the Borodin ascension to the aristocracy: Borodins celebrate the day as acknowledgment of their rightful status in the valley. Giovannis present a darker tale of assassination and usurpation. Who has the right of it is hard to say; the precise details are lost behind an iron door and thick walls in the late Lord Barzan Giovanni’s castle. Most scholars think that elements of both were at work. The mere fact that the Borodins could become nobility fairly proclaims their worthiness to become nobility, according to Zhorian time-honored standards. King Stefano remained neutral in the matter, more interested in peace than continuing the near-constant warring …

“… As the nobility perfected its craft, the ruled realized their role in life’s mosaic and eventually settled to a happy existence, abandoning violence for productive pursuits. Expulsions of those who would disrupt the established pattern dropped as the people of Tulem accepted rational order over chaos, peace over strife …

“… King Fiorello threatened the normal alternating Giovanni-Borodin line of succession by favoring the ascension of the senior Giovanni. Alarmed, the numbers of Borodins and Giovannis doubled, anticipating a war in the valley. When he was assassinated fifty years ago, Lord Bruno, a Borodin, of course, assumed the mantle, but the damage had been done; unrest grew as a class of itinerant nobility competed for honors and fought for slights real and imagined. The peace of the valley had ended. A year ago, Lords Niccolo and Marcus met with King Bruno and finalized the plans to attack Batuk, to give the Borodins a city of their own to rule.”

She hesitated. “You know more than I about the events of this last month. You yourself have witnessed much of it and have played a major role.”

Her brief history of the valley sounded like a fair assessment of what I knew, and quite a bit of new information. I liked the way she judged and weighed events. “Scholar, you are not to repeat what I say now.”

“Of course, Majesty.”

“That was a good, brief version of Tulem’s history; neither Giovanni nor Borodin could quibble very much. But is it complete and accurate in all its particulars? My slave was a raid leader in Batuk before an enemy gave her Ruk’s Serum. She thinks the key to Tulem’s peace and success is not the aristocracy’s natural leadership. She thinks it’s because, for centuries, Tulem has culled men and women with spirit, leaving only weak for us to rule.”

“Majesty, this is an old slur against our city. Your slave is wrong.”

“This isn’t an idle question. Whatever has happened in Tulem isn’t important. Time has written the past with an immutable pen. It’s Batuk I am concerned with.”

“This — theory contradicts Tulem’s heritage,” she said slowly.

“I don’t believe a word of it either, but I don’t have proof. I want to know, without question, that when the Borodins rule Batuk, they will be accepted as natural rulers, that they shall prevail because of our enlightened way of life.”

She frowned, scratching her cheek with her index finger. “There must have been studies.”

“Good. Find them and present them to me, Scholar. I want to be completely convinced. You have a week. In the meantime, come back in two days for a detailed history of King Bruno’s last year.”

She curtseyed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

I closed my eyes when she was gone, but the long day wasn’t over. A knock on the door returned me to the world. My physician’s deep voice abolished any thoughts of sleep. “Majesty, may I enter? I need to examine you.”

“I sighed. Yes, Physician.”

It was the slut urges that made a medical examination feel so good. Standing naked, I held my breasts in my hands up and away so he could inspect his handiwork between and below. His head bent a few inches away from nipples that swelled compulsively, and even injured, my body prepared itself for a visitor.

Lees’n was a well-structured man with a neat goatee, and was confident enough to see me as a woman, as a bulge below the belt proclaimed.

“You're healing well,” he said when he was finished. “Tomorrow you will be able to leave the bed if you’re careful.” He turned awkwardly to conceal the signs. There is no shame in appreciating a woman, but proclaiming readiness to mount his sovereign so overtly -- especially as her physician -- conceivably had crossed some boundary. I smiled to show I was not offended.

“I am grateful, Physician.”

“It’s my honor, Your Majesty,” he declared smoothly, like a courtier.

Next to visit was the nattily dressed Minister of Protocol, Selmin, who discussed in precise detail what to expect for the coronation the next day, and finally, the head seamstress, a woman named Teresti, who measured me for a dress.

Even my urges couldn’t keep me awake that night, and I slept like the dead, dreaming of Dana, and wondering how fast I could get away from the palace and into Ketrick’s arms.

Beti Kane woke me with that morning with a nudge and a bright smile. “Majesty.”

I regarded her blearily, but there was no give to her relentless cheerfulness. “The Queen should be able to sleep late, Beti.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It’s time to check your dressing. The Minister of Protocol asked me to assist you today; there is much to do in little time.”

She was right, so I rolled out of bed. Once I passed Beti’s inspection, a coterie of three slaves in thin purple tunics arrived, curtseying together. They were more beautiful than most slaves, although I doubted any were serum girls. I looked to Beti for an explanation.

“Your bath girls.”

I chuckled, understanding King Bruno a little better. The King had been something like Ketrick; he had required three girls to bathe him. “Of course. Lead the way, Beti.”

I left the infirmary in a thick robe and slippers, entering a hall of white marble and high arches carved in the vigorous Morovian style popular several centuries before. Mythic beasts crouched in recesses built into the walls, judging all who passed with eyes of blue and green jewels. In one section, paintings of past kings hung in shallow alcoves in various poses, all with Giovanni or Borodin features.

I stopped at the exception, a seated woman in a purple dress of some thick shiny fabric. The white hem named her: she was Tulem’s only queen. Prudence had been a Giovanni; the incisive nose and lustrous black hair made that clear enough. She clutched the rod of authority in her right hand, the same staff I had once seen in Bruno’s fist. The background was the same balcony in King Bruno’s apartment. The picture showed it in daylight, overlooking the northern part of the city with the lake and, dimly, the mountains in the distance.

It was an impressive scene, but Queen Prue seemed to occupy another place. Her dark brown eyes looked past the artist, distracted. Other paintings often showed a wife or favored concubine, but she sat alone. She thought of loss. Her husband had died early enough in his reign that she had succeeded him. Prudence hadn’t been a shade of her husband; her husband’s death had not destroyed her vitality. Her grip on the rod was solid. She knew its importance and took her rule seriously. Across the gulf of centuries, I understood a part of her and thought that I might have liked her.

“Majesty?”

I realized that I’d been standing there for minutes. There would be time enough to look at the painting later. “I’m ready, Beti.”

Beti and the slaves escorted me through an ornate entrance to the bath, an airy room of blue and white tile. Narrow columns of gilded marble supported a six-sided dome over a walk-in steaming pool easily large enough for several women. I suspected that King Bruno had spent some time there.

My bath girls were surely disappointed that I wasn’t a man, but they showed no sign of it, washing my hair, bathing me, and applying scented oils. Two were twin beauties with long burnished hair and green eyes, a rarity, unless they had been altered to look the same. The other was a very dark woman with smoldering black eyes in a face of high cheekbones and generous lips that practically demanded a man’s use.

I could appreciate them only objectively; it was a waste of their full potential to serve me. But they were more than toys for a king. Their hands were experienced and strong. They squeezed the length of my flanks expertly, and kneaded the corded muscles in my shoulders well enough to push away thoughts of the Borodins, Giovannis, and war for a while.

I returned to the infirmary relaxed but not indifferent to the challenge ahead. It was possible that in the light of day, the lords and ladies would rather not confirm a serum girl as their queen. Waiting for me within stood a group of three women with Teresti in the center. All of them looked tired, as if they had worked all night.

“I understand that you’ve made me a dress,” I said.

“Yes, Majesty,” Teresti replied, pressing her hands together nervously. “I hope that you’ll be pleased with this. It’s very close to the original dress Queen Prudence wore on her inaugural.” She stood aside and uncovered a wonder on a clothes mannequin.

It shimmered white with thick purple trim down the front and along the hem. My tastes as a man had gradually become their female equivalents over the months. I could be fashionable, and had easily worn several styles in Batuk and Tulem, from plain and rugged to extravagant and daring, but I knew what I liked.

I ran my fingers down the side. The fabric was soft, thick, and heavier than most. It would flow with every movement, and would hang straight at rest, a dress of solidity, grace, and great beauty. Queen Prudence had been no prude, the cut was unabashedly female but not so much that I would be self-conscious. It was a dress that I could be proud to wear, one that I might have chosen myself.

“Teresti, this is magnificent,” I breathed.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. May we start soon?”

I handed my robe to one of her assistants, and stood naked before her. “Yes. We shall do it now.”

They fussed around me for minutes, adjusting the dress over a thin linen shift. Thankfully, it fit very well, requiring only a couple of minor alterations. While the dress was away, the hairdresser arrived, a slight woman with perfect auburn hair done-up in an elaborate ringed affair. She curtseyed and smiled. “Majesty, I’m Sherry. I will be styling your hair.”

“How long will this take?”

“No more than an hour, Your Majesty,” she said cheerfully.

“This would be the routine every time I went out?” I said, frowning.

She no longer looked so cheerful. “It is the style.”

“I’ve been using a simpler technique.” I showed her the quick knot and where the pin would go.

She blanched. “Majesty, that sort of thing is done in other cities, and is rarely used in what passes for the upper classes -- even there. It would be recognized eventually.” She curtseyed very deeply. “Please, don’t do this. It would be a scandal.”

I shrugged. “Very well, then show me a simpler way that would not cause a scandal.”

For a moment I thought she would cry.

“Sherry, this will be done.” I said, vaguely appalled at her response. “If you can’t do it, then I will have another hairdresser.”

Then she did cry. “Majesty, it is a grave responsibility to make fashion,” she pleaded, holding her hands like a prayer, “especially for a queen -- far above my station. Please do not ask me to try!”

“Fine!”

I thought back to hairstyles I had found attractive. One came instantly to mind: A rich virgin priestess from far Wauwatosa had visited Batuk some years past. She had chosen not to hide her disdain for the admittedly unrestrained behavior our freedom occasionally allowed. Just before the tavern fight, I remembered a wide circlet holding her up her tail, with the Goddess of Pleasure inscribed in relief in a few of her more popular aspects. It was a handsome device, and I recalled a fleeting urge at the time to separate the arrogant woman from her retainers and her clothes, unclip her hair, and watch its richness tumble over her naked shoulders. Something that elegant would be suitable for Tulem’s Queen, given a modification or two. I drew a diagram of what I wanted as Sherry sniffled.

“Observe!” I said, shaking the paper under her nose. “It will be made of polished silver in a distinctive pattern. It will represent Tulem, with three blue sapphires on one side and three green emeralds on the other, signifying the six main castles in the valley, with a diamond on top.”

Her sniffles ceased, and she nodded slowly, grudgingly admitting its beauty and fashionable aspects. It was just enough; if she had done any less I would have dismissed her.

“It is an attractive object, and there is some precedent for it outside the valley among the upper classes, but it could never be made in time for the ceremony!”

“Well, make it as soon as possible, then.”

She leaped to her feet and curtseyed. “Majesty, allow me to bring your design to the smith. I know just what is needed!”

“Order two for me, Sherry. I’ll need one as soon as possible — tonight, or at the latest, tomorrow morning. The smith may use colored glass on the first; it doesn’t matter. The second should be done with greater care.”

Teresti returned with the dress as Sherry finished coiling my hair and slipping the tail of it through the top. It was time to try it on.

Once the hooks of the dress were in place, Sherry and Teresti fussed briefly, fixing every hair and smoothing every possible line. The dress fit perfectly. From their nods and looks of satisfaction, it was special. When they were through, I moved to the mirror.

It had been long since I'd awoken starting at breasts and a mass of hair. I knew what I was and what I looked like, a woman in black hair and deep brown eyes.

It was still me but changed. Sherry had dusted my cheeks lightly with something soft, colored my eyelids subtly, did something that enhanced my eyelashes, and glossed my lips, all small changes, but the difference! My hair was immaculate, shining with the lightest touch of oil and falling perfectly straight down my back. Sherry had even added thick silver rings between the black coils, giving it the look of the circlet I wanted.

It was more than just expertly applied make-up and superbly styled hair. The dress was incredible. The rich materials would have been ostentatious except for simple design. The way it fit me was like an extension of myself, hugging every line and curve. It made the statement that I belonged in it. I moved slowly, twirling the skirts, getting a feel for the fabric, the marvelous softness against my legs.

The Queen had life and death authority over all the commoners in the valley; the nobles were her vassals. It was greater power than the entire council in Batuk.

This isn’t real, the back of my mind kept screaming, but it would have to be. I had to be the Queen, and be a good one, if I were to have any credibility and finish the job. The dress and the look they’d given me showed me the way, forming a regal base for my behavior.

I was a serum girl, which would earn me no latitude. To the contrary, I would be looked at critically with every eye. Still:

By the Gods, what woman would not be confident looking like this?

I turned to my hairdresser and dressmaker, again feeling the soft swell of fabric against my legs, flowing almost as if it lived. “Sherry, Teresti, you’ve worked a miracle.”

They curtseyed, flushing with pride. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Teresti said. “It is a joy to serve the Queen.”
 
 

 
A little less action than the last chapter, but I couldn't keep the pace up. :) Tyra and Ketrick have little time left to stop the war, and have to play all their cards, but first, there is a small problem called the urges....

Thanks for the comments. I love to hear what you think. ~Aardvark

Queen Dana's coronation leaves the new queen vulnerable. Malchor's dreams for Dana place Tyra's freedom in jeopardy. A deal is struck in blood, but will it be enough?

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 15
 
 
Later that morning, behind the royal entrance to the interior audience chamber, I took a last deep breath and nodded to one of my guards. He swung the door open, and I walked through to meet my vassals -- if they would have me.

“Queen Dana!” the Sergeant at Arms shouted.

Nearly a hundred dresses rustled as their owners curtsied, and over sixty lords bent from the waist. I raised my hem, stepped up to the dais by the throne, and joined the others there: the High Priest, Franco, Nikolai, and Kernul. I was Queen, but my power was limited to the palace and city until the families confirmed me. If I not were not.... It had never happened before, but I suspected that my reign would go down as the shortest on record.

The High Priest, his bald pate gleaming and gold threads in his white robe glinting, bawled an invocation to the Gods, burned incense in a silver bowl, and sprinkled me with silver dust, the Queen’s metal. I held my breath and waited for the flakes to fall where they would, for to sneeze at that point would have been a bad sign. Lightning avoided me, so he proceeded, gifting the hall with another, longer speech of the Gods’ will, and my duties and obligations to rule wisely.

After that worthy deemed me satisfactory, he stepped aside.

Nikolai took his place in front of me, his pure blue eyes looking down at me. “You aren’t the same Giovanni I despised,” he said, quietly enough so that only the two of us could hear.

“Thank you, Lord Nikolai. Truly, I feel the same way.”

He grinned. “That was a dirty trick you played on us with your slave,” he said, again too low for anyone else, “but all will be forgiven when I rule in Batuk. For as long as the Borodins are in Tulem, you will be our Queen.” He turned to the audience. “The Borodins accept Queen Dana as our sovereign!”

It had gone as well as I'd hoped, but the Borodins thought they were leaving soon. It was Franco I was worried about.

He faced me next, stepping front of me.

“I wondered if you might do this,” he said.

I stood up as straight as I could. If Franco rejected me, it was almost certain that he would wear the crown. I had to depend on where his honor lay.

“I make no excuses. When the time came, it seemed right to accept the crown. I hope that you can accept my rule for as long as I can manage it.”

“You earned it;” he said slowly. “I don’t begrudge you your victory.” He gave me long, penetrating glance, more concerned than unfriendly. “And when the time comes, I know you’ll have the courage to do the right thing.”

Thank the Gods. “Thank you, Franco. Are there many who wanted to reject me?”

He nudged his head towards the Giovanni side. “About half the ladies aren’t happy about you. Among the men, except for a few who loved Alfredo, we are all in favor. You make a beautiful queen -- and beautiful and deadly is a difficult combination for mere men to resist.”

I smiled. “Such flattery will only inflame me. Do you wish to seduce your way to the crown?”

He surprised the assembled lords and ladies by laughing. “The Giovannis accept Queen Dana as our sovereign!” he shouted.

Then it was Kernul’s turn. My Chief of Staff, a stolid man with thick shoulders and a shock of red hair worn past his shoulders, looked me in the eye. Held in the palms of his hands was the silver crown, a woman’s device, lighter and more delicate than a king’s gold headpiece, yet, in theory at least, no less powerful when worn alone.

“Queen Dana, do you accept the crown of Tulem?”

“I accept this crown,” I declared, strong enough for the entire hall, “and become Queen Dana of Tulem!”

When the jewel-encrusted crescent settled upon my head, all restraint in the hall broke free at once: spontaneous pledges of fealty, congratulations, and whoops of celebration. The Borodins, especially, bellowed and screamed. As far as they were concerned, the hated king was revenged.

My eyes roamed to the Giovanni side. As Franco had warned, a few men from Alfredo’s castle kept their tongues. I spotted Gina among the women. She cheered, waving to me in her new dress with the wide green hem. It hadn’t taken her a day to make her authority in the castle known, temporary as it was going to be. Was there a gleam in her eye, a hint of cruel intent when she thought I wasn’t looking? If there was, it was gone in an instant.

I left the audience chamber with an honor guard, and Nikolai, Franco, and Kernul, to my apartments. The blood-soaked carpets and stained curtains had been replaced with a feminine motif of flowers and placid outdoor scenes.

It was already warm and the sun was close to its zenith. The guards separated at the entrance of the balcony, taking up positions at either side. I slowed down for a moment and stopped. Franco arched his black eyebrow and looked at me.

I gestured to the view. “This was exactly where Queen Prudence sat for her portrait two hundred years ago,” I said.

Nikolai glanced at me askance. “You’ve been Queen of Tulem for five minutes. Are you already struck with nostalgia?”

I couldn’t explain the connection with the first queen I’d felt in the Gallery of Kings. It sounded silly, even to my ears: I wasn’t really a queen or, if I was, I had no intention of remaining one longer than I had to. “Perhaps a sense of history,” I said. I sighed, and started forward.

I strode ahead to the balcony, flanked by my companions, into the sun and up to the railing. Tens of thousands stood before us, spread out over the palace grounds and beyond, covering roof tops, and even to the walls of the Tulem city gates, men and women in their best clothes, farmers and craftsmen, an incredible sea of colors and faces.

A thunderous roar, most cheering “Queen Dana!” greeted me. They stood, a melange of humanity, shouting and screaming my name, and the force of it struck me like a wall.

I closed my eyes and breathed, filled my lungs with it, allowing it to roll through me; then I raised my hand slowly, careful not to strain knitting muscles, and waved, smiling proudly and regally, as I thought a queen should. I raised both hands to the sky, and they roared again, loud enough to vibrate the stone beneath our feet.

The danger was believing it. My father had inoculated me early on against adulation, telling me that it was always misplaced. He said that a true leader must always earn his followers’ trust and respect, that any other way lead to tyranny, sycophantic fawning, and ambivalence or hatred of the worthiest men.

I turned to Kernul and cupped my hand over his ear. “You were at King Bruno’s inauguration?”

He nodded.

“Was it this loud?” I shouted.

He grinned. “No, Majesty!”

“Could it be they like the dress, Kernul?”

His laugh, once released, was full and rich. “It’s possible, although I’d say it was more likely the woman who fills it! Another queen in Tulem, who would have thought it?”

That only skittered the truth.

“It’s because I’m a serum girl! They cheer, but they also look for signs of my fall.”

He tensed, but did not dispute me. I decided I liked him.

“Kernul, I know what I am! I accept it! Do not fear candor with me!”

“Yes, Majesty.”

I returned to my thousands of cheering subjects and waved some more, picking out as many as I could to meet their eyes. An intoxicating half-hour later, I left the balcony, waving one last good-bye.

The feast and celebration in the palace’s Great Hall, rarely used due to its size, was hardly that. My ascension, shrouded in death, reflected the spirit of revenge and loss. The Borodins Ketrick and I had killed had been buried the day before.

I gathered all who had fought with me to one side. As a woman, draining a flagon of siolat with them would not have appreciated, but I thanked them for their sacrifice, and read the names of the dead, honoring those brave men in my heart.

Later, I went among the Borodin women, speaking to any who wished. I had killed their husbands and sons, and in consoling them for their loss, I felt loathsome. It was actually a relief that at least half declined my sympathy. Some thought of me as a travesty; just a Giovanni they would never have to see again, a bad omen, and others, by fighting with the men, not a real lady.

By the time I returned to the infirmary to have my wounds checked, the passions, blood lust, and men doing manly deeds of the last few days left me needy. Twylls and strong men poised to penetrate me whirled through my head.

I decided that it would be far better to have my needs attended to before they showed, else my reign might not last a week.

“Beti,” I said, as she finished re-wrapping the slash under my breasts.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Take me to the craftsman who makes my brooch.”

“Yes, Majesty,” she said, and took me to an office in the administrative wing.

Master Craftsman Rastous' workroom reflected the his immaculate appearance: cases of small drawers, all labeled with a fine hand, were arranged within easy reach on his worktable, curved mirrors were placed for extra lighting. My eye was naturally drawn to the center, where a clamp held a gleaming silver circlet.

“Your Majesty, it is an honor,” he said, bowing smoothly. For a smaller man, his voice was surprisingly deep.

I lowered my head in what I hoped was regal acknowledgment. “Thank you, Rastous. I’m eager to see your creation.”

He un-clamped the circlet, showed me how the clasp worked, and handed it to me.

“I’m following your instructions and the dimensions set out from your hairdresser. If I may, I’d prefer to keep it for another day to make it worthy.”

The stones had already been added to the band, and an intricate floral design, suitable for a woman, had been worked and stamped with a master’s eye from the inside. “You do excellent work. This is much as I envisioned it already.”

He shrugged, disappointed. “This is a fast job, but if you like the motif as it is, I could finish it in a few minutes.”

“A fast job is what I need for now. Take time with the next one.” I waited until he was done, then collected it with my thanks.

“Beti,” I said right after we had left, “I need a mundane dress that fits me. I’m leaving the palace tonight.”

She opened her mouth ans stared. “Your Majesty?!”

“Oh, stop looking so shocked. Kings have occasionally wandered among their subjects to gauge their true feelings.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she replied, clearly disapproving. “Shall I obtain an escort for you?”

“That won’t be necessary. I'll supply my own.”

I had only two possibilities: Ketrick and Malchor, and one would be difficult to meet discreetly. I sent a messenger to my old castle with a sealed message, summoning Malchor to meet me at the northwest gate. Next, I met with Master of the Guards, Gherome, and Kernul, and told them what I intended. They disagreed, as I knew they would, but I overrode them. I applied ink to the circlet from a stamp pad and rolled it onto two clean pages, making two identical unique patterns. After wiping off the circlet, I held it up for them to see.

“This circlet is my pass. Give the patterns to the guards at the palace’s northeast gate and Tulem’s Gate. I mean to leave the palace grounds soon.”

A short while later, I passed through the northeast gate in mundane clothing and a veil. The sun had already descended below the western mountains, and the sky above was the deep blue and red of the true sunset. Anticipation made me wet and irritable. Malchor was late. I cursed his unreliability; there had been ample time for him to arrive. Fortunately, only a few minutes later, I spied him down the street approaching with two horses, one my old bay. I walked quickly towards him. If he took me soon, I decided, I would forgive his tardiness.

“Good Sir, is that horse for me?” I called sweetly.

He peered closely at my disguise. “I believe so.” He started to dismount to help me up, but I stopped him, climbing directly into the saddle.

“Congratulations on your ascension, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Malchor, but ‘Your Majesty’ seems inappropriate for what I have in mind.”

White teeth flashed in the dark. “I see. Are we being watched?”

“I left orders that I was not to be followed.”

He grinned. “Excellent. There aren’t many places where I may safely entertain the Queen’s innermost recesses. Fortunately, my house is one.”

We started off towards the city gate at a fast walk. I wriggled in the saddle on my royal saer with thoughts of fulfillment, but there was a nagging detail his appearance reminded me of. “I must replace Gina before she gets too settled. I was thinking of Paoli.”

“A superb choice,” he said, but as an aside, as if it weren’t important.

“Are you still thinking of leaving Tulem?”

“I’ve been thinking about it. Without the Borodins around there won’t be much to guard against. Joining my father and his family in Rudyer would likely be a change for the better. What about you, Dana?”

“I’ll remain until the Borodins leave.”

“Yes. Well, perhaps we should ride faster. The sooner you get back the less frantic the guards will be.”

I reached over and touched his arm. “That goes for me, too!”

I kicked my horse and let him loose, as fast as I dared, anyway, letting the breeze take my hair. I still had to concoct a plan to get Malchor and the real Dana together, but I wasn’t going to worry about that until I could think straight again. Soon, we approached my old castle. There, I let him take the lead. We turned down a side road to an ordinary stone house with a red tile roof set some distance away from its neighbors. The windows were dark. It looked like a good place to scream with abandon beneath a man.

We tied the mounts to a post outside and Malchor opened the door for me. I had just walked into the dark interior when he took my arms and pulled them behind me. For the split second it took to secure them, I didn’t know what to think. Would he take me like a slave? Would he allow me nothing? My nipples, already firm, stiffened to hard points. If he wanted me, I would have no choice except to do exactly what he wanted. By the Gods, will he ravish me? I began to pant.

When he forced a cloth into my mouth, I knew something wasn’t right. Struggling, I ducked around him and ran for the door, but he collected me easily, and pulled me back to his chest.

“And where do you think you’re going, little bird?” he chuckled. “Your rule here is ended, Your Majesty. It’s time to become what you really are.”

I stared at him, frantically trying to spit the dry cloth from my mouth. This could not be happening! I tried kicking him, but this wasn't one of my tear away dresses, and it impeded my legs; all he did was laugh. He picked me up, still kicking and thrashing. My heart pounded, and my saer leaked through my shift. I was actually being abducted. He was really going to make me his slave!

After tossing me on the bed, he lifted my dress above my waist and smiled at the sight of my knife.

“I will enjoy taming you, Dana. You will need only one blade from now on, and when it splits your thighs, you will delight in your impalement.”

If there had been any doubt what he meant, dropping his pants removed all ambiguity. I closed my eyes, but the sight had its effect, and passion’s lubricant trickled down between my thighs.

He removed my knife from its scabbard and tossed it behind him into the door. I couldn’t do a thing except squirm. His hand made me moan like a siolat girl. I arched my back, exposing my neck and thrusting my breasts forward for the lips and tongue they demanded.

So much of me wanted to give in, to be taken and become the slave my nature demanded! He filled me, and the slut within broke free, bucking against him to bring him deeper. With my hands still tied behind my back, he forced me to wild slave orgasms. After an hour of satisfying his needs -- and mine -- most of the tension I’d built up over the past few days slid away, allowing me to think clearly.

This was bad. Malchor didn’t seem like a man who would botch an abduction. When he finished, he tied my legs around the ankles and knees. A moment later he wrapped me in a pelt and strapped me over my own bay with my head down.

He bent low to my ear.

“If you are obedient, Dana, I might allow you to keep your name,” he said.

I writhed like a lizard and cursed him, yelling as hard as I could through the gag.

He laughed, and patted my bottom as if I were a prize horse.

I wanted to wail. I had liked his hand, and was aroused again. I wanted to be free, but, by the Gods, my body, once it knew it was helpless and secure, didn’t mind being raped and hauled-off to be branded! I swore a furious oath at my brother, and especially at that long-dead bitch, Vanora. If I had to be a woman, why couldn’t I have normal urges?

He had to pass through the gate, and I figured that was the flaw in his plan. There was a good chance that I could surprise him there. A real pass would be recognized by special ink, known to few. If Malchor was using a forged pass, or was attempting to bribe his way out, he would be in for trouble. As the path leveled out before the gate, I tensed to move.

A distant voice: “Hold for inspection.”

We stopped and I heard Malchor’s dismount, his boots scratching the loose rock. I waited impatiently for the guard to move closer.

The sounds of another pair of boots approached. I wriggled for all I was worth, screaming into the thick cloth. If Malchor thought I would take this passively, he was mistaken!

“What’s that?” came the guard’s voice. I grimaced amiably around my leather gag. Now we would see!

“Oh, just a slave I’m abducting. Look at the pass and you’ll see.”

I screamed and squirmed harder, straining at my bonds. My chin pounded against my horse’s flanks, but it barely stirred my formerly faithful steed.

“This is very irregular. Wait here while I verify the pass.”

“Of course.”

There was a scuffling of gravel, and soon a hand caressed my rear end familiarly. “I am pleased that you struggle,” my former Captain of the Guards said in a low voice. “You will be a joy to collar and brand.”

I twisted wildly, but it was hopeless.

“Captain Malchor, your papers are in order. Lady Gina has approved your departure and your abduction.” The guard laughed. “If she wiggles beneath you the way she does on the back of a horse, you’ll have a fine hot slave that might cost you much sleep. Are you sure she won’t be too much for you?”

Malchor joined the guard’s laughter with his own amused chuckle and my last hope for help from the guard evaporated. “She will require training, but in the end she should prove to be satisfactory.”

I seethed inwardly and lay still, determined that I would provide no more entertainment.

We moved through the first gate, the hooves echoing sharply through the long tunnel. The outer gate was opened and we were away. I couldn’t see a thing, even had it been light, I had only a small air space that looked down. Malchor picked-up the pace as soon as we left from a fast walk to a mile-eating trot.

It was a long, miserable night. I spent my time plotting, not an easy thing with constant pressure on a bladder. I thought about letting go, presenting my abductor with a wet, stinking surprise when he unwrapped me, but in the end I gritted my teeth and opted for dignity. The rising sun warmed my legs, and from that I knew we were heading south on the road towards the river town of Fyr. If his destination was his family’s city, Rudyer, he would likely catch a riverboat in Fyr. I would have to make my move sometime very soon or risk finishing my life collared and wearing a slave tunic in a foreign city.

My tiny view of the road through the airway changed from rough gravel to fitted stone, and I heard other voices for the first time. A little further and the stone changed to light gray blocks. We climbed. The sounds of water gurgling around piers clinched it; we were on the Starshine Bridge over the Celeste River just outside of Fyr. We had come nearly eighty miles from Tulem’s Gate.

I had created a fantasy in the night, one where I was really Queen Dana, but being slung over a horse in hot pelts and close to bursting gave me no chance to reach that calm place in my mind to implement it. To my endless relief, he stopped at the other side, unslung me and unwrapped me from the pelts, leaving me helpless on the ground and half-blinded by the light.

“Do you need to pee, Dana?”

I glared at him bleary-eyed and nodded firmly.

He reached down and undid the bindings to my legs. This allowed me enough movement to slide down on my ground, forcing the dress and shift over my waist. I rolled carefully to a squatting position and released a powerful stream under his watchful eye at the end of the Starshine Bridge into the murky waters of the Celeste. A few passersby glanced at me in mild interest, but it was clear that I had been abducted, and would soon be only a slave.

I had been a Lady too long not to resent it. I stood when I was finished, feeling much better, but not, however, grateful.

As I stretched, I caught a good glimpse of the low walls of the town, square towers and busy docks before he motioned me to the ground. I sighed and lay back as he re-tied me, flexing my muscles as much as possible to ensure the loosest possible binding. Soon we were moving again, towards the town. This was good and bad. I had an idea of what he had in mind -- what I would have done in his position -- and I needed to prepare.

Using mental techniques to shut out distractions, I managed at least some sleep while Malchor bought supplies and negotiated for a room. When I awoke again, I was being untied. The angle of the sun told me I’d had about three hours. It would have to do.

Malchor was tired, but had the look of a child who had just unwrapped his birthday present. I moved uneasily in my bonds; if he tried to make me submit now, I would break. If I had any gas, or anything left in my bowels or bladder, I would have used it. I had to do something to squelch his ardor!

I was sweaty and stank. My hair was stringy and matted. It didn’t matter. Malchor’s intent became obvious all too quickly. I floundered and twisted, but it was useless; he just wanted me more. His swordsman's hands ripped my clothes away until I lay naked, with my hands tied behind my back.

Still gagged, I could do nothing save make womanly squeals of protest, something that would only encourage him. And my body wanted him! I had only been taken for one hour the previous night, not enough to satisfy my slut urges after days of denial. That I might well be a slave in fact in another hour was the finest honey to the natural slave at the center of my being. I couldn’t stop my body from flooding the hot cleft between my thighs, and my legs wanted to separate as if they had wills of their own.

Desperately, I closed my eyes and tried to recreate that place where I could become Dana in my fantasy, but it was far too late; Malchor’s hand was already on my saer, his fingers touching and stroking, relentlessly bringing my most delicate parts to life. I knew my body. Soon, I wouldn’t be able to think at all.

I moaned through the cloth of my gag. It gave me an idea for one last try. I coughed, trying my best to expel the rag. Malchor was no sadist; he would want me to fully appreciate the experience. He untied the leather bond around my mouth and removed the rag. I breathed deeply and moved my tongue, dry after so long behind the cloth. Then I did one of the most difficult things I have ever done: I managed a convincing yawn.

Malchor stopped. He frowned.

“I’m sorry, Malchor, er, Master. Please continue,” I urged. “I need you very badly!”

He stared at me for a time. Finally, he grinned. “It has been a long sleepless night, my little Dana. I have waited this long for you to submit to me; I can wait a little longer. When you cross your wrists, you will be fully conscious.”

“Please take me! Don’t leave me like this!” I wailed. I turned and thrust my saer frantically against his hand.

He considered my exquisite torture. “Perhaps you might need something to help you sleep,” he admitted. I nodded rapidly.

An hour later, he finished with me. Lying beside him on the bed, I watched him snore, tired after his exertions and the long night. He was not a cruel man; I had been well used. My hands were still bound behind my back and my legs were tied, but I smiled. Well brolled and rested enough with my morning nap, I was more than satisfied. After a few minutes of concentration, I went to that place in my mind and readied Dana. I said the keyword, and then I fell asleep.

Malchor awoke me with a solid smack to my rear. I looked up. “Wake up, Dana.”

I awoke stretching and grinning, remembering how he had brolled me a few hours earlier. It looked to be late afternoon. “Mm, yes, Malchor. Would you like me to run a bath?”

He blinked a few times at my new attitude. “Yes.” He rummaged in his pack for a collar and chain, attaching both to my neck. Then he untied the rest of my bonds and locked me to a slave ring in the bathroom, watching me as I pumped the water and then set the pot over the fire. I blushed as I thought about him, my future master.

“You're different this afternoon.”

I glanced behind me, smiling like a maid. “In my heart I'm a natural slave. You've made me see myself as I really am.”

“You led the attack on the King three nights ago. You fought warriors. You killed Marco and Alfredo.”

I sighed. “It seems like a dream now.”

He gathering me into his strong arms and gave me the master’s kiss, demanding everything I had, leaving me with nothing except who I was. When his lips left mine, I could barely stand. I held his chest and cried. He took my face in his hand gently.

“Why do you cry, Dana?”

I smiled through tears of joy.

“Is it permitted to say that I hoped it would be you?”

He grinned crookedly; clearly, my words had pleased him.

“You aren’t my slave yet. Until then you have some latitude in these matters. The water is nearly ready. Take a bath. Then heat some water for me.”

“Yes, Malchor.” I washed my hair and body and then attended him as he cleaned himself. Try as I might, I had great trouble remembering how it was; I could barely imagine myself as Drago anymore. Malchor would be a magnificent master. For this man to steal me, a Queen, and enslave me filled me with pride at his bravery and nerve. No doubt he would be strict with me and require much. My nipples turned into points; I breathed a happy sigh. He would take me precisely how he desired, and when. I would be owned; if I did not please him, he would beat me or sell me.

I handed him a towel as his magnificent body left the bath. As he dried himself, he stared at me with eyes aglow. My knees weakened and my breath quickened abruptly. Would he now teach me my true self?

He lifted me and carried me to the bed, tying my arms together above my head and then to a bedpost. I moved my naked body in the cool cotton sinuously, mostly to reassure myself that I was adequately controlled. Then I parted my lips and looked at my future master, for the last time, I hoped, as a freewoman.

“You will be mine, Dana, very soon.”

I said nothing, merely stretched my face to the side, offering him my neck and breasts. He covered me and forced my lips to meet his own. He took everything and I couldn't deny him for long. I struggled, but I knew it was useless. He stole my will, my ego, and my pride, and I began the long, wonderful journey to become what I was made to be.

A woman’s body is a reflection of her inner self. She is designed by nature to nurture. She is made to enjoy strength and to respond to it; her body is made to be penetrated, her soft skin touched and caressed. To some degree, she desires to be controlled, and a man naturally desires to control her. Any reasonable man or woman knows this. Some say that a natural slave is the ultimate ‘pure’ woman.

He wore down my resistance, until I had nothing left. I became an extension of his desires. Slave orgasm after slave orgasm rolled like thunder, closer and closer together until it became a constant wave and I ignited, sweeping away everything I had been. My wants, dreams, and the things I thought that I had desired most, my privileges, the aristocracy, the pride in being Queen, and, finally, all traces of my former manhood -- gone. I was a pure woman, and I opened my eyes and cried, weeping tears of happiness.

He brushed my tears away. A wide grin split his handsome face. My Master, my owner.

“You will make a superb slave,” he said.

“Yes, Master.” I said, trying the words on my lips for the first time, the feel of it odd and powerful, new, and exciting. I stood on the edge of a fateful precipice, and the depths beckoned my willing body!

He cut my bonds away and motioned to the floor. “I am almost your master,” he corrected me. “Assume the position.”

I rolled off the bed and knelt on the soft furs on the rug, spreading my knees and lowering my head, my wrists crossed in front of me. My pulse raced as I looked up to him, my former friend and subject, now a man who would own me utterly. I said the words I wished to say with all my heart: “I, Dana Giovanni, submit to you, Master!”

He wrapped a cool leather cord loosely around my wrists, and it was done. “Rise, slave.”

I rose and my hands went to my face. I sobbed. I now belonged to him. He took me in his arms and gave me the master’s kiss, my first as a slave. He was my life. I wished to touch him, to please him in all ways.

His low voice rumbled softly against my cheek. “You will be fully trained. I will brand you early tomorrow.”

I feared the heat and pain, but I pressed my body even closer. “Yes, Master!”

The rest of the evening I learned a few of the ways of pleasing him. He had strong needs, as did I. Some things were difficult to do and I had much to learn. He left me for a moment to buy some food. He fed me small bits from his plate on my knees, hands bound behind my back. Afterwards, he had me lick his fingers.

“In time you will become accustomed to this, my little bird.”

I was sure he was right. “Yes, Master.”

“You do this very well. You have accepted your slavery easily.”

“Master…” I stopped and waited for permission. He nodded, urging me to speak my thoughts. “Master, you were the man who triggered my urges. You dominated me well in my old apartments.”

“I might sell you, Dana.”

I lowered my head. “Yes, Master,” I said, but I didn't think a man would seriously speak of selling me with a bulge in his pants.

He touched my cheek. “I am pleased with you.”

I lifted my head and gazed into my master’s warm brown eyes. They spoke to my woman’s heart. I slept by his side that night, thinking of the wonderful life ahead.

I opened my eyes with a start in the early morning. It was still black outside, the night fire providing a wavering glow in the room. Malchor slept soundly. He'd left my hands free, only the thick leather collar and chain restraining me. Slowly, I reached up over my ear to a small flap of thin leather, tanned to the color of my skin, a trick I'd learned that even Ketrick didn't know about. I squeezed the end of it with my fingernails and broke the seal, and pulled on the tiny razor blade. It came free with a few drops of blood and a cold pain that passed quickly.

The blade cut my collar away after a half-hour of slow, agonizing sawing, remaining as still as possible, using only one hand. The tough leather finally parted and the chain clinked softly as it moved. Malchor stirred. I barely breathed until his breathing evened out again. I backed away as if I were in a den of snakes until I was off the pelt, then crawled to his weapons around the bed, praying to the Gods that the wooden floor would not betray me with a squeak. Like with most warriors, he kept his weapons very close at hand. I grasped the sword and scabbard and withdrew it from the pile. It made a small metallic sound as it slid against the mail underneath. Malchor’s breathing quickened, and I leaped back. His eyes opened and his hand snatched out for the sword. I released the scabbard and pulled back on the hilt with all my might, freeing it.

I moved in when he reached for his knife, almost skewering his hand, then kicked the weapon into the corner. When he recovered, the sword’s edge was less than an inch from his throat.

“Don’t move, Malchor! I’d rather not kill you.”

He froze and considered his position, wondered if the leather scabbard could be used to block the blade before I could kill him. I waited patiently until he made the wise decision.

“What do you want, Dana?” he growled.

“I want to go back to Tulem. I have unfinished business there. I told you that I wanted three weeks. You stole me early, using that bitch, Gina to do it!”

He shook his head, more confused than angry. “You are a natural slave. I felt your submission. You crossed your wrists!”

“A good trick.” I grinned at his disgust. “Move to the floor and sit on your hands. The blade is heavier than it used to be.”

He glared at me. I watched him very carefully as he moved, and made sure I was always within striking distance. He settled to the floor and, at my frown, placed his hands beneath his buttocks.

“What do you intend to do?”

Watching him the entire time, I recovered the knife and pulled up a chair. “I’m not angry for what you did; abducting a natural slave is the act of a brave, dominant man, but it inconvenienced me. I want your cooperation.”

“What sort of cooperation?”

“I need you to take me back.”

He tilted his head to the side. “A strange request. Do you plan to have me arrested?”

“No. I can’t tell you more, except to say that it would be to your benefit to cooperate.”

He looked at my hands curiously. I held the sword vertically in a two handed grip, an eastern style Ketrick had taught me in Batuk. “When did you learn that technique?”

I shrugged. “I’ve had to learn new things to compensate for my weaker body. It is not important.”

He shook his head coldly. “I think otherwise. You've had neither the time nor the opportunity. I’ve known your movements since you were transformed.” He rose to his feet and stood with arms crossed. I advanced a pace and snapped the sword forward into the ready position. It tested my recent injury, but the pain was tolerable.

“Get back on the floor!”

“I will if you can answer me one question: While hunting two years ago, you fell from your horse and twisted your ankle. Where did I bring you?”

“Get back on the floor,” I said, low and deadly serious.

“I think you’ve said enough. You are not Dana. Somehow, you must be Amelia, her slave twin.” His visage changed to hatred. He took a step forward, positioning his hands to use the most dangerous technique against a bladed foe, the catch of steel. “Dana is dead. You may kill me, impostor, but I will kill you before I die.”

I doubted that he could do what he said. Naked and defenseless in a dimly lit room, I was confident that I could run him through at leisure, but unless I wanted to kill him, I had no choice except to tell him something.

“Dana isn’t dead. She’s alive and well in Tulem. You need but go and get her.”

“I don’t believe you.” But his face betrayed his hope.

“She's only alive because I didn’t want to kill her. I was a warrior before. I swear this is true on my honor. I had hoped to convince you to take her far, far away. You were hasty and stole me before I could tell you. This can still work if you cooperate.”

He laugh was like the wind over the frozen wastes of Ghar. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“What other reason would I have for not killing you now? I don’t need you to get back to Tulem. I can ride as well as you. This is for Dana, to give her a fine master. It’s also for you. I saw the way you looked at me before. You love her.”

“How long have you been her?”

“For just over a week.”

His thoughts were unknowable behind an impenetrable mask. “I see.” He dropped his hands and looked me over. “Are you of the assassins?”

“I’d hardly give a thought to Dana or you if I were. I’m only a serum girl from Batuk who wants to save her city. The blade grows heavier, Malchor. Either attack now or sit. If you would like to talk further, we will.”

He dropped to the floor and folded his legs. I took a similar position a dozen feet away. “You killed many,” he said impassively. “You killed the King, who was blameless.”

I snorted. “No noble was blameless, least of all the King. They all planned the attack on Batuk. Spies and saboteurs are already inside under the direction of the King’s spymaster, awaiting word to begin. When we discovered Tulem’s plans, we decided to stop them here, before the attack began.”

A warrior understands the obligation of the citizen to defend his city. A city whose citizens will not fight at her walls and in the streets is despised throughout Zhor.

He nodded slowly. “I can’t agree to this. I’m sworn to Tulem.” He made motions of rising.

I made it to my feet before he did and assumed the ready position. “It’s a little late to become a patriot! You were trying to make your Queen your slave, for the Gods' sake. Think about Dana. We can’t hold her silent behind closed doors forever.”

“I can’t allow you to remain Queen of Tulem. You would harm the city in revenge.”

“I swear to you that I wouldn’t. I want to end the war and leave. Franco can become King after me. I’m sick of killing. I did only what I had to do. Accept my offer, go back and abduct the right woman.” He shook his head, and I despaired for his and Dana’s lives. “Please, Malchor. By the Gods, this is such a waste!”

“I don’t know the truth. You’ve lied to me and everyone else since you came to Tulem.”

I retreated to the chair a safe distance away, allowing my arms a rest. I wasn’t weary, but I would have been foolish to wait until I was.

“Most say that truth is found through observation and reflection. Observe and reflect on this!” I picked up the knife at my feet and threw. It stuck upright, quivering a few inches away from his left foot. “Now you have an almost even chance. Choose! Fight me or agree to return to Tulem and take Dana in my place.”

He bent and picked up the knife. For a moment I thought he would fight. Then he reversed the blade and began trimming his fingernails. “Amelia, you must swear to me on your honor that you will not harm Tulem.”

“My name is not Amelia, it is Tyra l’Fay. I so swear. I’ll do only what I must to keep my home city free, and I will not harm Tulem.” I sliced my left palm with the sword blade and raised it for his inspection. He nodded.

“And I swear, on my warrior’s honor, that I will return you to the palace unharmed and will keep your secret.” He sliced his palm and showed me the dark blood. I nodded. “We had better get started then,” he said. “You’ve already been gone nearly a day.”

He started dressing. The clothes I’d come in were nothing more than rags. I salvaged the circlet, making it a necklace with a leather cord.

“Don’t worry about your dress. I’ll buy you something decent on the way.”

I glared at him, annoyed with him about that. I saw no sane reason for anyone to rip a perfectly good dress completely to shreds. “Damn right, you will,” I said, shrugging into a scented slave tunic he’d bought for his new abduction.

“You are different than Dana.”

The way he’d said that sent little icy fingers down my spine. “Dana is a sweet girl who spoke well of you. She's had a bad time of it and needs your help.”

He yanked his boots on with authority. “Yes. Dana needs my help.”

We mounted the horses a few minutes later. It was still early morning when we rode from town, and I wrapped a fur around me to keep warm. Fortunately, Malchor had taken a room outside the city walls, or else we would have had to wait until sunrise for the gates to open. The horses, still a little leg-sore from the previous night’s ride, clomped across the Starshine Bridge, their breath visible in the cold air. After a fast walk to warm them, we began the long trot that carried us through the rest of the night and most of the morning, stopping a few times to feed and water our mounts. The gate to Tulem came into sharp relief after we rounded a final foothill.

Malchor, who had been quiet for several hours, broke his silence. “Tyra, who submitted to me last night?”

“It was something I call a fantasy, the trick I referred to. I made believe that I was a submissive girl named Dana.”

“Huh. How well do you know her?”

“Well enough. It’s true, you know; you were the man who began her urges.”

“You would be more fun to break to the collar.”

I whipped my head around and reached for the sword. It offered some protection, but it wasn’t really a good defense against the man who rode beside me, who would only need to wait until I was distracted. I wondered if I had made a mistake trusting him, and moved my horse to a safer distance.

He laughed heartily, and I cursed his sense of humor. “Relax, it was a joke. Come on. If I was going to betray my oath, do you think that I would wait until we were in sight of Tulem’s Gate?”

I forced myself to laugh, but it was a weak and shallow thing. “Funny, my friend.”

We forded a stream and stood on the outskirts of Trestia, a minor village about fifteen miles from Tulem. I dismounted and waited outside while Malchor brought back a colorful dress more suited to a village girl than to a Tulem freewoman, but it covered me decently. We started for the top slowly, urging our weary steeds onward. We were the only travelers at the gate.

We came close enough for the guards to get a good look at us, then stopped. The tallest came forward.

“No one may enter Tulem without a pass,” he said.

I showed him the circlet. “Your Queen has returned.”

He turned to a guard on his right. “Damian, get the Commander.” As Damian ran off, he looked me up and down, having trouble reconciling me with the dress I wore. “Your Majesty, we will have to confirm this.”

I smiled. “By all means, take the appropriate measures. Just keep this quiet.”

He bowed. “Yes, Majesty.”

A moment later, a stocky man in a purple sash jogged towards us. I handed him the circlet. He took it inside. A few minutes later he walked back, saluted, and returned it to me.

“Your Majesty. You are permitted entry of course. May I ask how you left Tulem? We were unaware you had departed.”

It was a reasonable question. “I left with Captain Malchor here two nights ago.”

The manner of Malchor’s departure must have been well remarked. His forehead furrowed. “But, Captain Malchor left with…”

“Keep it confidential, Commander. I may need to use it again.”

“Yes, your Majesty!”

Once through the gate, we changed our worn-out horses for a fresh pair. My abductor and I left at a fast trot down to the city, past the Giovanni castles, breaking into a gallop when we could.

“Tyra, where is she?” Malchor asked me when we had to slow down for traffic momentarily.

“In the city. I’ll make sure she’s ready to leave soon. In the meantime, we have to get back to the palace right away before Gina finds out that we’re back.”

“Therefore the speed.”

“That’s part of it. As far as I’m concerned, the quicker you leave with Dana the better.”

“There is a problem.”

I looked at him curiously. “Oh?”

“I want to really abduct her. After all, what good is an abduction without excitement and danger? It was exciting with you; you could have been dangerous.”

“Hmm. I see your point. Having been on both sides of abductions, I would say that the real reward is later when she can appreciate her abductor’s determination and bravery. It has long-lasting effects, and makes the girl more grateful and submissive. I advise you to be happy with my abduction. I had no chance: you planned well and executed it superbly. It wasn’t your fault that I have an odd skill that allows me to submit without submitting.”

He chewed on that for a while. “That still leaves me with little more than a trade for Dana. She is merely a slave now, after all. If what you say is true, then she would hardly be overwhelmed by being given to me.”

I smiled. “You love her, don’t you? You could pretend to fight for her. She hates it here. She'd be most impressed and grateful if you stole her from her captors.”

“Do you really think so?” he asked doubtfully.

“I am a natural slave. Let me arrange this for you.”

He shrugged. “I am in your hands, but this still feels like I’m buying a slave, not stealing a woman. This is hardly a real abduction.”

My life seemed filled with obstinate men. “You are very hard to please! Do you have a better idea?”

He thought about it, but shook his head. “I suppose not.”

The guards at the palace gate were easier to convince than those at the Tulem gate. Some had seen me during the battle to take the palace and all had been shown the circlet. I passed through, bringing Malchor with me. It didn’t take long for word of my arrival to spread. Kernul met me as soon as I crossed the palace foyer. Lack of sleep had lined his face.

“Your Majesty, we were concerned when you did not return,” he said, his voice hinting at suppressed fury. He probably thought that I was either an idiot or a slut. He might have been right on the first and was correct on the second; my reign was not off to an auspicious start.

“Malchor, wait in the anteroom by the foyer,” I said.

He bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said with just the barest trace of sarcasm.

“Kernul, are my apartments ready?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

I gestured to the stairs leading to my rooms. “Let’s walk together. I owe you an explanation.”

“As you wish.” He frowned at Malchor and motioned to a pair of guards, who moved closer to my guest. Then he pivoted smartly to stay in step with me.

I stayed quiet until I was back in my apartments. I sat heavily in a chair by the spot where I’d killed the King. I offered Kernul a seat. My Chief of Staff sat, but stayed stiffly upright.

I was abducted by Malchor two nights ago. He brought me all the way to Fyr before I convinced him to return me.”

He let out a breath slowly. “I see.”

As a man, Kernul would understand the temptation I would be for an abductor, but from where he stood, to put myself in that position had been pure stupidity.

“We swore an oath. He would return me to the palace and I would allow him to abduct another, a slave of his choosing.” I held up my left hand and showed him the slice across my palm.

“An oath made under duress is invalid.”

“There was no duress. I tricked him and had his sword at his chest. I could have killed him, and he could have escaped later if he had wanted.” I leaned forward. “Kernul, he was just being a dominant male lusting after a woman he desired — and I'm indebted to him in a way. After every succession, there are rats that hide while biding their time, and he shook one loose. His pass to leave with a secured girl was signed by Lady Gina Giovanni.”

Kernul remained impassive. “There were rumors that you had already been branded.”

I laughed. “That rumor didn’t take long to start.” I stood up. “You’ll need proof that I am unmarked.” I raised my dress above my hip on one side and then the other to prove that my thighs were still unblemished.

“Thank you,” he said, relieved. “What now?”

“Arrest that bitch, Gina immediately, and place her in a cell below the palace -- and bring her seal. Send word to Lord Franco of the situation.”

“As soon as I leave, I'll notify the Captain of the Guards to arrest her. And what should we do with Malchor?”

“I’ll need him to testify. After that, leave him to me. I will handle it personally.”

“Your Majesty!”

“I’ll handle it myself, Kernul,” I insisted. “This sad affair is mostly my fault; I will fix it.”

While the guards were riding to arrest Gina, I took a quick bath and changed into mundane clothes. Not long afterwards, I left the palace gate and headed directly towards Ketrick’s apartment. I guessed that Ketrick was at home; it was not a normal business day.

Wanda's oval face appeared in the door. “Wanda, it’s me, Tyra. Is Ketrick there?”

“Yes, Mistress. Please wait.” She left, leaving me irritated that she had to follow the protocols all the time.

Ketrick came to the door himself and let me in. “Your Majesty, it is an honor,” he said solemnly, but he had a grin, one that I had missed more than I had imagined. I rushed to his strong arms and let him hold me. He kissed me powerfully, just short of a master’s kiss.

“Tyra, what happened? Was it Malchor? Where were you?” he asked while stroking my hair.

I blushed. “Yes. It was Malchor. The lout abducted me. He ... he caught me unaware.” I separated enough to look at him, and smiled. “Were you worried?”

His face darkened. “Should I have been? I didn’t know you were gone until it was too late. I had no way to leave Tulem without a pass, and I would have wasted too much time finding you if I had one. It was fortunate that you had a foolproof way to escape. Naturally, you had everything under complete control.”

As he spoke, his hands tightened on my shoulders. Here was a man who would have saved me if he could, and his protective strength satisfied a very deep instinct that came with my body.

“I was very nearly a slave,” I admitted in a small voice.

“Errr! Tyra, damn it. Why in Hades didn't you come to me?”

I’d rarely seen him so agitated, and I enjoyed it a little. Looking up from a lowered face, I said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

He threw up his hands. “Freewomen! You took a terrible chance. If you had come to me we could have brolled the night away. I could have protected you.”

“I didn’t want to go anywhere near you! What if someone had followed me here? A look inside your apartment would have killed us all.”

“The same thing applies if you were caught brolling Malchor. If you were lucky, you would have been sold to the silver mine overseers in Trask.”

I disliked his superior tone. “Well, at least on the road to his house, there was a good chance to see if I was being followed. How could I ever be sure that I wasn’t being followed in the city?”

His smoldering eyes slowly cooled. “There are ways to avoid tails in the city. In fact, a trained spy would find it considerably easier to lose himself in a crowd than on a lonely road in the dark. But you’re right. Given your level of expertise, it was a logical decision. You haven’t been taught these techniques. You do this so well that sometimes I forget that you’re just a talented amateur.”

There it was again, the hint of great experience. “How long have you done this kind of thing?”

“A long time. Someday I might tell you, but not now.”

“Uh huh.” I knew a brick wall when I bumped into one. “Later then. Where’s Dana?

He nodded towards the door in back. “She’s furious, and I keep her chained at all times, but she's fine. I saw no reason to kill her as long as you were the Queen. You could always send her out to the ends of Zhor with an order. Of course, if you had been gone too long, I would have had to get rid of her somehow, but not before I had to.“

“Good. Is Angel still with the doctor?”

“Yes. She’s healed well enough to leave. I only lack the authority to pick her up.”

“Easily done.” I wrote a quick note, blew it dry, and stamped it with the seal around my neck.

I started to fill him in on what had been going on in the palace since I had seen him last. When I came to Malchor, he brought his hand up so fast it was like it had always been there.

“Hold! Wait a minute. Malchor knows who you are, and he’s in the palace?”

The way he’d said it, it didn’t sound like such a good idea. “I have his oath in blood that he won’t betray me. We made a deal. He’s here to abduct Dana.”

“This was your plan to save Dana’s life, to use Malchor to abduct her?” he asked me, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“Well, Not exactly. I knew that Malchor wanted Dana, Dana liked Malchor, and Malchor wanted to leave Tulem. I was trying to make the pieces fit. This opportunity dropped from the sky, but I’m sure that I could have pieced something else together.”

Ketrick said nothing, just looked at me, waiting for more rope to hang myself, I supposed.

I sighed. “All right. I admit it; I am taking a risk by bringing Malchor back. I want to save them both. Of course, it's possible that Malchor could betray us, but I doubt it. He's swore an oath on his warrior's honor, and he loves Dana. If he fails to stand by his word then Dana dies. He wouldn't do that.”

Ketrick still stood watching me, silent and pensive. It bothered me to distraction not to know what he was thinking.

“Ketrick, I’m not an assassin! I could have killed Malchor, but I feel responsible for Dana, and Malchor ... Malchor is a decent man, too.” I lifted my hand to my face. “Maybe I’m too emotional for this now; sometimes I barely know who I am.” I glared at him. “Or perhaps this whole business is too far from the warrior’s code. I’m willing to take some risk to save them -- but I put you in danger, too, something I didn’t have a right to do. If you want my sincere apology then you’ll have it.”

“I won't ask you to apologize. To be honorable, one must sometimes believe in others. It’s a risk, and you will occasionally lose, but a world without honor is a world of jackals.”

“Well, at least tell me. Did I go too far? Did I risk too much?”

“I would have killed him, but after three hundred years, I try not to second guess what's already been done. As a rule, you should try to do the right thing when you can. It nearly always requires more effort, but it keeps you from becoming a jackal. This may be one of those times. Do you trust Malchor?”

“He’s honest but unpredictable, I think. I trust him to keep his word, but nothing else.”

“What were Malchor’s exact words to you? What precisely did he swear?”

“He swore, ‘I swear that I will return you to Tulem unharmed and keep your secret’.”

He grunted. “I don’t like it. It’s too vague. What exactly does he expect from you?”

I felt warm all of a sudden; then I told him about the abduction details.

“If he wants a fight to make Dana feel like an abduction then I can accommodate him.” He placed a hand on his chin and frowned. “Odd, he forgets that most abductions are by stealth.”

Flushing crimson now, I said, “Actually, the fight was my idea.”

He laughed. “You are a romantic. Is this what you dream of, two men fighting for you, the winner to own you utterly?”

My cheeks burned, but I knew the needs of a serum girl. “To be abducted so is the deepest dream of every natural slave. It demonstrates the strength of her master and her own true worth.”

He brought me close and kissed me, a demanding kiss, and astonishingly satisfying.

“Have guards bring Malchor to my apartment at the eighth bell. You should be here an hour early to make final plans. We’ll give him a chance to be true to his word, but if he decides that his honor favors Tulem, we will be ready.”

It was remarkably difficult, but I pushed myself back a foot or two. “I must return to the palace soon before anyone thinks I'm meeting a lover. You’ll have to console yourself with Wanda.”

“I will,” he said, as easily as if I had recommended the fish at a restaurant. “This will be an evening to remember. One way or another, Dana and Malchor will be out of Tulem.”
 
 

 
I could have made this the first half of a single very long chapter, but thought that this was a good stopping point. The next chapter will resolve much of what was started here, and begin quite a bit more that ends up to be extremely significant in determining Batuk's fate.

Keep those comments coming! :) ~Aardvark

Lady Gina meets her just reward. A test of loyalty for Captain Malchor, and Tyra learns a lesson about being a woman. A sick Librarian may be more than he looks. A new plot is formed, and a warrior must die.

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 16
 
 
When I returned to the palace, I learned from Kernul that Gina was in a cell, and Franco had arrived. In his capacity as head of the Giovannis, it was his responsibility to represent the family in disputes. He'd brought with him the other two Giovanni castle lords, Nino and Adriano.

I returned to my apartments to find, Thea, dressed in a maid's gray and purple. I hadn't asked for her, but her steady assurance made it clear that she came with the quarters. I used her to help get into a formal dress. I went downstairs and visited Malchor in the anteroom of the foyer. I dismissed all of the guards except one.

“Malchor, I need you to testify against Gina,” I said.

“Your Majesty?”

“I can’t allow a traitor to remain free. People would stop respecting me. Gina signed the pass to let you leave. I’d like to have it now.” I held out my hand. He hesitated. “Come now, Malchor, I know you have it. It was your insurance. You needed it until you were out of Tulem’s reach. You would certainly have it now.”

He cast his eye askance towards the guard at the door, then shrugged like it meant nothing and pulled the pass from a leather folder in his tunic, handing it to me with the outline of a bow. I examined the document, recognizing the slight shimmer of the special ink, and the intricate swirls and flourishes of the castle seal that had been mine a few days before.

“Very good. Don’t worry. I’ll keep my promise. You will have your abduction. If you stay far away from Tulem, you and she may live a long happy life.” I leaned my head towards the door and nodded to the guard. “Come with me,” I said.

The three of us made our way through the halls, passing servants and palace functionaries, a few stumbling or staring; it seemed that the news of my return hadn’t quite overtaken the rumors of my enslavement. Stone-faced guards in palace purple opened the great white and gold doors of the inner audience hall at our approach. I trod the long carpet to the back, where the three Giovanni lords, several guards, Selmin, Kernul, and the Captain of the Palace Guards waited for me by the throne.

Lady Gina was also there. While others stood comfortably, she was not so fortunate, disheveled in her finery, gagged and chained to a chair.

Taking my place on the throne, I regarded my unhappy audience.

“I’ve decided to limit this court to the minimum. The rumors were true. I was abducted two days ago. Captain Malchor stole me away, escaping Tulem with Lady Gina’s signed and stamped pass.”

Franco sighed. “Your Majesty, may I see the pass?”

I handed him the pass and he passed it around.

Franco handed it back. “It looks like her signature, and I recognize the stamp. Could this be a forgery?”

Kernul handed him the stamp he had taken from Gina and a block of ink. A print was made and compared. Testimonies were taken and recorded by the court clerk from the guard who had allowed Malchor through the gate and from Malchor himself. He cooperated fully, probably with few regrets, leaving out the part where he took me in his house. His story unfolded swiftly: He had approached Gina when I had requested his presence outside the gate. Gina had approved the pass, wishing to make her temporary status as Lady of the castle permanent.

There was little doubt of her guilt. I signaled the guard to remove her gag, granting her the opportunity to speak. The whole time she had listened, she had remained calm, reserving looks of hatred for Malchor and me.

“She and Malchor plotted all of this!” she screeched.

I allowed her to run on for a time. The hysterical woman surely thought she was going to die. After she started to repeat herself, I ordered her to be silent. The Giovanni lords agreed with my ruling of guilty. I then ordered her removed from her position in the castle, with Lord Paoli to take her place immediately. This was ratified by acclamation.

“Gina,” I said.

She stopped her wailing long enough to look up. Crying had left her eyes wild and red, and her face was blotched and swollen. It was difficult to believe that a few hours before she had ruled a castle. She managed a final plea, however. Her hands reached towards me in a semblance of humility.

“Your Majesty, you were my brother, now my sister. Please, Your Majesty, mercy!”

“You have a choice, Gina: death or Ruk’s Serum.”

Franco swallowed but nodded his approval, not that I needed it. A noblewoman had never suffered the disgrace of Ruk’s serum in the entire recorded history of Tulem, yet few could say that the punishment did not fit the crime.

“Majesty, I choose Ruk’s Serum,” she cried, lowering her face into her hands to howl uncontrollably.

“Ruk’s Serum and permanent exile,” I pronounced. I almost felt sorry for her, but she would eventually find her true self in some distant place in a strong man’s arms, and would be pleased to wear the brand and collar for the rest of her life. A physician in ceremonial gray robes carried out the sentence, injecting her in the arm as a guard held her. She screamed as the needle entered her flesh and sobbed as she was taken away. I never saw her again.

When she was gone, I faced my former Captain of the Guards. “You are exiled permanently. You have until midnight to leave Tulem. Return to the anteroom and await word from me.”

He bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He turned smartly and walked from the hall. I motioned a pair of guards to follow him. When the doors shut again, Franco eyed me, curious at the light sentence.

“Malchor desired me,” I explained. “We were friends and he wanted to make me his slave. He probably thought he was doing me a favor, taking me before my urges disgraced me. His real crime was striking a deal with Gina.” I leaned forward and smiled my finest. “I think it’s rather romantic, don’t you think?”

He bowed deeply to conceal creeping redness. “Your Majesty.”

I consoled the new Lords on their loss of a fellow ruler, but it was only a formality. Gina had been universally despised.

Finally, only Franco remained. “Franco,” I began my speech of regret again, but Franco interrupted me.

“Your Majesty, it’s not necessary. Gina deserved what she received. I hope that you were not harmed by the experience.”

I looked at him anew. It was the most delicate of probes, and I was flattered with what seemed to be genuine concern.

“I’m well and unchanged by the experience -- perhaps a little wiser. Thank you, Franco.”

“I'm pleased that you returned to us.” He bowed and walked out.

Again, he appeared earnest. He would have become King if I hadn’t come back. That meant that he truly didn’t want the throne or … I shook my head. It couldn’t possibly be what I was thinking; I was Queen, but only a serum girl.

I returned to the anteroom and dismissed Malchor’s guards after borrowing a long, sharp dagger from one, and assured them that I would call out if he attacked me.

I placed the dagger on the small table between us as a sign of trust in our mutual pact. “I've arranged the abduction for this evening. Two guards will lead you there at the eighth bell. When you arrive, materials for an abduction will be by the door. Two horses and provisions for two for two weeks will be outside. The guards will also have my pass and any final instructions.”

“Your Majesty,” he said, injecting a trace of friendly sarcasm.

I smiled. “When you fight for her, use your sword. The man there is an excellent warrior and you can press him fairly hard, but try not to overdo it. When he falls, it will be over.”

“Just how good a swordsman is he? How much can I press?”

“Let’s not find out. Do as I say and press him fairly hard, but only to the point where Dana would believe. I don’t have to do this, you know. I could just hand her to you on the other side of the Tulem gate.”

He leaned forward and grinned, a familiar countenance I knew well from the pelts. “Are you sure you don’t want to trade places with her? Eventually, you'll submit to someone. You could do worse, Tyra.”

I covered his hand for a moment and grinned. “I’m going to miss you, Malchor.” I took the dagger and got to my feet, pausing at the door before leaving. “Truly, I wish you both the best.”

I left him sitting comfortably, but his expression worried me. He was not one to conceal his emotions well; he wore a smile, but underneath lay a deep sadness.

***

It was dark outside Ketrick’s apartment. The streetlight at the corner was dimmed at my instruction, and the only illumination came from The Queen’s Cup and the lights in the apartment above, filtered through heavy curtains. I waited outside, across the street, wrapped and hooded in a cloak of deep gray, as the guards brought Malchor to the stairs. He took the steps two at a time. At the top of the stairs he flexed his hands, gave his shoulders a roll, then unsheathed his sword, tapping on the door with the pommel. When it opened a crack, he threw himself at it, forcing his way in. A few seconds later came the muted ring of steel and oaths.

“Is everything ready?” I asked.

“Yes, Majesty,” the senior guard said.

“Very good.”

We waited. Pottery shattered. Heavy objects thumped, as if thrown against the wall. Steel clashed against steel several more times. A man roared in pain. An object fell to the floor with a thud, all of it mixed discreetly with the usual night sounds of street laughter and passing horses. And then: silence.

“That should be all. It won’t be long now,” I said.

Malchor appeared in the door carrying a long package wrapped in a pelt over his shoulder. If one bothered to listen very closely, small squeals could be heard emanated from beneath the fur. He placed his burden over the middle of the pack horse and tied it down with prepared leather cords. In all, the sequence lasted less than two minutes.

“It's time. Take him all the way out to the Tulem Gate. Maintain a steady pace, but not too fast. Warn him about keeping quiet. If he speaks to anyone, even you, kill him immediately.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

They mounted their horses and rode across the street to escort Malchor and his prize. When the clopping of their horses faded, I climbed the stairs and entered the apartment. It was about as I had expected. The chairs lay on their sides scattered about the room, the stuffing from one spilling out through a ragged slice; the dinner table was upturned, its former contents a sticky stew spreading on the floor. Two of the four plants had been knocked over, with the largest pot, a century old Fashtun, shattered into a thousand glazed bits. A huge hole through both plaster and board brought attention to the back wall. The divan was upright, however, and occupied.

I tread lightly through the debris, shaking my head at the mess. “This wasn’t a fight, this was a battle.”

Ketrick grunted. “Malchor is good with the sword. It was a convincing performance.”

Wanda emerged from the back with a broom and pan, going immediately to work on the area around the broken pot. I watched her, glad I didn’t have to do it.

Ketrick stood and brushed himself off. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Our horses waited for us behind the tavern, our own squirming package double sealed in chains. We slipped out of the city through the northwest gate, close to the Borodin side of the valley. We rode hard, passing the orderly torch flames outside the Borodin castles and scattered lights of the villages, a trot most of the time, but breaking into a gallop when the way was clear. It was the long way around to Tulem’s Gate, but it would suffice.

An hour later, standing in the office at the gate, I watched Malchor and his train come into sight, climbing the last curve into the staging area. For the moment at least, it looked as though Malchor was keeping his word. It was clear and the moon, nearly full, reflected from the helmets and polished mail of the several guards that maintained the Gate at that time of night. Malchor’s guards, having done their duty, split off and left him some room.

It was up to Malchor now. My former Captain of the Guards drove his horses forward until he was under the torch lights then dismounted. A Gate guard walked forward. Malchor handed him his pass and went back to check his cargo. I waited, hanging my head when his hand stayed too long at her bonds. I started walking; it was time to end it.

“Malchor! What in Hades do you think you're doing?” I shouted.

He spun around with a startled expression. He had already loosened the pelt and was close to undoing her gag.

“I do what must be done. It’s too late.” He pulled the last bond free. The blond image of myself spit out the cloth wad and looked around dazedly. “Speak now. You are free! Tell them who you are!” he cried to the girl.

The guards would have rushed him, but I held my arm high, waving them back. “That’s enough. It’s time to move,” I said.

He turned to the guards desperately. “Listen to her!” He addressed her again. “Tell them who you are!”

Face down on the horse, the girl bent her head back uncomfortably, and squinted with eyes blurry from being upside down. She croaked, “I’m whoever you want me to be, Master!”

I threw back my head and laughed.

He threw me a furious glance and turned back to his captive. “Tell them! What was your name before you became a slave?”

“My name was Tyra l’Fay, Master.”

“Ah!” Malchor pushed her head down and threw the pelt flap over her in absolute disgust.

“It seems that, once again, you have stolen the wrong girl,” I noted amusedly.

His eyes blazed, but he held his tongue.

“Walk with me.” I gestured to the two guards who had escorted him to the gate to follow. They brought their spears forward, ready to kill him at the first sign of treachery. “Bring your horse, but leave the girl behind. You are leaving now.”

He moved, too numb to protest. We walked down the tunnel to the outside, the horse’s hooves making a racket off the cobblestone in the enclosed space.

We didn’t stop at the opening, but went further, where our words would be lost in the cold whipping wind of the mountains. He could have snapped my neck with a twist, so a pair of crossbows watched us.

“I’m sorry it ends like this,” I said.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No.” I pointed further down the hill a few hundred yards to a pair of horses with one rider. “The real Dana is on that packhorse. Take her and go.”

He started, then relaxed. “So, you kept your word.”

“And I will continue to do so. I respect your obligation to your birth city, but I can’t trust you. When the man with Dana saw you come through without your packhorse, he gave her a DNA modifier. Soon, she will be unrecognizable as my twin. Three days from now the changes will be complete. Her value as a tool to destroy me is over. By the time she recovers, I expect you to be long gone from Tulem. If you return to the gate while I’m on the throne, you will die.”

“Making changes so soon after Ruk’s serum is a risk.”

“A small one; these changes are minor and cosmetic. You gave me no choice if I didn’t want to kill you both.”

He mounted his horse and began the walk down the mountain. Father would have told me to leave it at that. Authority is best firm and quick; the fewer explanations the better. But I could only watch him go for a few seconds. Damn.

“Malchor, wait!”

He turned, his expression a mask.

I picked up my hem and ran until I was by his horse. “Listen to me. Dana's hurt inside. She’ll need you to be kind for a while. She's also stronger than you think. She took control of the castle after Paolo was killed. I would ... I would have liked her if things were otherwise. One more thing: let her pee once in a while, more than you let me. Riding on a horse like that compresses the bladder.”

He pressed his fist to his chest, making his salute sardonic with a tilt of his head. “I’ll take your advice. Goodbye, Tyra.”

I watched for a long time, ignoring the biting wind, while he spoke with Ketrick, and waited until he rode away, south, following the same route he had taken with me. I walked back through the tunnel and dismissed the guards that had escorted Malchor. They must have thought I had played a great joke on him, judging by their laughter.

Ketrick came through riding a moment later and went straight to the packhorse. He unwrapped Angel, readjusted the pelts to make a crude saddle, and lifted her onto them. Her injuries must have been, at best, half-healed, but she only winced.

I mounted my horse and started back. Ketrick joined me before too long, the lead rein from Angel’s horse tied off to a ring on his saddle. I held my peace until we were out of sight of the gate.

I took a deep breath before saying what must be said. “You were right. Malchor betrayed me.”

“True.”

“Ketrick, I don’t know how to say it…”

“I told you there was no need to apologize. I understand exactly what happened. Part of it is inexperience, but the greater part is because you are a woman.”

I'd been ready to grovel, but that killed it faster than a beetle under a boot. “Now wait a minute...”

“Isn’t it obvious? Would Tyr have done that?”

“That’s … that’s not the right question. I may as well blame everything that you’ve done wrong on your suren. Do you want to listen to my explanation? Then hear me out. I agree that I made a mistake, but it has nothing to do with me being a woman -- well, in a way, but not the way you make it out to be. Yes, I made a mistake with Malchor, who held his obligation to his home city, as damaged as it was, sweeter than his word to me.”

“You’re only proving my point so far.”

“I’m not done yet. Likely, Malchor quibbled with his blood oath because he didn’t see me deserving the warrior’s bond.”

“Considering that he’s had you in the silks several times, I would surmise that he knows what’s beneath your dress.”

“I ... I treated him as one warrior to another. I honored him with a chance to fight me --”

“Which was idiotic.”

“Damn, it, Ketrick. It would have worked if I had been a man.”

“It probably would have -- for Tyr, but Tyr would never have tried it.”

I looked straight ahead to avoid looking at him. When Ketrick saw me, how much did he see of the man I used to be, and how much of my breasts, and bottom -- and remember the way I moved under him, the scent of my hair, my body.... None of the old rules apply anymore. You’re not a man, and you can’t forget that for a second -- ever.

“All right. Tyr would have killed Malchor, changed Dana’s DNA, and sent her to the Slave Trainers Guild with instructions to sell her in some distant land, regretting all of it, but not enough to take chances with the lives of the men, women, and children of Batuk. But I’m not Tyr. I know how much Malchor loved Dana. I know what a serum girl feels like when she wakes up. I know the black depths of Dana’s mind after she understood that her supposed ‘friend’ had destroyed her life. With Tyr’s way, she would have been scarred forever. I have learned. If I had a chance to do it over, I would have tied Malchor up somewhere outside the Gate, brought Dana to him drugged -- something, but Dana would have still been with Malchor in the end.

“Which way is better? The question should be, which way is better for whom. The safer way is Tyr’s. He could have lived with killing Malchor and sending Dana to an unknown fate, but not me. I know too much. I don’t think I could have returned to the palace unhaunted with the memory. After all this killing and betraying, I had to be human again. I can’t apologize from my heart for trying to save Malchor and Dana, only that I wasn’t more careful.”

“We all keep the jackal at bay in own way. I understand.” He grinned. “At least you’ve admitted that you think like a woman.”

I groaned. “Ketrick, how would I know? I think the way I think, but I suppose so, yes.”

He nodded. “It’s been a good day. Despite the added risk, we are alive, Dana is saved, and Malchor is free to go his way -- an interesting fellow, by the way.”

“Yes. You and Malchor spoke for a long time before he rode away.”

“Truth. We had much to discuss.”

I waited in vain for elaboration. “So? What did you talk about?”

“I told him that I'd taken Dana silently with a black mask in the dark and put her on the horse. We are about the same size, so Dana may reasonably conclude that it was Malchor who had abducted her, and her natural slave heart will be suitably impressed.”

“That was considerate, but it hardly took the entire time.”

“No,” he admitted.

Ketrick could be infuriating at times. “Well, what else did you talk about?”

“Things we have in common -- you, in particular.”

“Ketrick!”

He smiled his rakish best. “Of course, I can’t tell you precisely what we discussed. That subject is reserved for those who think like men; however,” he confided, leaning over the saddle, “in the main, it was complimentary.”

We rode to the bottom of the valley before I cooled. Why did this bother me? Women talked about men all the time. Angel, Wanda and I had spoken of Ketrick in intimate detail and he hadn’t cared at all. It was unfair.

I motioned Angel forward, allowing her room to ride between us. She still winced and rode slightly twisted to one side. “How bad is it, Angel?”

She glared at me as if it were my fault. “Nice of you to ask. It hurts like Hades!”

Male jokes and insolence by an ex-slave: I’d had enough for one night. “Ketrick, do you see any reason to keep Angel free any longer?”

“She will submit before the night is over. Perhaps I’ll break a few rules and give Wanda lessons in unarmed combat. A turn as second girl might teach her humility.”

Mouth open, she bowed to me as far as her injury would allow. “Please forgive me, Mistress! I was rude and should be punished.”

“You’re still a freewoman, but there are limits.”

“I’m sorry, Tyra. I’m not used to this.”

I shrugged. “You did well at the gate, and you are in pain. I forgive you. Now return to your place in the rear.” She nodded submissively and moved back.

My old castle came into view, the walls gleaming in the darkness from torches spaced every few yards. Slow rockets burst green and gold in the air overhead. As we came closer, I heard loud music and wild shouts. They had to be celebrating Lord Paoli’s ascension -- or Lady Gina’s departure.

“We’re still in trouble, you know,” I said. “Even as the Queen, I can’t stop the invasion without a very good reason. As a serum girl, my rule is tenuous.”

“I never thought it would be easy. What are you doing so far?”

“I commissioned a study to analyze the effect exiling anyone who misbehaves has had on the mundanes over the centuries. If it proves what I suspect, it will demonstrate to the Borodins that the men and women of Batuk are different, that their enlightened rule over the ‘peasants of the plains’ would be anything but.”

“That's an unusual approach,” he said after a moment of deep reflection. “Clever, in a way, but it won’t work for the immediate task at hand.”

“I know,” I sighed. “It was more of an impulse than a plan: it felt like the right thing to do. I have another tack.”

“Does it concern Spymaster Thermin or his deputy?”

I give him a hard look. “Why do you even bother asking me these questions if you’re two steps ahead of me? I’m just a warrior, or I used to be. You’re the one with all the experience.”

“Experience is a valuable guide, but relying on it too much impedes innovation — or maybe it’s because I enjoy hearing a woman’s voice plot war and killing.”

“Sweet words. I’ll be swooning any second. It’s just an idea I had, a rather obvious one. I don’t think I can stop the invasion from the palace. The Borodin lords are more eager than ever to attack Batuk. The key to ending this war, now, I think, are the spies and saboteurs in Batuk. We need information about them, and then a way to stop them. I need….”

I closed my eyes for a moment. Lack of sleep numbed my brain, my body was tired after riding all night, and I was weary of the constant strain. The task suddenly seemed hopeless.

Ketrick gripped my arm. “Where is Malchor’s house?”

I knew that tone of voice very well, and found that I needed him dreadfully. “I don’t know if we have the time.”

“You’re the Queen. You have no schedule to keep.”

I let out a shaky breath and pointed. “It’s right over there.” He nodded, then turned his horse. I followed, and my urges built the entire way, but when we dismounted, the door was locked. I almost cried from disappointment, but he took me in his arms.

“It doesn’t matter, Tyra. The ridge of trees by the castle field will do nicely, and I still have Angel’s pelts. She can stand guard.”

He took only a moment to undress me. I unclipped my circlet and let my hair free to blow in the breeze. Standing naked under the limitless sky, the cool ground under my feet, I might have been anyone from slave to Queen, and none of it mattered to me. All I wanted then was the man in front of me. He took me with a kiss, leaving me room to give something of myself. It was this delicious difference, unique to Ketrick, that bridged the freewoman and the natural slave in me. A purist would have scoffed, claiming that my natural slave’s satisfaction wasn’t fulfilled, and that was true, but if it was something less to the natural slave, it was everything to the flame of freedom that burned within my breast.

Then I gave him myself for a wonderful hour on the warm pelt beneath the stars. Soon, I was his, and I screamed the full-throated wail of a woman who knows her true self, my cries soaring into the night sky to combine joyfully with music from the castle, sounds of celebration, and rockets exploding.

An hour passes swiftly when one is used so splendidly. When he finished with me, we lay side-by-side, allowing the evening to cool our overheated bodies. I turned to my side to watch his carved profile and superb body. I longed to say what was in my heart, but it wasn’t the right time. From my experience as Tyr, I had learned that the first words should come from the man, lest his ardor be quickly diminished.

“I'll send you Wanda late tomorrow afternoon,” he said.

I propped my head on my elbow and smiled. “She would be very welcome. I’m assuming I would own her?”

“Yes. It’s too dangerous for us to meet like this. You need a way to contact me. I’ll set up a few message drops that Wanda or you can use.”

“Hmm. What if she’s followed?”

“That’s why I need the day. I’ll train her to detect and avoid tails, and you should start a pattern of being outside the palace with her at all times.”

I nodded. “She is clever.”

“She is. In all my years, I don’t believe that I’ve ever owned two more satisfying slaves.”

I still felt a pang at their loss, but not nearly as much as I used to. “They were my greatest pleasures, especially Angel. What are you going to do with Angel, by the way? It won’t do for the Queen’s twin to be used and dominated in a tavern.”

“I’ll change her appearance. It’s too early to alter her DNA, but I can change her hair and give her cheek pieces.”

“Don’t cut her hair. I might need to use her again.” I smiled at the image in my mind. “Why not part her hair to the sides of her head and tie it off in twin ponytails?”

His laugh was a pleasant rumble. “Like a little girl?”

“Just like that, yes -- and you could give her a new name, like Rosy Cheeks or Baby. That should be enough to satisfy my Minister of Protocol. If he still complains, then I’ll simply tell him that it’s enough for my sense of propriety.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do.”

***

Ketrick was right: no one said a word to me about how late I was getting back. I summoned my bath girls, who prepared my bath, and I settled into its hot, perfumed waters. All three massaged my body in scented oils until I nearly fell asleep. I slept like the dead in a linen nightgown in a warm bed overlooking my magnificent city. Sometimes, I decided, it’s good to be the Queen.

A gentle cough awoke me in the morning. I rolled towards the offender, Thea, my apartment maid. She bowed, holding a set of purple and white towels in her arms.

“Your Majesty,” she said softly, “breakfast is in an hour.”

I suspected that King Bruno might have told her to leave, or taken her if he was in the mood; she was a pretty girl if you liked short buxom brunettes with limpid blue eyes, but I was not a king, and it was time to face the day.

After a bath, and being dressed and coiffed -- my new palace circlet wasn’t finished yet, and I didn’t want to wear the other in the palace -- Beti met me outside the door.

“Your Majesty!” She bowed.

I thought Beti to be a good sort, but I didn’t care for dogs or people who followed me around everywhere. “Beti, how long do you intend to monitor my progress? My wounds are healing well.”

“Physician Lees’n asked me to watch you for another two days, as a precaution.”

“Physician Lees’n and you have done extremely well, but this is excessive. I’m too old for a wet nurse and the attempt would please neither of us. After today, you will return to your regular duties with my thanks.”

“Yes Majesty,” she said, less enthusiastically.

Breakfast was in a private room in an annex of the Great Hall. It easily compared to my apartments in opulence, although this was more austere. Instead of curtains and personal scenes, its elegance relied on marble carvings and gold.

I appeared to be the last one there. My place was at the head of the table. To my right were Kernul and Selmin. To my left were The Captain of the Guards, Gherome, and War Leader Prator, the Commander of my portion of the forces arrayed against Batuk. Finally, there was an empty place, set with plates, cup and glass, Thermin’s chair. I looked to Selmin for an explanation, unsure whether to proceed or wait.

“Your Majesty, Spymaster Thermin begs your pardon. He is occupied this morning.”

“Is he now. Is he in the palace?”

My Minister of Protocol’s face flushed a deeper shade of brown. “He is.”

From Selmin’s reaction, I had been snubbed. My position in the palace was unsure, but this went too far; Thermin wasn’t even a noble. For someone to dodge the first breakfast with his sovereign was inexcusable. “I will meet with our Spymaster before he leaves the palace. Please see to it, Gherome.”

The Captain of the Guards waved a guard over from the door and whispered a few instructions. Kernul made a small nod of approval.

Breakfast was intriguing, not for what I learned about the palace and the way it was run, but for what I learned about King Bruno’s ruling style. When I asked the ministers about their finances and operations, they answered, but as a curiosity; the men at the table were not accustomed to being questioned. The rumors about King Bruno had been correct: he had been bored, and preferred hunting, drinking and wenching to governing. Except for the weekly audiences, his active mind and formidable leadership had largely been wasted.

My ministers honored my position as Queen, but I doubted they would invest much loyalty or devotion, as they expected my rule to be brief. I couldn’t find fault with their logic. I, too, hoped to be beyond Tulem’s gate soon after Batuk was saved.

After breakfast, I needed to think and to be alone. I only had vague notions of what to do. Tulem needed its spies and saboteurs to create havoc. We needed to stop them. But how?

Just then my assigned companion attached herself to me.

“Majesty, would you like a warm bath and massage?” Beti asked hopefully.

“Beti, I’ve decided that I won’t need you today after all. Please return to the infirmary. I will be there at the usual time, and I promise that at the first sign of danger I will run straight to you.”

Her face fell, but she bowed to my command. “Yes, Majesty.”

When she was gone, I wandered the halls in thought. I’d considered returning to my apartments, but the pinks, frills, flowers, and languid scenes of children playing appealed to a different woman’s mind. My feet led me to the Hall of Kings. I stopped once again before the evocative portrait of that long-dead queen. If I didn’t know better, I might have sworn that her eyes saw still, even across two centuries.

I caught a movement walking down the hall, a quiet tread. It was Merton. He stood beside me, not too close, and looked up at the picture of Tulem's first Queen.

“The artist captured her extremely well, but forgot her sense of humor, I think,” he said in his unobtrusive voice.

“The artist was a genius.”

“He was Grent Dewy, Your Majesty.”

Even dreaming in class, I remembered his name. He was ranked among the finest painters in the last five hundred years. “She was fortunate to find him.”

“And he, her.”

The catch in his voice was telling. I looked at him and smiled. “After all this time, do you still love her, Merton?”

“Majesty,” he sputtered.

I took his hands instinctively, ignoring for the moment our relative positions. “Don’t be ashamed. I’m sure she was worthy of it. I’ll wager she knew what you felt for her.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. May I ask you an impertinent question?”

I raised my right eyebrow. “Within reason.”

“How has Ruk’s Serum changed you inside?”

I considered the Librarian. Merton had served six kings and a queen. Liars and scoundrels would never have lasted so long. “This isn’t a question for your library, is it?”

“No. I’ve studied the subject, but it’s a personal request.”

I moved to a bench by the wall on the opposite side, away from the portraits. “Sit, Merton, and I will do the best I can.”

I wondered what I could tell him. As nervous and stiff as he was, it had to be more than curiosity. “It’s like looking out onto a new Zhor. The body changes you, Merton, and all is shifted. Men and women are not the same. The world regards you differently. Some of what I could do before is impossible or difficult, but other avenues open, and I’ve learned to adapt and appreciate some of what I have. Am I changed, Merton? Yes, but deep inside I am still me.”

“What about the urges, Majesty?”

“I’m a natural slave, and will possibly, probably, succumb sooner or later. Yet even then, I’ve seen slaves with their old personalities intact. I will hold onto what I have with all my strength, but even if I lose, I will still exist, with yet another view of the world. I do not scorn the slave any longer. I understand her.” I found his eyes after a brief search. “Did that answer your question, Merton?”

“Abundantly, your Majesty. Thank you very much.”

When he moved on the bench, he winced, and I finally connected the points. “You’re welcome. If you want to discuss this with me in more detail, come to my apartments sometime when I’m free.”

He bowed very deeply. “I am honored beyond words, your Majesty.”

I looked into his face when he rose. “Be honored all you want, but do not hesitate.”

He departed with a steadier step, but now, looking for it, I could see the pain he'd been hiding. Merton was a sick man.

For whatever reason, the conversation had cleared my head. I returned the way I came and entered the administrative section where Thermin’s offices lay. He had insulted me that morning. It was possible that he truly had been indisposed with a critical matter, but I wouldn’t give him the opportunity to apologize; it wouldn’t suit my purpose.

He had the end of the corridor to himself with a guard blocking the way to non-essential traffic. I glanced at the guard, who allowed me by. He made to announce me, but I shook my head. Thermin’s door was unlocked. I opened it to a scene of three men clustered around a set of maps spread out on a large table. I couldn’t have hoped for better.

“Your Majesty!” cried the man in the middle. The others moved to block my view.

I disliked him on sight. He was tall enough, with brown hair and blue eyes, and handsome in a way I’d seen in taverns. He would dominate a woman well, but tie her arms a little too tightly, or bind her mouth so she had to strain to breathe.

“Oh, did I come at a bad time?”

“Majesty, we were examining some of the latest maps from Batuk.”

“Excellent. I would like to see them, too.” I started forward.

Thermin turned quickly and gathered them up in his arms.

I directed my attention to the other two men. “Get out!” I shouted, pointing to the door. “Come back when I tell you to!”

They glanced at Thermin, who nodded very slightly. I narrowed my eyes at this blatant disrespect, but they did leave.

“Majesty, what can I do for you?” he said charmingly, yet lacking the essence of it.

“I want to know what you do.” I sat and waited.

“Majesty, I wouldn’t be doing my job for you or for Tulem if I told you Tulem’s greatest secrets. Your ... condition leaves you vulnerable to an enemy.” He spread his hands. “I’m sorry.”

It all sounded very reasonable. “That’s unacceptable,” I said, folding my arms. “I don’t expect all the details, but I will have a good idea how a department under my control is run.”

He grimaced. “If this is because I was busy at breakfast…”

“That’s part of it. It showed me an arrogance and lack of judgment that concerns me. Now, describe your operations.”

“Majesty,” he began, as if he were speaking to an irrational child.

“The next time you open your mouth I will expect a reasonable description of this department.” I waited a few seconds, then leaned forward and spoke clearly, enunciating each word. “If you do not speak very soon, Donal will be the new Spymaster and you will be in a cell for a very long time.”

“May I be candid?”

“Always, Thermin.”

He leaned backwards to half-sit against the table, and crossed his arms comfortably. “Your Majesty, you’re a serum girl. You can’t possibly expect me to give you Tulem’s secrets when you might be in a master’s arms a week from now. If you put me in the dungeon during this sensitive time, it would jeopardize the war. The nobles would unite and make Franco the King.”

“Serum girl or not,” I sneered, “do you really believe that nobles would hold your arrogance higher than my right to know what an underling is doing? I’m the Queen in Tulem, whether for a day or years. Donal or another can do your job, you arrogant twit. I would bet my crown that I could break you. And remember this, Thermin: I have less to lose than you do. This is your last chance. Tell me what I want to know.”

His eyes burned with a cold blue flame for a few seconds, but he did the calculus. “Majesty, may I ask a question?”

I inclined my head graciously. “You may.”

“Do you really care how this department is run?”

“As far as you’re concerned, Thermin, I do. And that is all you need to know.”

He hung his head in disgust. “Very well -- Majesty!”

He walked to a display board, erased what was there with a coarse cloth, and began to draw. “This is no secret in the palace. I have three men and two women on my palace staff.” He wrote their names and functions. “There are about four dozen men and women in other cities that report to me. Naturally, more than half are in Batuk.” He paused to examine my reaction to these revelations.

“How droll. What you’ve said so far any fool can guess. What specifically are you doing in Batuk?”

His jaw knotted for a second, but he acceded. I even admired his poise, for he was furious beneath the facade. “I communicate regularly with my spymaster in Batuk via courier. My spies occupy positions at every level in Batuk society and provide an excellent slice of the city’s mood.”

“And how often do you contact your spymaster there? It’s a two-day trip.”

“It is a single day. We provide a way station halfway. I have daily reports.”

I took no notes nor asked more than a couple of dozen questions. For Thermin, I was a petulant bitch making a point, but by mid-morning I had enough information to churn with possibilities.

“Majesty,” he called just before I left the office.

I faced him from the door. “Yes?”

“I’d advise against exiling any more people until this war is over. Captain Malchor might have swung north to Batuk instead of south.”

I thought about it for a moment. “Very well, Thermin, I will not. And will you be at breakfast tomorrow morning?” I asked sweetly.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, but his eyes told me that he wouldn’t easily forgive me for putting him in his place.

After lunch, I changed to a split dress and rode south with two guards towards the army practice fields. We rode through the city. More than a few gawked at me. I waved and smiled when appropriate as the every-present enforcers cleared a path through the pedestrians, wagons and carts.

A few minutes later we climbed a mild hill overlooking the parade grounds. The tents, roads, and exercise fields extended all the way to the southern mountains. Thousands still marched or rode in formation, but most practiced whatever martial specialty they would be using for the attack, and the whack of practice swords and spears laid a constant patter echoing against the walls of the valley.

I marked a place at the top of the hill, and waited.

Gerhart, one of my guards, pointed to a large collection of purple tents to our left. “Your Majesty, those are the headquarters of War Leader Prator.”

Being a woman usually carried with it the impression of military incompetence. I’d chosen my guards because they looked stupider than most, but even so, he should have known better. “Gerhart, I wait here, not because I have no idea where to go, but because I have no desire to interfere with the War Leader’s command. Here, we are visible across the field. When he sees us, he will send a man.”

“Of course, your Majesty. I’m sorry.”

Zhok, the other guard, gave him a look when he thought I didn’t see him, mouthing “rhadus.”

It wasn’t long before a man in polished mail with a purple sash around his waist trotted towards us, pulling up a few feet in front. He bowed his head. “Your Majesty! War Leader Prator extends his greetings and compliments. He inquires whether you will join him in his tent.”

“I would be pleased to join him, Commander. Lead on.”

Prator’s tent was the largest, the nexus of a circle of tents. The sides were rolled up for light in the mild weather. I had entered during an exercise of some sort, and the place teemed with officers milling over charts and couriers at the ready. For a moment, in my unobtrusive cloak, I mingled unnoticed amidst tall men.

From markings on the charts, Prator had chosen this simulation assuming that a sizable portion of his forces would be inside Batuk. I noted coldly that part of his “territory” included Eagles.

I looked up when a shadow crossed the chart I was reading.

Prator bowed with precision and grace, finishing with a grin that highlighted a three-inch scar in his cheek that he’d never bothered to have removed. To another man it would have been a sign of vanity; to him it was a reminder to be more careful blocking a spear.

“Majesty, it’s an honor. What brings you here?”

“I came to see the men train, War Leader.”

“An honor. A sub-commander’s foot up their rhadus works pretty well, but your presence will increase moral.”

“That’s my intent. I won’t interfere, but I’d like to watch the men for an hour or two before I return.”

“Admirable.” He gestured to an aide, already anticipating my needs. “I have a place where your men practice the long and short spear. I understand you have some experience with the weapon,” he said, a glint of humor in his eye.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be demonstrating any of my ‘moves’ or offering instruction. Those days are behind me.”

The aide assembled a canopy and provided a chair for me. Another gave me a drink, and I settled down for the afternoon to watch a company of conscripts stab straw figures clothed in Batuk brown. When they lunged, they yelled “Kill!” and “Death!”

Privately, I thought that each warrior in Eagles was worth three of the levees, but there were thousands of them. My thoughts were dark, but I smiled and applauded a well-executed block or a fine thrust and twist, ignoring that it might be my father or mother whom they practiced to spit. I saw no evil in them except what they were training for. With different colors, they might have been a well-behaved militia in Batuk. Before they had been given spears, they’d been farmers or tradesmen, and would be again.

Perhaps some of them would fight harder to emulate my example as their bloodthirsty Queen, but I thought that most looked to me as the wife or sister they wanted to keep safe. The fiction spread was that the barbarians from Batuk had to be overcome for their own good before they became powerful enough to threaten the valley and Tulem’s peaceful way of life — and most believed.

These fine-looking men with bright eyes, humor and passion were not the face of my true enemy, but they would kill us anyway.

***

Once back at the palace I headed back to my apartments, looking forward to a bath and massage. It was not to be. Kernul and Selmin waited for me on the ground floor.

“Majesty, may we speak to you about tomorrow?” spoke my Minister of Protocol.

I sighed. I had completely forgotten about the audience I had the next morning. “Of course, Minister.” We walked to the anteroom together, and I ordered a carafe of tea.

Selmin began: “Kernul and I have discussed the matter. If you’d like, Kernul could conduct the audience for you. King Bruno and others used a surrogate when they were ill or incapacitated.”

From the looks of them, it had been Selmin’s idea, so my attention was to him. “You diminish me, Selmin. Some serum girls never get the urges. Is it so hard to imagine that I might be the Queen a year from now, or two, or three? From such a vision grows mutual respect. Do you understand me, Minister?”

The man surely doubted that I’d be Queen for more than a matter of weeks, much less the wildly optimistic years I’d mentioned, but he barely hesitated. “Yes, Majesty. I understand. In that case, you’ll need to know some palace customs and practices…”

While he droned on about what dress I should wear, what side of the throne I should mount, and where my advisors should best be placed, I watched Kernul. For the first time since the coronation on the balcony, I saw a glimmer of approval.

When the ordeal was over, I didn’t waste a second before leaving, and found Wanda just outside in slave position on her knees. A guard with a long spear stood next to her, holding the raven-haired beauty’s leash as if she were a panther. She smiled up at me.

“Majesty, this slave just arrived,” the guard said. ”According to these documents, she belongs to you.” He handed me her transfer papers, and I gave them a look.

“Yes, she's my slave. Thank you.” Dismissed, he returned to his post.

“Rise, Wanda and come with me,” I said, unsnapping the chain from her collar.

“Yes, Mistress,” she replied, and followed me upstairs to my quarters. At the entrance, I informed the guards that Wanda was my personal slave, and was allowed entry to my apartments at all times.

Thea was there with towels in her hand and a hot bath already prepared. It was a nice touch of a dedicated maid thinking ahead, and Thea was an unassuming woman, but I was already impatient to speak to Wanda alone. I allowed Thea to help me with my dress and assist in the bath because I didn’t know what else to do.

Could I simply send Thea away? Would that be suspicious? I hated not knowing the rules. I determined that I would let matters stay the same, at least for the moment.

That night, Scholar Jillian arrived for her appointment with me looking around and clutching her hands like a fidgety bird. I decided that it was safe and “natural” enough that late in the evening to dismiss Thea, and did so.

“Majesty,” Jillian said after Thea had gone, “You asked me to talk about King Bruno’s last year, but I don’t know what to teach you. You were directly involved in most of what happened.”

“I want you to concentrate on events in the palace.”

“What do you mean, politics?” she asked, screwing up her mouth, as if the word were soiled.

I decided to just come out and say it: “Jillian, I don’t know whom to trust in the palace.”

She breathed a sigh. “Ah, subterfuge, plots, and ears at the door. I’m sure there was some of it, and factions among the palace staff, but I wasn’t involved in that sort of thing. I was with the library. It might be pertinent to say that King Bruno was one of the most powerful rulers in centuries. As far as I know, everyone was completely loyal to him.”

And King Bruno had fifty years to consolidate his reign. “How many times has a King been assassinated where the palace staff was involved?”

“That would be three times, and Queen Prudence, of course. She was the last.”

“Would you say that Queen Prudence was a strong monarch?”

She shook her head. “No, Majesty. As you know, she only took the crown when her husband died. She had few allies and many resented her for not taking a husband.”

I stood abruptly and walked to the balcony that looked out over Tulem. I didn’t go out, just remained standing, watching the orange glow of the setting sun illuminate the clouds over the valley.

Ordinarily, there would be no reason to get rid of me. They would only have to wait for the serum girl Queen to feel the urges. But there would come a time when I would order the attack on Batuk halted. If my position weren’t at least fairly secure, someone might decide that killing me was the right thing to do. I was a fluke, a gallant gesture from the lords who fought with me, and few would mourn my passing. I would never have a strong hand; my own transience ensured that true loyalty would elude me. There were a few precautions I could take, though.

“Jillian, have you noticed any changes in the palace staff?”

“Yes, Majesty. Besides the guards at your door, of course, your maid, Thea, is new here. There may be other changes, but…”

“You know Thea?”

“I know of her, Majesty. She used to work in the administrative wing for your spymaster. They needed a new maid. The King’s private maid was traumatized when you killed the King in front of her.”

He was sleeping with the maid, too? My respect for the dead King went up a notch.

“Any other changes?”

“I don’t know, Majesty. The Chief of Staff would know, of course.”

“Of course. Thank you, Jillian. Do you have those studies about the effect of the exiles ready for me?”

“No, Your Majesty,” she said uncomfortably. “I was wrong. There are none in the archives. There are indications that some similar studies were done, but none survive.”

“I find it troubling that no studies survive. What does that mean to you?”

“I don’t like to think about it, your Majesty,” she said in a small voice.

“Then do your own study. What resources would you need?”

She looked down into her hands and sighed. “Mainly time. I’d have a thousand years of records to go through. It would take weeks to quantify the parameters. It could take more than a year to do a decent job.”

“Then you had better start.” I reached for a pen and paper, wrote a letter of authority and stamped it with my seal. She took it reluctantly.

“Truth is always the goal of the Scholars Guild,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ll do my best, Majesty.” She bowed and let herself out.

When she left only Wanda and I remained.

Like Angel, I’d come to know her when I was in Ketrick’s stable. Behind the passion slave I’d bought to help Angel learn how to please me was an intelligent, caring woman with surprising initiative at times. If she was angry with me for pretending to be a slave, I couldn’t tell. It must have disappointed her to be away from the finest master she'd ever had, but she showed no sign.

“Wanda, what instructions did Ketrick give you for me?”

“He set up several drops, Mistress. He'll check them twice a day, around the eighth hour in the morning and after noon…” She went on to describe the drops and their locations.

“Mistress, if Ketrick needs to pass something to you, then he will wait for us to leave the palace and meet me in disguise, passing me any instructions. If you need relief and Ketrick isn’t available, visit the Queen’s Cup the day before. After the supper hour the next day, Angel will switch with you and return the next day in the early morning just after breakfast. She’s called Baby now. Her hair is still blonde, but she looks like this:” She pulled her hair out from her head sideways in two directions and smiled goofily.

I laughed. “Baby” would hate that.

The next morning, I left the bed early. When Thea entered, she looked around uncertainly, puzzled and alarmed to find that Wanda had already made my bath and that I was just drying off. I allowed her to help me with my dress, but provided no explanation.

At breakfast, Thermin was in his chair. As I'd expected, forced to be there, he contributed little to brighten the conversation.

“Kernul, I’ve decided to replace Thea with my new slave Wanda,” I said.

Thermin paused while lifting a melon slice to his mouth.

“Did Thea perform poorly?” Kernul replied.

“Not at all. She was exemplary. I’m sure she’ll find employment somewhere in the administrative wing.”

“I’ll make the adjustment this morning.” He made the briefest flicker of a glance towards Thermin, his lip twitching faintly in amusement, as if our Spymaster had been caught in some prank.

***

It was the voices that morning in the audience plaza outside the palace that convinced me this was real. I was inside at the time. My dress was an immaculate purple with white trim. Sherry was applying the finishing touches to my face and fussing with my crown, which I hadn't worn since the inauguration, while Minister Selmin repeated the protocols for the third time. My Chief of Staff looked at me and nodded when appropriate to give me confidence. But it was the voices outside, respectful, hushed in a way that a Batuk crowd could never be, that convinced me.

They expected to see their Queen.

Here, the sovereign had the power of life and death, and they expected her, me, to use it. In a moment I would be judging men and women with an authority greater than the council in Batuk, in a contract with the people of Tulem that went back nearly a thousand years. Despite my mission, in the ways that mattered, they were my subjects, and they had nothing to do with Batuk. I owed it to them. For the moment at least, this impostor had to take on the responsibilities of her position and become the best Queen she could be.

I took a slow breath, then nodded to Kernul.

“I’m ready,” I said to Kernul, who handed me the rod of authority, the same King Bruno had carried, and Queen Prudence two hundred years before.

The guard opened the door. He and the other, their spears in hand, walked through first. The Sergeant at Arms, already outside, announced the my name. I lifted the hem of my dress, stepped down, and up again, onto the marble dais. Below me was an empty semicircle chained-off and surrounded by a sea of bowing men, and women curtseying, all towards me. They overflowed the assigned grounds, well beyond the overhang into a light drizzle, I estimated the audience at several hundred, larger than the one I’d attended with King Bruno, and well beyond any hope of hearing the details of each case.

They were, of course, there to see me.

I climbed into the throne from the right, as I was instructed, carrying the rod of authority in my left hand. Why the custom was important was not important, all that was, was seeing that their Queen followed the same patterns, maintained the continuity of the past. Naturally, they would also be watching me like a predator for signs of weakness. I settled in, made sure my legs were closed, and waited for the first case.

There were a few serious crimes, mainly thievery and the occasional dispute, which I handled quickly with the aid of advisors when I needed to know the law. Only one case caught my attention.

Lester, the Audience Master, read the case brief:

“Jasber Kellen insulted Queen Dana three nights ago in the Tavern by the Lake in front of witnesses. Enforcer Seth overheard the slander and arrested him. The charge is sedition.”

Jasber was in chains, with two enforcers flanking him. He wore his brown hair long and loose, the style of a day laborer, and appeared nervous, as well he might. The penalty for sedition could be death or exile.

“Jasber, explain yourself,” I ordered.

He had called me a slut. When prodded by an enforcer, he admitted that after several cups of siolat, that he might have voiced an opinion of my saer and expressed a desire for its use. Several in the audience gasped. His wife, a pretty woman in what was likely her finest dress of tan and yellow, wept.

I brought my hand up to my face and shook it back and forth. When I was Tyr, I’d said much the same about slaves and a few freewomen. But I had to punish him. His main offense, as I saw it, was stupidity for saying it where the enforcers could hear him. In Tulem, ridiculing the Queen would rightly be seen as weakening the aristocracy. In Batuk, he would have been guilty of demeaning a free woman, not a crime, exactly, but an offense the woman’s family might punish with a severe beating.

“Two months in the dungeon. After that, Jasber, I will see if you have recanted sufficiently.”

He sagged in his chains, relieved, and his wife shouted her thanks with eyes red with tears. It was a light sentence for Tulem, but it was also a statement that I intended to be Queen for at least that amount of time.

***

Later that morning, I wrote a note explaining what I'd found out from Thermin, especially the times the couriers to Batuk arrived and departed from Tulem. After a quick change of clothes, Wanda and I, along with three guards, left for a trip to the lake, not far from the city’s northeast gate.

The sun had come out to shine on the timeless lake. I had Wanda spread a quilt and blanket in the shade of the tree, and spent a comfortable hour reading a book almost two hundred years old on the short reign of King Walker and his surviving Queen. One of Ketrick’s drop was there, a tree marked only by a peculiarity in its trunk, a large knot facing the water.

Wanda took up her position behind me, backed against the tree. The drop was in the knot, a hole the width of a pen, small enough for a rolled up message and at the proper height that her hands might secrete the note behind her unseen, which she did in the first few minutes.

Returning the next morning, a new note was in its place, which I read later in my apartments on the balcony overlooking the city. It was typical Ketrick: brazen, and direct. I sighed and came inside. Wanda was there and watched me burn it in over a candle.

“Mistress, are you all right?”

I shrugged, not knowing what to say. With time running out, something like what was on the note was expected, and this was war, but it wasn't the kind I'd learned from Father.

I watched the levies at practice in the afternoon again, as was my norm, and cheered them on, but I was really interested in the warriors.

Ketrick had decided that I could do little directly as Queen, which was true, but that he might if I could free him from the valley. As a foreigner, he wouldn’t be permitted outside Tulem until Batuk was conquered, but Tulem had over four thousand warriors in the standing army that could. I only needed one that Ketrick could impersonate. It became my habit that afternoon to meet them in formation, asking each his name, something of his life. The men liked it and so did I. Men, hot and sweaty from exercise, spoke to my slut urges, always ready for any excuse. After a day of searching, I’d found two, but rejected them initially because they had family.

I saw the final prospect on the second day, a tall man of suitable size and aspect wielding a sword and shield. His hair was fair, but his face had the same rough profile, resembling Ketrick enough to make me sit up.

He would do if he wasn’t married -- or even if he was -- we were nearly out of time. When I finally faced him on the line, I had a good look. He wasn’t a perfect match, but he was close enough.

“What’s your name, warrior?” I asked, looking deep into his brown eyes.

“Nestor, Majesty.”

I saw no small necklace or other woman’s decoration to mark him as taken. “Are you married, Nestor?”

He smiled as if such a thing was far from his mind. “No, Your Majesty.”

He was handsome, free, bold enough to glance at his Queen’s breasts, and I thought of the old days. But this was war, and his fate was sealed.
 
 

 
Thanks for all the comments. They warm my heart like Tyra's slut urges when they ... well, something like that, anyway. :) The next chapter finds Tyra in some serious trouble, and you find out how special Wanda really is. And what part could a 200 year dead Queen possibly play in this story? Bigger than you might think. ~Aardvark

Men: can't be a slave with 'em, can't stay free without 'em. Ketrick rides to Batuk, or the death of a warrior. Help in desperate times comes from Wanda and a Forest girl from days gone by. The Librarian's troubles are revealed, and a long-dead queen provides a key to Tyra's future.

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 17
 
 
The valley seemed brighter, just a little sharper than I was used to. I was too aware of myself, the way I was shaped, the cloth's texture against my skin. After four days without Ketrick, for the first time, I wondered if I wasn't making a mistake. He'd asked me if I'd need him, but I'd declined, and he'd taken me at my word. I would sit it out somehow, limit my appearances with men, stay inside my apartments if necessary.

What he was doing was too important to risk.

About a dozen trusted men and women passed through Tulem’s Gate each day. Of these, from what Thermin had told me, at least one entering and one leaving were spies, couriers to the spymaster in Batuk. Right now, across the valley Ketrick was hiding in a secluded spot by the final stretch of road leading out of the valley. From there, he observed those who passed through and recording the times and descriptions, a long, lonely watch.

In the meantime, Wanda watched the administrative wing through a window in the rear of my apartment with a small telescope concealed beneath a cloak. Comparing the list Ketrick made with those who entered the administration building, noting the times, and watching for activity in Thermin’s office, she could generally tell when someone was a likely visitor to the Spymaster.

With barely a week remaining before Tulem’s army left for Batuk I couldn't let my needs interfere — not until he was ready. But between the war hanging thick over everything like a muggy day, and watching the men at practice, the urges were closer than I liked.

That night, Scholar Jillian returned to tell me about Queen Prudence. The first Queen had been, as far as she knew, alone. Unpopular with the nobility, she'd held onto power for four years before she was poisoned. She told me more, some minor laws, a few reforms, but nothing helpful. She'd inspired Merton to love her — it was it was nearly impossible to believe that she hadn’t taken lovers, yet Jillian knew nothing of this. It was as if Tulem had wanted to forget her.

After a night of frustration came the morning of the fifth day. I took a stroll around the outside of the palace grounds with Wanda and three guards after breakfast, before making the drop point for the day attempting to re-channel desires determined to put my neck in a collar.

Concentrating on walking, and avoiding thoughts of twylls filling me, I didn’t see Ketrick when we passed by. Wanda told me she had seen him after we returned to my quarters.

“Mistress, Ketrick was the man by the street corner of the first turn. He appeared as a day laborer out to enjoy the air. I came within a few feet, although I dared not stop or speak.”

I imagining him above me. All I needed was to get word in the drop, and I would find a way to meet him. Kernul and Gherome wouldn't like me leaving the palace secretly, but I'd waited long enough.

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No, but he nodded while standing with his left foot forward. It was one of the arranged signals. It means ‘now,’ Mistress.”

“I see.” I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He was likely already on the road preparing. I would have no chance to see him now, and would have to tough the day out.

As usual, I went to the training fields in the afternoon, but this time rode to a particular unit. I found Nestor’s commander just outside his tent, waiting for me, a rugged man, well put together.

“Majesty, it’s an honor,” he said, pounding his chest in salute.

I leaned over the saddle and smiled. “Thank you, Commander, I need a man for a mission. He might be gone for a week. I have the exact man in mind, one of your men, Nestor.”

He didn't like losing a man on the eve of a battle, but I was the Queen. Nestor was summoned, and soon he arrived, sweating from practice and a trifle nervous about directly confronting his Queen.

“Five days ago, I exiled a guard from my old castle. I want to make sure he arrived where he said he was going. His route should have taken him through Fyr. From there, he probably boarded a boat heading towards his father’s city, Rudyer. You will leave Tulem tonight with two horses and ride south.” I went on to describe Malchor and Dana’s new appearance.

He stood there with his mouth open. “Majesty, I'll miss the fight! Rudyer is weeks away.”

“I doubt that you’d have to go that far. Verify that Malchor and his slave boarded a boat in Fyr. Failing that, you must ride to Jeffer and verify that he passed through there. If you're fortunate, you could be back in two days. If you return late, you may ride directly to Batuk to join your company.”

I could see that didn't like it, but he would do his duty. “Yes, Majesty. I'll leave now.”

“No. Get some sleep first. It's no use being in Fyr when everyone in bed. The weather is clear and the moon is strong enough; you can ride all night. Come by the palace at the tenth bell. Your horses and supplies will be ready.”

“Majesty.”

I measured him carefully. “This is important. Return to me with word of him and you'll be rewarded.”

That brought a smile and the same familiar boldness that I'd found attractive before, setting off a battle between my needs and conscience. Nestor -- I was determined to remember his name always — puffed out his chest and saluted. “Yes, Majesty.”

I left him and his commander with a small wave, and joined another company to watch their training. While I watched, I imagined horse dung falling like rain to cover the men. It helped a little, but eying men doing things only men do well was like holding raw meat before a wolf. I rode from the field in the late afternoon hot and breathing hard. My hands practically shook.

I'd never let it go this long before; all I knew was that I had to have a man very soon. We rode directly to the Queen’s Cup.

My appearance made a stir. The patrons had seen us coming and warned Mekor. The tavern owner was already bowing as I stepped inside. I gave the place a quick look as I flipped my hair back; with the exception of everyone inside bent over at the waist in my direction, everything was as I had remembered it.

“Majesty, it is an honor!”

“Thank you.” I motioned up with my hands to the customers. “Please, everyone, sit! I promise no one will be exiled today.”

“What's your pleasure, Majesty?” asked my former employer.

Oh, a couple of dominant men and about three hours in an alcove should do it.

“Just a quick drink of siolat before I return to the palace. There’s no reason to change my favorite tavern is there?”

Surprise changed quickly to joy. I imagined stacks of gold accumulating behind those avaricious eyes. A sovereign declaring her intent to frequent his establishment would be a tavern keeper’s dream.

I sipped my siolat with both hands on the cup to keep them from shaking. I didn't see “Baby,” but that didn't really matter. She was likely out on an errand or upstairs, as she didn't work in the tavern all day. The talk of the tavern would be me. She would hear and would make the arrangements. I would have my satisfaction tomorrow -- if I could hold out that long.

When I returned to my apartments, I could barely stand it. Wanda ran a cold bath for me, but it only helped for a short time. I pleasured myself, but it wasn’t enough. I needed a twyll in me; I needed to be dominated; I needed a man. I lay out on the bed, clutched a pillow to my face and bit down. Wanda slipped to my side, sat down, and placed a cool, damp cloth across my brow.

“Mistress, I worry for you,” she said softly. “Your needs are great.”

I reached for her hand and concentrated on calm, breathing in slow sync to my heartbeat until the tension became manageable.

“You know, I think I aware of that, Wanda.”

She bowed her head. A moment later, a tear fell on my hand.

I squeezed her hand. “Wanda, say what’s on your mind.”

“I don’t think you'll succeed, Mistress,” she blurted miserably. “I recognize the signs. In several hours, your needs will be impossible to hide to an experienced man.”

I was slipping; I could feel it. Only cold determination was keeping my feet from walking to a guard and demanding to be used like a slut.

“I might be tougher than you think.” I swing over the side and came to my feet. After washing my face twice with cold water, I walked the length of the apartment a few times, but even the slight friction of my thighs conveyed a message of waiting bliss — if only I gave in. I cursed my older brother for making me a serum girl!

Shortly before the tenth hour, I walked, carefully now, to the balcony and stepped to the side, away from the interior lights. The fresh night breeze welcomed me, cooling my fevered forehead and molding my shift to my body. The air was clear across the valley. Small fires in the villages made clusters, like flickering stars in a black sea. Torches illuminated the sides of the nearer castles, seen dimly through the trees. Noises of the city: distant laughter, horses passing ... and the smells of spicy foods wafted up from below. I took several deep breaths. It helped to clear my head and forget everything for a moment while I leaned back against the wall in the shadows to wait.

A single rider stopped at the northeast gate. I made out a tall man in riding leathers with the thick outline of a mail shirt under a riding cloak. Blond hair peeked under his helmet. The guards allowed through the gate, and the tenth hour chimed like an omen.

I waited longer until Nestor rode away leading a packhorse. He disappeared behind the palace walls, and I went inside, wanting to disgorge my last meal. The man was riding to his death, and I sent him there.

Worse, when I should have been honoring him with thoughts of his bravery and worthiness, and a prayer to him in the next world, I thought of his twyll, mounted between strong thighs, and how it would never please a woman again -- especially me. I wondered then if I had truly come too far, and doubts that I would survive until tomorrow afternoon forced its way through a crack in my mental armor.

An hour later the crack was a fissure. I sat as still as possible, thinking of anything to pass the time as Wanda applied cooling compresses. A chronometer showed the time to be always less than what I thought it was. At the twelfth hour I made a decision.

“Help me dress in mundane clothes. I have to leave here. I need a man too badly.”

It was perilous. Leaving the palace at midnight was an unlikely lark, and I could take no guards. At the very least, there would be talk. Wanda and I passed through the gate and walked around the palace block. My urges called me to the southwest, where I knew a dimly-lit tavern where a girl might be taken easily, and I would probably not be recognized. I was about to make the turn when Wanda hissed.

“Mistress, we're being followed!”

I wanted to scream. “Can we avoid them?” I'd already been thinking about the tavern and what was ahead, and my saer was wet. I knew better than to look around.

“There are two. I recognize one from Thermin’s office, although he’s in disguise. I don’t think we can slip them, Mistress, not with so few people on the streets.”

Of course. It would be have to be Thermin.

I stopped to look at the stars, unsure why, perhaps for some celestial guidance. “We'll walk around the palace grounds one more time. I have to think!”

A quarter-hour later we were nearly to the gate and no new ideas had penetrated my weary, man-fixated mind. “Are we still being followed?” I asked with small hope.

She stopped to brush an imaginary insect from her thigh, allowing her a brief look behind. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Very well.” I started the rest of the short trip back to the gate, my steps becoming stronger as my resolve grew. I showed the guards my circlet and they let us back in. I had no plan and had perhaps a few hours left -- I had waited too long.

Just outside the central building, Wanda grasped my arm when she saw my face. “Mistress! What do you intend?”

“I won’t give into the urges.” I gently detached her hand and continued my way past two burly guards with spears who snapped to attention when they saw me, and then I climbed the stairs. Once inside my quarters, I went straight to the wall opposite my bed. In gratitude for killing the King, the Borodins had repaired the shaft of the spear I’d transfixed King Bruno with, filling the deep gashes with gold, embossing the dark wood with intertwined silver threads, and polishing the steel head to a mirror finish. I lifted it over its brackets, and pulled it down. It would serve.

I would do this while I still had the willpower. If I were dead, Batuk could still be saved if Ketrick were successful. If I gave in to the urges, there would likely be questions put to me that Batuk could not afford to have answered. All I had to do was brace the spear against a corner, place the sharp point below my breasts and lean. It would be a quick death and less painful than shalimar.

Wanda went to her knees before me and wept. “Mistress, please do not do this!”

I gazed down at my slave, faithful for so long; I'd never appreciated her enough. “I have no choice. I can’t hold on. I’d be lost by the afternoon.”

“Mistress, you have a way to become other people for a time.”

“And what possible good would that do? I could pretend to be another woman, but she would feel the same urges.”

She took my arm. “Mistress, you must free me.”

I put my head in my hands, ashamed that I had nearly condemned her to be sold on the block in the palace square. “You're right. I’m not thinking clearly. I’ll write the papers, and a pass to leave Tulem if Ketrick doesn’t return.”

I went to my desk, wrote the documents in a shaky hand and stamped them with my seal. I handed them to her, tied a leather cord loosely around her wrists, and then untied it.

“I release you from bondage. Rise, free woman.”

Unlike Angel, who had attacked me immediately, she gave me a hug. It was her first taste of freedom in over a hundred years of slavery.

“Thank you, Tyra.”

“If Ketrick doesn’t return, I hope you find a fine master.” I replied, and gave her a final hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“Tyra, do not do this!” she wailed. “I might know a way.”

I was abruptly sick of it all. If I was to die, I wanted to do it now. It was demanding to maintain the right balance of will and concentration to thrust a spear through your own heart -- and yet, I considered, it could be worth a moment to explore an opportunity to live.

“If you know a way, then why didn’t you speak up before this?”

“This isn’t something a slave could help you with. I needed to be free. Please forgive me!” Then she slapped me. The blow rattled my jaw and had me seeing black dots. “I’m sorry, Tyra! I had to do it!” she exclaimed in anguish.

I held my chin, moving it from side to side, and vowed never to free a slave again. For the moment, thoughts of crossing my wrists to a man were driven out by anger. “Why did you strike me? Were you jealous of me too? Did I take too much time away from Ketrick?”

She shook her head rapidly. “Nothing like that! You were the third best master I’ve ever had. When you were a part of our stable, I thought of you as my friend.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Far from it. I’m trying to save you. I couldn’t do this as a slave, but I’m not a slave anymore. I think I know a way. If you can really become someone else, I believe I can save you.”

“I…” My mind reeled with visions of twylls and powerful men. I didn’t want to die, life was precious, but I had my duty. “Wanda, if you have a way, then tell me, but it has to work!” I collapsed on the bed, and shed a tear, gripping the linen in my fists. “I can’t be taken and questioned. If this doesn’t work, then it's over.”

She sat beside and stroked my hair as if I were a child. “Tyra. It won’t come to that; I swear it.”

I looked long into her eyes before I agreed. “What’s your plan?”

“You know of the thieves and brigands known as the forest girls, but most aren’t aware of the secrets they hold close. One captured forest girl was in a stable with me long ago. Her name was Fellina, and she was a serum girl…”

***

The room was dark and cool. I smelled the sweet/acrid odor of some burning plant. I had waited long before I asked my hand leader, Drusilla, for special dispensation, but my needs were great. I was fortunate to even be in Vanora’s Renegades, the serum girl tribe that dwelled deep in the Zell-Al forest. By all rights, I should have been a slave.

It had started well enough. My name had been Shaka Rasho, and I loved Chloe, a curly-haired beauty with an upturned nose and sly smile who had spurned my every advance, yet never quite so far as to discourage me. I should have known better. Our families had been close. It was better to steal a wench from a foreign city, yet she had always managed a teasing pose for me and a mocking turn of phrase, wild, maddening things that promised everything to a foolish man just learning himself. My mind, despite all that has happened to me since, retains the vision of her leaning against the railing in the sun-drenched balcony of her house in her thin cotton dress, the curves and recesses of her dark-brown body displayed brazenly in the desert breeze for all men who wished to look, and they all did.

I was a young warrior then, strong and quick, and many free girls had eyes for me, but Chloe was always uppermost in my mind. When her father and mother announced her betrothal to a man from another merchant family in nearby Taydek, my heart told me that I had to act or lose her forever.

I spent several nights filing away the securing bar to her window while her family was out of the city, filling the marks with colored clay. When they returned, the small remaining sliver of steel bent easily when I pushed. I crept inside, warrior fashion, making almost no sound. I gagged her first so that she could make no warning and, although she struggled, quickly secured her arms and legs. Putting her over my shoulder, I descended a knotted rope. Somehow, they knew I was coming, for her father brained me with a club when I reached the ground.

I woke up naked on a bed with a nasty-smelling substance under my nose. I wanted to cry out, but I had been gagged. My arms and legs were tied and secured to the four corners.

Her father was a powerfully built man. That morning he was dressed in his guild’s formal blue robe and his normal geniality was absent.

“Shaka,” he said coldly, “you tried to abduct my daughter. You did this knowing she was to be married. Doing so, you would have disgraced my daughter, our family, and the family of her betrothed. You have earned a special fate.” He stepped aside to reveal a man in a gray physicians robe and, worst of all, Chloe, who stared at me in wide-eyed horror.

He motioned to the physician, who prepared an injection. I thrashed on the bed, knowing what it was. I would have preferred to die, but I didn’t even have that choice; Chloe’s brother held my arm immobile, and the bonds to the bed were too strong. The sharp bite of the needle faded as its contents began to change me. My mind reeling with despair, I watched the woman of my heart, knowing my dearest dream was gone.

Chloe looked at my face, first in sadness; then her focus shifted lower, to my manhood. I cringed, already imagining it fading, growing smaller until it disappeared into my body to form a woman’s opening. I looked to the ceiling, willing my body to reject the serum’s instructions, to fight it, begging the Gods to make it a dream! I hung on for minutes, but the drug was too powerful. It fogged my mind and drained my will. I left my manhood behind, not with a yell, but with a sigh. The wet black eyes of my beloved were the last things I ever saw as a man.

I awoke in Chloe’s room on a small bed beside her own. She stood idly in her balcony, looking across the dry, wind-swept lands of our city, Ban-Lyn, her thin dress again molded to her body in the breeze, but her appearance was not as provocative as I remembered. My first thought was bitter; the serum had even stolen my lust for her.

“Chloe?” My voice was terribly sweet and girlish. The view to the window was partially obscured by two mounds and a smooth, featureless stomach and abdomen. I was still naked, but my bonds were gone. I was a serum girl, and I wanted to die. My family would be disgraced. I hadn’t even been left the body of my people. Instead of a warm deep brown to mahogany, my skin was pale, and soft brown hair covered my shoulders.

Chloe came at my call and sat beside me.

“My father insisted that I be here when you awakened, Shaka. I told him what I used to do to you by the window. He was furious. This is my punishment, to help you adjust to your womanhood. I will come to know you as a girl, and when I marry, this will be my memory of you.” She turned away for a moment to hide her tears. “I’m so sorry, Shaka! I had no idea you wanted me so much.”

I wanted to be brave, but the tears flowed like rain. She took me in her arms. To complete my humiliation, she was larger than me now, stronger, and we wept together.

A month later, after learning womanly matters and my new place in the world, they released me. As her father’s final punishment, I was forced to leave in Chloe’s dress; the very one she had teased me with. It clung to my slim body, revealing my disgrace in the slightest breeze. When I walked home and asked to enter, my family refused to recognize me. I cried at the door, begging them to forgive me, but my father had his guards chase me away with sticks.

Chloe’s father took pity on me and arranged a job washing clothes and cleaning pots in Taydek. For a former warrior, being forced to clean, and being looked down upon by other women, was hot spice in the wound. I stood it for as long as could, but when I saw my former love riding proudly at her husband’s side, I left the next day and headed north to the forests of Zell-Al, to become a forest girl. I would not be a washerwoman any longer, or be trapped as a slave in Chloe’s city when the slave urges struck.

I fought and won my place in Vanora’s Renegades with the fearlessness that comes when there are no other choices. My urges finally came a few months later during a raid. I was blooded that night with a captured man. We used men that way, to satisfy our urges, and usually held them for ransom, occasionally selling the more useless ones as serum girls to slavers, although we never could get a good price. It was a tough life, and I was not raised to be a bandit, but I was not born to slavery, either.

The last month had been especially difficult for us. A raid by a rival tribe had stolen and killed our men. Vanora’s Renegades were trapped within our urges, and our options were few. When I could stand it no longer, I asked for help. I was loath to do it; I had always thought the girls that did were weak, but I was losing my will.

Except for a single oil lamp and a candle, it was dark in the hut. The door open, bringing with it the dusk, then closed again. It was Drusilla. The raven-haired woman, half a head shorter than me, raised her nose and sniffed, then wafted the air in front of her face.

“Ai! Fellina, you waited long to call me. I can smell your scent from here.”

The way she smiled, it was a joke, but from where I was, lying naked on the bed, I didn’t think it was far off. If a man had been near, I might have submitted to him. It had happened sometimes to girls who tarried beyond their endurance. Such girls were inevitably sold. “I’m sorry, leader. I had hoped we would find more men before this.”

She pushed it to the side with a motion. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now. These are hard times, Fellina, the times where each girl must pull together. You know the law?”

“Yes, Drusilla. I understand. I will obey the law.”

“And what does our law say about your leader, Fellina?”

“To obey, Drusilla.” I panted.

“And whom do you obey, Fellina?”

“You, Drusilla. I obey you.” I squirmed on the bed with an urge I could barely control. Her word as my leader was law, and the girl who disobeyed at these times was put out of the tribe.

“Yes, you will.”

I was taller and stronger, but she was my section leader. Her slim hands tied me to each corner until I lay helpless. She took off her clothes, climbed on the bed beside me, and flicking her raven hair behind her, lowered her mouth to just above mine. Her familiar black eyes burrowed into mine.

“For tonight, you belong to me,” she whispered, and kissed me.

Drusilla’s lips pressed softly against my own soft lips. Her small tongue flicked out and slowly moved under my lips, teasing them. It was not like a man and, despite my promise to obey, I resisted at first.

“Easy, Fellina. Let your body be your guide, not your head,” she said gently, her hand on my cheek. “Accept it and obey.”

I eased into her hand, resting against it. I remembered a time I flinched at a feminine touch. Like many, when I first came to the Renegades, I hated being called a girl, but the body didn’t let me forget. After a time you notice that everyone like you has breasts and a saer, and sits to pee, and you find different ways to judge your sisters, new ways of finding strength and showing compassion. I trusted her, my sister of the Renegades.

“I obey, Drusilla.”

Gradually I relaxed. It wasn’t the domination of the men I was used to, but it was insistent, and tied, I could not escape. The strange feel of her small mouth became just the extension of my section leader’s will. I lay back and accepted her. Serum girls were not made for love attraction with women, but my body knew who was in control, and bit by bit she wore me down.

How strange it is, to kiss a girl as a girl, how much softer and sweeter than a man. It wasn’t the hard domination, the mastery of a strength and male desire my body needed, but it was pleasant in a way. I kissed back.

Drusilla kissed me long enough to make sure I was enjoying myself, then freed her tongue for other places. She moved above me, and her slender fingers brushed the underside of my breasts. Again, it wasn’t like a man; her smaller hands were gentle, guiding my nerves to respond rather than making them. It was slower, but her persistence worked and I accepted her there as I had her lips. Her fingers slid around and over, touching my nipples, already swollen. I sighed at her tenderness. She rolled them, so softly; her lips descended to my breasts, and I gasped, nearly weeping at tiny flicks and feminine nips with her small teeth. I panted — and she was a woman!

She touched my cheek fondly as I would have comforted another girl in the tribe. “This is how to master a girl, Fellina. It doesn’t matter that you like men. I can please a hot girl in dire need, and dominate her through technique. You have no chance. This will go better and faster if you give in to me, Fellina. Submit to me and it will save you.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just began again with a kiss. This time, knowing Drusilla’s sweet, soothing tongue, I gave myself to her. She took her time, warming me up moving down my body, touching me, kissing me in places rarely given attention by men until she was at my hot cleft. I raised my hips in anticipation, but she passed me by to linger sweetly in the soft flesh of my inner thighs. I turned my head and sighed in pure pleasure. My body exuded a sweet desire for gentleness I had never known, and I ached for Drusilla where only men had gone before.

She teased me until I shouted her name.

She rose, put a finger across my lips and smiled. “You always did scream. Just think of it. You will submit to me. Between your desperation and my skill, it will happen. You will find me the best kind of woman, strong, dominant, and capable of making you see your true nature.”

I could barely believe what I was hearing, yet a part of me found it very attractive. Any reluctance at being touched by a woman so intimately was over. I rejoiced at the possibility of belonging to another, but to a woman? “Drusilla?” I said in wonder, becoming ever more aroused at the thought.

She smiled. “You sense it, Fellina. The urge to submit is very strong.” She tied a gag in my mouth. “Submit to me.”

She bent lower to her task and my body, inflamed, had no will left. My slave and slut urges consumed me, and soon, I screamed through the gag. She paused to penetrate me with something firm and large, and teased my love button gently, expertly, with the tip of her finger.

I shuddered hard, and I would have howled had there not been a cloth in my mouth. The shuddering became nearly one and I lost control of my body. I discovered that I was bound, not only with leather cords, but with bonds of lust, the need to submit, and marvelous skill.

I wanted her more than I thought I could. She desired me, wanted to me to be hers. I wished to obey. With a sigh and a gasp, I gave in. The orgasms rolled one after another and I found myself at a place I’d never been before. I had seen my true self before with men; it was a place where no lies could be told, no deception tolerated. It was a place where I had to confront my female core that was only complete submitting to a dominant male.

Drusilla had brought me to a place of shared womanly passion. Softness against softness, breasts against breasts -- I’d never been as close to a woman as I did at that moment. I lay back in a languid daze, overwhelmed with joy. I was hers.

She untied my bonds. I wanted to please her as she had pleased me, but I had much to learn. I had no idea how to please women as a woman, but I willing.

“Batuk,” she said, the key for my release, as I reached for her. “Tyra, how do you feel? Are the urges satisfied?”

It took a moment to realize what we had done. I still desired her; the breasts that had pressed between mine, the mouth that worked magic.... “Wanda, how? By the Gods...”

She grinned. “It sounds like the Queen enjoyed herself tonight. Tyra, are your urges satisfied?”

I thought about it. “No. Maybe half. But I no longer need to submit to anyone.”

“Serum girls are made to love only men. This effect is never fully satisfactory.”

“How did you do it?”

“The forest girls found that they could use their authority as a substitute for male dominance, but it’s only a temporary solution. They’ve learned to please each other when necessary. It was easy for me because I’m a trained passion slave. I’ve had special training to please women who enjoy other women.”

I pulled her into my arms. “Thank you, Wanda.”

She smiled brilliantly, and brushed back my hair. “Tyra, it was my pleasure. I enjoyed that with you, even more than I thought I would.”

I rolled out of bed stretched my arms and legs. My body felt wonderfully normal again, and fully under my control. “Let’s get the bath ready, we both smell of sex.”

A huge grin lit up her face. “Like old times in Ketrick’s stable!”

I laughed. “Truth!”

The Queen’s private bath was large enough to clean several people at once. It once had additional uses during King Bruno’s reign. I splashed Wanda and she splashed me back. Both of us laughed, and I was ecstatic to be alive and free.

“Wanda, what happened to the real Fellina?”

“She stayed with the stable. I was sold before she was, but I remember she was happy. She had been a slave for almost a hundred years when I met her. She was a nice girl.”

Speaking with Wanda, even playing with her in the bath, seemed like the old days, but there was a difference, something I hadn’t felt for many months. “Wanda, you still look very attractive to me. It’s as if I were still in the fantasy.”

“That’s probably normal after what you went through. I’ve been accustomed to women since my training. I much prefer men, but depending on the woman, I can enjoy it that way, too. And I did enjoy it with you. For you, the effect should wear off in a few hours. Serum girls are made for men, after all.”

I took a chance and cupped her breast in my hand. Wanda’s eyes widened, but she responded well. Her skill was far greater than mine, but I knew her body from my time as Tyr. I knew something of the points to press, too.

“I’m willing if you are, but you might regret this later!” she said.

“I’ll worry about it then. You must have been frustrated when the fantasy ended. If you like, consider this a partial payment for saving my life.”

I swept her into my arms and smoothed back her rich black hair in a way I hadn’t done since I’d been transformed. It wasn’t the same, of course. I was a woman now, and the female in me would always need a man to be my complement. I had breasts, no twyll to tantalize her insides, and a need to be taken, but I wanted her. Flipping my hair back in the bath, I reached lower and my own slim fingers worked their own magic between Wanda’s thighs.

“Oh!” she gasped. “There is nothing to repay…”

I smothered another gasp with my own kiss. Her protests stopped quickly, and soon, an old pattern emerged, much changed to match my woman’s body and desires. In this we were alike, both natural slaves, and our bodies pressed together, each of us made for a man’s pleasure, soft but firm underneath, our arms slim and muscles smooth.

Together we reached the closest place women can have together. In the morning when we awoke, our arms wrapped around each other, the moment was gone. She was Wanda, again, not my lover, but I remembered.

I smiled when she opened her eyes. “I don’t regret it,” I said, kissing her on her forehead.

She touched my cheek. “Neither do I.”

I knew her, so I didn’t offer to free her. I burned her papers and she crossed her wrists to me before breakfast.

While we had slept, at some point along the main road, Ketrick had already killed Nestor, and had taken his place. Armed with what we knew about the spies in Batuk, he would do the rest. I would only know his effect, and possibly Batuk’s fate, in a few days.

***

After reviewing the troops that afternoon, I visited the Queen’s Cup, for my appointment with Angel. I brought Wanda with me, and my favorite guards, Gerhart and Zhok, neither known for his intelligence or powers of observation. Mekor met me at the door. I asked for a table where I could easily watch the rest of the room, and this was, of course, provided. As I sipped my siolat, I waited.

Baby made her appearance as she emerged from an alcove, adjusting her red slave tunic just behind a grinning workman. It was worse than I thought, and I almost spewed the drink with laughter.

She was recognizable as my twin, but one had to look hard. Besides the implants that raised her cheekbones subtly, tiny dots on her cheeks simulated the fair skin of an adolescent child. The side pigtails completed the picture, tied off with small red bows. She was the picture of a small girl with a very grown-up body. Her bottom was pink, an indicator of pinching and perhaps even playful spanking.

She would have hated that. For a slave who enjoyed men as well as any, she disliked being taken by surprise. The men must have figured this out, and several touched her pert bottom whenever she wasn’t looking, often to appreciative applause if she yelped. This gave her an aspect of frustrated cuteness, for despite being annoyed, her body betrayed her true self: deep down, she liked the attention.

I sighed under my breath. This was going to harder than I thought.

I watched her work the tables, picking up clues and watching for names. The Queen’s Cup had their regulars and I already knew most of them from my time there. I doubted that was important anyway -- a slave calls her man, Master. I closed my eyes and reached for that place within my head and created a fantasy. Afterwards, during a lull, I caught her eye. At the next opportunity, she went to the latrine. Wanda and I followed her in a short time later.

I locked the door as soon as we were inside, undressing and pulling dyes and coloring from pockets in my dress. “Angel, hurry up! We don’t have much time.”

The adolescent dream bowed to me. “Mistress, my master calls me Baby now,” she said sadly.

“All right then, Baby, Ketrick gave me permission to free you, did he not?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Very well, assume the position. I will free you now.” I gave her a warning glance. “And don’t get any ideas. I don’t have time for a fight.”

“I won’t, Mistress,” she replied, “my Master explained what would happen if I misbehaved.”

“Good.” I performed the short ceremony and she rose, free again.

I’d hidden a pair of towels under my skirts and the next fifteen minutes were a blur of activity, as we dyed, washed, and dried. Wanda applied the “cute” dots to my face in the same pattern and we exchanged clothes. I removed the false brand from Baby’s thigh and Wanda stamped my own. After putting the cheek pieces in, I looked at myself in the mirror. The twin ponytails made me look like the girl I had never been. I took a moment to get myself in the mood, turning girlishly from side to side as I’d seen Baby do, while Wanda briefed Baby on what to expect. I was almost ready to unlock the door when Baby took my arm.

“Tyra, you aren’t ready,” she said with a disturbing gleam in her eye, pointing to my pale hindquarters.

If this was a trap, I reminded myself, then I’d put myself in it. Regardless, I directed a finger her way. “Baby, don’t you dare enjoy this!”

“Tyra,” she cried, placing a hand to her face, “I would never!”

I had little choice. I bent over in my skimpy slave tunic to expose my posterior, and I gritted my teeth against every blow. Baby didn’t let up until she had spanked my tail into a fine rose.

Seething and rubbing my sore buttocks, I had to take more time to calm down. The mental switch would be hard enough without anger to complicate matters. I was about to unlock the door when Baby stopped me once again with a tap on my shoulder.

“Tyra, would you bow to me and call me ‘Your Majesty’ to get me in the mood?” she inquired.

“No!” I snarled, regretting it instantly, for it forced me once again to regain my equilibrium.

She pretended to be offended, but I ignored her. Taking a final deep breath, I reached for the calm center. As I passed through the door, I said the key word and became Baby.

***

Queen Dana left soon afterwards, and it was back to the men. If they wanted me to be a little girl, I would be one, but did they have to keep pinching my already sore bottom?

After being thoroughly used and spanked, the evening ended several hours later at the appointed hour when Ketrick had arranged that I return to the apartment. Mekor dismissed me with a final pat to my rear end. I left, returning to the empty rooms. I fell asleep holding a pillow to my chest, a soft, unsatisfying substitute.

I woke as myself the next morning. Sometime before noon, Baby and Wanda would return and switch with me again. “Her Majesty” would be sleeping in that morning and decline to attend breakfast and all other matters, which would have been a disaster otherwise.

I left for The Queen’s Cup as Baby just after making myself breakfast. It was a slow time in the tavern. Most men were at work and the main business wouldn’t pick up until lunch, and I served only one that morning.

The Queen arrived late that morning. I bowed to her as Mekor answered the door. There was time to wonder at her visit, so soon after the night before. Wanda passed me closely, and said, “Shaka” -- and I remembered.

Baby lifted a royal eye in my direction. I frowned back at her. She played me as a snobbish aristocrat. I ducked into the latrine and she followed a moment later.

“How did it go, Queen Baby?” I asked, as I went to the sink to dye my hair back to black.

“I thought it went quite well enough,” she sniffed haughtily. A corner of my mouth turned up. She still played the arrogant sovereign, but soon she would be cleaning tables and rubbing her hindquarters.

Wanda said, “Mistress, Librarian Merton came to the apartments yesterday late afternoon.”

I stopped rubbing the dye into my hair and stared. “Angel, you let him in? What happened?”

“He was just the Librarian! I thought he was going to give me some papers or a book or something. Once he was inside, he wanted to speak to me alone, so I ordered Wanda away. He wanted to talk about serum girls and Queen Prudence. I barely had any idea of who she was. I mostly said ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ and I volunteered nothing while pretending to be ill. He was a strange man, and I think there’s something wrong with him. He looked at me like I was weird and left after a few minutes.”

Oh, Gods. "I should have mentioned him. Well, maybe there’s no harm done.”

We finished dressing and rubbed our hair dry enough to leave. Baby crossed her wrists to me in Ketrick’s name, I stamped her, and we left.

I had a siolat at the Queen’s Cup for appearance’s sake, and then went on to lunch at the palace, but I couldn’t get Merton out of my mind, and ordered a messenger to bring him to me.

I waited with Wanda in my quarters, pacing the width of the room close to the door. Merton arrived swiftly, bowing to me when the guards let him through.

“Your Majesty,” was all he said, but his tone was enough, and the pit of my stomach sank as if I’d swallowed a stone.

I showed him a chair, preferring to remain standing.

“You came here last night and I’m afraid my mind was elsewhere. I would like to have that conversation with you now, if you’re ready.”

“My concerns have changed, Your Majesty, although I am honored that you asked me back. May I explain?”

Reassured by his words, I motioned a willingness to continue. “By all means.”

“I am nothing if not discreet. My longevity at the Library and in the palace is based on complete neutrality and confidence. I speak to no one about anything to anyone. I’ve made a specialty of minding my own business.” He looked at me, waiting, apparently, for some comment.

“Minding your own business — there are worse traits, Merton,” I replied slowly.

He nodded once. “Your Majesty puts a polite face on it. I enjoy my life here. I research, read, and learn what I might. I love the truth, although I am sometimes prudent and stingy with it.” He smiled very slightly. “Lately, you may have noticed that I am ill.” He paused, then bowed his head. “So, you have seen. I suffer the early symptoms of Selyf-Digon, Your Majesty.”

I’d seen it before. A horror, it struck down the strongest, eating away at their flesh, wasting them away in mind and body. It was also a disease that only affected men.

“I suspected it when you asked about serum girls.”

“Yes. Until I’d spoken to you, I’d considered taking Ruk’s Serum as bad as dying, but you faced your fate bravely, and gave me hope that even losing my manhood and living my life as a slave would not be the end of my existence. But you do more than accept it; you fight it. After last night, I dared to hope that you have found a way to control your serum girl appetites. You see, I know it wasn’t you whom I met last night. The woman in your chambers had no idea who I was, but most telling, the real Queen Dana has a half-healed slice on her left palm and she did not.”

I wanted to kick myself. I had missed a detail, an important one.

“Your DNA twin is a siolat girl. The only possible reason for her to be here was for you to be in her place, to relieve the urges that cannot be ignored. After I left last night, I went to The Queen’s Cup, retiring to a quiet corner away from the main flow to watch. A free woman might be a fairly convincing slave for a short time, yet what I witnessed was not an act as far as I could tell. I saw a hot-blooded vixen; a superb slave used to a man’s touch. I would not have believed it was you save for the cut on your hand. And behold, the next day, you are here again, strong, commanding, and unaffected.

“You’ve found a way to separate your needs from who you are,” he said, opening his palms in peace. “I am your loyal subject. I do not threaten you, my Queen. Indeed, having spoken, I have nothing to threaten you with. I make no bargain. I understand your position and would give you something that may be helpful. If I’m right, I would beg a boon in return.”

I crossed my arms and leaned backwards against a pillar. If this was blackmail, it was too subtle for me to see it. “You intrigue me. Do continue.”

He pulled a small brown leather book from a tunic pocket, and held it up. “This is Queen Prudence’s diary. It may contain a way that you could safely remain Queen. I give it to you.” He placed it carefully on a small table by his chair.

“And what do you want in return?”

“I want a way to continue my life as best I can. I wish only to keep my ways in the Library, to study, to learn, and to be a scholar.”

“I can’t cure Selyf-Digon. The only way to save your life is to take Ruk’s Serum.”

He nodded his head gravely. “Yes, Majesty.”

I picked up the slim volume. “I’m fascinated with Queen Prudence’s short reign. Thank you, Merton. Come back tomorrow at this time.”

He pushed himself to his feet at the dismissal. “Queen Prudence was a fine woman, but she lacked ruthlessness. She would have liked you. I believe that she would have wanted you to have it.” He bowed and left.

I looked to Wanda, who had been standing motionless in the corner, as befitted a slave. “What do you think?”

“Mistress, I think you should read the diary.”

I began that night after supper. It was over fifty pages of closely-written prose on yellowed paper. Most were ordinary, daily events and old political battles, long lost to irrelevance, but certain entries were clear and vivid.

FT 955 10/2: I start this journal on the day of the husband’s passing exactly one month ago. He would have been a fine sovereign for our kingdom had he been given the chance. There are many who would have me abdicate: “A queen in Tulem? Absurd!” I almost agree, but while fate has taken from me, she has also given in return. If I accept her cruelest verdict, then I should not deny my destiny, as turbulent as it may be. I am, and will remain, Queen Prudence, daughter of Petrus and Brenda Giovanni.

FT 955 11/18: Another Borodin plot to kill a Giovanni lord came to light today. The reason: a sneer, a careless discourtesy. Upon such is murder based nowadays. Fortunately, all are not so craven. Lord Marcus told me of it. Of course, a plot, once discovered, is hard to prove, since all plots are thoughts and words until the deeds are done. The knaves will go free, but their names are known. I despise Borodins in general, but Marcus has proved his worth.

FT 956 9/2: It has been an entire year since my beloved was taken from me. Hints from both families to remarry have become suggestions, and are likely to be demands in the future. I've seen the selection, and none measure up. My husband was a man. These are opportunists who see the Queen as a curiosity that should, by nature’s laws, be fainting at the sight of a twyll. I reject them all, although I must allow them their due as lords. My position as Queen shall never be as secure as a king’s.

FT 957 3/26: Georgio is an arrogant bastard! He demanded that I marry him today. Although couched in obliquities, the meaning was clear: I either marry him or he withdraws support from the Giovannis. Perhaps as many as twenty would follow him. Once sworn, fealty is never withdrawn, yet he swears that the priests might declare an exception, that I am “unnatural” -- a healthy woman who willingly denies herself a mate. Worst of all, his politics, although disgraceful, might be efficacious. There are no precedents for a feminine sovereign in Tulem. The temple might, if properly lubricated with Giovanni gold, declare me unfit. My young librarian is my only ally. I must trust in him to find a way.

FT 957 10/7: The way is finally cleared. Even Georgio has seen the writing before his smug face. All it took was almost my entire yearly income, a sum the lords couldn’t match. High Priest Ral will issue an edict tomorrow, saving me forever from lords who would pledge their troth with one breath and steal everything with the next. I thank Merton for this. He is the dearest of friends.

FT 957 10/10: The edict was finally signed and written into Tulem law yesterday. I insisted that the priests’ edict be carved into a granite block and interred in the vault in the main temple, giving it the force of eternity. For what I paid the priests, they had no reason to deny me this. To ensure it survives any attempt from the lords to destroy it, it is hidden in plain sight. I mean to use it. My husband would not have denied me after a suitable mourning, and two years is long enough. I dare admit this only to myself, but ever since the likelihood of a man to share my bed rose from ardent dream to real possibility, I’ve been looking at men like treats in a sweetshop! Men: they can be demons from the deepest depths of Hades, or a rock to anchor a woman’s heart. Now, whom will I choose?

FT 958 1/3: The Lords have finally relented. They will object no longer to my right to have a consort. Their only proviso: to keep him a secret. They have neither law nor reason to justify it; it is merely a way to save face, but I will allow it if it will settle the matter. I chose Testor the merchant, to be my bedmate. He will enter my apartments every evening through a special stair at the east side of my chambers. Tomorrow is his first night, although I have been with him before -- after all, who would buy a prize steer without having the measure of him first?

FT 958 6/12: Testor’s funeral was a week ago. The evil men and women in this world who would kill a man for satisfying a queen have no legitimate place in it, and should be trod upon like vermin! I cannot relate my grief openly, so only in the pages of this journal will Testor find his final words. I loved him. He was a mundane, but if he were noble, I might have married him. With the greatest respect to my husband, here was a man who might have been his equal. He knew the risks and took them, asking for nothing except a place in my heart. I will find someone else, but I will not make the same mistake; whoever he is shall live with me openly, and any cowardly assassin will find the Queen’s guards reinforced and difficult protectors indeed.

FT 959 6/10: I will not put up with these delays any longer. Hawthor is a fine man, a superb bedmate and, although he would never ask it, I will declare my intent to be with him before the entire valley at the anniversary of my ascension. I have been a reasonable queen, as effective as many kings, and will have the same privileges as a man. Not unexpectedly, the lords and ladies of the valley are in high dudgeon. May they rot and fester. On that day, my word will be done and we will live together.

Queen Prudence was poisoned two weeks after her last entry.

I left my apartments late that night to stroll the Hall of Kings, and soon stood below the picture of the exception to the name, reading in her posture and face what I could only have guessed before.

Merton had shown me something I hadn’t dared look at too closely. I’d been very lucky, especially with Thermin watching me. I did not dare switch with Angel again.

When the urges struck again, I might use Wanda temporarily, but it was hardly a permanent solution. As matters stood, I would always be in danger. Yet, thanks to a long-dead queen, the solution might just be written in stone.
 
 

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Tension, as they say, swells and contracts. This is, as you may expect, the beginning of a new phase, and it will bust out soon. :) ~Aardvark

The High Priest is shown a long-lost edict. The right to a consort is tested. Ketrick's time in Batuk begins to show results. Thermin and Tyra come to uneasy alliance.

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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Papyrus font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word 2007 installs this font automatically. It may also be obtained on the Internet through free font sites

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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 18
 
 
The main temple is located in the southwest corner by a waterfall that feeds a stream which runs to the lake. Snow-fed, it flows greatest in the summer, is moderate in fall and spring, and slows to a trickle in winter. The height of the falls guarantees a cool mist and morning fog, contributing to that mysterious ambiance in which the Temple thrives.

The main temple is a misnomer; it’s actually a collection of buildings on grounds about half the size of the palace complex. All the main deities are represented, with temples to the main gods and goddesses, and a dome of prominence is reserved in the very center for the mysterious Overlords, Zhor’s true rulers.

It was cold. The sun generally shined directly on the complex less than half a day, in the winter, less than that. That early in the dim, foggy morning, most priests were in their beds, the hardiest treading the grounds in their colored robes of rank for exercise. Professional wailers, probably paid for by a grieving family pious enough to pay for extended services, keened, broke the silence, and there were, of course, the initiates, in unobtrusive gray robes, with brooms and baskets cleaning up to prepare for the short day.

Wanda rode behind me, Merton by my side, riding in pain. The Librarian was an odd one. As far as I could tell, he had little physical courage or interest in the real world, as I thought of it, preferring the inner realm to the outer, but he had the mettle of persistence and a loyalty that endured centuries.

When we were in sight of the Hall of Records I directed Gerhart and Zhok to cover us in the front and rear. When they were far enough away, I asked, “Merton, do you have any idea what Queen Prudence meant by hiding the edicts in plain sight?”

“No, Majesty. She never told me and I never asked. It existed, though. I saw the actual slab and the inscription.”

“Weren’t you ever curious about what happened to it?”

“Only to a point. The records of the Queen’s right to a consort were expunged from all written records in the law after she died. It wasn’t as hard to do as it sounds. Few knew of the law, and there were limited numbers of the new law books that contained the new lines. Once Queen Prudence was gone, I saw no reason to open a dangerous inquiry into a mystery that meant nothing anymore.”

“Are you curious now?”

He looked at me in surprise. “Why yes, very curious.”

“That’s good. I’m relying upon your greater knowledge of the time to help me.”

“I will do my best, Majesty.”

We halted at the hitching posts just outside the Hall, an impressive double-domed edifice of veined blue marble. Otherworldly creatures of polished black stone guarded its entrance. We had timed our arrival well; a small party of bald priests and cowled priestesses progressed towards the entrance. One rotund man in a brown robe yawned. A priestess in orange and white trim swung a silver flask of some steaming liquid by her hip.

Their conversation ceased when they recognized me.

“Majesty, welcome to the temple,” spoke the leader, a man of excellent appearance in a deep red robe. His voice was extraordinary, a rumbling bass with equal parts command and warmth. “I am Feshter, a priest of the second rank. We are overjoyed by this visit. It’s not often that a king or queen visits us.” He bowed elegantly.

I’d met men who oozed slickness like him before. With more hair and a different set of clothes, he might have been seated high in Batuk’s council.

“I visit the temples this morning, Feshter. Librarian Merton is here on a scholarly quest. I would appreciate it if you give him whatever assistance he requires.” My voice hung on the word “appreciate,” imbuing it with added meaning, the yellow kind that clinks when rolled in the fingers.

A gleam in his eye told me that he understood well enough. “It’s irregular, Majesty, but it will be done. May we help you with anything else?”

“I will pray to Ashtar and Marten. I’d like pleasing offerings made to their glory.”

“We can arrange that, Your Majesty,” he replied, bowing and sweeping.

“I’ll leave it in your hands, then.”

I left him wondering how much to offer the Goddess of Mercy and the God of War, and how much to charge. I brought my guards with me. Hopefully, anyone monitoring would follow me and waste their time.

The sun was just coming up when I reached the Temple of Ashtar and the fog had risen to the temple roof, where the gentle goddess’ aspects were carved into the facing. I walked through the twin arches, leaving my male guards behind — only women were allowed to pray to Ashtar — and then past majestic pylons and between twin silver plates on brass tripods burning with a clear flame.

A pretty attending priestess started when she recognized me. Like any penitent or petitioner, I had to remove my clothes and slippers before I entered the sanctum. I disrobed in a side room and hung my dress from a plain wooden rod, placing it by several others, and then donned a white robe. Walking down the steps to the cold marble floor, I grasped a prayer pelt from a pile.

The Goddess stood thirty feet high on a broad base in the back of the semicircular temple. Her face was polished to the translucent sheen when white marble comes alive. Wearing a simple flowing robe cinched at the waist with a golden cord, Ashtar looked down tenderly, her right arm raised to chest level, palm out, as if performing a blessing. The eyes were a masterwork, appearing to follow you anywhere.

She was a goddess for women, and I’d never been to one of her temples -- except for one time, years before, as Tyr, when a priestess with hair of red and gold had caught my eye. I made a place for myself towards the back where I wouldn’t have to crane my neck to see Her. There were others around me. A few prayed with their eyes closed; some rocked back and forth on their heels; others looked up, lost in Her eyes.

A woman to my right prayed for her son to be safe in the upcoming war. Another prayed for her husband. A third was worried about her daughter, wishing to guide her to a path of safety and away from a man would lead her to disgrace. It was simple enough, and I would be there for at least an hour to give Merton and Wanda enough time to discover the location of Queen Prudence’s edict.

For a while I did nothing except look up into Ashtar’s eyes. As Tyr, if I ever had a god to call my own it would have been Marten, but I was not a warrior. Ashtar looked down upon us all in her temple, a forgiving Goddess. One or two cast curious glances at me, wondering why I was in Her temple if not to pray. Feeling a little foolish, I decided that I had to pray, else risk unwanted talk.

What could I possibly pray to the Goddess of Mercy for?

I used to be Tyr t’Pol, a warrior with everything a man could have wanted. But I was Tyra, now. It was like denying an old friend, but I would not waste a prayer to become Tyr again.

I had killed many as Tyr. Marten would have shrugged his mighty shoulders and laughed. I'd been a warrior then, and had followed the code, honoring the dead and moving on. With this body, it wasn't as clear and my emotions were not so easy to rule. When I killed Beata's beloved, It was as if I'd inherited part of her pain, in dreams I sometimes relived the night I’d slaughtered the men in Alexander’s castle, and the deaths I was responsible for in the assault on the King, although they were enemies. I looked to Ashtar, taking my time to remember every dart I had thrown and every scream, but I found that I could not pray for them. In truth, I would have killed twice that many if it saved thousands in Batuk. Though no longer a warrior, I would still see those I killed after I died, explain my actions, and face the final judgment.

Nor would I pray for Batuk's safety. I owed her my honor and loyalty, but praying for a city was not the way. No god or goddess owned a city. The men and women of a city were its strength, their lives the essence that nourished it. If Batuk fell, it would be because its citizens had failed her. I could have prayed for the people of Batuk to overcome their complacency, but every person has his or her own will and must choose their own way. That a deity would change a person’s heart to match another’s wish was detestable. I raised my eyes to Ashtar and spoke silently.

I, Tyra, Queen of Tulem, want to stop this war. Please, Ashtar, grant my wish.

The eyes remained blank marble. Even to my inner ear, it had sounded somehow arrogant. I listened to the women around me as they prayed for their sons, husbands, and daughters. Then I had it. This was a goddess. She accepted prayers from women for matters that concerned woman. I’d been praying like a warrior.

Still, any woman would want peace and an end to the war that threatened her city. Ashtar and I were surely on the same side. A woman might ask in a different way:

My name is Tyra l’Fay, mighty Ashtar, and I am a woman from Batuk. I pray for your guidance to do what is good and right. Give me the strength and wisdom to do your will.

I saw no lights and Ashtar’s eyes remained cool, but I felt strangely better. I came off my knees, dressed, and walked out of the temple into the light of day.

Unlike Ashtar, Marten was an old friend. The Warrior God cared little for right or wrong. He loved battle, strength, courage, and generally, although not always, rewarded those who served him. His temple was in the very corner of Tulem by the waterfall where, according to the acolytes, its roar was pleasing to His ears. His temple was red marble, and the eternal sheen from the falls gave the outside the look of fresh blood -- a nice touch, I thought. Normally, women didn’t pass through Marten’s gate; normally, they wouldn’t want to.

One properly enters Marten’s temple without fear or doubt. I passed between two huge granite warriors with spears like they weren’t there and strode through doors that would have been a worthy addition to a fortress.

About a dozen knelt before Marten’s image. As different from Ashtar as it was possible to be, He sat upon a massive black stallion, holding a sword high in victory. Blooded warriors recognized the gleam of battle in His eyes and the joy of a good kill. Marten, it was said, was happiest when He was dealing death.

When I arrived, a few were nonplussed to see a woman in their midst, but they knew me from my visits to the practice field, and most respected my bloody past enough to give me a salute.

No woman could return it unless she were willing to beat her left breast, so I gave them a traditional blessing: “Warriors, may you find honor and glory!”

I made my way to the floor. There I knelt, and prayed for less than a minute, asking Him for victory against my enemies. A true god for warriors, Marten was far more interested in what you did on your feet than how long you spent on your knees. I felt nothing, nor did I expect to. This was Marten’s way. A warrior might pray for victory, booty, or glory in battle. Marten’s reply was always the same: “Prove yourself worthy, and we will see.”

Maybe he didn’t care what serum girls said, or perhaps he would ignore the plea of a woman, but I didn’t think so. Marten favored the strong, but he placed as much weight into boldness and courage, and that suited me fine.

Leaving the God of Warriors behind, I returned to the Temple of Records. Wanda waited outside, and from her expression, it wasn’t good news.

“Go ahead, Wanda,” I said.

“Mistress, the Book of Edicts goes back nearly a thousand years, but the edict we seek isn’t in there.”

“Well, we expected that,” I said, but my words belied my hopes. This would be harder now.

“And the priests are stubborn. Merton is not a member of the priesthood. They’re reluctant to let us see the vaults.”

“Right. It’s time to see how far my authority goes.” I marched into the temple with Wanda just behind.

“What’s your name, priest?” I asked the fat one in the brown robe.

“Lemur, Your Majesty. I hope your communions were satisfactory.” I deemed his smile too unctuous for a man, but the Priest Class did have a tendency to grovel.

“They went well. I'd like a tour of your vaults. I have a special interest in Temple lore.”

“We’d need permission from the High Priest to show the vaults, Majesty,” he said, his face a sweet plea for understanding, his hands twisted together in soulful commiseration.

I gave him a glare that should have melted flesh. “I would like a tour now, when it is convenient to me. Your Queen does want to be delayed over some forgone approval process.”

He blew softly, but like any mid-level bureaucrat, he knew enough to avoid a crisis over something unimportant. “Of course, Majesty. Naturally, we must ask you not to touch any of the holy relics.”

“I wouldn’t think of it, Lemur. Shall we go?”

“Yes, Majesty.” He picked up a ring of keys below the counter and opened a side door to some stairs going down. I motioned to Wanda and Merton to follow. Lemur opened his mouth to protest.

“I vouch for their behavior,” I said.

Having acquiesced on my major demand, he could do little but continue. The stairs entered into a corridor carved out of solid rock, with rooms extending from both sides. He lit two lamps and handed one to me. I made sure we entered every room and listened to a full history and explanation of each, but the second to last was the one I wanted.

The room was long, with the two sides containing four rows of more than one hundred stone cases each, each case on four stone legs, about two feet long, a foot wide and a foot high -- seemingly identical in every way.

“Majesty, this is the edict chamber, where the immutable interpretations of all our high priests are stored.”

I wandered through it, careful not to get close enough to anything to make the fat priest nervous. I looked for obvious markings or differences, but found none. I said, “To think that all the holy laws are carved here is staggering. How are these arranged? They all look the same. How do you ever find anything?”

“They’re arranged chronologically. The oldest is on the left working from back to front, bottom to top and then on the other side in a similar manner. Each case contains ten edicts. But we never open them, Majesty. There is no need. All edicts are inscribed in the book.”

I gave Merton time to work out where Queen Prudence’s cases lay. He pointed them out while I distracted Lemur. I concentrated on those that Merton had shown, the four on the lower middle shelf. I nearly missed it, but there was a difference. One base extended a half-inch or so lower down the legs. Hidden behind scrollwork, one had to look closely, but it was there, in plain sight, exactly as Queen Prudence had written -- and its seal was broken. It could mean a couple of things, but I feared the worst. I had at least one more visit to make that morning, I decided.

“Lemur, when we’re through here, I’d like to continue this tour. I’d like to see your priests work. I’ve always admired fine craftsmanship.”

He sighed so softly that I had to listen carefully, but it was a sound of annoyance, on the order of being late for lunch.

In the early afternoon, I determined that I would triple the guard in the palace. I notified Master of the Guards, Gherome to expect them and to find room to quarter them.

That evening I sent a messenger to the High Priest. I had something very important to discuss with him, something that had tremendous implications for Tulem. He agreed to a private meeting by the Temple of Records.

The next night, very late in the evening, a master stone worker finished a stone tablet. He had worked hard and long for more than a day. He was a happy man, though, for he had been well paid. And if he kept silent for two more weeks, he could leave Tulem with much more, enough to keep him wealthy for the rest of his life.

***

Two days later, we rode the short ride to the main temple in the early morning. I brought the same group with me; Merton was by still by my side, but we spoke little, as he was preoccupied. Even taking his disease into account, he looked ashen. I took his hand to brace him and smiled. “Confidence, Merton. This will work.”

“I’m not used to this. This is going against everything I’ve done for two hundred years.”

“If you’re fortunate, you may not need to do it for another two hundred.”

He swallowed. “There are too many changes.... Your Majesty. I fear the future.”

“I understand, but I will do what I can; remember that.” I poked him in the ribs. Something about the bleak and humorless man inspired an urge to tease him. “By the way, have you thought about your new body? Would you prefer to be a svelte blonde or a red-haired vixen? Perhaps a large-breasted brunette is more to your taste.” I brightened. “We shall have such fun. No more trousers for you! And you will need to take bitters every month,” I shrugged. “Unless you want to bear children, but I do not advise…”

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Please, Majesty, right now I wish to survive the day!”

I gave his hand a womanly pat, which made him cringe. “We shall, Merton.”

We rode to the Temple of Records and I carefully got off my horse; it wasn’t easy riding with a thirty-pound tablet strapped to my inner thigh. With my guards and Wanda providing cover for my awkward gait, I managed to get up the steps without too much trouble.

The High Priest was just inside, his bald pate and clever eyes the same as when he’d crowned me a week before. He wasn’t completely pleased to see me. He’d heard of my forced tour the day before.

“Good morning, High Priest. I’m pleased you could meet with me on such short notice.”

“It’s my pleasure, Your Majesty. You have something important to show me?”

“I do. It happened when I toured the vault yesterday. I discovered something very interesting. I’d like to show it to you -- alone. There are implications, you see.”

“Really. Then I suppose we had better take a look, eh?” His joviality came too easily, and I disliked the way his lips stretched over teeth without the proper feeling.

“Please.”

He led the way, and we were soon in the vault. With both lanterns lit, the light was more than adequate. I placed my lantern on the lower middle row, near the case in question and turned to the High Priest, meeting his eyes squarely.

“High Priest, have you noticed that all cases except this one are designed for ten tablets? This one has space for one more.”

He bent to look at the case I pointed to. “I believe you’re right. This is amazing, Majesty!”

“So, you knew. Then you won’t have any objections if I look inside. Did you notice also, that, unlike the other cases, this one's seal has already been broken?”

He considered it. “Why not? As you say, Majesty, it has already been opened.”

“Would you please lift the covering from the case? I’m not as strong as I used to be.”

“Of course.” He picked it up with an effort and, with a faint grinding, it lifted away. He stood its end on the floor to lean against the shelves.

I took a look, holding the lantern over the edge. Plainly, there was room for one more tablet. The lords had been thorough. It had been stolen and surely destroyed, likely with the Temple’s acquiescence, probably not long after Queen Prudence had been killed. I looked dejected and dismayed.

He, also, took a perfunctory peek. He shook his head, but there was no sympathy. “Perhaps you’re right. It does look like someone did the unthinkable and removed a tablet. And yet, all the tablets and edicts are accounted for in the records.”

“What’s that over there?” I shouted, pointing my arm at the floor. “In the corner!” I moved my light to the floor to darken what I was doing. A few seconds were all that I required to slip the tablet from its leather brace under my dress and hoist it into the case. It dropped home in a gentle scrape of stone on stone, fitting perfectly with barely room for a knife’s blade around its sides. To remove it now would require special tools or dumping the entire case over.

He'd heard me, and had turned around, but too late. It mattered little, anyway. If the ruse hadn’t worked I would have held him off at knife point until the tablet was in place. He leaped for the case as fast as his legs could propel his thick frame.

“What have you done?” he screamed.

“I merely returned the edict tablet to its rightful place in the case, High Priest. Just think, a new tablet, a lost edict, rediscovered.” I grinned for us both.

“That is a forgery! You will not play games with me!”

I didn’t tell him that the copy was made using the temple’s own dimensions and text patterns, and would be indistinguishable from a real tablet, but he would discover that soon enough.

“The games are over,” I assured him. “That edict cost the first Queen nearly a year’s income as a bribe. The gold built some of the temples here. You’ll live with it, High Priest, unless you want me as an enemy.” I walked around him and up the stairs.

As soon as I reached the top of the stairs, I staggered into the room and spread my arms in righteous joy. Injecting a tone of wonder into my voice, I declared the event to wide-eyed priests and priestesses in the Temple of Records: “The High Priest has discovered a new edict! Rejoice! Come down to the edict chamber. Everyone must be a witness!”

I brought as many priests and priestesses as I could to view the miracle. Making sure I was the first one inside, I found the High Priest straining against the case in an attempt to tip it over -- a difficult task -- with the tablets it must have weighed six hundred pounds, and he had no leverage. I made a slicing motion across my throat to his reddening face and he stepped back.

Any protest he was about to make or attempt to get rid of the tablet ended there. By the end of the day, I’d sent messengers to every castle and village, making sure the entire valley knew the story of Queen Prudence and the Queen’s undisputed right to a consort. Not too surprising, the castle lords demanded a meeting in the early evening, which, of course, I granted.

***

Franco approached my throne in the audience Hall and shook his fist close enough to my face to make two of my guards reach for their swords. “You have betrayed us all!” he shouted.

I calmed my guards with a raised palm, but their eyes sharpened like birds of prey on this assemblage of the highest-ranking lords and lady in Tulem.

“I betrayed no one. I claim my right to have a consort, but…”

“Majesty! Do you have the urges of a serum girl?”

I smiled and sat back comfortably in my cushioned throne. It was good to be the Queen — if you had the power to match the title. “I do. Did you know, Franco, that you are a handsome man?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if in pain. When he opened them, they were filled with grief, but also determination. “You must go -- immediately.” He turned to the lords beside him and nodded. “Paoli, Nikolai, it’s time. We’ll take her to the agreed place and arrange…”

“Silence!” I shouted, rising to my feet. “Franco, you will speak to me directly, addressing me as ‘Your Majesty!’ I am not about to become a slave. I have a way to stay free.”

“With all respect, Majesty, that’s absurd! I regret this more than you know, but we have no choice. You know what a slave Queen would do to the aristocracy.”

Nikolai snapped his heels to rigid attention and bowed sharply. “Your Majesty. You must leave Tulem immediately. I’m sorry.”

I traded glances with the two heads of the nobility. “This is not a debate. I really have discovered a way to control my needs. Malchor abducted me, yet, despite his best efforts, he could not make me submit. I can do it at will.” I looked around the room, meeting all of their disbelieving eyes coldly. Waving the royal staff idly, I shrugged. “Go to war with me then if you want. I will not step down.”

A pair of Giovanni lords fairly growled at me, but Franco waved them silent. “You are not invulnerable,” he said.

“You speak of the past,” I said, confidently enough to give him pause. “You’ll find my defenses have been reinforced dramatically. I’ve also removed the Queen’s forces from the attack on Batuk. Until this affair is resolved to my satisfaction, they will remain that way.”

Nikolai stared at me, his mouth floundering. “You can’t do this!” he gasped. “That’s almost half the invasion force!”

“Nikolai, listen to me. I can prove what I say. If necessary, I can wait a long time, and keep my forces here without discomfort, but you and the war for Batuk cannot.”

He considered it, at first in fury, then more calmly as my words penetrated.

“The invasion is only several days from now.” he said.

I smiled. “That’s correct.”

“And you swear you have a way to stay free, Your Majesty?”

I pulled out the dagger from the calf-sheath beneath my dress and, biting back the pain, sliced another gash on my left palm across the still-healing wound. Holding my hand up in full view, I let the blood of my oath drip onto the carpet.

“I do. And I’ll prove it if you stubborn lords and lady will give me the chance.”

He nodded, Borodin honor satisfied. “Then the Borodins will accept you until we conquer Batuk and move to our new city.”

“That is no less than what I expected.” I looked to the Giovanni side. “Well? Do you want a war with me, Franco?”

“You give us no choice,” he said, choking on the words. “I demand proof, though.”

“Send a man tonight to my quarters. He should do his best to force me to submit. In the morning, I will be free. Naturally, if he attempts to harm me, he’ll be killed immediately.”

Katrina, the lone lady present, slipped around Nikolai. Our comradely past in the fight for the palace gates seemed forgotten, for her blue eyes were aflame.

“How can we possibly know if this test is fair? You might be toying with us!”

I would have explained, but Nikolai stepped forward to lightly take her arm.

“A man would know. The feel of a natural slave submitting to her dominant male is unmistakable, and can’t be faked with an experienced man.”

“But…” She stopped as other lords behind her affirmed Nikolai’s simple statement with words and nods. Her cheeks flushed as she removed herself to the rear.

“Majesty, this demonstration is unseemly,” Franco said.

I shrugged. “I don’t like it either. I should always have the choice of my bedmate, but it’s the only way I know.”

“Could it be anyone, Your Majesty?” he asked slowly.

I frowned, wondering what he was thinking. “Within reason, but it would be better if he were not a noble. Now, that would be unseemly. A concubine or consort should always be mundane.”

Our business concluded, they all left, except for Franco, who desired a private moment.

“You won today only because you were willing to blackmail us. You are not the same person who led us and defeated the King.”

“You forced me to this. If I’m right then I will live to be Queen another day. If I’m wrong, then, in the morning, I’ll be a slave on her way to a distant city and you will be the King. Think on that before you criticize my actions.”

He growled, clenching his fists. “It’s much more than that. ‘Discovering’ this new edict for consorts was too fortuitous.”

“Strange. I prefer to think that the edict’s loss was a theological calamity. I’m certainly pleased with the reappearance of this most holy tablet.”

“So I see,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “But consorts were never meant for serum girls. Tulem will be the laughingstock of Zhor.”

I held up a slim finger and pointed it at his face. “Give it up, Franco. You’ll never talk me into a collar.” I swirled away from him and walked swiftly back to my quarters.

Later that night, I waited in my nightshirt on the balcony. I'd washed my hair with sandalwood, and it was down, ready for whomever they decided would force me to his will. Whoever he was, he would arrive soon, at the tenth hour.

Franco’s ambiguous question left me uneasy. As far as I knew, Franco could be sending a man from the Slave Trainer’s Guild, who would arrive with whip and chains. I shivered. From another corner inside me, the thought of being so expertly disciplined left me wet.

A rider came through the northeast gate, a tall man in elegant attire, and I leaned forward straining to get a glimpse of his face in the torchlight, but a cloak concealed his features as he rode by. At least he didn’t wear black, and I relaxed a little. He seemed presentable, too.

A moment later came the call: “Mistress, a man is at the door.”

“Coming!” I left the balcony and stood by the bed, brushing my hair a final time and preparing my mind. This fantasy would be easy: I would be the person I pretended to be.

“Wanda. I’m ready. Say the word.”

“Drusilla,” she said, and I shifted.

When Franco walked through with a guard, I narrowed my eyes at him. “What in Hades are you doing here?”

He draped his cloak over a convenient chair, and then regarded me, his arms crossed and grinning like a tax appraiser who had found a new source of income.

“In the end, your Majesty, I found that I didn’t trust anyone else to do a thorough test.”

The nerve! “Damn you, Franco! I told you I wanted a mundane. How are we to face each other after this? I’ll be compared to siolat girls, and you’ll be asked about my quality.”

“Questions would be asked of any mundane fortunate enough to sample your beauty.”

Despite myself, I flushed at his compliment — which only made me angrier. “Who cares what a mundane thinks? Mating with one would be only to please me.”

He bowed elaborately, sweeping his arm like a courtier, a gentlemanly courtesy that gave rise to a healthy response from within my bodice. “You have my word that I will be discreet,” he said.

“We knew each other as Franco and Drago. This is … intimate,” I protested, weaker this time.

“We weren’t close before. If I spotted Drago lurking behind those bright eyes, then I would think again, but I don’t. Frankly, I would have thought that you’d prefer a friend for this test, and one you thought handsome.”

You are handsome, blast it.

“Are you my friend? You were terse with me earlier.”

“I think I understand you better. Your Majesty, you aren’t the dragon-bitch you seem sometimes.”

I laughed, exasperated yet pleased in a peculiar way. “Tender words for your Queen, Franco.”

“I’ve had time to think about it. You forced your will on us at the meeting, but it wasn’t unreasonable, considering the stakes. As you say, you demanded a test, not a capitulation.” He stepped very close to me, close enough for me to feel his heat, and he touched my hair. It was all I could do not to pull him closer.

“Do you feel the urges, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, I feel them,” I sighed. “Pray that you never suffer Vanora’s revenge -- and you should call me Dana if we are to be together.”

“I will.” He cocked his head attractively and grinned. “You breathe deeply, Dana.”

“Truth.” I looked up expectantly and parted my lips. The empty days and nights had taken their toll, and, despite my arguments to the contrary, I decided I was glad that it was Franco.

He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand, and bent until his face drew bare inches from my own. “You are beautiful. It’s hard to believe you were Drago.”

“You didn’t always talk so much.”

He smiled, then affixed me with a warning glance. “You know I’ll do my best to force you to submit.”

“I trust it will be sometime tonight?” I whispered, my hands already reaching for his belt.

Finally, he lowered his lips to mine. It was softer than a master’s kiss. I took it and submerged myself in his strength. A moment later he understood. An hour later I was his, moving to his will, my skin alive with his touch. I screamed, helpless to deny what I was, and he forced me to meet his needs, which, in turn, were mine.

I cried his name softly, and begged him to make me his. For a moment, I was afraid he would deny me, but he acceded, and I crossed my wrists to him, once his Queen, but now just a slave.

I awoke beside him in the early morning remembering everything. My hands were bound behind me, while Franco was still sound asleep. I wasn’t surprised; I’d had that affect on a few I'd drained in the Queen’s Cup. The guard standing beside us watched me with the most unusual expression, again, not surprising: he had seen his sovereign submit.

I jerked my chin at him. “Cut me loose, Turcote.”

He paused, unsure what to do.

“Release me, damn you! I am your Queen!” At those unsubmissive words, he pulled a knife from his belt and cut my bonds with a sharp tug.

Franco awoke at my outburst and realized the truth. “But … you submitted to me last night!” he exclaimed.

I shook my head while I wriggled into my nightgown. “That wasn’t me. It’s what I use to remain free.” I sat on the bed beside him, close enough to touch him with my hip, and smiled down into a face straining with doubt. “You were very good, you know. You dominated me well.”

“What you do is unnerving,” he said, blinking a few times. “And you speak as if you have done this before.”

“Ah. But that’s my business. Are you satisfied that I’m not a slave?”

“It’s hard to believe, but you’ve done what you said you would do.”

“Good. I expect that this is the end of the matter. I won’t tolerate any more attempts to remove me.”

“I’ll be honest with you. The Giovannis won’t be entirely convinced by this demonstration. If you made a mistake in the silks, then you would have a collar. And we will not stand for a slave queen.”

“Let me be perfectly clear,” I said evenly. “You wanted proof. You have it. The matter is concluded. There will be no more tests, no examinations. No noble will ever question my right in court, nor set conditions on me in the silks.”

“How can we … how can you know that whatever you do will work all…”

“Because if I ever catch anyone trying to make me their slave, I'll kill them myself.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Point. You say that it wasn’t you last night.”

“Yes.”

“Then who was it?”

I covered his warm hand with my own, knowing what a man would need to know. “It was someone very much like me. I remember everything. You were right: it is much better to be tested by a friend.”

He lay back on the bed and smiled, secure again that he had conquered the woman by his side. “There was no Drago in you last night.”

“Drago would have responded with sharp steel in your throat. I was more receptive.”

He watched me smile and nodded. “You made it hard to think that you were ever Drago.”

“It’s hard to deny being a woman when one is sprawled and penetrated. But this was the last time with you. A lord and his queen should not be involved; the resulting intrigue could write books.”

“That was the agreement.” But the way he looked at me gave me a feeling that it wasn’t the final word on the subject.

***

After breakfast, I wasted no time and summoned Physician Lees’n to my rooms. Following my instructions, he arrived alone. The news of the lost edict and my wish to have a consort had been propagated throughout the entire valley. Franco spending the night with me was surely the talk of the entire palace. As he stood, waiting for me to begin, I enjoyed his discomfiture, noting how his pants filled. Yes, the man could surely add, and I was pleased that he wasn’t afraid of me.

“Physician Lees’n, I’m glad to see you so — healthy.”

“Majesty?”

How to approach the matter? As much as a man liked to be compared to a bull, no real man would desire a relationship where a woman was dominant. “Lees’n, please sit down. There is something I would ask you.”

He sat and watched me warily. I sat, too, and composed myself before addressing him. “You know that I’m a serum girl, of course. What you may not know is that the slave and slut urges are fully upon me.”

“Yes, Majesty,” he said in a way that told me he already knew.

“I have the right to have a consort. I demonstrated last night that I have a way to remain free.”

“So I have heard.”

“Excellent. You are a fine-looking man, Lees’n,” I said, smiling like the noonday sun.

“Uh, Thank you, Your Majesty.” he replied.

I sighed, and looked down to my hands. “This is not comfortable for me. I’m asking you to be my lover on occasion.” I looked up to see a man struggling, perhaps to discover duty and honor in my request, or perhaps an advantage; I didn’t know him well enough.

“Majesty, I will not be an oernid.”

“And I won’t buy a man. You would gain no recompense or favoritism from me. I’d expect you to continue as my physician, and attend me with the same courtesy in public as before.”

He placed a hand firmly under his chin. “This is very irregular.”

“Irregular, a serum girl queen with a consort? I’d have to consult my Minister of Protocol, but this might be unique in the annals of Zhor.”

“I’m not sure that I'm the best choice for your consort.”

“Lees’n! Must I say it? I’m attracted to you, as you obviously are to me. Of course, if you are small….” I shrugged sadly.

His right eyebrow lifted a quarter inch.

“I assure you that I am not.”

“Perhaps, then, I am malformed.”

He finally smiled. “Your Majesty knows better. I hesitate because I already have a fine woman in the city, Elli.”

“I see. Is she your betrothed?”

“Not yet.”

Lees’n was by far my first choice, but there were other men.

“I have standards as well. I will not order a man to my bed.” I placed my hands on my knees, preparing to rise.

“Maybe you should in this case.”

I searched his face for signs of misplaced jocularity, but he seemed serious. “I don’t understand you. You want me to order you to mount me?”

He stood, spread his hands, and bowed, managing a fair genteel imitation of affronted dignity.

“Majesty, I suspect that I’m a choice of convenience. I have no illusions: I’m likely to be only the first of several consorts. The woman I desire most wouldn’t like me being with you voluntarily. If you command me to sleep with you, then Elli would more easily accept me back when you were finished with me.”

I stood at that and began pacing. I understood what he was saying, but I also understood more about women than I had a few months earlier.

I paused after a few steps and regarded him. “Does Elli fight your advances? Is she coy and inconsistent?”

“She is a difficult nut to crack,” he admitted.

“I will not order you to the silks, Lees’n, but you should take me anyway. Your constancy does you credit, but it’s counterproductive. Her initial ire and jealousy will be outweighed by renewed interest. After all, if the Queen selects you, then you are, by definition, extremely attractive. It is a contradiction with women: being appealing to other women and having the independence to link with them as he pleases makes a man more desirable; she will want you more.”

He paused and stroked his neat goatee between his fingers, a look I judged as deep thought. Occasionally he looked my way, sweeping my body casually with his eyes, and my skin tingled as I imagined his male thoughts. I waited for a time, enjoying his regard, but finally held up my hand to cut short ruminations that were beginning to run annoyingly long.

“You would be wise to agree, Lees’n.”

“You are persuasive.”

“How persuasive?” I asked impatiently.

“Enough. When would you like me to visit you?”

“When rights are delayed, enemies find ways to make the delay permanent. Come tonight at the tenth hour.”

“Yes, Majesty.” He bowed to me again and made to depart.

I took his arm as he began to turn. He started at the contact with his Queen, but then relaxed and began to stir, realizing that it was the smallest part of me, and that he would soon be feeling much more. I left him with more than a smile to remember. “Thank you, Lees’n.”

After he had gone, I found Wanda in the back of the apartment watching the administration building.

“Any news, Wanda?”

She lifted her head from under the black silk long enough to speak. “Mistress, the courier from Batuk is late.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was too soon to tell, but it felt like Ketrick’s work. Wanda watched the rest of the morning and half of the afternoon, but no messenger appeared. The outside of Thermin’s office showed no sign of the turmoil that must have been raging within. The regular courier departed as usual in late evening, but Wanda would have to tell me the next morning -- Lees’n had since arrived.

Slightly intimidated at first, he gradually warmed to his task. Soon I was forced to become my true self beneath Lees’n’s powerful body, and I awoke with the soft glow of the finely-brolled woman. It was the only proof I needed that I had chosen my consort wisely.

After a wonderful breakfast, where Thermin was unusually preoccupied, Wanda reported that the daily courier from Batuk had once again not arrived. When Donal, Thermin’s second, rode from the Queen’s stables with a fast horse in the early afternoon, I allowed myself a big smile.

***

A day later, after I returned from another afternoon with the troops, I found Thermin waiting for me outside the stables, his normally cool demeanor refreshingly bleak. He and I were not friendly and it would have wrong to pretend otherwise, so I nodded civilly as I approached to entrance to the main building, Gerhart and Zhok flanking me as was their norm.

“Majesty, if I might have a word.”

I gave him a good looking-over. His loose tan tunic contrasted nicely with the royal purple of his sash, and he left a gap in his shirt, where a small patch of curly hair peeked through attractively, perhaps provocatively to a serum girl made to respond to men and things male. That Thermin had chosen such garb bespoke desperation.

“Yes, Thermin?”

He bowed more respectfully than was his usual wont. “Majesty, I’ve called an emergency meeting in my offices. Lord Franco and Lord Nikolai are already waiting. It’s about the invasion.”

“I see. I’ll go with you then.”

Thermin glanced towards my guards then back to me. I could take a hint. “Gerhart, Zhok, return to the guard's quarters. I’ll call you when I need you.”

After they bowed and departed, I walked with him the short way through the lobby of the main building. He chose the path through the relative seclusion of the inner courtyard, bypassing the shorter route, but with the heavier traffic of the hall.

“Majesty, I congratulate you on your swift consolidation of power. It was worthy of a master.”

“I did what I had to do. I admit I was under some pressure to do it quickly.”

“Yes, Majesty. Someday you must tell me how you overcame the urges. It would be a valuable weapon for a spy.”

I eyed him to discern a hidden threat, but he seemed straightforward, and it was a natural thought for a spymaster.

“The knowledge is dangerous. Imagine natural slaves around the world knowing how to trick their masters.”

“It makes one shudder to think about it. It almost makes more sense to believe that a method doesn’t exist.”

“If you don’t trust what I say, you need merely wait. A hot serum girl inevitably submits to a master eventually. Without a way to keep free, I would be no different.”

“You can hardly blame me for being curious.”

“You would be a poor spymaster if you weren’t.”

Franco, Nikolai, and War Leader Prator waited alone inside Thermin’s office. After setting a guard outside, Thermin closed the door. Franco’s eyes lingered a moment on my face, perhaps searching for signs of the urges, or even something more personal. I smiled, it was hard not to after having shared each so recently. He grinned in return, but returned his attention to his host when Thermin walked to the display board.

“Majesty, Lords, and War Leader Prator, I haven’t heard from my couriers from Batuk in three days. I have to assume that the network has been compromised.” He spoke the words calmly, but his expression bore the mark of calamity. His part of the invasion plan was collapsing at the worst possible time.

I jumped to my feet. “Thermin! What could have happened? What can we do to correct this? What are our options?”

“Majesty, that’s almost all I know. I sent Donal two days ago to investigate. He is late returning, although he might be delayed for any number of reasons. But I couldn’t wait any longer to tell you, not with the invasion planned for three days hence.”

Prator rubbed the side of his face with the scar. “Majesty, Lords,” he said. “If Batuk knows we are coming, if she knows our plans for taking the outer walls and weakening the Fortress, then our invasion would be extremely risky, maybe even a disaster. I cannot now guarantee success.”

“Damn!” shouted Nikolai, pounding the arm of his chair with the bottom of his fist. “There must be something we can do.”

“Speculation is useless,” Thermin continued. “I must find out what happened. I leave this afternoon with a column of guards. But privately, I fear the worst. It’s possible that Batuk has discovered our intentions. Certainly they’ve discovered some spies from the network in their midst.”

Nikolai lifted himself from his seat slowly, every muscle taut, as dreams he held dear were torn to shreds. “Blast you, Thermin,” he said low and dangerously. “How could you allow this to happen?”

“Lord Nikolai, all may not be lost. The spy network in Batuk is fragmented, divided into separate cells that have no idea of the other’s existence. The only man in Batuk who knew them all was the spymaster. If a cell was discovered or betrayed, then it’s likely that only the spymaster and the cell were destroyed. Couriers trying to meet with the spymaster might be caught and killed as they arrived, but the majority of the network would still be intact and ready to do their work. If the network could be reestablished with a new spymaster, then our plans could still go forward. The only way to find out what's going on and what needs to be done is to go there.”

“I assume that all spies in Batuk have a way to kill themselves if they are captured?” I asked.

“Yes, Majesty. They all have a poison tooth.”

That was more than passably interesting. The hope was that Ketrick could capture the spymaster and force him to betray the cells, but it was unlikely that Ketrick had been given the chance. If the spymaster were dead, then it was almost a certainty that Ketrick was killing couriers as they arrived, but little more. I wanted to laugh desperately. It seemed that there was still more work to be done.

“Thermin. I will go with you.”

He stared at me. It was the first time I’d actually seen him truly surprised. “What on Zhor…?”

“Simply this. If there is a turncoat spy in Batuk, then your face is known, as is probably every member of your department here. Even with a disguise, you might be caught and there is no time to permanently modify your features. I am not so easily detected. None know me in Batuk. I’d be the perfect intermediary, and further, I’d like to assess the situation personally.”

“Dana!” yelled Franco, full of manly concern.

“You know I can do this, Franco, and you, too, Nikolai. I will do my part for my city.”

Thermin eyes burned with azure fire, fading only slightly as he recovered control. “Majesty! You have no training and the risk is too great.”

“I’ll ride with you, Thermin, and you will tell me what I need to know on the way. I’m no spy, but if you want someone to contact the cells in Batuk, it would be far less risky to use me. Besides, I know Batuk pretty well by now. I’ve studied the operational maps. I know all the main roads and landmarks.”

He shook his head, his distaste too obvious for politeness. “Majesty, need I remind you of your special needs? I have no room for a consort.”

That was the unpleasant side to this; if we were there long enough I might have to mate with him repeatedly. “For the good of the city, I’m willing if you are. I’m assuming it will be just you and me within Batuk’s walls?”

He threw me a baleful glare and expelled a breath. It mattered not at all if he were willing. My wishes had the strength of a command as far as he was concerned. I stopped a smile from forming while thinking of fate’s smaller ironies. Being forced to satisfy my needs would probably be more of a hardship to him than to me.

“If you insist, Majesty,” he replied glacially, “but I cannot protect you.”

“Then it’s settled.” Turning to the rest of the room, I declared, “The invasion is delayed until we return. Franco will rule in my stead until then.”

***

The early evening wind cooled my face, and I allowed it unhindered flow under the brown riding cloak, conducting away the humid warmth from my dappled mare as she labored to maintain a fast trot-gallop. Thermin had exchanged his palace finery and sash for meaner pants, tall boots, and pale brown tunic. He had assured me that my riding dress of subdued green and gray would cause no comment on Batuk’s streets, and I privately agreed.

The twin columns of the palace guards protecting our sides on the packed gravel road were another story. Although now garbed in coarser cottons and plainer colors, no one would mistake their disciplined formations and menacing alertness for anything but what they were. Thermin rode to my right, but the heavy pound and crunch of hooves on gravel during a gallop made any conversation below a shout impossible.

Even while at the slower trot, Thermin remained reticent and cool, preferring to concentrate on what was ahead. Occasionally, he turned a glance my way. I paid him little mind, my own thoughts being fixed on Batuk, seeing Ketrick again, and how I might manipulate events to root out the cancer within my city’s walls.

The sun had been halved to orange-red over the western mountains when we finally turned to the side, drawing close to a swift stream to rest and feed our horses in the verdant grass. We’d been riding for hours and I used the chance to cross the stream, darting over a few well-placed stones to find a private bush away from the men to do nature’s business. It was at such moments of inconvenience and vulnerability that I cursed my older brother the most. When I finished, I started to rise.

“Majesty,” came a rumbling voice kept low and quiet from very close. “Please stay down behind the bush. I must tell you something.”

My heart hammered a few beats until I realized who it was. “Turcote?” I lifted my head slowly and spread the thick green leaves to find him standing just on the other side of the bush with his back to me. He stood casually in a wide ready stance with his spear braced in the ground.

“Majesty, please forgive me for disturbing you.”

I was more disturbed that he had managed to get so close without hearing him. He already knew my body and its most intimate crevasses, having been the guard on duty as Franco had so thoroughly tested me.

“I suppose I can’t blame you for following me. You’re doing what you were assigned to do, although I wasn’t in any danger -- unless you count the quail and rabbits as enemies. What do you have to tell me, and why the secrecy?”

He continued in the same tone, barely above a whisper: “You and Spymaster Thermin are leaving us after the way station to go to Batuk. I’m worried for your safety.”

“Thank you for your concern. Batuk is a dangerous place, but we’ll need discretion there. Guards, even in disguise, would be unsuitable to protect us.”

He sighed impatiently, so softly I almost didn’t catch it. “That’s not what I mean: I think the Spymaster hates you. I thought I should make sure you knew.”

The last time I had been told something similar, it had been about Marcus. I had dismissed it then; I would not do so again.

“I know he doesn't like me. What do you mean by hate?”

“I think that he’d like to rip you apart like an eagle on a fat rat.”

“How do you know this?” I demanded, not particularly caring for his description. I was not fat.

“I’ve guarded his wing in the palace sometimes. Though he tries to hide it with you, I’ve never seen him so crazy at anyone. I’ve seen him mark you with angry stares when he thought nobody was looking, and everyone in the palace knows how his mouth twitches when he’s really blistered. It’s none of my business, Majesty, but I’d be very careful around him.”

The early evening had just become colder and I drew my cloak around my narrow shoulders. I shivered, thinking how vulnerable I was now with any man who wished me ill.

“I see. Thank you, Turcote. I’m going to get up now.”

“Yes Majesty.”

We walked back to camp together in silence. I couldn’t discount what Turcote had said, and I had no choice except to go with Thermin to Batuk. I had a knife strapped to my calf, but that was little protection against a prepared man. But why would Thermin hate me? I hadn’t done anything so terrible — or had I?

Thermin was my enemy; I’d had no choice to do other than what I did, but how did I seem to him? “Give me the strength and wisdom,” I had asked Ashtar in her temple.

At best I was an indifferent follower of the gods, and now, as a woman, I supposed, to some of the goddesses, but I was far from sure of their power. My father had shrugged when I had asked him if the gods were real.

He had summed up religion this way: “Tyr, if the gods are real, then they are, as far as I can tell, unmoved by words and prostration, but it would be unwise to annoy the priest class to tell them this. Declaring that the gods are not real is stupid because one can never know. Saying this to others is even worse because you are implying that you know better and that they are idiots. If mumbling on your knees clarifies your mind, then well and good. If not, then the Temple is a good place to meet people when they are generally on their best behavior.” He had then turned a stern eye in my direction. “And stay away from the priestesses; they are nothing but trouble.”

Unfortunately, none of that advice was of much use to me at the moment. But I had asked Ashtar for wisdom. It seemed very wise to think about what I had done to make Thermin so angry.

The moment I’d met him, I’d required him to acknowledge my supremacy with a threat, even making him come to breakfast like an errant boy. Earlier that afternoon I had bullied my way onto this mission over his objections and forced the role of sex servitor upon him in front of the heads of the royal families.

If I were a king, none of this would have been necessary. If a king had told him to service a woman for the good of the city, it would have made a fine base for a ribald joke.

But to a man who had little respect for women, except, perhaps, on his own terms, I was the lowest of all women, a serum girl that should have been pleasing numbers of men in a tavern. To such a man, it was cruel enough to have to obey me for any length of time. Managing to make my rule as Queen, and thus over him, permanent, must have been galling. Making him my male alcove girl likely had been the final stroke to a back already slashed with grave insults.

The last daylight had dwindled away hours ago. The moon beckoned ahead of us high in the sky; casting a colorless glow to the mixed scrub and rock by the road, making each boulder and plant a sharp contrast of gray and black shadow. Thermin’s position beside me and slightly behind was a safe enough place for one who concealed dark thoughts, and it gave me no chance to see his visage without turning around and facing him.

So I waited patiently, and during a trot, brought forth a small mirror at the proper time, pretending to fix my hair. The road swung to the north abruptly and I had my first look at the real Thermin in the full light of the moon. What I saw there, a stark glimpse of raw hatred, chilled me to the core, startling me upright in the saddle.

For the first time since I’d attacked the King, I felt small and very vulnerable. There was nothing to stop this man from killing me in Batuk except a duty to the crown, and I had no idea how strong that was. Did he think that Tulem might be better served by a king than a serum girl slut queen? I didn’t need to even think about it.

The conventions were there for a reason. A woman needed a man’s strength and protection. A woman’s proper response was her acknowledgment and respect. A woman wasn’t just a body and needs; she had her own place in this world and a role to play. If a woman acted like a man, then she risked being treated like a man -- or worse, a woman without the rights and protections of a woman.

Even if he didn’t plan on killing me in Batuk, I would certainly need his goodwill at some point. I couldn’t do anything without his knowledge of the spy network.

Determined to try to make things better, I looked Thermin’s way and smiled. His eyes widened appreciably, and he lifted a corner of his mouth to form the smallest of smirks.

We stopped at the way station at an hour past midnight. Tired and hungry, it made no sense to continue until we'd had something to eat and a rest. Thermin watched me uncertainly as I hurriedly ate a delayed supper after a quick bath that early morning, wondering, no doubt, if I would demand to be brolled. I caught his eye and motioned towards the door to draw him away from the guards and station keeper. He followed me to a boulder far enough from the stone house to avoid prying ears. By his expression of disgust, I was sure he expected a call for servicing.

I lowered my head modestly and did my best to feel humble, which I did, mostly. The man was a stiff-necked rhadus, but I’d offended him as Queen — and yet I couldn’t pretend to myself that I wasn’t manipulating him for my advantage. “I owe you an apology, Thermin,” I said softly. “I’ve been cruel and presumptive.”

“Majesty?”

“There are some things that a woman should not command a man to do. I have commanded these things from you. I should not have.”

“You are the Queen,” he said evenly. “You may do as you wish.”

“I was wrong. I especially should not have demanded that you bed me, and I withdraw my command. Please accept my apology.”

He bowed his head marginally, but enough to honor my words. “Apology accepted, your Majesty,” he replied in a voice far from warm. “I believe I understand. You hold on to your manhood with an iron grip.”

I nodded sadly. “You’re only too right, Thermin. I’ve held onto what I was, but I have control of my life now and that has given me time to reflect on who I am -- and must be -- and that I should start to act according to my nature.”

His turned his head to the side, and his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I don’t follow.”

I lifted my eyebrows prettily, making my eyes wide and innocent, then let them fall. “I can’t pretend to be what I was. My body will not allow it, nor, I believe, should I.” I grasped the sides of my dress and pulled them out a few inches. “I’ve been ruling as a king because of my birth, but who looks at me and thinks, ‘King Drago’?”

The confusion in his eyes resolved to become curiosity.

“Serum girls must accept the will of the gods. For almost all, it means the brand and collar. But you've found a means to choose your own way. Majesty, are you saying that you would willingly take the woman’s role?” he asked in disbelief.

“I think I must become whom I appear, lest I be known as the cat that barks. It isn’t completely voluntary, you know; even though I’ve found a way to manage the slave urges, I’m still a serum girl. I like men -- a lot.” I said, shrugging my shoulders helplessly.

“Majesty, may I be honest?”

I lifted my head to smile brightly. “Always, Thermin.”

“A serum girl queen is an absurd concept. How can a natural slave rule men whose natures are uniquely suited to rule her?”

“I hope by now that I’ve proven I’m more than the usual serum girl.”

He grunted. “I suppose that I can’t argue with that. What you’ve done so far makes you exceedingly difficult to classify.”

I sighed, folding my arms under my breasts, and leaned back against the boulder. The air was cool and dry, and I looked to the stars, clear and bright away from the lights of the city. “I’m very fortunate to be alive. I’ve been acting like a man since I became a serum girl. By all rights I should have been dead three times now. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep denying what I am.”

“You killed Lord Alfredo, an amazing feat.”

“With a trick only a woman could do. It would never work for me again.”

“And you killed the King with his own sword.”

“Luck. I was a second from death when a brave man gave his life to save me.”

He rubbed his chin for a few seconds, in the end deciding to tell me: “I know of the ruse with the tablet in the temple. That was bold enough.”

“Thank you, but even that was done with the help of a man who helped me because I reminded him of a woman he’d known. You see, Thermin, I’ve learned that it’s not natural to pretend to be a man in a woman’s body.”

“I’ve always thought so,” he said, watching me closely.

“Well, you were right. I can’t undo my callous disregard and mannish behavior, but I’d like to start over with you again. I hope you give me the chance.”

“You want me to treat you like a woman?” he asked incredulously. He turned away to think before facing me again. “That might be difficult — for both of us.”

“I’d like to try.” I blushed. “I'll do my part. I’m sorry for the way I’ve insulted you. I really am.”

“No more apologies are necessary, Majesty. This is a good time to ask who is in charge. You could be helpful in Batuk; it’s true that your face is not known there, but are you willing to follow my orders?”

“I’ll do as you say, Spymaster Thermin. I put myself in your hands.”

“I’m happy to hear that, for it must be that way. There will be times that I must be obeyed instantly, without question. Sometimes, you will not care for it. I must have your word that you will not seek revenge for what happens inside Batuk. If not, I’ll take my chances and do everything myself.”

I wasn’t completely satisfied with the look in his eye. The hatred was less than before, but it might have been replaced with wariness, or deception.

“You have my word, Thermin. I’m with you to help Tulem, not to usurp what you do best.”
 
 

 
Thanks for the kind comments! Things will get quite interesting soon in Batuk, and you'll discover things about Thermin that he would rather have kept hidden. New threats, reconciliations, more killing, friends, learning about herself, plots, and, as they say, much more to come. :) ~Aardvark

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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.
 

 
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Chapter 19
 
 
When the noonday sun was high in the cloudless sky, the Fortress appeared as a black dot in the distance, the most prominent feature of the north, rising proudly from the flat, craggy plain in front of the dusky background of snow-capped mountains. I came close to tears; for a long time, I wondered if I would see her again.

“Impressive isn’t it, Majesty?” Thermin asked, mistaking my homesickness for awe.

I remembered then, who I was with. “It makes a crude statement, but it doesn’t compare to Tulem’s magnificence. The Borodins can have it.”

“Wait until you see the Fortress up close. You’ve never been to Batuk, have you, Majesty?”

I shrugged. “In an odd way, I feel I know it well. I encouraged my former slave to talk about it, and we had some fascinating discussions before I sold her — and, as I've said, I studied the war plans and know the districts and main streets, too.”

“There's no substitute for the experience. Life in Batuk is undisciplined to our eyes.” He considered me thoughtfully. “Majesty, you haven’t asked me any questions about what we'll do there.”

I bowed my head, and raised my eyes slowly, obsequiously, as if to a superior. “You are the Spymaster. It’s your choice what to tell me, and when.”

“How much of this ‘soft new woman’ is really you, and how much is an act?” he snapped.

“Darn it, Thermin, I’m trying. I have a lifetime of habits to overcome.”

“Majesty, if I might make a suggestion?”

“If you wish.”

“Be yourself. It’s much more convincing. Practice false modesty later if you want.”

“Very well. One change is in order. It would be best if you stopped calling me Majesty this close to Batuk. I was not always the Queen, and I won’t chew your head off.”

“That’s much better. Just a touch of your normal arrogance.”

I laughed, startling my horse.

A faint smile pushed its way to his lips. “Your name in Batuk will be Lina l’Sura, and I will be Han t’Fast. Inside we will be man and wife, although I doubt anyone will ask. Say nothing if you can get away with it. I’ll do the talking.”

“Lina l’Sura and Han t’Fast,” I repeated. “So, you’ve decided to enter Batuk with me.”

“It’s worth the risk. By myself I might be recognized, but no one is looking for a man and woman together. We’ll go directly to one of the cell leaders. Our actions after that will depend on what we find there.”

I pointed down the road to Batuk, still hours away. “Lay on, Thermin. I will follow.”

He glanced at me curiously. “You aren’t worried? This is dangerous.”

“Certainly. But if anyone can get the network working again you can.” I inhaled the fresh air of the plains with the familiar sharp scents of scraggly bushes, grasses and weeds. Turning to him, I grinned as if I didn’t have a care in the world. “This is easier than I thought it would be, giving you the responsibility. Now, no one would hold me accountable if we fail.”

“I see,” he said, and his face grew taut. I witnessed for the first time his twitch, an odd involuntary jerk of the left corner of his mouth.

I sighed, annoyed at myself for upsetting him. A sovereign should never threaten her subjects, not even in jest.

“I’m sorry, Thermin, it was a poor joke. I am not so dispassionate as that. We’ll do what we can, of course, and with any luck we shall succeed. I have confidence in you, and know that you will do your usual excellent best.” I met his eyes squarely to make it easier for him to judge my words. “Forgive my blithe remark. When fate decrees that you become a serum girl, it destroys your world; nothing is quite so sure again, no victory or plan secure.”

“I think I understand. It’s a wonder you didn’t kill yourself in despair when you awoke.” He shuddered, pursing his lips as if he had swallowed an insect. “To wake up and find yourself a woman…”

“I suggest that you ask a few born women if they would like to die. It’s not the body that's so bad; that can be tolerated with practice and a good attitude. It’s the urges that destroy you. But even succumbing to them is better than dying. Remember that if the gods decree that you lose what dangles between your legs.”

He smiled marginally. “That was the Queen speaking.”

“It’s the truth. If it happens to you, you would be wise to profit from my experience.”

“Forgive me for hoping that I’ll never have that chance.” He pointed to a small stream to the right that wound into one of the many small gullies that made travel nearly impossible off the roads. “We’ll pull off here and get ready for Batuk.”

We dismounted and led our horses down the shallow embankment to the narrow swift-flowing water, following it until we were safely out of sight of the road. The banks were rocky and rough but dry enough and we let the horses drink their fill. Thermin untied a small box from his saddlebags, opening it to reveal a built-in mirror and kit with a variety of wigs, tints and colorings.

I decided that it wouldn’t do any harm to reveal my real hair and eye coloring, that is, if he didn’t know already. “Thermin, my hair is really blonde. I can wash the coloring away and make my eyes blue if that would help.”

He didn’t pause with his preparations, but his casual ease acknowledged what he wouldn’t say: he had known. Thermin was a man who kept his secrets close -- a dangerous man.

“Go ahead, Lina.”

Calling me by my spy was as good a measure of trust as any. “Right away, Han.”

***

It was mid-afternoon when we approached the huge black doors of the Lion Gate. We entered with a mix of travelers and farmers. The sweat stench of a laborer after a hard day, and the colorful language of insults and irreverence was a tonic to my senses. I was glad for the white veil at that moment when we passed the guards’ muster, for I should have looked nervous, but it was too much of a homecoming. The smells of cooked meat and spices brought back more memories. My hands tingled; I wanted to pull the reins right and follow the Wall Road to Eagles, but Thermin had turned left, and I followed dutifully.

We came to a private stable, where we left our horses. After shouldering a pair of backpacks filled with clothing and necessities, we left on foot. The way became steadily more crowded as we left the Wall Road and came nearer to the city’s western market.

“You’re doing very well so far,” Thermin said when we were relatively alone. “Don’t be concerned. The men and women here are often aggressive and rude. You might be jostled.”

I took his arm as a wife might do with her husband. “I’ll be fine. My slave spoke of this chaos. This is like an adventure!”

He gave me a sideways look at the touch, but did not remove my hand. “Stay close; we’ll be there in a few moments.”

Our destination was three streets away, but we took a tortured route, turning left or right, waiting at corners of in the security of a doorway or stack of articles, and then cutting back. A direct walk of less than five minutes became twenty. After passing through several streets of bustling buyers, shops of every kind, and vendors noisily hawking their wares, Thermin was finally satisfied that we weren’t being followed, and he led us to a small stone shop, part of a row of shops and stores strung together like a set of mismatched pearls. I’d been in the market many times, and remembered the shop vaguely, but had never been inside.

A sturdy wooden sign of a stylized needle and thread hung from a pole thrusting above the street. Lettering beneath the picture declared the owner, Mil t’Fin, Expert Tailor. Thermin opened the door, and brought me across into the shop’s quiet sanctuary.

Two men stood inside. One cut blue fabric on a table in a back room. The other arranged a tunic on a hanging bar behind an assortment of men and women’s clothing. He looked up and slid between the racks towards us, grinning like any proprietor who sensed a sale. The lean man had a measuring tape draped over one shoulder, and the handle of a pair of well-worn shears peeked from a device on his belt. His eyes darted between the two of us before settling on Thermin.

“How may I help you?” he asked in a surprisingly deep voice, clasping his large hands together.

“I’m looking for a swirling pattern from Olander, in grays and black.”

The tailor blinked at the phrase, and recognition twitched his face as he pierced Thermin’s disguise, but he answered calmly enough. “I might have the style in lavender,” he replied, glancing at me, questioning my presence.

Thermin looked toward the rafters. “Mil, we need a private place.”

“Right away.” Mil twisted halfway around towards the rear of the store. “Flem, take over the front. I have business.” At his assistant’s nod, he returned to face us, his sharp features more pronounced and serious. “I’m glad to see you. Please follow me.”

He led us to a staircase in the corner and up, into a suite, a bedroom overlooking the street, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living room with comfortable couch, a few sturdy chairs, and a serviceable table. He took a chair and turned it towards us on the couch. Thermin sat on its edge leaning towards our host. I reclined into its welcome depths; it had been a long day in the saddle and my butt hurt.

“Mil, the last few messengers never arrived in Tulem. What happened?”

“By the Gods,” he muttered, closing his eyes for a moment from those whose fate must have been death. “I had feared it could be something like that. Four days ago, Gar failed to make a pick-up. The next day was a repeat of the same. I followed standing orders and left the scene, waiting for further instructions. It became moot when I found out Gar had died.”

Thermin puffed out his cheeks and blew, but it was what we'd expected. “How do you know?”

“I watched his funeral from a distance two days ago. He was buried yesterday. I didn’t get a good look at his face except through a hand telescope, but it looked like him. Thermin…” He stopped at Thermin’s hand.

“My name here is Han t’Fast and this is Lina l’Sura, an untrained volunteer. Go ahead, Mil.”

“The story is that Gar was poisoned.”

Thermin nodded. “The poison tooth. So, he was found out. Mil, why isn’t Batuk taking this seriously? I watched for extra men at the gates when we came through the Lion’s Gate, or something more than the casual screening that passes for security here, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary.”

“That’s puzzling to me, too. If Batuk knew who Gar was, and are intercepting couriers as they arrive or leave, then it stands to reason that they must know we are here. So why isn’t there more activity?” He shook his head wearily. “It makes no sense, even for Batuk. They should be raising an army and stiffening their defenses. What could be their game?”

Thermin's blue orbs nearly glowed. “We have a traitor, someone who knows what our couriers look like and who knew our dead spymaster.”

“If what you say is true, then why didn’t the traitor alert Batuk?”

“Maybe he tried but wasn’t believed. We have someone placed high in their council who would block any attempt to take precautions against us. More likely, the traitor is waiting for me to meet with the cells to reestablish the network. If I were him that’s what I’d do.”

“You are the only one we all know on sight,” Mil said. “He would only need to meet you once, and then follow you. He would soon find most of us, perhaps all.”

“Quite. He picked the perfect time, too, just before the attack. He knew I wouldn’t have the chance to change my appearance before I came here. He’s a clever snake, whoever he is.” He grinned, pointing to me. “But we have an advantage: our untrained volunteer, Lina l’Sura, better known as Queen Dana.”

I shot him a dirty look; I saw no reason for him to name me. The fewer people who knew who I was, the fewer who would want to remove me in Tulem's ‘best interests.’

“Han, dear husband, this is an unexpected revelation.”

“It doesn’t matter who you are. After all, you accepted me as your Spymaster. Or did you, Majesty?” he finished, this last an angry question.

I nodded slowly. “I see.” I looked to Mil, who gaped like some strange land fish. “Mil, Spymaster Thermin has full authority over operations here. This includes me. While I’m in Batuk, I’m just Lina l’Sura, a raw recruit under his able command. This decision is irrevocable.” I smiled sweetly at my Spymaster. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Han -- dearest?”

“Yes, and it was graciously done, Lina,” he said with great satisfaction, as if he had decanted a rare wine and found it precisely to his taste.

So, he hadn’t forgiven me; I hadn’t groveled enough yet to assuage his stupendous ego. It was outrageous treatment to his Queen after I'd given him my word to forgive his demands of me in Batuk. It was as if he wanted me to fight him — or perhaps he didn’t believe that I would do what I said and be more feminine. A test. Regardless, reacting as a man would only verify what he thought he knew, and that way led to danger.

Fine. If Thermin wanted to order me around, then I would oblige, but with dignity, as a woman, expecting him to behave as a man should towards a woman. If he had any decency in him at all, it would play into my hands. I stood, brushing my dress flat. I had noticed a few labeled jars in the kitchenette.

“Mil. Do you mind if I make some tea?” I asked the still—goggling man.

“Uh. No. Not at all,” he sputtered, still staring at me.

“Thank you. Would either of you like some?”

“Make tea for both of us, Lina,” came Thermin’s command.

“Right away.” I moved off to stoke the hot coals to life and draw water.

A period of silence when I imagined eyes on my backside, then:

“Lina! Mil and I will return in a few minutes.” I heard sounds of men getting up.

Thermin had sounded irritated. Judging by his expression, there seemed to be little doubt.

“Tea will be ready when you return,” I responded airily as they departed, but there was no answer. While they were out, I hummed a song of love and the fickleness of men I’d heard women sing in my childhood.

I was sipping tea when they returned. The cups and condiments of sugar, cinnamon, and rhesh, a local spice, had already been set out on the table, so all that was left was to pour for them. The tea was good -- Mil liked a decent brand -- but Thermin made no comment, preferring to watch me impassively.

“Lina. I have a job for you. I want you to walk by Gar t’Pen’s house and tell me what you see. I want to know anything suspicious: any visitors, people who shouldn’t be there, and especially, people who might be observing the house.” He gave me the description and location, a block east from a famous temple. “Do you need directions?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head. “If I recall the map correctly, the house should be eight blocks south and a block west -- about halfway between here and the Lion’s Gate.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “Yes, that’s about right. Go now and return. You should have plenty of time to walk there and back before dark.”

I rose and started to clean up, but Thermin grasped my arm. He motioned towards the door. “Go now. Clean up after you get back.”

“Very well.” I put the tray down and attached my veil, and a very short time later I was on the noisy street.

I stood and watched the street just outside the shop for a minute or two. Leaving, I headed north, away from my destination, moving slowly, like so many women on the street, stopping to look and examine clothing and wares.

I shopped patiently, and bargained for a scarlet scarf, paying for it with some of the Batuk silver I’d brought with me from Tulem. On the way, I looked in the windows and walked both sides of the streets. When I found the man who shadowed me, I walked west and south, on course to pass the deceased spymaster’s house. I made one more turn into a side street just ahead of a cart, rearranged my hair into a shorter fall, and tied the scarf over my head. I ducked back into traffic just ahead of a woman of size and slowed, staying just ahead of her.

Not long afterwards, my man walked rapidly past, looking ahead worriedly. I pivoted promptly and walked straight back to the shop. Thermin knew something was amiss instantly: I had returned far too early.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“I was followed from the moment I left. It was a small man about my height, in a brown and gray tunic, with the look of a day laborer. I have a better description, but I think you know whom I’m talking about. After all, I’m fairly sure you had him follow me.”

Thermin turned to Mil, who observed me with interest, arms folded on his chest and chewing on a strip of beef jerky.

“He’s one of mine,” Mil said. “How did you know?”

“I assumed that you would have me followed, so I looked for it. The only question was whether he would be tailing me from the shop or waiting for me close to Gar’s house. There is still time to get there and back. Do you still want me to go?”

Thermin nodded. “Yes. His name is Decker. If you see him again, greet him using my Batuk name.”

“I will,” I replied, smiling.

“You did well to spot him,” Thermin said grudgingly.

“Thank you. I’ll see you in about two hours.”

This time I made no detours. On the way, I thought about what Ketrick might be doing now. As a former spymaster, Ketrick must have anticipated that Thermin would come to reassemble the spy network.

Ketrick’s problem would be locating the cells. Since only Thermin knew where they were, that meant finding Thermin. At the very least, he would have paid the guards at the gates to watch for Thermin’s arrival and to have him followed -- not so unusual a practice -- it was something that citizens with grievances and the constabulary did on occasion.

He also might watch Gar’s house, just in case Thermin might try to see Gar. It was even possible that Ketrick would be watching Gar’s house now.

I passed the dead spymaster’s house, a typical two-story stone structure built in the flamboyant style of a century ago, with fluted columns supporting an open porch in the front, and large protective beasts carved directly into the base, the idea being that the house rested upon strength and provenance. Located in a nicer section of the city where the Merchant’s Guild tended to settle, it was private enough to make any loiterers suspicious.

Doing what I was told, I watched the people on the street, the few pedestrians and greater numbers of horse traffic, who was doing what, and looking for anything unusual, thinking that this was a test, and that I might be questioned later. But Ketrick wasn’t there -- although my shadow was, about fifty yards distant behind a marble statue of some family’s favorite deity.

I turned around several houses later, and passed Decker by an open-air stand specializing in leather goods. As he fingered a softened jacket suitable for riding, I greeted him with a gentle slap on the back.

“Afternoon, Decker. Han t’Fast sends his compliments,” I whispered.

He sighed, and returning the jacket to the pile with a regretful look to the owner. Up close, he was difficult to describe. Small for a man and fairly slim, and with no distinctive features, he would be difficult to spot in a crowd.

“I thought you might have made me,” he said, his voice as average and unremarkable as the rest of him.

“I thought I might be followed before I stepped out,” I explained once we were on our way.

“That would account for it. I understand that you’re new here.”

I looked up quickly and caught a glimpse of cold intelligence behind his smile. Although I didn’t know why, I disliked him instantly.

“How much did they tell you?”

He laughed. “All right. Enough. We’re on the same side. All I know is that your name is Lina l’Sura and that you’ve just arrived. You must be new to the game because they wanted a tail to watch you perform some simple instructions. I know no more than that.”

Decker’s words were reasonable, but they felt like lines in a play, artfully designed to create a certain impression. Further, his eyes seemed -- empty. My female center shivered looking at them. This was a real killer; one who could murder and not feel, and I wanted nothing to do with him.

“Why don’t you tell me what you know about this area while we walk back?” I asked.

He complied, filling the time with details of markets, some history, Batuk habits, and the best time to buy fish. I didn’t care about the subject; I was happy to keep him talking.

He left us soon after speaking with Thermin and Mil in private. Evidently, what he said wasn’t too derogatory because neither looked displeased, and Decker even winked at me on the way out when he left with Mil, passing me like an ill wind.

They’d left me to clean up, as I’d expected. Then I cleaned the rest of the kitchen. Thermin watched me the entire time, but the entertainment in watching someone some one scrub a stove, even when a Queen does it, runs its course early on.

“We’re going out for supper,” Thermin said as I was wiping my hands dry.

I smiled. “Excellent! Give me about twenty minutes to get ready. I smell like an old horse.” I turned to pump water for a bath.

Thermin held his tongue. It would have been priggish to deny me a bath after riding all day. It was a reasonable, essential request for a woman. He still played the aggrieved party, but that only worked if he maintained the high road.

“Would you like some hot water for a bath too?” I called from the bathroom.

“Yes -- thank you,” he grunted.

As the water heated, I decided that I liked Thermin, just a little. Before long, I relaxed in the tub and sang a happy song of flowers in spring.

I finished dressing in the bedroom while Thermin took his bath, selecting a clean cotton dress. Brushing my hair out, I admired myself in the mirror. If I had to be a woman, this was a fine body to be in, and we had been through much together. Although I rarely did, this time, I applied a touch of perfume.

When Thermin emerged from the bathroom, he wore a towel around his waist. Thermin had the strong shoulders and wiry arms of a swordsman. An old friend and enemy warmed at the sight, tingling me in familiar ways. It hadn’t been that long -- not yet two days -- but my hot natural slave blood was already rising in the excitement.

Thermin chose a small tavern with privacy alcoves. The smell of broiling steaks and fried vegetables filled the air. A woman flutist played lively compositions in the far corner, well and loud enough to provide suitable atmosphere for conversation or dance. Our place was in the opposite corner, where Thermin had taken the bench against the wall, the better to see the rest of the room.

For a time, amiable talk was out of the question as Thermin devoured a rolled up mix of ground meat, onions, potatoes and a pungent sauce. I ate a smaller version, but I took my time, while the Spymaster attacked his as if his intended purpose was pure sustenance. I said nothing until he sat back, belched, and reached for a large mug of ale.

“Han, how many times have you been in Batuk?”

He regarded me at last. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curiosity. I wonder what you think of the city.”

He gave the room a quick glance before speaking. “Why concern yourself? In a short time, the city, as we see it, will be gone forever.”

“I care. What about the character of the people? My former slave said that resistance to my blond cousins would prove exceptionally difficult, that they might be in danger for many years.”

He made me wait while he drank a long draw, and then to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “I would believe your slave. Properly organized, the people here would be formidable. The young here are raised to believe that they have no limits. Citizens actually believe that the city serves them and not the other way around. They would show umbrage to anything restricting their wants and desires, especially, aristocratic rule. I don’t envy Nikolai or the citizens under their thumb.”

“They were warned.”

He permitted himself a small grin. “Yes. I understand that you had a hand in their education before you were -- changed, although I suspect it was more for your amusement than for their elucidation.”

I tilted my head, a nod to his sources. “You are well informed.”

He looked at me closely for a few seconds, then appeared to come to a decision. Upending the last of his ale, he waved to a woman with a tray of drinks, pointing to his mug. She nodded, and a moment later, she poured him a fresh drink.

“I know what you’re trying to do, you know, being more of a woman,” he said after the waitress left.

“I’m doing what I said I would do. Don’t try to figure me out, Han. I’m a moving target, changing and adapting as I come to know myself.” I smiled. “By the way, whatever I’m trying to do, is it working?”

“Time will tell,” he said, his ice blue eyes looking me over. “We should say no more here; this restaurant is becoming too crowded. We'll finish our drinks and leave.”

The evening had cooled. Familiar Batuk street sights and sounds brought back recent memories: a drunk singing a lewd song off-key; couples laughing and arguing; a political discussion; a pair of dogs padding down the cobblestone street, roaming free. I decided that I didn’t want to return to the room to discuss how we were to end it.

“Han, let’s walk. I’d like to see more of Batuk before we go back.”

“We have time. Batuk at night can be pretty. There’s a place where you have a good view of the entire southern quarter. It’s called Mark’s Point.”

I knew it, a place where one could see the lights of towns and villages many miles away. I’d been there before with a girl years ago when I was short of money, hoping to impress her with the scenery with an eye to better things. As I recall, it hadn’t worked.

“Let’s go there, then.”

We walked, leaving the western market and moving east, towards the black hole in the sky that was the Fortress. We passed near-empty streets of neat stone houses, most with lamps lit inside. Shadows passed in front of windows, and the air stirred with dimly heard conversations, laughter, and the cawing of amorous night birds. The houses became buildings as we approached the center of town. A set of lights to the south captured my attention, and I slowed to look.

“What is it?”

I pointed. “I’d like to go there, Han.”

He thought for a second or two. “I think that’s a small park. We can go there if you wish.”

“I would.”

The lights were specially made lanterns, oil lamps with thick glass housings and a curved mirror backing. Mounted on poles, they illuminated a small field where boys and girls played. They laughed, ran, tossed balls, and yelled at each other. The boys mainly played rough games, although a girl or two mixed with them, those not yet of an age to know or care what the years would bring, defining their differences with nature’s certainty.

Mothers and fathers stood to the side at the edge of the light, often with an arm or hand placed around their mate as they watched their offspring like treasures. There were few children on Zhor. The Overlords had given us the anti-aging drugs. In exchange, the Overlords discouraged overpopulation, sometimes with a heavy hand, and a woman with more than three children in a lifetime was rare.

For long stretches I could nearly forget who I had been, and then a sight like this would bring it rushing back, where, for an instant, my breasts hung heavy, my hips seemed too wide and made for an alien purpose. As much as my body was telling me that all was as it should be, I had grown up a boy, and I understood the boys’ tough, straightforward games. I had never been a girl. I looked to the parents. The father’s role seemed more a vague dream -- it was the mother’s that had the feel of reality. What could be more basic than making life and nurturing? my body asked, but for that moment, I knew to my core that it wasn’t meant to be this way. My destiny had been ripped away, and a new path forced upon me.

Through habit, I drove the useless bitterness back, and the moment passed: my body felt normal again. The dress rested securely over my hips, and the breeze blew it against my legs as it had for a year; the halter once again supported me comfortably; the pinned-up tail of my hair brushed against my back, swishing as I moved my head. I could once again imagine myself in the mother’s place. Even if I couldn't understand a daughter, I understood a passing beam of pride, a tender touch to a daughter’s hair, and felt a twinge of concern when a son fell heavily. I comprehended the expression in one young woman’s face, the need to have a child of her own.

I still fought for my city and the men and women who lived there, but, as a woman, especially for these children. The adults had had their chance and had made their choices. By Zhor’s unforgiving ways, they might legitimately pay the penalty for choosing the wrong leaders who allowed Batuk to be unprepared for an attack, but the children were blameless. I would that they grew up strong and free, not under the boot of anyone determined to bend them to their will. A tear rolled down my cheek when I thought of what would happen to them if Ketrick and I failed, and my throat tightened.

“I want go back now,” I said huskily, wiping my eye with a knuckle.

“Is there something wrong?”

I shook my head. “No. I’ve just seen enough.”

“Lina, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll be fine. Emotions affect me at the strangest times. I’m sure you have much to tell me about tomorrow. Let’s go back, Han.”

“Very well,” he said, but he looked at me curiously.

***

Living with the Spymaster was proving inconvenient. I’d brought pen, paper, and ink with me, but I was finding it extraordinarily difficult to write notes. I lay on the bed while he nodded off in the couch in the next room, but he was a very light sleeper, and I didn’t dare write in the open. I went to the bathroom, the only place in the apartment with privacy, hiding the writing materials under my nightgown.

It was too quiet. Even the faint scratching noise of pen to paper had to be disguised with sounds suitable for my environment, and I left the bathroom embarrassed after finishing two fast notes.

Father,

Ketrick did not abduct me. It was a way to get me into Tulem to prevent an invasion. It sounds insane, but it is so. If you see Ketrick, believe what he says. To know it is me, Tisa has a small mole on her left breast. You spit when you first saw me changed. Tell Ketrick that Mil t’Fin, a tailor in the western market, is a cell leader in Tulem’s spy ring.

Tyra l’Fay, freewoman

Ketrick,

Mil t’Fin, tailor, shop in western market, is a cell leader. I’m here with Thermin, staying in Mil’s shop. We’ll probably leave by the Lion Gate. Blonde, now, with black pin in hair.

Tyra

Thermin had heard the noise, of course, and was awake and looking at me when I came out the door. Alarmed, I wondered if I had overdone it with all that grunting and straining, but he simply rolled over and went back to sleep. With all the tension, I wanted to touch myself that night, but Thermin made that difficult too. Our relationship was already complex, and I had no wish to wake him up with the moans of a hot serum girl, so I suffered in silence, pretending the pillow in my arms was Ketrick.

Thermin woke me the next morning with a gentle nudge to my shoulder.

“Lina,” he said too loudly, “it’s time to get up. Are you feeling better?”

I don’t sleep well when I’m in heat, and it took a moment to remember what he was talking about. I rolled over and sat up, brushing the hair from my face. “Yes. I’m fine and ready for espionage,” I said groggily.

“Good. We have a lot to do.”

I looked up at his tone. I’d hoped that we’d come to an accord the previous night, but the deep chill was back.

After a fast breakfast, we walked through the market, slow that time of the morning, past the shortening shadow of the Fortress. Thermin walked far too close to me, like a jealous lover. I had no opportunity to do what I wanted most: to find a way to deliver the notes I’d written to my father and the guards. After he’d bumped into me for the third time, I stopped and glared at him.

I hissed, “If this is for my protection, it’s misplaced. All you’re doing is attracting attention!”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “I’ll explain this once. I’m acting like a jealous bastard to keep people away from us. You are a noble.” He jerked his chin sharply towards a group of masons on their way to work, and again to a pair of women walking together while having an animated discussion. “You’re not like these people. If someone is looking for us then your aristocratic mouth could give us away. Is that clear?”

He either despised the nobility to the point of recklessness or he was looking for an excuse to dump me outside the walls. I considered the last briefly, as I could have the messages delivered easily then, but I still didn’t know who the other cell leaders were.

“Clear. But try a little harder not to step on my feet.”

He growled under his breath, but he was better after that.

We stopped at a small, private tea and siolat tavern a block away from the Slave’s Dream, close enough for old memories of domination. Tightening in my bodice reminded me constantly that I would need a man soon. Even Thermin was looking better than usual.

The tavern was almost empty that time of the morning. It was better than most of its type, clean, lined with soft wood siding and filled with gleaming tables. The keeper, a neat man in an apron, put away his polishing rag and made to come to us for service, but Thermin motioned to the back, where a purple curtain hung half-drawn. Past the curtain was a private room, large enough for a dozen. In a corner, by a single lamp burning bright yellow, sat Mil t’Fin. He pulled at his favorite snack, strips of beef jerky, and we settled to places opposite him.

Thermin told me, carefully enunciated each word of his instructions: “There is a furniture store a block east of here, called the Bed and Back. The owner is an average sized man with a thick black mustache, brown eyes and long hair that he likes to part to the left. His name here is Rett t’Nyl. You will meet him, verify his name and say, ‘The business at Fern’s is slower in the summer.’ He will reply with, ‘Only in the fur trade.’ You will bring him back here directly to this room, saying nothing. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I repeated the instructions back to his satisfaction.

“Good. Go now. Mil will watch, making sure nobody is following you coming or going, as well as making sure that you stay out of trouble. Stay in plain sight, and don’t reveal in word or manner that Mil is tailing you.”

It went as planned. Rett barely showed a reaction to the code phrase except to break off a roaming examination of my body; he’d been expecting someone to contact him after he’d heard that Gar was dead. Back at the private room in the tavern, Thermin kept me away, and the men lowered their voices enough so I couldn’t make out anything. It was maddening. I wasn’t sure if Thermin was putting me in my place, or if it was his practice never to tell anyone anything more than was absolutely necessary, and it was clear that he wasn’t going to tell me anything more than he had to.

Regardless, it was easy to work out what they were doing. It was a secure plan, ensuring that only Thermin, Mil, and I would meet the cell leaders. When the order to sabotage Batuk came, if there had been a traitor, one cell, at most, would have been disrupted. But being watched all the time gave me no chance to deliver my messages.

Whatever they were discussing, setting up meetings, drops, or plots, they were finished in a few minutes. We three left, watching to make sure Rett wasn’t following, and then moved on northwest, towards the Fortress. Mil left us at the small temple of a minor god, Hector, the God of Adventure. We sat on a bench, killing time in the shade of the bronze god, his powerful arms held high in exultation, and I glanced up at my supposed husband, a question on my face.

He nodded slowly, noting his Queen’s curiosity. “Mil has gone on ahead to set up another place for a rendezvous. With any luck, we’ll be finished late this afternoon, before Hadrian’s gong strikes again.”

“You intend on doing this four more times today?”

“Five. You’re forgetting our pet, the administrator.”

“I see. You have this very well organized.”

I did see. I saw that I had less time than I thought to get the messages sent. How on Zhor can I pass anything when I’m being watched all the time? I certainly wouldn’t be allowed any time to visit Eagles or speak with any guards without suspicion. And yet, “The gods usually leave a way; it is for mortals to find it,” as the saying goes.

There were two roads to the only entrance to the Fortress: each the mirror image of the other. They both began from the east and west sides, steep roads cut from solid black rock that wound their ways around the base to the massive Fortress entrance on the south, high above the northern plain.

It was a point of pride in Batuk that everyone save the gravid and the infirm walked the road. It was steep enough to cause problems for horse teams; in fact, only special wagons were allowed. As they toiled up the incline, wooden pegs snapped noisily, gears against the wagons’ wheels that held heavy cargoes from rolling backwards, and giving horses a chance to rest and feed. We passed several, but the way was trafficked mainly with people on foot like us, separated by pace and group traveling up or down.

Soon, we reached the enormous Fortress gate. I wasn’t winded after the half-mile climb, although I wasn’t as strong as I remembered. Of course, when I’d last trod the road, I was Tyr. A few well-attired men guarded the gate, more of a formality in time of peace. The city’s administration and reserves lay inside, as well as the finest apartments, a few built high on the walls overlooking the plain, and in the majestic towers.

Except for the most hardened cynics, the first time view of the city inside the Fortress makes the heart skip a beat. To natives of Batuk it does more. Imagine an ancient oddity of nature, a huge hill of solid rock, thrust through the crusty plain like a black finger of an immense god. That is what my ancestors saw two thousand years before when they settled the harsh region. It drew them to it as an eagle looks for high places in which to nest, or like a man after an attractive mammary, as some historians preferred, alluding to its ancient name, “The Teat”.

My ancestors had labored in the sun, wind, and cold for more than a century, chipping, hammering, and carving away the top to form a smooth surface. They had smoothed the huge walls that could not be scaled and made the unbreakable gate of solid steel, forged in a great fire that had exhausted a year’s supply of coal and wood.

It was originally built to withstand the barbarian northern tribes, whose life was to raid and kill. It was the only settlement in the north that had never paid tribute. If Batuk was the strength of the plains, the Fortress was its heart. As Batuk’s wealth and population grew, the city inside the Fortress had grown to its present day heights. Buildings of trimmed and polished black, gray, and white stone gleamed in the sun, filling city blocks that elevated beyond the level of the walls, separated by straight streets. Bright flags flapped dizzyingly high overhead from lofty towers in the constant wind.

Some thought the view too clean and sterile. Save for window plants and colorful trim it was that. The space left no room for interior parks or fields, except for a small patch of grass in front of the entrance surrounding a fountain. At the time it was made, the council couldn’t agree on which god or goddess to honor. By popular vote, a statue of the original hill as it had looked to our ancestors was planted in the water. My ancestors had been right to name it so. From the right angle, it did look like a nipple teased erect. The cold water of the fountain only reinforced the illusion. I had to smile through my tears.

“Lina, why are you crying?” my spymaster asked me.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, an inadequate word to express what I couldn’t tell him.

His face softened for a second before hardening again. “Come. We have much to do.”

Why was I crying?

I had tried to be more feminine the last couple of days. My body, as always, was my guide. Whoever this woman whose DNA I shared was, besides being a natural slave, she was a woman with instincts to protect children and was not averse to crying at unexpected beauty or loss. I didn't think I was changing, more that I had it within me to feel these things and was letting them through. The voice that was Tyr told me to, “Stop being so emotional and focus on the greater need.”

We met the four cell leaders in the Fortress with barely a hitch. I was calm enough on the outside, but there was only the administrator to go, and so far I hadn't been able to pass my letters to anyone. I plead a need and entered a public lavatory. Waiting as long as I could, I squatted in a stall, adding the rest of the cell leaders’ names to the letters while I was at it, but no one else came inside.

At the last rendezvous, another tavern, I risked Thermin’s ire with a final trip to relieve myself, but the woman with whom I shared the environs wouldn’t talk to me even when I offered her gold. She even warded me away with a gesture to Ashtar as she scampered off like a frightened rabbit!

“Bitch!” I exclaimed under my breath, but only after she had gone.

I waited a little longer, but no one else came in. I reported back to my Spymaster determined and angry. I detested being watched constantly. It was as if the Gods were playing games with me. I was in my own city; by all rights I should have been able to deliver a note to somebody!

Thermin was no happier.

“Are you finally empty?” he demanded. “I would have thought that the woman who killed the King would be a little tighter in the bowels!”

I ignored him. “Who’s next?”

“Our last man is Administrator Ker t’Karl. It’s late; he should be home by now.” Thermin gave me the code phrases and directions. I wanted to kick myself when I heard the name; I’d voted for the traitor in the last election.

I walked the two blocks leisurely, passing men and women in groups walking the other way after the workday, for most, towards the gate and the city below. I didn’t see Mil, but he couldn't have been far behind. The administrator’s home was a black apartment building with white imitation columns around the door. Ker and his wife owned the ground floor. I waited across the street from the address, wasting time until the traffic cleared.

That would be my strategy, I’d decided in the lavatory. Hadrian’s Gong rang that time of year at the 19th hour. All I had to do was delay until the city gates were closed, when the morning would give me another chance to deliver my letters.

I strolled across the street, made my hair and dress more presentable, and banged the knocker. The door opened halfway, and a woman in brown and black looked me up and down with peculiar gold-flecked brown eyes. I dropped my veil.

“Well?” she inquired, trying to place me, as a politician’s wife might do after meeting a thousand voters.

It was Ker’s wife; I recognized her from a campaign portrait by the Lion Gate. She wasn't as confident or happy as she was in her picture: strands of auburn hair were in disarray, and stress had drawn lines on her forehead and in the corners of her eyes.

“My name is Lina l’Sura, Jen l’Rey, may I speak with your husband? This won’t take long, but it’s a matter that shouldn’t be delayed. There are a few release papers from the water project he must sign as soon as possible.”

Her face fell like snow in winter, and she leaned against the door jam, tears shimmered in her eyes.

Her voice cracking, she asked me, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“My husband has been missing for two days.”

I didn’t smile, but, truthfully, I had no sympathy for a woman who would marry a traitor. If she didn’t know his treasonous heart, then she must have suspected. As for Ker’s disappearance, I discerned Ketrick’s very active hand in this. I quickly adopted the slave pose “sorrow.”

“I’m very sorry. I had no idea. Do … do you think he might be back?” I asked softly, pouring as much sympathy into it as I could.

She shook her head helplessly and wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. “I don’t know. He’s been gone before, but never this long. I notified the constabulary this morning when he failed to return for duty in the council. He’s very rarely missed a meeting. So far they’ve turned up nothing.”

I shed a few tears myself and sniffled. I held up my hand while I pulled a handkerchief from the pouch attached to my waist chain, dabbed my eyes and blew my nose. She looked on in surprise, her mouth open at my display of grief.

“I’m sorry, Jen l’Rey, it’s just that it brought back cruel memories,” I said. “Men,” I declared bitterly. “My former husband would leave me sometimes for a day or more. I was worried at first, until I found him with a slave. I’m sorry. I’m sure your husband will turn up sooner or later. If you’d like to talk about it...”

It was long odds that this would get me inside. I’d just met her, and women weren’t generally fools, but one never knew.

“Yes. I’m sorry for your loss as well, Lina, was it?” she said mildly in a way that told me I'd worn out my welcome. I rubbed my eyes and moved to my next plan.

“Well, I won't trouble you any further.” Turning away to hide my movements, I tried like Hades to rip the hook from my veil as I pretended to reattach it, finally succeeding in snapping it after a struggle.

“Oh,” I cried, spinning back to her in consternation. “I broke my veil. Do you have a pin or hook? There are men on the street whom I would not care to meet with my face revealed.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance, but she could hardly turn down a virtuous woman in distress. “Very well. Come in. I’ll have my servant fix it for you.”

“Thank you.”

By the time the poor servant had reattached a new hook to my satisfaction, I had wasted another half-hour. I found out from her that Ker t’Karl had left for an early morning walk and had never returned, and one other interesting bit, Blut t’Oh, the other senior administrator, the one I had suspected of treason, had also gone missing from the council meeting that morning.

I left the apartment making a dramatic thank you to the mistress. So effusive was I in my condolence for her husband and gratitude for her help that she practically pushed me out the door. I walked away without a backward glance and strode easily back to the tavern, taking my time.

Naturally, Thermin was furious. He growled and cursed me for taking so long, but he gave me a chance to explain.

I said, “When I found that Ker was missing, I thought finding out when he left and where he might have gone would be valuable information. It turns out that Jen l’Rey knew little, but I figured it was worth the effort. Was I so wrong? What would you have done?”

He spun on his heel in anger, presenting his back to me as he grumbled and cussed. I thought his rage was excessive; even if he hated me, he should have behaved better. What is wrong with him? Damn the man!

He controlled himself finally, and turned around. “I would have done the same thing in your place,” he said with a sigh. “But I didn’t want to waste another night here. It’s already too late to get our horses and leave before the gates close. At least we know who our man is. It’s obvious what happened. In the end, Ker t’Karl found that he couldn’t betray his home city, but he couldn’t tell the council that he was a traitor. He tried to snuff out the network himself, probably with help, but he could only kill those he knew, the former Spymaster and the couriers who tried to meet with him. All attempts to interrogate them to find more were defeated by the poison tooth. The coward is probably a hundred miles away by now.” Thermin nodded and declared his final judgment: “I’m satisfied. Ker t’Karl has done as much damage as he could, and we’re still in an excellent position to bring Batuk to her knees.”

He clapped Mil on the back and even granted me a reasonable smile. “Let’s go back. We leave in the morning as soon as the gates open.”

***

For our final dinner in Batuk, Thermin brought Mil and Decker with us to celebrate. All through the meal, though, his smile never made it further than his lips. This should have been his moment, but he chewed and swallowed, and drank his drink until he decided to leave, saying goodbye and gruffly ordering me back to the shop.

In the meantime, all through the day, my needs had built. For once I was glad of them; it gave me an excuse to leave the apartment above the tailor shop.

I decided to cross town to visit my old standby, The Slave’s Dream, a half-hour away and bliss. Although the evening crowd tended to drunks and rough men, I could already feel their hands on my breasts and my nipples surely looked like the Fortress in ancient days. Most important, either there or on the way back, I would finally pass my letters to a man who would surely deliver them for a gold.

As soon as Thermin unlocked the door I made for the bedroom. As I lay down on the bed, I needed only a moment to reach that calm place. There, I reinvented an old fantasy of being abducted from Batuk and sold to the Slaver’s Guild.

I walked towards the door, expecting some protest, but confident that I could handle whatever Thermin chose to place in my path.

“Lina, where are you going?” he demanded, blocking my way to the exit.

“To put it in its simplest terms, I need to get brolled.”

“I see. The urges have come to you at last,” he said thoughtfully.

“They have. Move away from the door. I need to leave now.”

He shook his head. “You shall not leave this room. I can’t protect you outside.”

“What? Our business here is done. Get out of my way! I am your Queen!”

“We agreed that I would be in command until we left Batuk,” he said, his face taking on a stern mien, “and we are still within its walls. My duty is to protect you; I can’t risk you outside this room in your condition.” He smirked suddenly. “I have, however, an option that should suffice.”

“What do want, Thermin?” I demanded, as angry as I’d ever been in my life.

“Majesty, I intend only to keep you from harm.” He lowered his face to mine and grinned indulgently. “I assume that you were planning to brol a man from the streets?”

His changing moods had my head spinning like a top. “No!”

“Ah. Then you intended to drop in on one of the two serum girl establishments,” he reasoned. “It’s safer, but not safe enough. You see, Majesty; they cater to Batuk men. Once word of your escapade in a Batuk brothel leaked out, your reign in Tulem would be over. You may have hoodwinked the entire valley with your ‘discovery’ of the tablet, and twisted the arms of your nobles to make them accept a consort, but once the valley learned that you frequented foreign cat dens, your time as Queen would be over.” His voice had grown progressively louder the entire time. Leaning forward, he leered down at me from his far greater height. “There would be nothing to save you then! Even the mundanes would be glad to kick your pretty serum girl rear end out of the valley, naked and branded!” he shouted, spraying me with spittle.

I wasn’t frightened; the man had changed emotions so many times, I would surely only have to wait for a better one, but while it lasted, I marveled at his rage. “You really hate me.”

He laughed thinly, almost a painful sound. “No, Majesty. I wish I did. I’ve even come to like you a little, hard as that is to believe.” He shrugged elaborately. “Another time, another place. Here is my option: I’ll bring in Decker. He is a man born in Tulem and ready to serve your needs. He can brol you in the bed and I will wait in the next room.”

Even through the more or less undiscerning filter of a hot serum girl, I recoiled at the thought of intertwining limbs with that one.

“The man is a reptile. I’ll take my chances in a Batuk serum girl club.” I tried to move around Thermin, but he countered my motion easily. I sighed in disgust and looked up. I was in his power and he knew it.

“Here is my second option: Order me to brol you.”

It made a little more sense now. For some bizarre reason, perhaps to be able to kill me, he needed to despise me. He actually wanted me to be the slut-bitch of his imagination. I wasn’t insane; to order him to mate with me could have only brought me his hatred, so I folded my arms on my chest and shook my head. “I told you that I wouldn’t do that.”

He bowed solemnly. “You must, Majesty,” he said desperately.

I took his hand with my own. He suffered my touch, but did not withdraw his hand. “Thermin, you were right. I will not force a man to brol me. It demeans him. Open the door and let me out.”

“I can’t, Majesty,” he replied, shaking his head rapidly. “I’ve given orders. You would be watched as soon as you stepped foot out the door. They would know where you went and report it. I can guarantee that soon all Tulem would know. You must choose.”

I clenched my fists. I also wanted to stomp the floor, but I knew from experience how ineffectual that looked.

“Damn you, Thermin. You have no right!” But it was like pounding the ground; he stood easy, even amused. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that passing the letters to Ketrick was the most important thing; I’d do it somehow in the morning. I’d get sick at every lavatory on the way out of Batuk if I had to, but I’d find a woman somewhere who would deliver my letters. Even mating with a demon like Decker was infinitely preferable to failing, and I would consider Thermin’s fate later, when thoughts of twylls, submission, and strong hands at my breasts were not so uppermost. “Very well.” I said, producing the words like bile. “I choose Decker. Bring the lizard in. If he wants me, he can have me!”

His fierce blue eyes widened. “What? You want Decker?”

“Thermin, there’s a saying that women have that I didn’t understand before now. It goes: ‘Save me from complex men.’” I shook my head wearily. “I don’t understand you at all. You’re stubborn; I’m not sure that you like women; and there’s something important you’re not telling me. But maybe this will help you understand me. I wronged you and just want to make it right. If needs be, to make amends, I must brol one who surely slithered in his previous life then I will, but I warn you…”

He grinned abruptly, and reached for me. Taking me in his arms, his swordsman’s hands brushed aside my arms like sticks. Once in his grasp, I couldn’t stop myself from reacting -- I was a natural slave in thrall after all. My hips pressed forward and my breasts flattened eagerly to the warm contours of his chest as if they had minds of their own. My insides were already warm, wet, and far too vacant, and demanded a straight, firm, dominant male thing, which, unless his knife was carried far forward from the usual location, he could supply immediately. He lifted my head up to face him at the exact angle he desired. But before his lips crushed mine, I imposed a finger between us and glared. “Thermin, you are a rhadus,” I whispered angrily.

“Yes, Majesty.”

It was my last clear thought for a while.

When I woke early the next morning I realized far too late that I hadn’t started the fantasy. It would have been odd, anyway; my fantasy of a girl sold to a slaver would have confused Thermin and had him asking me uncomfortable questions. It frightened me to think that I could have been in a collar, but it is always easier to think of dangers in the past tense. Importance then was an urgent bladder and the man beside me.

Thermin was an enigma. He had potential for cruelty. He had nearly ripped my clothes off and, when he positioned and controlled me, it was just on the wrong side of painful. Most men learn that unless there is reason to discipline a girl, it is counterproductive to frighten her. Firm dominance is enough. I forgave him his exuberance, though. He had wanted me for some time, it seemed, but on his terms. He still hated something; he'd taken me hard, as if I were more than his desire, or less, an object, perhaps, a hot vessel in which to pour his anger and, for a time, his face was terrifying.

Later, once it was plain he had me totally in his power, a change occurred: his rage cleared, as a clouds rising over mountains, and his entire demeanor turned solicitous, treating me very well — perhaps too well -- restraining himself as a man would with a free woman he loved so dearly that he was afraid to touch her. As a natural slave, I would have preferred it somewhere in between the two extremes, although the only true test was how I felt afterwards. He had been adequate, and his stamina had pleased the slut in me. For once, he was tired enough that I managed to creep from the bed unfelt and unseen. Donning a shift, I put on a pot of strong tea and considered the morning.

There is nothing better than a good brolling to calm one’s fears. I’m not sure I actually think better then, but there is much to be said for reasoning without worry, and I find that if you don’t allow the hazy aftereffects to overcome you, it can concentrate the mind. I couldn’t help feeling that I had missed something the entire time I’d been in Batuk. Ketrick was extremely experienced. If I were in Ketrick’s place, what would I have done and thought? How would I have planned to disrupt the spies in Batuk?

Ketrick had killed Spymaster Gar and every courier Tulem had sent, including Donal -- probably taking most of them down somewhere on the road outside Batuk. The couriers had known nothing of the cells, and Donal had probably had killed himself with a poison tooth. Ketrick knew about the administrator spy in our council because I’d told him. He must have moved to seize him. Not knowing which senior administrator was the traitor, in his typical audacious way, he had captured both. They probably knew little as well.

If I were Ketrick, what would I have done? He likely assumed that Thermin would want to investigate personally, and he could have paid guards to watch for him, but Ketrick would have known that Thermin could probably evade the guards with a good disguise. The Spymaster could then stay anywhere and reestablish contact with the cells at his pleasure. To find Thermin in Batuk would have been a nearly impossible task.

And yet, I reasoned, he knew there were cells in the Fortress. It was suddenly blindingly obvious. With only one entrance to the Fortress, Ketrick would have merely waited for Thermin to show up at the Fortress gate, and then followed him.

He would have seen me at the gate too. A thin veil was a poor disguise to one who had slept with me and my twin. It thought it nearly certain that Ketrick had followed us back to Mil’s tailor shop. I resisted an urge to go to the window; he might be outside right now, waiting for us in the dark.

I poured two cups of tea and added some sugar and cinnamon to one, the way Thermin had preferred when I’d made it before. Carrying them both into the bedroom, I sat on the bed as softly as I could.

“Thermin,” I said, wafting the rich cinnamon towards his nose.

His nostrils flared at the pungent sweetness, and his eyelids rose. His eyes were pretty when viewed properly, I judged, and I’d seen plenty of them earlier that night from below.

“Majesty?” He awoke startled, then became wary, relaxing as he saw my smile and offering. He sat up and took the cup with a nod. “Thank you.”

I waited while he took a few sips.

“Good tea,” he said with a nod.

“Thanks. I’d guess it to be less than an hour until dawn.”

He glanced at the night candle to see how much of it had burned down. “I think you’re right.” He set the tea down beside the bed, sighing. “Majesty, I put you to a test last night. I should not have.”

“You went too far; in the main, I think I understand why. But this can't be all about me. There’s something else on your mind.”

“I have questions, Majesty.”

“As do I. Is Decker really outside?”

“He is, but he is watching the shop, nothing else.” He grinned. “I would not have summoned him last night under any circumstances.”

I regarded him coolly. “To threaten me with him was more than presumptuous.”

“I was sure that you would prefer me, your Majesty. I did not consider it a threat. I saw your revulsion when you looked at Decker.”

“Prefer you over Decker, yes, but I really wanted the anonymity of a serum girl club.”

“You jest, Majesty. It is unthinkable for a noblewoman raised to class and privilege to mate at random in a foreign city. You were making a point by trying to visit the club, but your natural preference was me. Besides, I could hardly allow you to leave to face the city by yourself in your ... situation.”

“I see.” I leaned closer and affixed him with a glare. “You were wrong. There are good reasons why I might desire a nameless man rather than someone I see every day at the palace. You would have understood that if you’d pulled your head from your noble-hating sphincter. If you valued my security, you could have called off your rat and come with me to the club.”

He blanched.

“I apologize, Majesty, but plead confusion. I had no referent for you. I think I know you better now.”

“Last night I felt we made some solid progress in that direction.” I held up my hand to stop him from saying anything embarrassing. “And yet, something is troubling you, something beyond referents and confusion. Tell me, Thermin.”

At my persistent stare, he forced a phrase through his teeth: “I do my duty.”

“I’ve never doubted that. Tell me, what is bothering you?”

The muscles of his jaw worked as he considered his words. “Majesty, there are only twenty-three Borodins in Tulem.”

He wasn’t counting the ladies, but I let that pass. “Yes, and thirty-nine Giovanni lords, a considerable reduction of even a month ago.”

A faint gleam entered the pale blue. “This war is about finding a home for twenty-three Borodins.”

“It does seem a bit excessive for an overpopulation problem of less than two dozen, doesn’t it?”

“It would seem so.”

I stood and drained my tea, now warm. “We’ll discuss this more on the way back.”

He nodded, looking me over. “Yes, Majesty.”

We had time, so I took a bath before we left and dressed inside the bathroom. When I came out, I went to my bag and found the cloth I’d put over my possessions disturbed. It was very slight and I wondered for a moment if Thermin or I had jostled it in passing. Fortunately, I’d brought the notes with me into the bathroom.

We left as the sun was rising. After a quick breakfast at a stand just around the corner from the shop, we walked through the market, just setting up at that hour, and down to the stables. I spent the time looking for Decker. Thermin must have known what I was doing, but merely looked on in amusement, my efforts a diversion to enliven his morning.

Instead of the loathsome man, I saw Ketrick. He had made it easy, wearing the same disguise he’d worn in Tulem when I’d ordered Tam Polgher’s death. Riding a black stallion with a white blotch between his eyes, he made no attempt to conceal himself. He smiled at me as he approached, holding his right hand on his thigh in the Eagles “where?” sign. Thermin turned to follow my look, but only saw a man appreciating a pretty woman, a bold thing to do with a man by her side, but not an unusual sight in Batuk. I causally shifted my body, making a motion in the dirt with my foot, scraping a line south towards the Lion Gate. Ketrick winked at me and moved on, his horse breaking into a trot.

I let out a deep breath; I would be fine.
 
 

 
This is the end of the set-up. To follow, there'll be action and much ... well, I won't say exactly what, but I'll say that I think that chapter 20 is one of my better chapters on a couple of levels. And perhaps you'll get some insight into what's been bothering Thermin. :)

Keep those comments coming. I love them. ~Aardvark