Across the Sea

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Across The Sea Copyright © 2003 Irene Maillol ISBN: 1-55410- 043-7 Cover art and design by Martine Jardin All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2003 Look for us online at: www.zumayapublications.com www.extasybooks.com

Across the Sea

Chapter One Across the Sea

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here was no moon out the night they came, the men from across the sea. They moved soundlessly and struck quickly, like the enormous hunting cats that ravaged the herds in midwinter, and like cats they left no tracks once they had gone. The village slept and a strong breeze riding in from the shore shook the beeches on the hill, which rustled, shedding dark leaves. In the one room cabin, the fire crackled weakly in the hearth and the father snored peacefully under stained, thinning blankets. The door flew open, admitting a gust of wind. The fire rose, breathed for an instant and went out. She turned over slowly, confused, and saw a man standing in the doorway: the silhouette of a man against torchlight and the gleam of a sword at his side. Her sister Anthea screamed, leaping from her bed as three large, convulsed shapes came hurtling inside. One man brought an arm down on Anthea's head, felling her neatly. Another struck her father’s round, tender stomach before he could cry out for help and he, too, crumpled senseless at their feet. She did not move. She had the hope that they might have missed her, lying so still under the covers. There followed an endless pause during which only their labored breaths broke the silence; then the leader strode across the dirt floor to her bedside, grabbed her arm and yanked her effortlessly to her feet. She felt the blanket slip off her 1

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shoulders and the bite of the wind through her thin white gown. He was young; twenty-five, perhaps. His eyes were dark and curiously warm, charged with a honeyed languor even now, when he was glaring at her. Corn-yellow hair fell in soft waves down to his shoulders and his chest was smooth and golden under the black of his open shirt. He drew her close, pressed his face to her neck, smelled her. One hand slid down the side of her body to lift her gown and she pulled back instinctively. His fist closed on her hair, yanking her forward with such force that she fell against him. She had never struggled with a grown man before and his strength was wholly unexpected. He left her stunned, truly afraid for the first time in her life. She was still. He pushed aside the flimsy cloth of her gown with impatience and shoved an icy hand between her legs. She stiffened, but did not dare move as his cold fingers slid up her thighs. When he parted the folds of her sex she tried to refuse him once more, but his grip on her hair remained so tight that she was being held on tiptoe. He probed her with a sudden, measured gentleness she was not prepared for, and she stared into his eyes, amazed that there was no pain. He smiled and softened, inexplicably pleased. He kissed her cheek. Then he released her so abruptly that she staggered back a step. “This one is fresh,” he said. And was gone. One of the others surged toward her. All she had time to see before he threw her over his shoulder was that he was dark and burly. He smelled of salt, wine and dankness. Soon he was running through the quiet, narrow streets of the village, headed for the beach, her long hair streaming down about her face and the ground rushing by in a blur beneath his muddy boots. She heard no more screams. Torches flashed here and there, caught for a moment in her vision, out the corner of her eye. The hard edge of her captor’s shoulder banging against her stomach became confused with the pain of his great rough fingers digging into the backs of her thighs. She felt terribly sick, and the cold was making her sleepy. Just before everything went dark she wondered, 2

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almost as though it were a dream, if her father was dead. **** She awoke with the movement of the ship, lying in a vast and shadowy room where beams crossed the curved walls like the ribs of a great beast. Pale gray light shone in through a high row of small, rectangular portholes. The air smelled of seaweed and felt cumbersome as a veil. I am in the hold, she thought, and sat up. Young women slept on bare planks all around her, huddled together for warmth. There must have been thirty at least. They had been her neighbors and her playmates, one or two had even been her friends. Now they looked like strangers to her. Some were dressed, some covered only with blankets. Two soldiers sat dozing on the lowest rung of a narrow wooden stairway, legs stretched out before them and crossed at the ankles. Their faces were clean-shaven and bronzed by the sun. Long, sheathed swords hung casually from their belts. She moved cautiously through the mass of torpid bodies looking for Anthea and found her, still unconscious, at the center of the hold. “Anthea,” she whispered, cradling her. “Anthea.” “Be quiet!” She turned with a start to the guard who had spoken, then drew Anthea closer in a protective, if infinitely futile, gesture. The women stirred. She heard muffled weeping behind her, and a sigh. The thud of heavy boots descending drew her eyes back to the stairs and she watched him come below. He was still dressed completely in black, which–had she known the cost of black dye– would have told her exactly how rich he was. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and his hands red from working the deck ropes. Rich young captains do not work deck ropes unless they have an excess of energy to burn, but she did not know that either. His blond hair was damp and matted across his brow. Both guards scrambled 3

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to their feet, stepping aside for him. He surveyed the room quickly, expertly, and found her. “That one,” he said. “Bring her to me.” One of the guards stepped deftly through and over the maze of women, disentangled her from Anthea and hurried her back to the foot of the stairs. The young captain stared squarely into her eyes without feeling. “What is your name?” “Elora.” He grasped her wrist and dragged her up the stairs into the sunlight. It was a grim day and the sea foamed high, but the round ship plowed easily through the rising waves, its broad sails filled with good wind. There were no birds in the sky and the land was long out of sight. A slew of seamen toiled on the orderly deck, their weathered, red-brown faces barely visible between high-necked woolen coats and furred caps. Pulleys creaked as the sodden ropes were pulled through, groaning with strain, and white spray rose in clouds on either side of the prow as the waters parted. The ship bore no flag. They crossed the deck in long strides. Whenever she lagged behind he yanked her brutally after him without so much as turning his head. Down another set of stairs, almost tripping over the last crooked rung, and into a corridor. Then, before her eyes could accustom themselves again to the shadows, he jostled her through a low, curved door and into a cabin. It was small, with one round window, now closed. A carved chair sat in one corner, next to a wooden chest painted blue. A wide bed covered in white sheets was affixed to the opposite wall. There was nothing else in the room, save for an oil lamp rusted sea-green, swinging crazily from its peg on the wall. He threw her onto the bed, tearing open her nightgown as she fell away from him. The sheets were soft beyond her experience and perfumed with a scent she did not recognize. She scrambled away, quick as a mountain goat, and turned to face him with her back 4

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pressed to the wall, arms folded tightly across her chest. He pulled the black shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. “Don’t think so much, Elora,” he told her with a smile. “It won’t do you any good here.” She watched with an almost morbid fascination as his hands shot down to unfasten his trousers. He did it both swiftly and clumsily, tearing at what would not give readily, his eyes never leaving her face. His hand slid inside and with a slight wince he lifted out his swollen sex. It was short, thick, flushed with a rush of blood and rising stiffly against a mass of amber-yellow curls that thinned to a strip of golden fuzz on his flat belly. His taut, rounded scrotum was covered with the same blond down. Elora had never seen a naked man and for a brief moment the sight was so interesting that she forgot to be afraid. But then he moved, and she remembered. There was nowhere to turn when he climbed onto the bed after her. She kicked uselessly as he grasped her ankles and pulled her forward, leaving her staring up at him with her legs raised around his hips. He massaged the insides of her thighs, warming the pale, supple flesh that she had never thought to be proud of. Then he bent toward her, and as she clawed at the sheets, trying to drag herself away, he pressed his warm tongue against her sex, parting its lips with a deep, slow stroke. She froze with surprise and then shuddered, her grip on the sheets loosening involuntarily. He smiled and licked her again. Frightened by the explosion of heat in her loins, she tried to turn away from him. He straightened swiftly, grabbing her securely by the waist, his fingers digging in painfully as he twisted her once more onto her back. “You’re a passionate little thing,” he said, lowering himself onto her. “You’ll please the Commander. What a pity he’s not on board.” She felt the tip of his penis glide, hot and slick, along her inner thigh. His face was above hers and he opened his lips against her gasp, pushing his tongue into her mouth. She did not breathe while he kissed her. It seemed impossible. 5

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His hand clamped against her cheeks, keeping her head immobile and her jaws parted. He tasted her, and she heard him moan into her throat. She was faint when he finally drew back. His blond locks tumbled onto her face as he moved down to kiss her breasts. She could smell his clean young sweat and the sea brine in his hair. His mouth closed greedily around one of her nipples and she was shocked to feel it tighten as he fed on it, a strange warmth spreading again through her belly. She arched her back without knowing it, pushing herself against him. His arms slid around her, the tips of his fingers pressing longingly against her spine, exploring the soft flesh between her ribs, the curve of her hips. He lapped at the underside of her rounded breast until she sighed, then rubbed his cheek against her hardened nipple. She felt the beginnings of stubble on his face–a scraping that was at once maddeningly tender and intent–followed by the graze of his moist lips. Stiff with pleasure and confusion, she pressed her open palms against the top of his head to push him away. He gripped her wrists and brought them to the small of her back, clasping them in one unyielding fist. Her head was forced back and her hips into an arch. He straightened to stand between her legs and with the palm of his free hand caressed the valley of her stomach, her belly, and finally the mound of her black pubic hair. His touch roughened as he ran his thumb through the tight curls and she realized his hand was trembling. She writhed and tried to close her legs but could barely manage a squeeze against the strength of his thighs. Eyes riveted on her face, he closed his fingers around his sex and pressed its length against her pubis, guiding it down toward the dark lips. The shaft convulsed in his grasp, a trickle of liquid leaking from its tip, wetting her. Then it was pressing against her folds, which felt filled and burning hot, and he was panting, she could see the veins on his throat and the flush rising to his face, and with a sharp intake of breath he let himself go and thrust inside her. The pain was so overpowering that she heard her own scream before she knew she had uttered it. Her body became rigid as wood 6

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and the walls of her narrow channel jerked in a vain attempt to shut him out. He moaned, his dark eyes glazing over, and thrust into her again. She made no sound after that, but he tore a hollow breath out of her with each push. The searing sensation absorbed her completely as he plunged deeper and harder into her, her small muscles taut and her nails biting into the meat of her palms. Both wrists remained pinned behind her, crushed into his fist. His organ felt enormous and scalding against the cruelly stretched rim of her sex. He moaned incessantly now, and as he bent down to lie on top of her his hands spread open on her buttocks, pressing her so close and so hard she thought he wanted to melt into her. Heat came off his body like hearth flames. She strained against his shoulders without success, her hands slipping on sweat as he buried his face in the curve of her neck to kiss her. Then his thrusts slowed and he ground himself into her with a shudder, widening her, molding her to his girth. The kisses were suddenly soft, his lips parting on the delicate skin of her throat, his breath moist against her ear. Slowly, she relaxed. He moved to kiss her open mouth, sucking weakly on her lips, sighing, his eyes squeezed shut. The pain between her legs lessened slightly and she stared distractedly up at him, struck suddenly by how beautiful he really was, how terrible but how beautiful, and she let her arms slide about his neck, kneading the tight, rippling muscles of his back. He did not open his eyes, but she thought she saw him smile. He kissed her hair with something like tenderness. Her nipples were rubbing against his smooth chest. Her breasts felt swollen and ripe; she wanted him to kiss her there again. He slid one hand between their bodies and touched her sex, caressing the wet, widespread mouth and the circumference of his own trembling shaft where it entered her. The moisture had spread out over their locked loins and she felt him push his hand down further to cradle his testicles, rubbing them into her flesh. It hurt and she stiffened, 7

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involuntarily squeezing him again between her walls. He groaned, surprised, and gripped her thigh. His thrusts became forceful again. She resented the betrayal terribly after those drowsy, promising kisses and fought to push him off, but he no longer felt anything except the friction of her insides and pounded against her in a sudden upsurge of desperation, his rigid sex cutting into her like a thing made of stone. Then he cried out and she felt a hot, thick burst of fluid jet into her as he jerked against her one last time. It was over so abruptly that for a few moments she waited, coiled and breathless, for it to begin afresh. His reddened face sank onto her shoulder, the organ shrinking inside her, quivering weakly if she moved. She received the full weight of his body as his muscles slackened, and felt the pounding of his heart while he tried to catch his breath. For a while she had him hot and unbearably still against her. Then he lifted himself onto one elbow to nuzzle her face. He kissed her mouth lazily. “You didn’t come,” he said. “But you will.” He stood up, emptying her so quickly that although he had become flaccid the pain was acute, bringing tears to her eyes. He was paying no attention. He was pulling up his trousers; fastening the ties and buttons; picking up his discarded shirt. She looked down at herself and realized she was bleeding. Frantically she tried to brush it away, as if it were an alien thing that had settled on her flesh. “Don’t be afraid,” he told her without troubling to meet her panicked eyes. “I’ll send a woman to you. I’ll be back tonight.” And he left, closing the door with a brief, empty knock of wood on wood that left not a trace of him in the room, not even his smell. **** The woman he sent was not from the village. Her speech was clipped and musical, tinged with some foreign accent. She was a peasant like Elora, a woman of fifty or sixty years, with silver hair gathered into a loose bun and large, skillful hands browned by much sun. Her face was furrowed with wrinkles and the flesh of her jowls had begun to 8

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sag. Her eyes had been green once, but were now graying along with the rest of her. She declared her name was Uthra and without elaborating set about bathing Elora with a sea sponge and a pail of warm water. “He is called Eidolon, and he’s the best of the Raiders: neat and quick and no mistakes. Headstrong, but the Commander is fond of him.” Elora watched the water wash over her legs and soak into the wooden planks of the floor. She tried to smile, in case the woman was kind. “Where are we going?” she asked after a prudent interval. “To the land across the sea, where men rule the plains and women the mountains. They battle often there. The women steal men for slaves and the men steal women when they can, but Amazons are hard to catch once they reach the hills. So the Raiders sail to your land and take from it what they need.” Elora felt a twinge of pain as the sponge was pressed carefully between her thighs and came away streaked with blood. “Do I belong to him now?” “You’ll be sold off along with the others. You’re a pretty girl, you’ll make it to Court. Eidolon shouldn’t have taken you. A virgin fetches a higher price.” She smiled with maternal tolerance. “But he can’t bear to pass it up.” Elora did not understand what the woman meant and she did not care. All she could think about was that he would return, that all the washing in the world made no difference, she would bleed again tonight. She could not face it and began to cry. The woman’s face twisted into a grimace that Elora assumed was an attempt at a smile. “It’s only a bit of blood. I know you’re sore, but it passes.” She patted Elora’s thighs dry with a clean rag, then her taut calves, and soaked up the puddle of water at her feet. “Everything passes,” she added, and for a moment seemed sad. “But what will I do tonight when he comes back? He doesn’t like 9

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me, and I’m so afraid of him.” Uthra cackled, startling her. “Doesn’t like you, does he?” She struggled to her feet, still laughing. “He’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s a boy.” Elora sniffled, feeling inexplicably foolish, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Boys are easy. It’s the men you have to worry about. They’ll be coming soon enough.” This reminded Elora of something important. She shifted her weight uneasily, working up the courage to ask. “What is the Commander like?” Uthra waved a hand, dismissive. “Don’t concern yourself with him, he never comes to auction. Amazons are all he will bed.” “But Eidolon said the Commander would be pleased with me.” Uthra looked stunned. She said nothing. “Is he a king?” asked Elora. Uthra examined the floorboards with unwarranted attention. “He has no name, no line and no throne, but he is the king of kings.” She pulled up the carved chair. “Go on. Sit down.” Elora hesitated, wringing her hands. “You will tell me nothing more?” “Nothing I could say will ever prepare you for him.” Elora did not like the sound of this, and she liked it even less when the woman forced levity into her expression, patting the seat of the chair. “Go on, sit. I’ll teach you. I’ve trained many girls.” Elora sat down with her thighs pressed together and folded her clamped fists on her lap. Uthra knelt before her. “Open your legs.” She slid a gnarled, steady hand between Elora’s knees and lifted her legs gently, hooking one over each of the chair arms. Elora winced. “I know it hurts. That’s not all Eidolon’s fault. If you want it, it will hurt less. You should want it, you know. When it’s good, there’s nothing like it.” She moistened the tip of an index finger on her tongue and carefully touched Elora’s sex, parting the bruised lips. “Always be moist when he takes you. He won’t want to wait, so you 10

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must make him enjoy watching while you ready yourself. If you can manage that, he’ll leave the rest up to you.” Elora felt the finger press in on a soft nodule of flesh at the very crown of her folds. She shook with a jolt of pleasure when it rubbed her there and pushed out against it. Her shrivelled sex darkened and swelled, and a dab of hot fluid escaped her. “It feels like his tongue,” she said with a sigh. “I liked his tongue.” She gazed drowsily down at the woman, her eyes half shut. “You do it to me. Do it with your tongue.” “But that is no use. You can’t do it yourself.” “You said I should learn to like it. Do it to me, and I’ll learn.” The woman gave her a look not devoid of approbation. “You’re a cunning little tidbit. How old are you?” “Eighteen.” “You’ll be hell to manage once you hit your stride.” Elora smiled and arched her hips, offering herself. She laid her head back, closing her eyes, and felt the woman’s warm tongue wet the crease of her buttocks. Lapping slowly, it moved to the aching mouth of her sex and carefully teased its rim. Then the woman’s lips closed on her and the woman sucked only on that tiny, uncovered bud. Elora moaned softly. A wave of pleasure washed through her and the juices that had not come before overflowed. Something quickened in the woman. She cupped Elora’s buttocks in her hands and mouthed the slick tangle of curls, her tongue spreading the juices into every crevasse before pushing eagerly into the tight sheath of her sex. Elora shuddered as it reamed her insides, deeper than she had thought possible, emptying her out, drinking her in. She spread her legs further and pressed her hands to the woman’s head, running her fingers through the silky silver hair, encouraging her. When she opened her eyes, Eidolon was standing at the open door. Elora flinched and pulled away from the woman. She started to close her legs. 11

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“Don’t move,” he said sharply, and she froze. Even more disconcerting than his sudden arrival was discovering that Uthra showed not a trace of alarm. She struggled to her feet with a grunt of annoyance and proceeded to brush off her skirts. “This is all your fault,” she scolded him, as if she were the captain and he the servant. “Look at her. She’s terrified of you. She needs coaching and you’re too damned rough.” The young man smiled. When the old serving-woman crossed to slam the door shut behind him he trapped her face gently in both hands and kissed her. “I can taste her in your mouth.” Uthra grunted again, turning from him to gather her pail and her rags. Eidolon followed her across the cabin and slipped his arms around her shoulders before she could escape him. Standing against her back he kissed her neck, then her cheek. “Do it to me,” he whispered. Uthra pulled away and picked up her things. “Do it to me and I’ll take you.” She laughed in his face. Elora cringed, but he had not taken offense, he was still smiling. “I can have that,” said the old woman, “whenever I want.” “It’s true. The men adore you. I adore you. Don’t leave.” Uthra allowed him to take the pail from her hands. She stroked his face with affection. “Such a spoiled boy. What am I going to do with you?” He kissed the meat of her palm. “And the girl?” she asked. “Let her watch,” he replied glibly. “She might learn something.” His smile faded when she placed her hand between his legs. Slowly and firmly she worked the bulge in his trousers and made him moan through closed lips. He shut his eyes. She knelt before him and clasped his wrists, imprisoning his arms at his sides. Then she pressed her lips against his groin. He let out a strangled breath and nearly keeled over, and Elora – unobserved and alert as a whippet – made a quick, astounded note of the power of that one kiss. Uthra undid belt buckle, ties, and buttons with practiced hands, and drew the black trousers down to his thighs. His organ bobbed up, ready and full, and she pressed it against his belly to cradle the testicles 12

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beneath. He tightened in her cupped hand as she fondled him. A dab of clear fluid leaked from the tip of his penis onto her fingers. She breathed on him, without hurry, then kissed the delicate, wrinkled skin of his scrotum. Eidolon arched his hips, the muscular thighs spreading for her, the scrotum reddening and tightening further against his body. His hands jerked into fists but remained obediently at his sides. Uthra lapped at his testicles, combing the blond down with her tongue. When he flinched and it became obvious that he could stand the pleasure no longer without forcing himself on her, she paused. She kissed his belly, the faultless curve of his thighs. Teasingly, she took the rounded head of his penis into her mouth. Eidolon groaned and tried to push himself into her throat. Her fingers closed firmly around the root of his shaft, keeping him still while she pleasured only the tip, sucking it first, then running her tongue round the crown. He was quivering now, and Elora could see the veins rising on his sex, delicate and pulsing so violently she feared they would burst. Uthra drew back and massaged him with her hands, working his wetness down the shaft until she had made it glisten. He arched his hips once more, reaching out with unsteady fingers to urge her head nearer. She dipped the tip of her tongue against the tiny orifice capping his sex and scooped out a drop of fluid. He gave a small spasm. Then she parted her lips, and grasping his hips to prevent him from thrusting, took him whole and throbbing into her mouth. Elora was frightened by this act, but entranced. As Eidolon sighed and gave himself up to the slow, careful sucking, his shoulders heaving, she lifted her eyes to his face. He was staring at her. At her legs open and bent over the arms of the chair and the slick pulp of her sex. She felt a fever-flush rise to her cheeks and started to unhook her knees. “Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t move.” Although he caressed Uthra’s head and rocked his hips against her with mounting eagerness, his eyes never left Elora. It excited her 13

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terribly, the way he was looking at her. She could feel the core of her own sex beating like a heart, and wanting desperately to press her hands between her legs, she turned her head away from him. His breaths drowned out everything else in the room. They drowned out even the sea lashing against the hull. Uthra slid her open hands down his thighs and around to squeeze his buttocks. She sucked him greedily and he drove himself into her faster, harder, until had she not locked him against her in a powerful embrace he would have bucked her away. He threw his head back with an animal cry, the damp scrotum plumped against her chin. His semen jetted into her throat and she held him imprisoned in her long arms while he gave his final, weak spasms, releasing him with one last strong, deliberate pull of her mouth. Elora watched him stagger backward, his darkened penis shrivelled and gleaming. He stumbled onto the bed and was almost instantly asleep. Carefully she unhooked her legs from the armrests, pressing her thighs together to squeeze away this new and troublesome need. The wooden seat underneath her was shiny with fluids and she wanted to rub herself raw against it. Anything was preferable to what she was experiencing. Uthra wiped her mouth on the edge of her apron and helped herself to a drink of water from the cabin’s private supply. She sat down beside Eidolon and slid a hand under his shirt to caress his sweat-soaked back. He wrapped his arms about her waist, burying his head in her lap, and lovingly kissed her belly before dozing off again. Uthra smiled at Elora. “You see, now? There is nothing to it.” “I couldn’t.” Elora shook her head in consternation. “I couldn’t hold him in my mouth. He’s too big.” Uthra laughed until she was coughing. She gathered her things. “You have much to learn of men,” she said, stepping out the door, but before closing it she paused and her lined face lost its mirth, becoming solemn and lit with love. 14

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“You misunderstood me, about the Commander. It’s not the common ones I cannot explain. It’s the great ones.” **** Elora was given a faded calico dress and returned to the hold. Anthea, awake at last, was waiting for her. When Elora explained what Eidolon had done, Anthea wept and held her tightly, telling her that she was sorry. Elora did not understand what there was to be sorry about. She was alive, after all. She was unhurt. It had been interesting. Everything passes. But she said nothing. The men came to get them at night. There had been loud singing and carousing on deck since sundown; and you could hear heavy objects being rolled aft over the planks, gurgling and sloshing. Now a pack of Raiders herded the village women up the narrow stairs. The skies were clear and the wind had died, and the great ship swayed peacefully with sails drooping, drifting along on the current. Barrels of wine were scattered across the deck, several already empty and knocked over on their sides. Drunken sailors straddled them like mounts. The seamen fell silent as the women filed out. Eidolon sat on a cushion with his legs stretched before him, his back resting against the mizzenmast and an empty wineskin draped over one thigh. He surveyed his human cargo with somnolent eyes, then nodded drowsily in the general direction of his crew. The tall, burly man who had carried Elora from her home stepped forward. His skin was the color of unpolished copper, his face broad and brow flat and his features coarsely masculine, his deep-set eyes ebon black. He had thick, wavy hair cut short to the nape of his neck and curling over his temples. In the softness of his hair one glimpsed a hope of something refined and sensual, and in the fullness of his lips; but the nose was broken and the jaw hard as granite, and the general impression was one of crude animal power. The women crowded 15

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together while he looked them over, lifting a chin here and there; wrapping a lock of hair around his fingers; moving on. Finally, he chose Anthea. She tried to scratch him when he grasped her arm, and as he dragged her to the center of the deck, she screamed and dropped to her knees so that he had to lift her bodily and carry her, flailing and kicking, the rest of the way. The sailors laughed, cheering him heartily. Two of them dragged a table forward, wiping off the food and bottles and sending it all crashing to the floor. The burly man sat Anthea on the coarse-grained board and pressed a meaty hand over her breast. She clawed him, enraged, and left bleeding marks on his neck. He struck her with the back of his hand, an unhesitating blow to the face that flung her whole body sideways. She would have rolled off the table had he not held onto her. Anthea fell back, dazed, her fine blond hair spread in a cloud, and he took her by the waist, yanking her forward to lie with legs open on either side of his hips. In a single pull he tore open her dress, baring a willowy body and small, erect breasts. As he bent over to mouth them his hand moved clumsily down to his breeches. When he lifted out his engorged member, Elora’s breath caught in her throat. It was enormous, jerking violently as he sought to push it into Anthea. It will kill her. Elora took a step forward. One of the women grabbed her wrist, pulling her back into the fold. “Have you lost your mind? You will only get yourself raped, too.” Elora did not know the meaning of this word. She only knew that the man was too large, that her sister could not survive it and she struggled to break free but the grip on her arm was relentless. Anthea stiffened and came awake as the man drove himself into her with a grunt. She screamed, trying to twist away. He shuddered and thrust again, pushing deeper into her, his powerful hands lifting her hips clear off the table. His eyes closed, his face dark with wine and exertion, he pressed the delicate thighs around his waist. Anthea tried to hit him but the sailors pinned her arms. They kissed her 16

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breasts and slapped them playfully, poured wine on them, bent to drink it up like cats. Elora relaxed slightly, watching with sudden interest. Anthea never stopped fighting and her screams were bloodcurdling, but it had finally struck Elora that she was not really injured, she was merely furious.

So this is rape. This is what happened to me. But I did not scream, and nobody struck me. I am cleverer than my sister, after all. Exhausted at last, Anthea went limp in the man's vise-like grip. He serviced himself on her quickly, and when he was done he did not linger but withdrew immediately, wiping his sated member on her thighs. He kissed her belly once. Then he turned away, buttoning his trousers. Eidolon still sat by the mizzenmast. He took his time getting up. “The men will have you,” he said, “whether you like it or not. So be nice to them, and they might be nice to you.” Two sailors carried Anthea away while the rest formed a net round the prisoners. Elora bowed her head, letting her long black hair cover her face, and backed slowly toward the stairs. She wanted no man but Eidolon and he was already busy lifting the skirts of a plump redhead who stared wide-eyed at him but submitted without resistance, her shock dissolving in her admiration. Just when Elora thought that she had escaped, she felt a hand touch her elbow. It was the burly man. He towered above her and she knew it would be fatal to resist, so she took a step forward instead. “Don’t hit me,” she said simply. “I won’t fight you.” And she wrapped her arms about his thick neck, wondering what would happen. What happened surprised her even more than her sister's pointless tantrum. He smiled at her, terribly pleased, and lifted her gently into his arms, drawing her legs about his waist like a child’s. “You’re a sweet thing,” he told her. His voice was deep and soft, and when he kissed her she felt only the lightest touch of his tongue 17

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against her lips. He carried her away from the moaning and screaming and the tumult of writhing bodies to the quiet bow of the ship, and there he sat down on a nest of crumpled sails with her straddled on his lap. For a long time he caressed her face and said nothing. His thumb passed carefully over her eyelids. He traced the line of her cheekbones and the plump oval of her mouth. Tentatively she placed one hand on his groin, feeling the warm, still-soft bulge of his genitals through the cloth. “You’re much bigger than Eidolon,” she ventured thoughtfully. “I thought they were all the same.” He merely smiled. A kind smile. But when she touched him again he quickened and pressed his thumb against her lips. She drew back, and he did not insist. “What is your name?” she asked him. “Jugger.” “What are you?” “I am a soldier.” “I am a fisherman’s daughter,” she told him, and allowed him to put his thumb in her mouth. He ran it delicately over her tongue, across the even row of her teeth and around her parted lips, wetting them with her own saliva. She watched him watching her mouth, his face serious. She reached out and sucked his thumb into her, pressing him against the roof of her mouth, then under her tongue. Her teeth scraped him ever so slightly as she pushed him out, only to take him in again. He tasted like red wine and good earth. He drew his hand away and leaned back against the sails to study her face. Delicately he slid the thin skirt of her dress up her thighs, caressing her with open palms. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the warmth of his hands against her skin, and when she opened them he kissed her again. This time she felt his tongue press hot and slow into her mouth. She felt it everywhere on her body–in the swelling of her breasts and the crawling fire between her legs–and she sucked him in 18

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hungrily, pushing his mouth open wider until his own body tensed and he responded, his hands squeezing her thighs and his hips lifting under her for the first time. She leaned forward to press herself onto the hardness at his groin, but he did not permit it. He broke the kiss. His hand moved to the collar of her dress, and brushing the cloth aside he ran his fingers over her chest, down into the space between her breasts. She watched him undo the front without hurry, marveling at how deftly his large fingers handled the tiny buttons. With the backs of his hands he parted the sides of cloth. He admired her, brushing his knuckles over her nipples. Then he cupped her breasts and lifted them slightly, exploring the silky crease underneath with the pad of his index finger. “You have perfect breasts.” She looked down at herself. They were full and round and almost heavy, with tight nipples of dark pink that stood out against her cream white skin. “You think so?” “Oh yes.” She smiled, enormously pleased and a little shy. Jugger slid his massive hands to the small of her back, supporting her while she arched, and closed his lips around one stiff nipple, sucking it and then pushing it out between his teeth with a slight press of the tongue. She ran her fingers through his thick black hair, kissed the top of his head and rested her cheek against it. He moved his arms inside her dress to stroke her and she lengthened her spine as his hands slid up to the hollows of her armpits and slowly down to squeeze the fleshy part of her hips. He moaned, so low that she almost didn’t hear it, then mouthed her other breast, sucking harder now, circling the nipple with the tip of his tongue. She raised herself onto her knees and moved forward to rub her spreading sex against his crotch. With deep undulations of her hips she brought the length of his imprisoned shaft against her core, stroking her ever-tightening nodule and soaking him through. She could feel him throbbing within his taut trousers. He breathed heavily against her, his mouth open on her throat. 19

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His hands had become unsteady and he pressed her back once more. She looked down at the outline of his turgid genitals beneath the slick cloth. “Open them,” he asked her with a twinge of pain in his voice, and she undid the large silver buckle of his belt. Jugger watched the girl as her small hands moved down to open the trouser buttons, her brow wrinkling into a tiny frown of concentration. She bit her lower lip and let it slide out from between her teeth. Such a delicious little gesture, he thought, smiling at her. But she was paying attention only to the bulge of his cock as it pushed aside the cloth, and then her inexpert fingers were wrapping tenderly around to ease it forth and caress the heavy testicles beneath. Elora smiled with fascination as he shifted his hips to assist her, his member pulsing softly in her hands. It appeared fragile to her, despite its enormous size: the delicate weave of veins and the moist, perfect smoothness of the skin, hot and tender to the touch. She brushed her thumb over the thick, rounded head and rubbed a clear droplet of liquid between her fingers. Carefully, she slid her hand underneath, along the wet shaft to the warm, silky sack of his testicles. She cradled them in both palms – they were too big to cup in just one – and squeezed gently. Jugger groaned and reached for her. His broad hands pushed between her legs to grasp her inner thighs. He lifted her onto him. He was so strong that he showed no effort and she felt a sudden, unavoidable rush of fear. “Wait,” she said. “I want to kiss it.” “I’m sorry, my sweet,” he told her, almost sadly. “I can’t wait any longer.” She clamped her hands on his shoulders. Slowly, staring into her eyes, he lowered her onto his hurting sex. Her body stiffened as the large tip pressed between her lips and against the tight opening, but they were both drenched and he was easing her down with such care that although she felt him immense there was no tearing, and none of the burning pain she had experienced before. She gasped as the head 20

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penetrated her, squeezing his shoulders with all the strength of her small hands. Jugger moaned. His shaft jerked as he slid into her without thrusting, his arms holding her up, keeping her safe. Gradually, she widened for him, tensing with uneven spasms as her eyes darted about, anxious and perplexed, losing focus when the pleasure overcame her. Then he was fully inside, his testicles sealed hotly against her and the wetness spreading on her thighs. She breathed again, and with a minute whimper bent her head to kiss his mouth. But she stopped when she saw his face, twisted into what she could only understand as agony. “Are you in pain?” “No, my sweet. It’s not pain.” He let her push her tongue into his mouth and she got lost in his taste and the sweet, coring sensation in her belly. He ground his hips against her and she sighed, melting onto the slick, rigid length of his cock. As she became more pliable he began to slide back and forth, carefully at first, then farther and with greater force. She relaxed into the grip of his hands while he worked her up and down the whole of his organ, handling her body as though she weighed nothing at all, filling her so completely and with such devastating warmth that she could not hold the kiss and had to throw her head back for breath. His lips opened on her neck. He mouthed her greedily, almost ready to bite, crushing her to him in an embrace, her breasts rubbing against the rough fustian of his shirt and his hands guiding her hips, teaching her how to thrust. Elora felt an abrupt tightening of her insides. A flood of heat started in her womb and coursed through her loins down to her very legs. The lips of her anus loosened, the muscles of her distended sex pushed out of their own will. She froze with delicious shock, and it was the thumping of his cock that brought her fully to orgasm in an explosion that made everything else in the world fall away, and she knew instantly this was what Uthra had meant. Jugger howled, flinching inside her, and the thick, creamy juice broke from him in 21

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spurts, leaking down over his writhing shaft until it overflowed and wet his lap. They leaned against each other afterwards, his cock soft but still inside her, shuddering occasionally and making her sigh. He stroked the satiny black veil of hair that fell almost to her waist and quietly kissed her temples. She buried her face in the curve of his neck. Her arms could not encircle him, but she hugged him all the same, digging her fingers into the muscles of his back. The sea passed by, indifferent to small miracles, its mellowed waves crashing lazily against the hull. She felt a warm wind rising. Her eyes closed against his chest and slowly the grip of her little fingers loosened, her arms slipping down to her sides. He smiled and drew back, lifting her gently away from his sex. Elora stretched herself out alongside his legs on the bed of sails. She laid her cheek on his stomach and felt him breathing against her. He brushed stray locks of hair from her face. “You’re very beautiful, Jugger,” she said. “You make me very happy.” She fell asleep with her face resting on his belly and her hand lying hot and soft against his wet genitals. **** When she awoke, the sails were unfurled and blocking out the night sky. Anthea knelt by her, whispering urgently. “Elora! Elora, wake up. I’ve brought you something to eat.” She turned over drowsily to find herself covered in a blanket of soft purple wool woven with a design of red birds in flight. “Are you all right?” Anthea was anxiously examining her for bruises. “You are not hurt?” Elora gazed out over the side of the ship into the blackness. There was no moon again tonight and the map of stars stretched down almost to the horizon, threatening to dip into the waves. “What a gorgeous night,” was all that occurred to her. 22

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Anthea held out a bowl of stew and a piece of brown bread. “It’s gone cold. I could not find you.” Elora raised the bowl to her face. It smelled marvelous, and she discovered that she was hungry. “Did you bring me this blanket, too?” Anthea shook her head with disdain. “We’ve nothing but rags in the hold.” Elora ran her hand carefully over the lovely cloth and set it aside in order not to soil it. “It must have been Jugger, then. Isn’t it beautiful? Look at these colors. Did you ever in all your life see anything so beautiful?” Anthea did not really look, and she did not seem interested. “Jugger?” “The big soldier. The one who took you.” “But he is a beastly man!” “Oh no, he’s very nice. It’s only that you refused him so violently.” She considered this for a moment. “They can’t stand that, you know. Not being wanted.” Anthea glared and raked back her pale hair. “Look what he did to my face!” Elora reached out gently to touch an ugly bruise swelling on her cheekbone, but Anthea pulled away. The blow Elora could not justify, but in the end she felt nothing. And she felt guilt because she felt nothing. “I’m sorry,” she finally told her sister, much too quietly. “It’s wrong to couple with women forcibly. You know it is. Why must you always act as though you understood nothing? There are rules to live by.” Elora ate her stew, distractedly mopping up juices with the slab of bread. Her long hair blew back from her face, curling into tangles in the wind. “He gave me great pleasure, this man that you hate,” she said at long last. Anthea bowed her head with something like pity, and soon she was crying. 23

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**** In the hold the women were restless, gathered into small groups and sitting as far away from the two guards on duty as they could manage. Some bore the marks of fingers on their arms and rough kisses on their throats; some still wept. They whispered to one another of the terrors that awaited them in this land of savages they were being taken to. The men would beat them daily and feed them poorly, and make them bear countless children, and they would sleep in leaky huts with dank beds and no stoves, forced to scavenge for roots in the fields. They complained at the loss of their worn-out parents, of their large and hungry families and the dirty little village they had called home. And they talked of the men with fear and repugnance, hoping to die before they were touched again. Anthea spoke of escape. Surely there were small boats they could steal and row back across the sea. Elora listened without comment, snugly wrapped in her beautiful blanket and thinking that she had not been beaten and that her food had been tasty, and that a man who owned such a lovely thing as this soft wool with red birds could not possibly live in a hut, more likely he lived in a castle, and that the sea was too wide and too rough to be attempted in anything but the great ship that carried them now. She had no fear of Jugger and not much of Eidolon, not after watching him tremble under Uthra's kisses. It struck her as enormously interesting that this insatiable hunger the women despised was the very thing that could give them power over the men they dreaded. How strange that they failed to see it. Eventually the women quieted and fell off into uneasy sleep, embracing in tight clusters, avoiding the draft from the narrow portholes. Elora sat alone, her knees drawn up and her eyes wide open, rocking back and forth with the movement of the ship. Anthea had left her to seek more reasonable company, she supposed. The night grew glacial and the hold very damp. She drew the purple blanket closer about her shoulders, hiding her bare feet 24

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under its folds, and thought of the land across the sea. She knew there would be endless wonder where they were going, and there would be adventures, and roads that led somewhere, and strange, magnificent women who knew the art of war. And there would be Jugger. How much nicer to rest in his heavy, warm arms till morning than on hard boards. She watched the two guards on the stairway. They too were sleeping now, which gave her pause. But at last she got to her feet and crossed over the spread of women to them. They sat blocking the way and she could not pass between. Cautiously, she reached out to touch one on the knee. He did not respond. She shook him a little. The guard opened one eye rather comically, then the other, and squinted at her. Elora could not suppress a laugh. Quickly she put her hands over her mouth, but he seemed pleased that she had laughed, and smiled at her. He straightened and stretched his back, waking his companion. “What do you want?” he asked her with a yawn. Elora hesitated, then held out the purple blanket. “It belongs to Jugger,” she said, hoping they would not take it from her. The guard looked her up and down while he considered the request. She seemed harmless enough. An uncommonly pretty girl, with flawless skin and a perfectly oval face, and her little rose mouth so plump it was almost obscene. Her eyes were large and gray and she had the still, liquid gaze of a doe. He reached out to touch her jet-black hair, and as he let the locks escape through his fingers they rippled like silk against the creamy skin of her rounded arms. She did not resist. She even smiled at him and bowed her head to make it easier. “All right then,” he told her, shifting aside to let her pass, “up you go. Across the deck and down the midship ladder.” “Thank you,” she said, and hurried away on her light little feet without making a sound. She still had the voice of a child. 25

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“Beautiful girl,” mumbled the other guard. “She won’t go to auction. I heard he’s taking her straight to Court, for the Commander.” “The Commander won’t like her. She’s too mild.” In a moment they were dozing again. **** Elora descended into the corridor she had visited this morning. She noticed now that it was quite long; there were many doors to either side. All were closed, light escaping from beneath a few. She did not dare knock on any of them. She could not remember which cabin Eidolon had taken her to. It was very dim with only a single lamp swinging from the wall, and it was ominously quiet. The wood planks groaned under her feet and she could hear a faint murmur of waves outside. Nothing else stirred. She was standing there undecided, not wanting to return to the hold but not knowing how to go on, when a door ahead creaked open and a lean man with silvery-blond, closecropped hair stepped into the hall. He smelled of oranges and ginger sugar. When he noticed her he smiled and looked her over lustily. “And what might you be looking for, down here at this hour?” Elora held out the blanket like a talisman. “Jugger. It belongs to Jugger.” His expression changed, the cobalt blue eyes filling with respect. He held out a hand. “I’ll take you to him.” His manner was helpful, but still Elora hesitated. “Come on, I won’t hurt you.” She smiled and slid her fingers into his offered palm. He led her down the passageway, glancing at her face. The wood around them moaned as the ship heaved over each wave. “They call him the Prince of War,” he told her with a smile, arching his eyebrows humorously. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that.” Elora shook her head. He reached into his pocket and offered her a small ginger cake. 26

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“Thank you,” she said, and took a bite. “You’ve fine manners for a barbarian.” She could tell that he had meant no harm, but it had never occurred to her before that she was a barbarian, and it hurt. He saw it in her eyes and stopped walking, becoming confused and clumsy with embarrassment. “Don’t be sad,” he stammered, petting her on the head as if he dared do no more. “If it were me you were for, I’d take you over any lady.” This satisfied her completely. She came from a life where every day had been the same, where days to come held no expectation of being different from days that had passed, and to think of the future with foreboding was not within her training. If she was good enough for this man at this junction, that was good enough for her. Her mind did not reach beyond the moment. She smiled as though nothing at all had been said, and it seemed to move him deeply, which she did not understand but latched onto instinctively. She was a survivor. “So easy to please,” he murmured, and went so far as to touch her cheek. “What a little pet you are.” At the very end of the corridor he pushed open a wide door, leading her into a large, square room lined with hammocks and narrow berths. Some of the men were sleeping. Others shaved, or bathed themselves with moist rags, and yet others sat around low tables playing a game with colored paper cards. They turned to smile at her as the blond soldier guided her through towards the back. One winked playfully when he caught her studying him. She thought they were all smooth and strong and so lovely that she would have gladly embraced any of them, and her sister's repulsion seemed more incomprehensible to her than ever. “Jugger,” she heard the blond man say. “She was wandering about looking for you.” And there in a corner berth sat the Prince of War, sharpening a large dagger with a bronze hilt on a smooth black stone. Elora folded the purple blanket and offered it to him. “It’s very warm,” she said. “But it will get soiled in the hold.” 27

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Jugger nodded at the blond soldier. “Thank you, Flan.” He stood up and took the blanket from her, placing it on the berth with those same slow, careful movements that were so striking in such a large man. His chest was bare. She noticed for the first time that it was covered by a pelt of tight black curls, and looking up at his eyes for permission, reached out to touch it. It was unbearably soft and the warmth of his body ran right through her hand. He smiled as she flexed her fingers in the curls and reached around to pick her up, lifting her easily into his arms. She wrapped her legs about his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, her face against his neck. “You’re cold,” he said with tender alarm. “You’re absolutely frozen.” Supporting her with one broad hand, he ran the other along the length of her thigh, rubbing quickly to warm her flesh. She did not notice the goose bumps, only the feel of his fingers and his sweet, musky scent. “I like the smell of your skin,” she whispered, and felt his chest heave slightly as he gave a soft laugh. He kissed her hair. “Come, my sweet. You’re not fit to sleep in a hold.” He carried her out to the corridor, and when she finally lifted her head from his shoulder they were in Eidolon’s cabin. The young captain was sitting in his carved armchair and open on his lap was a leather-bound book with blank pages that he was filling with quick, black scribbles from a quill pen. They are scribbles to me, thought Elora admiringly, but to him they are words. He can write! She watched, fascinated, as the muscles of his forearm flexed, his hand moving across the page. So much wisdom in one so young. In her village only one man had known the magic of reading and writing, and he had been very old. “Oh.” He glanced up and closed the book. “I was about to send for her.” “She’s cold,” answered Jugger with unusual dryness. Elora feared Eidolon’s temper would flare, but he only gave a little 28

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shrug. “Well, put her in bed, then,” he said, averting his face to conceal a smile. Jugger folded back the white covers and laid her down, kissing her cheek, then her shoulder and at last her hand, until he had disentangled himself from her embrace. He drew the sheets up to her chin and spread a blanket over her, and before she could take his hand again he had moved away. As he headed for the door Eidolon lowered his eyes, opening the book. “You’re not to have her again.” His tone was void of aggression but Jugger turned sharply all the same. “You had her.” “She’s still unspoiled. I want to keep her that way for the Commander.” He hesitated, toying with the pages. “So, from tomorrow on she sleeps in your berth.” Jugger seemed momentarily taken aback. “Why?” Eidolon shifted uneasily. He raised his eyes to Jugger with a mixture of embarrassment and resignation. “Because I don’t trust myself with her. But I trust you.” Jugger laughed, and Eidolon gave him a smile of such complete, disinterested affection that Elora was surprised. It had never entered her mind that the harsh young man could feel so warmly towards anybody. Jugger left. She was sorry to see him go, but she did not really miss him. Eidolon was writing in his book again, and she found him so enticing and thought him so magnificent now that she knew his secret that she would not have traded his company for any other in the world. She watched him in silence for a while, her head on the pillows that smelled of him, delighting in the beauty of his face, in the sleek, feline grace of his body and his strong, able fingers around the pen. Eventually she could master her curiosity no longer and sat up. “Do you really think the Commander will be pleased with me?” She had never addressed him before and was not sure he would like it, but she reasoned it was worth a try. Surely he would not 29

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punish her for a question. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a hard day." He did not look up from his book and it was not an encouraging reply, but she persisted. "What happens tomorrow?" "We have another raid to run. We'll be gone most of the day and night." "You too?" "The point of being captain is to lead your men, not to lean on them." Elora pondered this for a while. "That seems like a very proper thing to say." Eidolon burst out laughing. "The Commander will like you very much. Oh yes. You’ll keep him busy.” He dipped the pen in ink and began a fresh page. She waited another minute before asking what she really wanted to know. She did not want to try his patience more than necessary, as it was short enough already. “And do you think that perhaps, if it is not too much trouble, he might teach me to write?” Eidolon looked up at her without comprehension. “What do you mean?” It took an endless moment before he could bring himself to speak again. “You mean you don’t know how?” “No one in our village knows how, except for one old man. But you are much better. He does it very slowly.” He looked absolutely appalled. “Can you read?” “No.” “Can you play?” “Play?” “Music,” he snapped, making her start. “Can you play music?” “My sister can play a tune on the flute.” “One tune.” He threw the book across the room and Elora winced as the lovely pages scraped on the wood of the floor. “I’ve raided a herd of savages.” He stood up abruptly and paced, raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “You won’t be fit for Court, not one of 30

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you. Not even the prettiest.” He glanced around but found nothing else to throw. “Bloody hell.” Elora remembered what Flan had told her and was deeply ashamed. How foolish Anthea was with her rules that made no difference, thinking they were the civilized ones. “I am sorry that we disappoint you,” she said quietly, and laid her head back on the pillow. Eidolon turned as if he had forgotten she was there. He looked sorry for her and suddenly kind, and sitting on the edge of the bed, touched her face. “You do not disappoint me, Elora, not you. Never you. I will teach you to read and write, and I will make you a lady for the Commander.” He considered this, and lit up somewhat with an unexpected thought. “Then again, maybe I won’t. Maybe I will let him teach you himself. He might enjoy that. He’s a peculiar man.” He got to his feet and dimmed the lamp on the wall. He forgot to pick up the book but Elora did not mention it. She watched him undress, his matchless body half in shadow and his hair shimmering in the scant light like gilt tinsel. She wanted him very badly, but his mind was elsewhere and she knew he would not take her. She turned on her side to make room for him when he slipped under the covers and she felt his hard, warm torso press against her back and his arms encircle her loosely. He brushed aside the mass of her hair and kissed the nape of her neck. Then she heard him breathing deeply and knew he would soon be sleeping. Once more she tried to be silent, but could not keep her gladness, her gratitude to herself. “You are so gentle now,” she whispered. “I am tired now,” he answered, and she heard him laugh softly. The lamp went out. The sea rocked them gently back and forth. Elora closed her eyes and relaxed into the curve of his body, and as she was about to consent to sleep he spoke again. “Be forever loving to Jugger, and value him justly, for he is a wondrous man, and he will always care for and protect you now that you have found a place in his heart. There is no friend under the sky 31

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like Jugger.” **** Next morning the sun rose hot and warmed the day quickly, and the women were allowed up on deck to stretch their legs. The men lazed about, paying them no mind. They spoke little and moved less, saving their energy for the raid to come. Sometime before noon an island crept into view from the distance. It was long and mountainous with a spine of jagged peaks, and as the ship slowly drew nearer Elora could see that it was also dry, with patches of tall, yellowed grass and a scattering of olive trees climbing up its rocky slopes. The sandbanks at its shores were wide and the shallows of light, translucent water stretched for a good way before the bottom dropped and the sea became night blue again. The ship rounded a cluster of jutting rocks and sailed into a small cove. The women became restless, glancing covertly at the slowly but surely approaching shore and gathering in small clusters to exchange whispers. Eidolon, who in spite of his drowsy manner had been watching them like a hawk, ordered them taken down into the hold forthwith. This time the men were not satisfied with locking them up. They fettered them to the walls spread-eagled, their wrists and ankles bound in iron shackles padded with cloth to prevent them from chafing marks onto the skin. This ceremony they performed with great gusto, petting the women, forcing kisses on them, excited about their coming outing and some, Eidolon included, becoming so ardent that another soldier had to pull them back and remind them of the task at hand. It was Jugger who led Elora to the wall and fettered her between Anthea and Moira, one of a pair of big-boned, handsome twins with chestnut hair. “I am sorry for doing this to you, my sweet, but we shall need every man on the raid. We cannot leave anyone unguarded and 32

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loose.” Elora did not resist, but she was worried nevertheless. “What if the ship should drift? What if it breaks open on the rocks and you are not here to free us?” Jugger smiled comfortingly and caressed her face. “Don’t be afraid. This ship has crossed the wide sea many a time. She’s not about to go down in a calm, protected bay.” “I’m not afraid. I believe you.” He kissed her mouth. The surge of passion in him was brutal. He drove his tongue inside and pressed the length of his enormous body against her, his hands cupping her buttocks and crushing her onto him. The kiss was long and tremendously deep, and when he relented at last he left her breathless. He seemed shaken and left quickly, without looking back. She turned to find Moira staring at her, astonished. Anthea glared and lowered her eyes. The women shackled nearby whispered, avoiding Elora's uncomprehending gaze. “You must forgive my sister,” said Anthea in a strained voice. “She is very young, and does not know what she does.” **** It was long into the night when the men returned, and they did so with great racket. Elora heard the thud of rowboats striking the hull and a wild commotion of heavy footsteps, crashing bodies and muffled shouts on the deck before they started tumbling down the stairs. With them they brought a pack of women who gave new meaning to the word resistance. They were young, and handsome it seemed, but it was difficult to know for certain because their faces were painted green. They wore long, colorful robes woven with intricate patterns, now obscured by dust and torn as much by their own struggle as by the desperate attempts of the Raiders to keep a hold on them. A few already had their hands bound behind their backs but fought like tigers all the same, and those that were still 33

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loose could throw a punch like a man and scratch hard enough to claw out his eyes. Some had been struck and were bleeding. Then again, so were their captors. These women did not scream. They shouted with fury, they grunted with effort, but there was no weeping and no show of fear. Eidolon scrambled down the stairs, dragging a particularly unruly redhead by the hair. She was beautifully formed and fully as tall as him, and Eidolon warded off her blows with his free hand, struggling not to fall as she threw herself bodily against him. His hair was matted with dirt and his face flushed red. She had ripped his black shirt to shreds. The moment he gained solid footing at the bottom of the steps he rammed an elbow into her stomach and kicked her legs out from underneath her. She fell, stunned at last, the green grease smeared unevenly on her sweaty face and her ice blue eyes unfocused. Eidolon stumbled back from her a pace before regaining his balance. He stood on wobbly legs, shaking his head to clear it. When he recovered enough to look up he glanced about at the riot of fighting women and struggling men. His expression was wrathful, utterly disbelieving. He worked his way across the hold, ducking out of harm’s way. Flan was dragging an unconscious girl to a set of fetters, her hair soaked in red and the blood still flowing freely from a wound at her temple. Eidolon noticed her and a hint of concern broke through his anger. “She’s not hurt bad, is she Flan?” “I don’t think so. I don’t know. You hit her hard, man.” He laughed wearily, fitting a constraint to the girl’s ankle, and struggled to his feet. Eidolon touched his leg with a wince where the redhead had kicked it. “They’re demons, every one of them,” he sputtered venomously, trying to catch his breath. “I’ve never seen anything like it. They should all be disemboweled and burned at the stake.” Flan laughed heartily at this, but he of course had not fared so badly. There was hardly a scratch on his arms and his face remained 34

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untouched. Uthra was walking calmly, purposefully toward them through the confusion of clashing bodies. “Look at this disaster,” whined Eidolon as she approached. “You’d think we were trying to kill them. They were never this bad before.” Uthra barely glanced in his direction, kneeling to examine the head of the wounded girl. “Do something!” She bandaged the girl’s head, her mouth stretched and stern. “It is your own fault. You’ve been coming for too many years, you and your predecessors. My people used to be a docile race. It is you who have made them fierce.” Elora was astonished. She found it difficult to imagine Uthra running about with her face painted green, striking men left and right. The land across the sea had altered her so, and Elora wondered for the first time what it would do to her. The commotion was beginning to die down. Island women lay everywhere, bound hand and foot and firmly gagged with linen bands. The Raiders filed back upstairs, nursing their injuries. Uthra moved on to minister to other captives. Eidolon sighed, resigned and not entirely displeased now that it was all over. Then he saw Elora watching him from her slot on the wall. His expression brightened and he rushed to embrace her. “Elora,” he said pulling her close, so intent on stroking and tasting her that he did not realize he was causing the iron bands to cut into her wrists. “How I’ve missed the likes of you tonight.” He felt her stiffen and drew back surprised, turning indignantly to Flan. “What are you thinking that you haven’t cut her loose? Can’t you see she is in pain?” Flan trudged obediently over, more amused than frightened by his captain’s irritation, to unlock Elora’s fetters. Eidolon embraced her again and stood for a minute with his face buried against her long hair, breathing in her perfume. She stroked his back lightly, soothingly, and felt him gradually relax in her arms. “I have things to attend to now,” he told her, brushing a ringlet of 35

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hair from her forehead. He kissed her chest, her stiff shoulders. “You have to stay here until we're out of the bay. But I’ll send someone for you then.” A soldier was calling him to the deck. She smiled after him as he went off with Flan and arched her back, stretching her sore arms with delight. “Aren’t you ashamed, giving yourself away like a whore?” hissed Anthea from the wall. Elora turned to her in surprise. “I am not a whore. I have a sincere liking for him. He is not an evil man, and whatever else this is, it is his duty.” Anthea snorted contemptuously and tossed her head. “Father and I always knew that you were dim-witted, little sister.” “I am not the one shackled to a wall. And I am not the one who is beaten like an animal. I think, big sister, that perhaps I’m not as dimwitted as you say.” Anthea looked entirely taken aback, and made no answer. Elora turned without another word and ambled away across the hold, studying the painted women with a cool, interested gaze. “What a chilling voice she has when she chooses,” whispered Moira after a while. “All my life I’ve known her, and I never noticed it before.” **** It was nearly an hour before Flan came back for Elora. The painted women had long stopped struggling against their ropes. Elora felt pity for them, knowing their mouths must be parched and their limbs aching, but she did not dare free any or offer them water in the presence of the two tired and still irked guards. There was one girl, however, she could not resist. A girl with long, fine hair and eyes so large and soft that even though she was half-suffocated by a gag pushed too deep into her mouth, she seemed oddly at peace. She lay near the back of the room with the side of her hot face pressed 36

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against the floorboards. Her wrists and ankles were bound together at the small of her back. She looked like a spring calf waiting on the butcher's block with those quiet eyes and her chest heaving in shallow breaths, and so Elora sat down, blocking her from view, and discreetly slid one hand behind to undo the gag. She had some trouble, for it was drawn very tight, but at last she managed to loosen it. Blindly she eased the linen band off the girl, feeling the green grease smear onto her fingers as they pulled the wet cloth from her mouth. The girl did not move or betray her by crying out, and Elora stroked her hair gratefully and soothingly, and heard her breathe easily again. She was pleased with herself; so much that she almost smiled. Touching this strange, exotic creature thrilled her. It was her first adventure. Then she saw that the tall redhead Eidolon had brought down into the hold was watching her. She sat propped against a wall, hands tied at her back and her long legs crossed. Her frigid blue eyes were unwavering under the mask of green paint. Elora feared that she had committed some unforgivable trespass and removed her hand from the girl's head at once. She withdrew to the safety of the stairs and the guards, followed all the while by the redhead's unblinking stare. Flan had washed and changed his clothes, and as they walked down the midship corridor toward Eidolon's cabin he brought out another ginger cake and offered it to her. "Thank you, Flan," said Elora. But this one she put in her pocket. She would save it for the painted girl with the soft eyes, and perhaps the girl would speak to her. Flan touched her cheek and opened the cabin door. Jugger sat in Eidolon's armchair with the front of his shirt and one side of his face covered in blood. Uthra was sewing small stitches into a slash on his cheek. Eidolon stood by holding a mess of a rag that he dipped in water and dabbed under the wound, trying uselessly to clean off the flowing blood. Elora screamed. Eidolon and Uthra turned to regard her blankly for a second, then returned their attention to Jugger. She ran to kneel 37

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at his feet and touched the blood-soaked shirt. "They've cut you!" She turned to Eidolon in a panic. "Will he die?" Eidolon looked at her as if she had lost her mind, and then everyone in the room began to laugh. Elora glanced from one to the next. She smiled a little. Jugger reached out to turn her face toward him. "It's just a cut. Lot of blood for such a little cut, isn't it?" Uthra had finished sewing and was tying a careful knot. "Oh yes," answered Elora very seriously, still somewhat unconvinced. "Don't men get hurt where you come from?" he asked, amused, while she examined him for further damage. Elora arched her eyebrows delicately. "Catching fish?" This made them laugh again. They petted and pampered her and let her choose a fresh shirt for Jugger, and although she did not fully comprehend what she had done to earn their attentions, she was satisfied. Flan and Uthra left. Eidolon stretched himself out on the bed to write in his book. Elora sat on Jugger's lap and stroked his chest comfortingly as if he were some skittish horse that might bolt and hurt himself at any moment. He had drained three cups of wine and showed no signs of bolting, but he watched her fuss over him with pleasure, and she saw that Eidolon too glanced up once in a while with a warm eye. "Not a bad run, all things considered," he told Jugger as he closed the book, setting it down by the pillow. "We got twenty more, all young, and one a princess. Damned gorgeous, too. She alone will be worth the price of the voyage on the block." The door burst open and one of the hold guards stumbled in, alarmed. He had blood on his hands. "Tyke, what is it?" asked Jugger. "One of them bit Zurco. It was close, I tell you. She could have chopped it right off." Jugger pushed Elora from his lap. "Is he all right?" 38

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The guard nodded. "Uthra's looking at him now." Eidolon's face had blanched with rage. "Which one?" he asked no one in particular, leaping off the bed. Jugger and the guard followed him outside and down the passageway with quick strides, and Elora stood there, still unbalanced from Jugger's shove, praying to every god she had ever heard of that it had not been Anthea. In the hold she found her sister shackled to the far wall, still spitting out blood. Eidolon and Jugger stood before her, backed by a crowd of angry men. The rest of the captives had flocked to the opposite side of the room. The painted women were free from their gags but even they sat silent and meek, awaiting the terrible punishment that they were certain would follow. It would be lashes, somebody whispered, or branding, or perhaps they would throw her to the sharks. Eidolon shortened the chains on Anthea's fetters so that she hung suspended a few inches off the floor. He then spread her legs wide and clapped fetters to her ankles. "She is not to be cleaned, watered or fed until I give word," he said. "And on peril of his life will any man on this ship satisfy her. Tease her as you like, but always leave her wanting." He glanced at the surprised women and not one dared meet his eyes. **** The soldiers coupled with their slaves for the rest of the night. They took turns manning the ship and by the time the sun came up they had all, the fifty or sixty there were, had their fill. It was quickly established that no one was to touch Elora, so she was left sitting unmolested in a dark corner by the stairs. The painted women were taken along with the ones from her village, but she observed that unlike her companions, they were easily aroused if the men used them well, yielding with little or no opposition. The wildness never left their eyes, but they took the men for their own pleasure instead of 39

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foolishly prolonging a battle that had so obviously been lost the moment they had been dragged down into the hold. Elora knew the princess at once. She was the redhead Eidolon had brought down the stairs, fighting every step of the way. He was taking her now, neatly and urgently. She lay face up on a table, hands still tied at her back and her hips level with his as he stood between her legs. Her head was bent over the edge of the boards, her lustrous hair sweeping the floor. She moaned with each thrust, eyes tightly shut. The green paint slid down her face in streaks of sweat. Eidolon had pushed the torn and dusty robe above her waist, and underneath her skin was incredibly pale, almost luminous. She was lifting her long legs higher and higher, finally pressing them against his armpits as he arched her onto himself. She is so graceful in her abandon, thought Elora. I wonder if I look like that. Eidolon's shirt was open and pushed back from his chest by the friction of her legs. Clear drops slid down his tanned belly to disappear into his pubis, which ground steadily against the princess, the blond pubic hair mixing with the bright red. The muscles of his arms quivered as he took on her full weight and threw his head back, tangled waves undulating between his shoulder blades. A single, heavy trickle of perspiration ran down his spine into the cleft of his buttocks. The princess reached her climax and cried out, her long body stiffening as he pushed violently into her sex, aroused further by the flood of wetness on his cock but still unready to break. She pulled against the ropes on her wrists, writhing helplessly under him. Her eyes opened, suddenly imploring, but although he met her gaze with a drowsy smile of delight Eidolon gave her no rest. He held her closer and stroked her deeper, grunting in rhythm to his thrusts. The princess gradually relaxed in his grasp and began to lift herself toward him. His movements slowed. Wrapping one arm about her waist to support her, he reached out to touch her face. His eyes closed briefly when she kissed his hand, and he smiled at her again. He ran his hand between her breasts and down the length of 40

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her stomach, leaving a trail of green drawings on her skin. He caressed her belly with the tips of his fingers. Then he bent over her to kiss her nipples and made her sigh, her lids heavy and her blue eyes glazed. But before she could reach another orgasm his face reddened with an abrupt, uncontrollable torrent of heat. He rode her with violence once more and ejaculated into her, his fingers pressing so tightly on the tender flesh of her hips that he left welts when he finally withdrew, his organ flaccid and drenched. The princess protested loudly as she was emptied, lifting her hips toward him, but Eidolon was uninterested. He was shifting his sex back into his trousers and getting ready to go on deck. It was Tyke, the guard that had made Elora laugh, who came to her rescue. He was not a handsome man, but his body was strong, his eyes were merry and his organ, when he opened his trousers and pushed them down around his muscular thighs, came up ready and thick, and Elora knew he could rub a woman hard and well with it. He cradled the princess' head in one hand and with the other guided his shaft into her mouth. The princess sucked it in so ravenously that he winced, but then he smiled down at her and began to rock, driving himself deeper and deeper into her throat, and to please her in turn, bent forward to lick the red badge between her legs. Elora shuddered and looked away. It frightened her, this thing that seemed to give the men such enormous pleasure. Although it had been exciting to watch Uthra do it to Eidolon the very idea that she should have to submit to it made the bile rise to her throat. If she could hardly breathe when a tongue was pushed into her mouth how could she possibly survive such an act? Never, she swore to herself, and felt she understood perfectly why Anthea had bitten rather than be taken in such a manner. Captors and captives fornicated in pairs, and often in threesomes. One man sat against the wall with a painted girl straddled on his lap, their mouths locked together in a deep kiss. His hands lay limp at his sides while she stroked his erect penis, rubbing it against her belly. Another man lay flat on the floor with a village girl on top. He was 41

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licking her throat, his hands spreading her buttocks wide as he thrust up into her and a second man lapped at their genitals, his own hips jerking forward and his rigid cock unattended. Moira was on all fours before Flan, who knelt moving his hips in a circular motion, his hands grasping the back of her head securely as her wide open lips rubbed into his pubic hair and his member rolled around in her mouth. A young soldier squatted behind her, slowly sliding his wet, reddened shaft in and out of her sex. Moira whimpered and pushed back, her folds swollen, seeking harsher friction. And nearby a man and woman lay curled about each other, his head pressed between her legs as he pleasured her and her hands rubbing his filled cock, milking him while she licked at the pulsing tip. Elora looked for Jugger among the tangle of bodies, and found him holding one of the painted women against a wall, his large hands pinning hers to the wood high above her head while he took her from behind. It was the girl with the soft eyes. They were both completely naked, the girl grunting softly and arching her back as Jugger drove himself into her with quick, eager jabs, his immense, solid hips almost lifting her off the floor. She was lovely indeed, even with the green grease smeared on her face. Her hair was deep brown, perfectly straight and shining and reaching down to her waist. Her body was plump and dimpled, yielding voluptuously to his hard one, and the milk white of her skin contrasted beautifully with Jugger's deep bronze. Her breasts were large and heavy, with thick nipples the color of caramel. They were now pressed to the boards by his urging, the wood rubbing them roughly, making them harden and swell. He licked her fleecy armpits, his eyes closed. The muscles of their legs strained, she trying to spread herself as much as possible to receive him and still stay on her feet, him trembling as he moved closer and under her, his knees bent, his large scrotum swinging and his backside tightening and relaxing with each stab into her sex. Elora was terribly jealous, not only because she would have liked to be the one whimpering under Jugger's caresses but because she 42

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could not have any of the other men either. This made her remember Anthea, and she turned to see her still shackled to the wall, her face contorted in agony as a soldier gave her cruelly parted and brimming sex sharp slaps with the leather end of his belt. The men had done exactly as Eidolon had ordered. They had fondled her in passing, sucked her breasts and probed her with their fingers. They had licked her throbbing folds and even driven their cocks into her for an instant, but pulled away and left her moaning, her insides aching for more. They had poured wine over her belly and thighs and licked it off. One of them had even inserted the mouth of a small wine skin into her and squirted its contents up her vagina, then knelt between her legs to drink them as her muscles contracted and the dark red liquid flowed out along with her own salty juices. But even in this they had been careful to drive her to the brink of an explosion without ever allowing her to reach it. She hung there with fluid trickling down the insides of her thighs, her sex twitching helplessly and her hips arching back while she tried unsuccessfully to masturbate herself against the wall. The soldier punishing her now knew precisely what he was doing. The slaps of the belt were measured to bring pain but also excruciating pleasure, like the licks of an immense tongue, and Anthea howled while he teased her, his own organ stiff and twisted in his breeches. He watched her face intently. When he saw she was about to climax he stopped, whispered something in her ear and moved off to sate himself on the rump of a fragile-looking but already well used and hot little villager. Elora could not bear to see her sister suffer. This seemed more inclement than any real beating. She stood up, and worked her way through the writhing herd. "Don't cry." Tenderly she wiped the tears from Anthea's cheeks. "I will make you well." She knelt and Anthea stiffened, appalled for an instant, but then sighed and arched her hips toward Elora in total surrender. A powerful hand clamped down on Elora's shoulder without 43

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warning, making her spasm and turn around. It was Jugger. "Do not do this." He shook his head, his eyes stern. "Do not even think about it. If you disobey I will not shield you from Eidolon's wrath." He was still nude, his sex limp and moist between his legs. Elora could smell that delicious musky odor emanating from the thick mat of pubic hair, and his huge body seemed more inviting to her than ever. Forgetting Anthea, she leaned forward to wrap her arms about his hips and tried to kiss his genitals. Jugger stiffened. In a moment he had grabbed her head with both hands and pushed it roughly away from himself. "No." She could hear the barely suppressed desire in his voice. "You are not for me." But his cock was already swelling and as she drew back, sliding her hands lightly over his buttocks, he shuddered so violently he had to turn away to keep himself from taking her. She stood up and pressed herself against his back, again sliding her hands around him to caress the enormous organ that she knew was frantic for her, and that perhaps with just a little more goading would make him yield. Jugger grabbed her wrist and swung her around so forcefully he almost wrenched her arm from its socket. When he had her before him, surprised and wincing with pain, he took a hold of her other wrist to hold her at a safe distance. She lifted her fluid gray eyes to his face with a look of absolute trust. "Take me somewhere else. No one has to know. I love you, Jugger." "You are a child and cannot understand. You are special." His grip on her wrists eased slightly. "You are meant for something better than me, than Eidolon, than all of us here. There is such a man, and once you have been in his bed you will wonder that you ever yearned for any other." He released her and took a step back. "Go to Eidolon's cabin, or mine, where you will not be tempted by so much show of flesh." He turned and left her quickly, and she let herself drop to her knees on the floor. By the time she recovered enough to lift her head 44

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and look around for him, she saw that he was hurriedly pulling on his trousers. His big hands were trembling slightly. He trotted up the stairs without even waiting to put on his shirt, carrying it out in his hands along with his boots. She walked back to her corner but did not leave the hold. The moans and sighs and tumblings fed the bittersweet ache inside her. She crawled into a small, sheltered space behind the stairs, and there, out of the way of prying eyes, she opened her legs and slid her hand under her skirt. Her sex was already wet. Resting her head back against the wood, she slid her middle finger between the plump lips and began to rub herself slowly. Her small opening convulsed, expanding at once, and she pushed the finger in as deep as she could. The heat of her insides amazed her. She explored the whole of her channel, wanting to know what it was the men felt, rolling her finger around, then contracting and releasing her muscles to better grasp and massage it. She let it slide out and drew it in deep without moving hand or hips, merely by sucking on it with her walls. She slid a second finger in, and massaging her bursting nodule with everincreasing pressure she brought herself to a long, luxuriant orgasm. When she climaxed her hips lifted involuntarily and her muscles went into spasms, expelling her hand from her tight little cleft. **** The hold filled slowly with weak light. Men and women lay in a sweet stupor, limbs slack, strewn across one other. Only Anthea remained awake and taut in her fetters, staring at the sunrise through the open portholes. Eidolon came down the stairs, stomping his boots on the boards, and revived the entire room. "Good morning!" The pack of sailors following him laughed and Eidolon smiled impishly as the mass of semi-naked bodies stirred under the blankets. "Everybody up!" He kicked a soldier or two, not overly hard, as he worked his way across the room towards Anthea. "The entertainment has arrived!" 45

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The women began to sit up, rubbing their eyes. The men were quicker to respond, rising eagerly to their feet and jesting knowingly among themselves while they pulled on their clothes. Eidolon reached Anthea, and as he began to unbutton his shirt the men gathered round him, blocking the view. Elora emerged nervously from under the stairs and sat down among the women, finding herself next to the painted princess, who watched the proceedings with shrewd interest, her head slightly tilted. "Step aside." It was Eidolon again. "I want the women to watch this." The crowd of men parted to reveal him. His shirt was gone and his hands worked on his trousers. He turned his back on the room to face Anthea. Elora saw him heave slightly as he brought out his cock and knew he was already hard. Anthea stared at it, numb with excitement. "You think you might want one of these now?" he asked her. "You are ready now to serve me properly?" He advanced to loosen the chains that held her ankles and wrists. Anthea's feet touched the floor, and if the fetters on her wrists had not held her up she would have collapsed. Eidolon quickly slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her onto his hips. She screamed when he rammed his erection into her but it was a shout of pure ecstasy. The men cheered him on as he pounded her and Anthea pushed herself against him without shame, her face flushed and her slender body arched so far that the cage of her ribs showed clearly through her skin. Unexpectedly, Eidolon stopped. Anthea kept rocking, trying to urge him on, but he remained stock-still, breathing heavily, enjoying her desperation. Their eyes met and she stopped pumping her hips. She stretched her neck with great effort to lick at the sweat on his chest. Eidolon smiled and thrust into her once. She moaned, hesitated, then licked him again. He thrust harder, deeper, but again only once. Anthea whimpered and began to suck wildly on his sleek pectoral muscles, trying to raise her shackled legs around his waist. Eidolon 46

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lifted her chin to kiss her throat and pressed against her once more, stroking the insides of her thighs as he thrust slowly and fully into her. She undulated her hips eagerly and he weakened with pleasure, her passion finally overwhelming him. His thrusts came faster. Anthea stared up at him, dazed. He smiled. His tongue darted out to lick at the dried blood on her chin, then pressed between her lips. She immediately sucked it in. Mouths cleaving together, they ground their hips against one another. Anthea threw her head back and gasped, her eyes opening wide as if the explosion within had startled her. Eidolon jerked savagely against her as his hardness broke, and when he was spent he slid out of her. Anthea sighed gratefully, creamy trickles of fluid coursing down her exhausted thighs. Eidolon pulled up his trousers to allow himself freedom of movement, but left his genitals exposed. "And now that you have sucked my tongue, and liked it," he said to her, unlocking the fetters, "you will suck my cock. You will suck it deep and well, and you will swallow my come when I give it to you." He grabbed her by the hair before she could fall and yanked her to her knees before him. "And if you bite me I will tear your teeth out one by one with my bare hands." Elora could tell that there was no need for threats. Anthea wrapped her arms about him greedily, pulling his trousers down to his knees. She slid her tongue under his shaft and took him whole into her mouth. Eidolon exhaled heavily, his hand loosening on her hair. He caressed her head. She made small, eager sounds deep in her throat as the thing that had given her so much pleasure grew inside her. She massaged his buttocks with avid hands, parted them to caress the blond fuzz in the crease and the tight, dark circle of his anus. Eidolon dropped his head back, sighing, one hand flexing in her hair and the other at his side, fingers closing into a fist. Eventually she released him to nudge his legs apart with her nose and lips, and licked his testicles. His organ had filled, the tender flesh deepened to a shade almost purple. He drew her face up to it. She sucked him again, letting him establish the rhythm, her hands moving up and 47

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down the backs of his thighs. Eidolon used her more roughly as his excitement grew, but unlike Uthra she did not try to prolong his wanting. She accepted him gladly, her mouth tight on the root of his shaft and her lips brushing lightly against his wet pubic hair. Eidolon groaned and cupped the back of her head in both hands, bending his knees slightly to give over his final thrusts. Anthea's hips arched and her arms clasped fast about his waist when he came, hips pumping against her face. She let herself be rocked back while he pushed, but as soon as he was spent she darted forward and sucked him hard one last time. He cried out, and she swallowed. When he released her she sat back on her haunches for a moment, licking her lips. Eidolon paused to catch his breath, then reached down to draw up his trousers. Anthea clasped his wrists with surprising agility and pulled his hands back down to his sides. Eidolon hesitated, but when she began to lick his genitals clean of their mingled discharge he relaxed and did not break her weak grasp on his arms. He watched her with satisfaction until she was done. Anthea rested her forehead on his groin, as if hoping for some small kindness, but at this he stepped away and turned his back on her. He had his trousers closed in a flash. One of the men handed him his shirt. He slipped it on, buttoning it at his leisure, ignoring her completely. Anthea remained kneeling on the floor with her head bowed, suddenly and deeply abashed. He strode outside to the deck without giving her another glance. **** The rest of the voyage was uneventful. For eight more weeks they sailed with favorable winds, the weather warming as they pushed slowly eastward. Anthea remained docile and quiet, and Eidolon used her often, but never took her to his cabin and never showed the slightest affection for her. He kept out of Elora's way as much as he could manage, for the sight of her clearly disturbed him, but when 48

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they did meet he was friendly and almost courteous. Jugger prepared a berth for her above his own, and although she felt lonely and unprotected at first among the soldiers, she grew to enjoy their company, watching them play their card games and tell stories of past raids, of battles fought and of the glories of the White City, which she gathered after a while was the very place where they were to end their journey. Sometimes they even let her sit on their laps while they talked and traded cards, but only until their organs began to stiffen under her shapely buttocks, which was always too soon, she thought, and then they would give her a pat and send her trotting forthwith. Once in a while she wished she could see more of or have at least some conversation with the other women, all of whom were kept in the hold. She forgot it quickly when the men let her play among the sails and braid bits of string into their hair, spoiling her with sweet cakes and fresh oranges from their private supply. The day she saw the coast of the land across the sea appear on the horizon was a sad one, for she knew she was losing them, and that once the fellowship broke it would never come together in the same way again.

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Chapter Two The White City

I

t was the first seaport Elora had ever seen, and it seemed to her a very grand one. There was a fishing fleet of at least two hundred small boats coming and going from the wide bay, and lined along wooden docks and the main stone pier were lateenrigged caravels and long galleys as large as the raider round ship, flying colors unknown to her and filled with tradesmen who spoke in strange tongues. They unloaded barrels of spices and cloth and oddlooking trees in clay planters while long-horned cattle and yearling mules waited in makeshift pens for the return voyage. Money changed hands everywhere, caravans came and went, children peddled fruit that they had snatched from ill-guarded crates and rough sailors of every description drank and brawled and bedded women in the nearby taverns. The size of the town—at least ten times that of her own village— drove Elora to the mistaken conclusion that they had reached the White City. It was not until Jugger pointed out that there was nothing white about the clumps of shacks and shoddy buildings leaning over unpaved streets that she realized her error. He had some difficulty explaining to her what paved meant, and even after a long explanation she seemed to retain the impression that walking on a paved street meant to somehow float, your feet never touching the ground. 50

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A regiment of horses and rustic wagons stood waiting for them when they disembarked. The women were tied hand and foot and loaded under Uthra's supervision, and afterwards tent cloth was rolled over the wagon frames to protect them from the sun. Elora felt quite neglected amid all the commotion. She looked around at the port activities from the edges of the dock, but glanced back often toward the raider caravan, afraid of straying too far and being left behind. It did not occur to her that she had been spared from the bindings on purpose, or that the reason Tyke seemed to pass by her every few minutes was that Eidolon had ordered him to keep her safe. So when she saw that the preparations were nearly completed, she presented herself anxiously to Flan and held out her hands to be fettered. He laughed and kissed her fingers, and heaving her over his shoulder like a package, carried her to the front of the caravan and delivered her to Eidolon. The soldiers mounted their horses and that very morning they were off across a broad expanse of sunburned plains. Eidolon rode ahead on a tall chestnut stallion with Elora sitting behind him, pointing excitedly at everything she saw and bombarding him with questions until he was so exhausted that he handed her over to Jugger. To her great disappointment, Jugger showed no more stamina than Eidolon had and she finally decided to keep her questions to herself, not wishing transfer to another mount. Uthra rode on her own pony, munching placidly on baked chestnuts she took from a satchel at her waist. When daylight began to fail the caravan stopped and the soldiers set up camp in the middle of the endless flatlands. They arranged the wagons in a cluster and unhitched the strong brown mules that drew them. The animals were watered, fed, and securely tethered, and sentries were posted on the periphery of the camp. Night came swiftly and so black no amount of stars could light the way from here to there. The men drove tall stakes into the hard ground and lit torch fires atop them. The women were left inside the wagons and fed by hand. After their work was done the weary soldiers sat down to eat a 51

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frugal supper. Then half of them went to sleep while the other half stood guard. The shifts would be changed midway to morning. Their precautions seemed excessive to Elora. She had not seen one creature since the town had disappeared behind them, and she slept without a care. For days they traveled at a slow but steady pace, the plains stretching on without respite. The days turned into a week, then two. On the horizon the tips of a mountain range appeared, but no amount of riding seemed to bring it closer. The land remained dry, with only a few scattered trees to break up the monotony. They saw nothing save flocks of black ravens passing high above on their flight east toward the mountains. The rustle of long, stiff stems of yellow grass cracking under the wagon wheels was the only sound that accompanied them. Elora had never imagined that the world could be so large, or a land so desolate. The men rode in silence, patient, hunched over their saddles. The women slept often. Some of the village girls still wept on occasion. Nobody bothered to hush them or comfort them. The red-haired princess and her flock watched them with curiosity and seemed to hold them cheap for their tears. They remained aloof, conversing among themselves in a strange, musical tongue that defied both translation and interruption. Eventually their supplies dwindled and the wagons lightened, but the men never altered their stride. Elora had lost track of days when the mountains began to grow, snow visible now on their rocky peaks and deep dark forests sloping down their flanks. The air became thicker with moisture and the yellow grasses slowly changed into something greener and more beckoning. They passed a wide, weaving expanse of marshes bursting with the croaking of brown frogs. Tendrils of wildflowers curled about the tall reeds and gray herons nested along the edge of the swamp waters. Elora watched them standing proud on one long red leg, ignoring the clumsy tramping of men and horses. The air filled with insects and the soldiers laid nets over the tent flaps of the wagons to keep their 52

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prisoners in comfort. They stayed well to one side of the marshes, avoiding deep mud and beating the wet grasses to frighten away the snakes. At the end of this marshland they came upon a small wood of birch trees. A stream ran through it, clean and fast all the way down to the swamp. The women were unloaded in small groups and allowed to bathe, but the horses and the men only drank and waited, swatting away an occasional dragonfly. Elora was first in the water. Free from guards and able to swim as far as she cared to, she dove to the soft bottom and ran her fingers happily through the cool mud, surfacing only when her lungs rebelled. She paddled to a flat rock rising from the middle of the stream and sat in the sun with her toes dipping into the current, watching the village girls quietly wash their faces and arms across the way. When the princess and her island women were led into the stream the number of guards doubled, a circle of men standing thigh-deep in water around them. Elora watched from her rock as the women sank to their knees, letting the current rise above their shoulders, their long hair spreading out in billows and shimmering for an instant under the sun before the stream dragged it down into itself. The village girls had remained dressed while they washed, but the princess removed her robe without a thought, sliding it down over her wet breasts to rest on the curve of her hips as she turned round and round in the water, brushing the tips of her fingers across the surface. The guards admired her with drowsy pleasure and Elora stared, enraptured, thinking her the most beautiful creature she had ever beheld. The princess caught her watching and stopped. Elora forgot her trespass in the hold and smiled at the sheer wonder of her, and to her everlasting surprise the princess returned her smile, her blue eyes suddenly warm. Despite their well-earned reputation for troublemaking the island women were allowed to remain in the stream longer than anyone 53

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else. The men enjoyed looking at them, and although the women permitted no advances they did not mind being looked at. Elora had long been sunning herself dry on the mossy banks when the princess was finally led back toward the wagons. She stopped before Elora and regarded her quietly while the guards tied her slim, pale arms behind her back. "I saw you in my dreams," she said at long last. "You will travel the Long Road one day. And I will follow you." **** That night they fell asleep listening to the rush of the stream. They moved on with the gray dawn, always headed for the mountains. The plains began swelling into flocks of low hills and the next evening they camped in a small valley, seeking shelter from the cooling winds. Elora had supped before a campfire, squatting comfortably between Jugger and Flan. Now they slept, and she was too excited to join them. She wandered across the camp, listening to crickets sing in the tall grass. She stroked the tethered horses, of which she had never seen a breed so large or magnificent. She tickled Uthra's fat pony between the ears. Then she heard the noise of hooves stomping behind the wagons, and working her way around them found Eidolon mounted on his chestnut, about to ride off. "Eidolon!" she whispered, loudly as she dared. He turned to her with surprise. "Where are you going?" she asked, approaching the prancing horse. "Nowhere. I could not sleep." "Take me with you." "To nowhere?" "Oh yes," she beamed, and lifted her arms to him. He hesitated, but too charmed to resist pulled her up and sat her astride before him. Her abundant hair blew across his face and laughing, he handed her a thin leather strap from his vest. "Tie up 54

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those curls, my pretty, or we will both be killed." She did as he asked and they cantered away from the camp, riding over the hills. Elora smiled at the bite of the wind on her face and the brush of the tall grass against her bare feet. Eidolon held her safe with one hand around her waist and she opened her arms wide and rested her head on his shoulder. The thin skirts of her calico dress rose and blew back, whipping against his boots and the flanks of the horse. Suddenly she felt an all too familiar quickening between her legs. The round, hard pommel of the saddle was pushing against her, arousing her slowly but surely. She stiffened, too ashamed to tell Eidolon. She placed her hands on the pommel to keep herself away from it, but the horse was moving too fast and her grip was unsteady. She bounced helplessly against the saddle, the rough mound of leather striking her over and again. Her sex swelled under her dress, the sensitive nodule within shuddering as the very extent of her dilation parted her lips to expose it. She closed her eyes, hoping that when she came her wetness would not betray her. The horse gathered himself and pushed forward with a fresh surge of power, and to her great distress she felt herself sliding back against Eidolon. She opened her eyes to discover they were cantering up the slope of a hill. And then, amazed, she realized that Eidolon's member had hardened and was pressing against her buttocks as the movement of the horse forced her onto his lap. He was silent and she knew he had not wished it, so she pretended not to notice even though the burning between her thighs was becoming unendurable. They reached the top of the hill and Eidolon yanked the horse to a halt. The stallion lowered his hindquarters, seeking traction, and the pressure of Eidolon's sex increased so that it parted her cheeks slightly, driving the thin cloth of her skirt into the cleft. She heard him groan but stop himself quickly. Then she tumbled forward with her own momentum. His arm tightened around her waist, saving her from falling off. The horse became still: perfectly and terribly still. Eidolon's arm 55

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shook, his cock pulsing gently against her, bound rigorously by his trousers. Moments passed and neither of them spoke. Finally Elora raised her eyes to the horizon, desperate for distraction, and was astonished to see a bright orange glow rising from a definite but faraway point in the distance. "The sun?" she whispered reverently. "It cannot be the sun." "It is the White City," replied Eidolon softly, his breath caressing her ear. "It is the place where your master waits for you." But even as he said it his hand moved down her belly as if guided by a separate will and drew up her skirt. His fingers ran over her mound and slid between the swollen lips. "You're drenched," he moaned, squeezing her hard. "You're burning up." Elora only had strength to whimper and push her sex further open for him. Moaning incessantly, he dabbed his tongue into her ear. She turned her head towards him and he licked her cheek, then locked his lips onto hers. He let go of the reins. Masturbating her avidly with one hand, he pushed the other between their bodies to free his suffering organ. She felt the buttons of his trousers popping open and the rough touch of his fingers as he pulled the skirt out from underneath her. She leaned forward to help him, her mouth still pressed to his and his tongue probing deep into her, and right then he lifted her, one hand from the back and one from the front, and brought her down on his shaft. Elora had for so long been confined to wishful thinking and her secret little sessions of self-induced pleasure that she climaxed almost immediately after his cock plunged into her. She had torn herself away from his kiss and sat riding him with her spine arched and her head tilted back, mouth open as the breaths shuddered out of her. She groaned when she came, his hardness driving her to an excruciatingly slow, deep rhythm, his hands tearing open her dress to cup her tender breasts. The moments of ecstasy passed and there followed a delicious period of agony during which she felt that if he used her a moment longer she would burst into a thousand pieces, but if he stopped she would simply die. Her walls trembled 56

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uncontrollably while his hot, unyielding sex circled in her, seeking release. Her wetness spread, her clitoris shivered as it scraped against the saddle, and the rough leather was like another damp, eager pubis grinding into her. She tried vainly to lift herself away from Eidolon but his hands had returned to her belly, pressing forcefully into her flesh to keep her still. This only strengthened the sensation of each thrust, increasing her desperation and her desire. Gradually the throbbing of her insides stopped and a crawling sensation of incredible warmth flooded her, as if her whole body were melting slowly and exuberantly onto his. She sat down to ride him again, and contracted the muscles of her sex to hold him deeper in. The effect this had on him surprised her so much that for a few instants she did not react at all. He cried out and drove himself desperately into her. His hands grasped the insides of her thighs and he yanked them back violently, forcing her more directly on top of his thrashing organ. His cries of ecstasy startled her, and she was surprised that the horse underneath them did not seem to mind at all. She wondered how many women Eidolon had taken on its back. His testicles thumped against her, plumped and flaming. Each push split her open wider and she gripped the pommel of the saddle to keep herself from being thrown over it onto the horse's neck. Eidolon's thrusts slowed as she pressed herself back against his loins. His moans gave way to pained, gasping breaths. He licked her neck. "Do it again," he begged her, and bit her, much too hard. "Do it again." She squeezed him once more and this time he made no sound as he quickened, running his hands down over her slick pubic curls to rub her stiff nodule between his fingers. She felt herself reaching a second explosion and folded her arms back around him, holding on fiercely as short, sharp cries escaped her lips and her filled sex burst. The sensation of her fluids trickling down over his scrotum was too much for Eidolon to bear and he climaxed as well. She convulsed once more as his semen poured hotly into her, and finally they were 57

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spent, his face resting on her heaving shoulder and his cock still inside, giving its last small spasms. "Elora." He sighed her name like a prayer. "Oh, Elora. You will be the death of me." **** By high noon they had the city in sight, and Elora knew that she had not seen true white until this moment. Not on the clothes she had worn, not on the first snow, not on the surf breaking against high shores. Not even the white of the eye was as pure and brilliant as that of the magnificent walls now rising before her. They were the height of five trees and the length of an entire fleet of ships, and from this distance they seemed perfectly smooth, shining in the hot sun like another source of light. As they drew closer, she perceived that they were in truth made of a white clay so evenly spread it reflected the sun's rays. Jugger, who carried her on the rump of his horse, explained that it was a wash of limestone, and that underneath were fifteen measures of solid rock. Atop the walls flew a long row of banners in brilliant colors: magenta, lilac, dandelion yellow, green, ochre, silver and crimson, each bearing a different emblem. In the center, above mammoth wooden gates, waved a royal blue flag with a dragon of gold on it, long tail curled above its body and flames galloping from its nostrils. An endless line of sentinels dressed in white stood under the banners, their capes billowing behind them and their polished sword hilts flashing like torches. The caravan stopped before the gates. A shout granting permission to enter came from above and the massive doors spread inward. Elora was so dazzled by the White City that she could not ask a single question. There were wide avenues bordered in flowerbeds, and stone fountains offering clean water at every corner. Soldiers in full suits of armor rode through the streets, musicians played in the 58

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squares and rowdy crowds gathered around puppet theaters, their laughter mingling with the shouts of merchants peddling their wares and the clickety-click of shod hooves on stone. She saw fine carriages, hunting parties returning from the wood with stags draped over their mounts, and hundreds of men dressed in soft, flowing garments that she was convinced were fit only for royalty. A city filled with kings, she thought, and felt so giddy she had to hold on to Jugger to keep from sliding off the horse. It did not occur to her to think it strange that there were no women in sight—she was already staring at the houses. All of three stories high, they were, and covered in that same white powder. Brightly colored curtains hung from their many windows, filling with the last of the morning breeze. And paved streets. Yes. They were advancing now over a wide, serpentine strip of bluish stones weaving among the buildings. Lush green trees were everywhere, such a change after the dreary desert of the plains. Red, pink, coral and butter-yellow flowers with too many petals to count grew on thorny shrubs along the edges of the path. "Look, roses," said Jugger, pointing at them. "Roses," she repeated, almost paralyzed by wonder. Eventually the paved road curved toward an immense palace standing on a hill. It was surrounded by white bastions, lower than the outer ones but nearly as broad, and separated from the city by a wide moat and a girth of woods made up of hemlock, spruce, towering cedars and black oaks thick with russet leaves. Beyond this palace the city continued, its massive ramparts appearing small and toy like at the far end. A sweeping river flowed through the sprawl of stone, and Elora assumed it must exit the city through the back, or far down the sides of the wall, since she had not noticed it when approaching from the front. "The Court," said Jugger, pointing at the palace on the hill as they started across a wooden bridge spanning the moat. Elora glanced back to discover all of the wagons and most of the soldiers had disappeared. Only a score of mounted men followed. Uthra rode among them on her pony, still eating chestnuts. 59

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"The others have gone," Elora told Jugger, momentarily alarmed. "They’ve stayed behind in the city. The new women must be taken to the tanks and prepared." None of this meant anything to Elora, and now that they were almost across the moat and the palace approached she couldn’t have cared less. Somewhere beyond those shining walls the Commander waited. There is such a man, she remembered Jugger saying. There is such a man, she thought, that he rules this heavenly place. And Paradise can belong only to a God. They were moving up the hill. The trees bordering the blue path blocked their view of everything else. A gentle wind whistled through their branches and the roar of the city became a murmur. The building ahead stood shrouded like a temple, shunning any disturbance of its grandeur. Emerging from the wood, Elora was blinded by a flash of light and had to avert her face. Gates covered with a blanket of pure silver blazed before them in the sun, worked into designs of men riding into battle, swords held high and the thick manes of their chargers tumbling in spirals over their proud heads. When the gates opened twenty young pages dressed in white rushed out with smiling faces and a volley of greetings for the Raiders. They seemed surprised at the sight of her, but only for a moment. They had more pressing concerns than a pretty new slave in a cheap dress and no shoes. The horses trotted into a large courtyard where the blue stones mingled with white and gray to form the shapes of foaming waves. Royal blue banners emblazoned with the golden dragon hung from balconies all around them. At the center of the courtyard a fountain spewed water from the mouths of four dolphins placed in a circle, their tail fins touching tip to tip as they plunged into the depths. And then Elora had her first look at the women of the Court. They came forth, smiling, from the building archways, so smooth in their progress that they appeared to be gliding over the ground rather than stepping on it. Each one was faultlessly graceful and more beautiful than the last, and Elora found it difficult to accept that they 60

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were slaves like her—like the rough, primitive women in the hold. They were dressed in flimsy gowns that clung to their bodies as they moved, their fingernails and toenails painted. Their delicate feet were sheathed in jeweled sandals and they also wore jewels on their ears and wrists, on their fingers and around their necks. Precious stones in every tint flashed from their necklaces, threaded with filigree of gold and silver. They wore little black pearls for buttons, and the belts cinching their narrow waists were made of white pearls the size of grapes. They rushed to embrace the Raiders, covering them in kisses. One of them ran to Eidolon, who rode ahead as always, and practically tore him from the chestnut horse, throwing her arms about his neck and pressing her round, wine colored mouth to his. Her skin was a very deep brown and her hair a mass of black curls, thick as sheep’s wool and shining with health, tumbling about her elegant shoulders. Another woman came hurrying toward Jugger, who swung his leg over the front of his saddle and jumped down to meet her as she leapt into his arms. She was fair and lissome, her hair without curl or plait and swirling like a curtain of pale gold while Jugger whirled her around and around. She laughed and sparkled and tossed her head gaily. Elora tried not to look too impressed and decided, mutinously, that she liked his island girl better. Eidolon had disentangled himself from his own woman. He removed Elora carelessly from the rump of Jugger's horse and dragged her to Uthra's pony. "Make her ready for the Commander,” he ordered, “and bring her to the Red Hall." Without another word he was off to embrace his dark lover again. They ran away holding hands, through a row of gilded archways. Uthra dismounted as calmly and casually as she did everything else. "Don’t worry," she said to Elora. "The difficult part is over." Elora smiled, oblivious to danger or failure in the middle of all these marvels. As Uthra led her toward the building she saw that the pages were taking away their spent horses. The Raiders dispersed 61

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and vanished down the vaulted halls, arms about their decorative ladies. In the palace the ceilings were vertiginously high and the floors paved in smooth slabs of a glittering white stone with gray and black veins running through it. There were rugs woven with silver thread and tapestries on the walls, and always the royal blue banner hanging over archways that led from one enormous hall to the next. There was burnished furniture carved from flaming-red cherry, brickveined mahogany and blackened oak. Some pieces were inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl, and a blue stone that Uthra told her was called lapis lazuli. Light streamed in freely through open doors and high windows, and fresh air blew through every room. Beautifully dressed men and women passed them by and Elora was too joyous to notice that they stared at her matted hair and dusty limbs with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. The white tiles felt cool under her bare feet. She could not suppress a laugh of glee, and Uthra did not complain. "Marble," she said. "Marble," repeated Elora. They reached a set of doors carved into a tangle of willow trees and water lilies in bloom. Two young boys in blue robes stood guard, feet planted wide apart and hands resting on their hips. They bore no weapons, only slim leather crops hanging from their belts, their handles adorned with white tassels. One heavy leaf was opened for Uthra and Elora followed her through into a large, columned hall with a pool carved from stone at its center. Women were bathing in this pool and swimming lazily through a covering of petals. The perfume of flowers rose from its waters. Elora wanted to stop but Uthra led her quickly past, through an archway at the back of the hall and into a broad corridor lined with closed doors. The ceiling was made of stained glass and the sun threw a tracery of scarlet, blue and reed green onto the white tiles beneath their feet. Uthra opened the door to a small, circular chamber. At its center 62

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was a spacious tub of polished stone; against its walls sat curved tables laden with brushes, sea sponges, thick towels and several objects that Elora did not know a use for. Bottles of scented oils and bars of soap lined an iron shelf covered in flowering vines that crept in through an open window. There was a garden outside. "Get yourself in." Elora undressed. When she climbed into the tub Uthra turned a knob on a copper tube descending from a large, shiny container propped on thick stilts. A stream of warm water gushed out and Elora screamed. "Be still," ordered Uthra cuttingly. "It's only plumbing, and I don't have much time to prepare you for him." She was scrubbed roughly and diligently from head to toe, her hair soaped and rinsed twice, her private parts washed thoroughly. The hair under her arms was shaved off with a very fine blade, as was the scant fuzz on her legs to just above the knee. Her feet were rubbed with a grainy stone until they shed every bit of dead skin, becoming soft and sensitive to the touch. Her fingernails were pared down to a short length and a graceful oval shape. When she stepped out of the tub her body was rubbed with oil that smelled like sweet almonds. It was even spread onto her pubic hair and into her vagina, this done very gently. Then she was patted dry. Her skin was left smooth and perfectly clean to the touch, but the delicious scent of almonds remained. Her hair was brushed out until it glowed. Finally, Uthra stepped back to examine her. "It would be a pity, to cover you with a dress," she said. "Wait for me. Do not move. Do not touch anything." She left the room, closing the door behind her. Elora wanted to peek out the window, but thought it best to do exactly as she was told, for the present. Uthra returned a few minutes later with a crimson bundle of fabulously soft, shining cloth. When she withdrew her hand from its folds Elora saw that she also held a tiny garment made of supple black leather, ornamented with a profusion of curlicues sewn in gold thread. 63

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She allowed Elora to hold it. While Elora turned it over carefully in her hands, trying to guess its function, Uthra fetched a tortoiseshell comb from the table and brushed her dark pubic hair into a perfect triangle. It looked quite neat, when she was done, gleaming under its light covering of almond oil. Uthra fitted the leather garment between her legs, covering her sex and buttocks, and fastened it on either side of her hips with little gold clasps at the ends of thin chains. Elora glanced down at herself. It was a silly thing, and lovely, and although it felt cold against her skin she knew that her body would warm it. "I am not to wear jewels?" she asked, rather disappointed. "You have no need of them." Uthra’s tone of voice left no room whatsoever for argument. She unfurled the red bundle, revealing it to be a long cloak with an ample hood. "What is this wonderful cloth?" asked Elora. Uthra wrapped the cloak about her shoulders and placed the hood carefully over her head, hiding her face almost completely. "Velvet." "Velvet," Elora repeated, savoring the word, as she was led out of the room and back down the corridor. **** There were no designs on the blood colored walls of the Red Hall. It was a long room without windows, two rows of black columns supporting a high, dark ceiling of worked wood. Torches lit the way to the entrance and once the heavy doors closed there was no turning back and no possible escape. The black marble floor shone like a mirror, cut out of a single, enormous block without mark—it seemed one was crossing over bottomless black waters, treading on a thin sheet of glass that might crack at any instant. At the very end of the room was another door, this one plated in gold, its panels emblazoned with the sign of the dragon and the approach blocked by white-garbed sentinels with golden shields, tall lances at their sides. The Red Hall looked like the Mouth of Hell and Elora gave a small 64

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shudder, thinking that the Commander had a most peculiar way of welcoming his guests. Eidolon and Jugger were waiting already, looking very elegant but queasy with nerves in black trousers, black shirts, black coats embroidered in gold and silver, and slim black boots polished to an absurd shine. Gold daggers gleamed at their belts, their hilts inlaid with red jewels. "What kept you?" hissed Eidolon. "And what is this? I can't see her under that." "What you will see when she removes it will please you," answered Uthra, undisturbed. "Has he been informed you’ve arrived?" Eidolon shook his head. "All the better," she said, and turned to Elora. "Walk behind Eidolon. Do not take off the cloak unless he orders it." Elora nodded. Then the golden doors opened. The Great Hall was filled with light and there were many people in it, but she noticed only him. She knew him at once, sitting so relaxed on a great oaken chair at the back of the room, his long legs crossed and his weight resting negligently on one elbow while he listened to somebody speaking. He was perhaps thirty-five, perhaps a bit older; it was difficult to say. A very tall man, big-boned, the muscles of his wide shoulders powerful but lean. His hair was dark brown, its short, lustrous locks brushed back from his temples, and his eyes were a brilliant, piercing blue, like glass infused with warmth. He had a strong jaw and thin, masculine lips that turned down slightly at the corners, and although his skin was fair it was warmed by long hours spent in the sun. He did not look like a man who enjoyed being indoors. There was a hardness to his features that kept him from being beautiful, but he was breathtaking and he knew it. She could tell that he had looked like a man all his days—that even as a boy he had looked like this—and that in anger he must be terrifying. His clothes were dark blue and extremely plain: a loose, sober shirt and slim trousers, a belt with a silver buckle, black riding boots 65

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laced to the knee. He carried no sword. He made the lords around him appear gaudy, like oversweet, over-garnished cakes, and she understood why Uthra had not adorned her in the style of the other women. He waited until the man speaking had finished before turning to look at the doors, but when he saw who had entered he rose from his seat, delighted. "Eidolon!" he exclaimed, and his voice was like thunder. He is a god, thought Elora with a sudden, sharp shiver of excitement and terror, drawing the velvet cloak closer about her body. He strode down the hall. Eidolon rushed forward and the two embraced, and the Commander was laughing. After a moment he stepped back to study the young man's face, and then to Elora's great surprise they kissed briefly on the lips and embraced again. "Nobody took the trouble to tell me that you were back!" "I took the trouble to keep them from it. You’ve no idea what it cost me." The Commander embraced Jugger, then examined his apparel with amusement. "You look almost like a gentleman. Is it for me?" Jugger smiled and bowed low. "It has been too long, Commander." "I have brought you a gift," announced Eidolon, touching his shoulder. The Commander eyed him tolerantly, if wearily. "Why do you persist in bringing me these little girls? You know I'll only pass them on." "If you pass this one on you're an idiot." "I see,” replied the Commander, diverted by the rush of earnestness. “Naturally, that changes everything. And where is this splendid creature?" Eidolon gestured towards Elora and the Commander turned to regard her blankly. "A fascinating if undersized package buried in a cape that's entirely too big for her. I am breathless with anticipation." He 66

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motioned vaguely for her to remove the cloak. "May we have a look at your charms, dear?” Elora hesitated, remembering her instructions, and glanced at Eidolon. "Take it off,” he admonished her crossly. Elora drew the hood back from her face with as much grace as she could contrive and let the cloak slip off her shoulders. The Commander did not shift an inch, but his entertained expression faded. Eidolon stared at her with undisguised awe and she knew that she had done something right. For an endless moment nobody spoke. The Commander cleared his throat. "She is very beautiful,” he conceded briefly. Eidolon barely heard him. "She was beautiful when I found her. She’s a vision now." The Commander made no further comment. "Kneel," ordered Eidolon abruptly, alarmed at having forgotten. Elora started to obey, but the Commander lifted his hand. "You may stand." "Thank you," she said, and eyed him quickly up and down without realizing what she was doing. He straightened to his full height. "Well, she's feisty enough to look me over, anyhow." Elora dropped her gaze to the floor and Eidolon shifted uneasily, but the Commander seemed uninterested in pursuing the matter. He wrapped an arm around Eidolon and walked back to his chair without giving her another glance. Jugger picked up the cloak and covered her. Falteringly, because her error had frightened her, she looked about the hall, becoming mindful at last of the other men gathered there. Some were soldiers. Some bore no weapons. All were exquisitely dressed and many wore jewels on their clothes, around their necks and on their fingers. Their many banners hung in colorful rows above them and the walls were lined with great wooden armchairs identical to the Commander's. It was true. He had no throne. "What else did you bring me?" he was asking Eidolon, taking his 67

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seat once more. "Sixty girls in all. Not every one a beauty, but handsome enough. Twenty from the green island: a heap of trouble, but quick to the handle. I caught one of the princesses." "Is she fine?" "Oh yes, worth every scratch. You'd like her." "Then why bring me a peasant instead?" Eidolon glanced over his shoulder at Elora, who stood solemn and still beside Jugger. “I’ll hold that peasant against a princess any day.” Elora was stunned and loved him for this. She smiled at him, but he had turned away and did not see it. The Commander looked thoughtfully into Eidolon’s eyes for a moment. "Kiss me," he said. Eidolon leaned forward and gave him another brief, warm kiss on the lips. "Now take her away.” He hesitated. “I’ll see both of you tonight.” The young captain beamed with pleasure and Jugger let out a sigh of relief. “Tomorrow we ride to the tanks,” said the Commander. “I want to meet this princess.” **** It had been dark outside for some hours and the Court was illuminated by torchlight when Uthra guided Elora to the Commander's apartments. She still wore the coy leather garment, now concealed under a softly gathered white gown that followed the curves of her body down to her ankles. Her feet remained bare, padding soundlessly behind Uthra’s flapping sandals down the stone corridors. The doors at which they finally paused were tall, made of ebony panels studded with iron nails and most decidedly shut. Uthra knocked softly. Elora fidgeted. After a nerve-racking pause the 68

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Commander's deep voice reached them from within. "Enter." Uthra pushed one leaf slightly ajar and motioned Elora to advance. Elora took a step into the darkness and felt the door close behind her. After the vibrant firelight in the corridor she found herself suddenly blind. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. She stood in a very large bedchamber, each of its walls adorned with a mural depicting the stages of a lion hunt. She distinguished several standing candelabra, each intricately wrought in iron and crowned with fat, creamy candles, but only one of them lit. Open doors led to a wide terrace at the back of the room, their flowing curtains half drawn and undulating in a mellow breeze. A large mirror framed in gilded wood lurked neglected in a corner, partially hidden by swaths of black cloth. To one side stood a magnificent wooden bed that could have easily accommodated five men, inlaid with ivory and green jade. Large cushions sheathed in green velvet were piled against the headboard, and folded carefully at the bottom of its white sheets was a coverlet so opulent in design it made Jugger's lovely purple blanket seem hopelessly insignificant. At the opposite end of the chamber loomed a great carved-stone fireplace, screened and unlit. Beside it was a broad desk covered with many books, some opened, and a high, straight-backed chair. In the center of the room was a round mahogany table, topped by cutglass decanters of wine, brandy and absinthe, and surrounded by eight chairs upholstered in yellow satin. The Commander stood by the table, and to her great relief Elora saw that Eidolon sat in one of the chairs, a jeweled goblet in one hand. The Commander was smoking a slender cigar and the scent of sweet tobacco floated across the room to her. "Are you hungry?" Eidolon asked her quietly. She shook her head, not daring to disturb the silence. The Commander poured wine into another goblet and carried it off to stand by the terrace doors, looking out. He drank. He smoked, without hurry. 69

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Elora folded her hands nervously. Eidolon drained his cup and gazed drowsily at her. The Commander turned around and watched them for a while. "Take her," he said placidly. Eidolon looked at him. "Go on, take her. What's mine is yours." Eidolon set down the goblet and crossed to stand before him. "Take me first," he whispered, and kissed him longingly. The Commander set down his own goblet and returned the kiss. The thin cigar remained held between his fingers. He raised it to his mouth, but Eidolon took it from him and laid it aside in a silver bowl. The Commander smiled. Eidolon kissed the line of his jaw, then his throat. He began to kneel. The Commander grasped his face gently and lifted it, forcing him to straighten. "No. Let me look at you." He ran his fingers over Eidolon's cheek and into the loose blond curls. "My beautiful captain," he whispered. "How I missed you." They kissed again, slowly. Their arms slid about one another. Elora watched with something beyond astonishment as, kissing and caressing tenderly, the two men moved to the bed and began removing each other's clothes. It had never entered her mind that men would want to lie together without a woman between them. The ones in her village never had. But they were so beautiful, the Commander and the raider, so exquisitely warm in their touches that she believed in her heart this was the only true and good lovemaking she had ever witnessed. They lay embracing for a long time, the Commander with his upper body bared and Eidolon completely naked, doing nothing except stroking each other's faces, trunks, arms. The Commander covered Eidolon's hand with small kisses and Eidolon caressed his cheek. Elora heard them whispering but failed to make out the words, only the soft, deep murmur of their voices reached her. She retreated further into the darkness, feeling that she was somehow invading a sacred act. Try as she might, however, she could not take 70

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her eyes from them. Eidolon turned away from the Commander with a low moan, and she saw that although the Commander had never touched it, his sex was hard. The Commander smiled and kissed the back of his neck, then ran two fingers lightly down his spine. Eidolon shuddered. The Commander rose to his knees on the bed and turned Eidolon to face him. Eidolon kissed him full on the mouth, fingers flexing in the brown hair, careful not to lean too close lest his rigid organ should soil the blue trousers. Then he bent down to kiss the Commander's chest, sucking his tight nipples while he undid the silver buckle of the belt. The Commander gazed down at him with tranquil affection, caressing the top of his head. His breathing remained slow and regular. Eidolon opened the trousers and slid them down over the Commander's hips to caress his cock. It was powerful and still as a shaft of red stone and Elora's loins were instantly warmed, but she felt her stomach turn as Eidolon leaned further down to lick at the large head, then lifted the member and kissed the heavy scrotum underneath. She took an involuntary step back, expecting the Commander to force himself into Eidolon's mouth. But the Commander kept stroking him easily, never trying to draw him forward. All he did was smile, slightly, as Eidolon opened his lips to suck on the tip. Slowly, Eidolon drew him in, hands reaching around to caress his buttocks. The Commander closed his eyes, but his hips still did not move and his hand remained relaxed on Eidolon's head. It was not until the young man pressed forward to ease the shaft into his throat that Elora saw the Commander flinch for the first time. Eidolon rocked his hips, sucking harder, and the Commander sighed, though he made no other sound. His hand slid from Eidolon's hair, closing around the sheets by his knee. He lowered himself slightly and arched his hips, but the movement was careful. His engorged member did not slide further into Eidolon's eager mouth. Elora marveled at his restraint but knew it could not last much 71

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longer; when the Commander gently lifted Eidolon away from himself she was not surprised. They kissed again, their tongues probing and their bodies pressed together. The Commander reached down and took Eidolon's cock in his hand, lifting it against Eidolon’s belly as he slid his own between the welcoming golden thighs. The young man groaned and jerked forward, massaging himself into the grip. The Commander mouthed his neck and rode slowly into the crease of his legs. Then he released him, motioning for him to turn around with a slight tilt of the head. Eidolon obeyed immediately, bending over so that his face touched the pillows and his legs were spread wide and folded under him, lifting his buttocks. The Commander reached out to place his hands lightly on the offered hips. The luscious, round head of his cock rubbed against Eidolon's anus, wetting it thoroughly before his grip tightened and he pushed himself forward. Eidolon cried out and raised his buttocks higher, trying to press them back onto the intruding organ. But the Commander did not allow this, and never thrust. He penetrated Eidolon in one continuous, dilatory movement, holding him still with uncanny strength, preventing him from rushing the entry. Eidolon pressed the side of his face to the pillows with a shudder, his eyes large and wet. Finally the Commander was fully inside and riding him slowly, deliberately. One of his hands rounded Eidolon's loins to grasp the thumping cock underneath, rubbing it with practiced skill. His other hand slid along Eidolon's arched back to push aside the flaxen curls and grip his heaving shoulder, pulling back on it in the same easy, excruciating rhythm. Eidolon grunted and bit down on the pillows, his face darkly flushed. The pressure of the hand massaging him increased steadily and the swollen head of his penis burst from the tight sheath of fingers. He whimpered, and then with a high-pitched, almost feminine moan of ecstasy, ejaculated, the semen wetting his stomach and the Commander's hand. They stopped moving. Elora observed with boundless shock that 72

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when the Commander withdrew his organ from Eidolon's dilated anus, it was already flaccid. He had climaxed as well, but his expression had changed so little that she had not noticed it. A closing of the eyes, a slow bending back of the head, a tightening of the jaw. That had been all. He had made no sound. He didn't even break a sweat. Suddenly she disliked him intensely. He sat back against the velvet cushions, calmly buttoning his trousers. Eidolon lifted himself weakly, soaked in perspiration, and crawled to lie by his side, kissing his groin and resting his cheek on the sober blue cloth that now covered the sated member. The Commander lifted his eyes directly to Elora's face and she realized that he’d known exactly where she had been standing during the entire time he was having Eidolon. "Fetch the cup on the stand," he told her. "Bring it here." She did as he ordered, but when she stood by the bed and stretched out her arm to offer him the goblet he did not take it. He patted his lap instead. Eidolon sat up and moved back, making a place for her between them. She climbed onto the wide bed, careful not to spill the wine. Eidolon took it from her and drank. The Commander grasped her by the waist and slowly, easily, drew her to sit on his lap, wrapping his left arm around her back to support her. His face was close to hers and his cool blue eyes disturbed her so much that she stared away from him, directly ahead. He kissed her cheek, inhaling her perfume as he pressed his warm lips to her skin. His right hand was lightly caressing the front of her thigh through the thin white dress. "You don't like me, do you?" he said after a while, very quietly. He did not sound angry. She could not figure out how he did sound, or how he had known, and she stiffened, afraid to lie but unwilling to speak a truth that might endanger her. "Do you know why you don't like me?" She saw him smile out the corner of her eye. He kissed her cheek again. 73

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"Because you can't manipulate me. I'm not as easy to seduce as Eidolon was. Or Jugger. And you don't understand why. But don't worry, you'll figure me out soon enough. Men are simple creatures, once you learn how to look." Elora turned her head to look at him but saw nothing except his dark beauty, his power and his coldness. Then he kissed her with disarming tenderness. His mouth tasted of wine and tobacco, and the memory of the pleasure he had afforded Eidolon rushed back to her in a flood. Her desire for him was suddenly so great that she grasped his head in both hands and opened her lips against him, trying to push her tongue into his mouth. He pulled back quickly and sat her down next to Eidolon in unequivocal rejection. "Give her some wine," he said. Then he stood up and went to the table to serve himself a fresh cup. Elora floundered, jolted awake from a daze and violently ashamed. She took the goblet Eidolon offered her with her eyes averted. "Don't worry, he likes you," whispered Eidolon as he got to his feet. He started pulling on his clothes. "He would have sent you away by now if he did not." The Commander had lit another cigar. He walked out onto the terrace and Eidolon followed. For a while she heard them talking in low voices, still unable to understand the words. She drained the goblet, humiliated and exhausted, but although she had hoped that the wine would make her forget it did nothing except warm her. Eventually they returned. Eidolon left. The Commander blew out the candles, then came back to the bed. Now the room was lit only by moon glow, filtering in through the curtains, and she could barely distinguish his face as he sat down beside her and placed his hand on her pubis where the gilded leather covered her. She knew he could feel it through the light cloth, and his eyes rested there a time, as though he could see it. He slid his hand to the hem of the dress. "Lift your hips." She obeyed, her pulse quickening. The Commander drew the 74

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dress up to her waist and then off over her head. He tossed it away. As he slid his hands down the length of her raised arms she shivered. He undid the gold clasps and folded back the leather to expose her dark triangle of curls. "Again." She pressed her back into the velvet cushions and lifted her hips, parting her legs discreetly. He slipped his hand between them and drew off the little garment, tossing it also to the floor. Rather carelessly for such a pretty thing. But as he bent down to her she forgot everything but his kiss on her pubis and the slight, wet stab of his tongue between her outer lips. She moaned and spread her thighs for him, her sex moistening at once. But he only lifted his head and closed her legs again. Then he lay down beside her, the side of his face resting on her naked belly, and went to sleep. She was left aching and disappointed, but she was not surprised. And perhaps this was the beginning of understanding, she told herself as she lay back on the green cushions. Perhaps the most important thing to know about the Commander was that one could never guess what he would do next. **** When she opened her eyes it was broad daylight and he was gone. The beautiful blanket that had been folded at the foot of the bed was laid carefully over her. She sat up to admire it, tracing its design with her fingers. It was a picture of a fair-haired lady in a wood, ivy curling round her feet. Hummingbirds swirled among the trees, and gray wolves and golden stags passed under them. The lady wore a blue dress that trailed behind her like a stream. Elora wondered who had made it for the Commander. Perhaps it had been the very lady on it, and this was the kind of woman he liked. She rose from the bed and walked out between the open curtains to stand naked in the sun, stretching her arms. The terrace 75

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overlooked the green ring of woods on the palace hill, the moat underneath, and beyond these the sprawl of the White City, which still made her gape with wonder. She could see the river winding to the outer walls and through, up into a horizon of blue mountains capped with clouds. "Good morning." She turned around to find the Commander standing at the doors, dressed in dark riding breeches and a white shirt. His brown riding boots were freshly polished but scuffed from much use. "My lucky boots. You like them?" He was in an excellent mood. "Yes," she said. "Why is that?" This caught her off guard, but she was not about to let him make a fool of her twice. "They are imperfect but they are loved," she answered after a moment. He smiled and she calmed, but then she saw that his eyes moved over her and remembered that she stood nude before him. Without knowing why she raised her arms, folding them across her breasts. He said nothing, and when she met his gaze it was not stern. She lowered her hands to her sides and let him look at her. Her gesture seemed to discompose him, and he averted his eyes. "Am I ugly?" she asked sadly. He looked startled. Crossing the terrace with long strides he lifted her quickly into his arms and kissed her cheek. "No." She rested her head against the curve of his throat with unfailing, bewildering trust, and he carried her back into the room. An archway led them into a large bathing room with a green marble tub. "But I was washed only yesterday," Elora argued with surprise as he lowered her to stand in warm water up to her knees. "If you expect to stay here you will wash every morning and every night. You are not a fishmonger's daughter any more, you are mine. 76

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And you will look it and smell it." Elora could see that he was in earnest. When he tossed her a cake of soap she caught it in one hand, ably and without hesitation. He stared, nonplussed. Elora watched him and waited. "You're very quick." "We used to play catch with live fish." His expression twisted into a slight grimace of distaste. "I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that." Elora laughed, tossing back her hair as she lowered herself into the water. The Commander brought her a large sponge and squatted by the tub. "Turn the faucet on and off like this." He turned a knob at the end of the copper tube and water gushed out. "Faucet," she said. He smiled. Then he left her. The soap was scented with violets. She scrubbed herself well and liked washing so much that when he returned she was rinsing herself for the third time. "Breakfast is getting cold." Elora stood up and held out the much-diminished cake of soap. He stared at it for a moment as if he simply could not believe she expected him to take it. But just as she was about to withdraw her hand, he snatched it from her and put it back on a glass-topped table. "You act like a princess, at any rate." She stepped out of the tub and he patted her dry. She closed her eyes with pleasure as he pressed the towel softly under her breasts and around her hips to the small of her back, and giggled when he knelt to dry her toes, resting one hand on his shoulder for balance. He dressed her in a black robe that was obviously meant for him, and she followed him back to the bedchamber with her little hands lost up the long sleeves and the hem trailing behind her on the floor. The round table was served with rolls of warm bread and a ripe golden cheese, oranges and green pears, and an omelette thick as a 77

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cake stuffed with minced ham and potatoes. Elora settled quickly into a chair, put her elbows on the table and leaned forward to smell the food. The Commander slapped her forearm quickly. Not hard, but she jumped back all the same. "Elbows off the table. Don't sniff at your food." He cut her a slice of omelette with an ivory-handled knife and set it before her. Elora pushed the sleeves above her elbows and reached out for the food. "No," he said. She withdrew and looked up at him in frustration. He picked up a silver object with a three-pronged head and tiny pearls encrusted on its stem. With it he cut a bite from the omelette and held it to her lips. She hesitated, thinking him absolutely mad, opened her mouth and took it from him. "Fork." He handed her the object. "Fork," she repeated, resigned. He sat down across the table and watched her eat. She examined the fork between bites. "It's very pretty." He smiled and lit one of his cigars. After breakfast he led her to the bed, where she found waiting a plain lawn shirt much like the one he wore, a small pair of blue riding breeches and a pair of black riding boots. He undid her sash and slid the robe from her body. Elora stared at the clothes with fascination. "I never wore anything but a dress. All of the other women here wear dresses." "You are not all the other women and you will wear what I like." “Oh yes.” She nodded quickly, terribly excited, and rushed to pull on the breeches. He tucked in her shirt, buttoned its sleeves, buttoned the slim trousers and did up the small, brass buckle of her belt. Then he slid on the boots and she stomped her feet on the floor with delight. "Never worn boots?" "Never worn shoes." 78

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He brushed out her long hair with those same rough, expert strokes she dreaded in Uthra, and braided it down her back with a velvet ribbon. It did not really hurt, of course, but it was not the way of men. These tasks did not belong to them. Her father had brushed her hair when she had been little, and he had been faltering and excessively careful, succeeding only in fondling the locks, never in tidying them. It struck her as enormously arousing that this man could do it so casually and so ably, that he knew women that well. The act became intimate and deeply erotic in her mind for the first time, and she thought of all the others who had enjoyed it before her, and she was jealous. He turned her toward the standing mirror and drew off the black cloth. The blue breeches followed her shape exactly. The shirt was ample and gave her shoulders an illusion of width. She felt she had never looked so indomitable, and liked this new thing the Commander was trying to make of her. **** "How could you cover her up like that?" asked Eidolon with dismay when he met them at the Court stables. The Commander smiled while Elora amused herself by stomping hard on the pavestones, trying out her new boots. "If you wanted to keep her naked, you should have taken her for yourself." He turned to Elora, who stopped stomping and smiled. "Lesson number one. Whenever men feel women moving into their domain they become immediately nervous. Women are better at almost everything." This opinion Elora had never heard, and she could see that Eidolon disagreed with it heartily. One of the young stewards approached, leading a golden stallion. Not a palfrey, but a full-sized battle charger, its long mane and tail braided with white ribbons. "Here comes your horse," said the Commander. 79

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Elora stared at the opulent, powerful animal and looked up at the Commander in disbelief. "For me? To keep?" "Yes. Do you like him?" She threw her arms about his neck. He did not push her away, and this time when their mouths met he let her kiss him long and deep. "He's a good horse," he told her as the steward helped her to mount. "He will never throw you, and if you manage to get yourself knocked off he won't leave you." An awful crash of splintering wood rang out from within the stables. Elora's stallion proved its worth by being the only creature in the courtyard that did not flinch. Then an enormous black colt stormed out of the building with three grooms clinging to its bridle. Eidolon's chestnut leapt aside, scrambling to get away as the colt lunged towards it, screaming. The terrified grooms pulled back with their full weight and the colt reared, pawing the air, until it tore loose from their leads. Unaware that it was already free, it darted forward with teeth bared to attack them. The Commander grabbed it by the bit and yanked its head around, mounting before the colt had regained its bearings. The colt balked, standing stock-still for an instant. When it reared again the Commander brought it down with a hard smack between the ears. The bravest groom approached tentatively, removed the swinging leashes and ran promptly away to a safe distance. "Why won't you have that thing butchered?" complained Eidolon, mounting the quivering chestnut. The Commander patted his fractious colt affectionately and turned it toward the gates. Elora rode cautiously up to them and settled into walk alongside. "You wouldn't run from me, would you?" the Commander asked her. She looked at the black colt. It was taller than her own horse by a half a head and just as broad-chested. White foam flew from its mouth as it worked its teeth on the bit, fighting for more rein. "I wouldn't get very far." 80

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The Commander laughed. Without warning the colt bared its teeth and snapped at the neck of Elora's mount. The placid golden stallion burst to life and she was almost unseated as he plunged savagely onto the colt, making it scream and scramble backward out of reach. He did not pursue. He became calm and steady again, and as Elora stroked his neck nervously the Commander smiled. "Lesson number two. Never confuse a gentleman with a fool." **** The black colt was markedly respectful from then on, and they rode in peace out of the palace, over the moat and into the thick of the city. The streets were in uproar. Men rushed out of their dwellings with purses filled, merchants gathered their wares and closed up shop for the day. Beer was being sold from open wagons with much spilling and shouting, causing a succession of drunken brawls. Elora noticed for the first time that there were peasants among the population, but they wore shoes and did not look hungry, and their clothes, although rough, were well mended and clean. "They set up for the auction today," explained Eidolon. "Everybody goes a little daft when a fresh catch arrives." As they advanced the men ahead cleared the streets, bowing to the Commander when he rode by. More emerged from the doorways of open taverns and raised their mugs to him in salute. He always met their eyes, and once in a while he nodded, but he never smiled. "What will you name your horse?" he asked her suddenly. Elora caressed the stallion's bowed neck. "I will name him The Elegant, for so he is." She nodded toward the black colt. "And what is his name?" The Commander spoke the word with quiet amusement. "Hellchild." "The grooms named it," said Eidolon, “in between tending their 81

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bruises." They left the city center and rode past a row of barracks flying the army banners, reaching at length a palisade of pointed stakes around a low, wooden building painted in white. Two Raiders stood guard at the only gate. They bowed to the Commander as he brought his horse to a halt. "Zurco. Tyke." He smiled at them. "How are you this morning?" "Glad to be home, Sir," said Tyke. He glanced surreptitiously at Elora with a lusty eye, but the Commander missed nothing. "Do you like what you see?" he asked without inflection. Tyke stiffened, hesitating for a moment. "She’s the loveliest we’ve found yet, Sir." "Thank you, Tyke." The Commander said this with great pleasure and Tyke started breathing again. His brown eyes sparkled when he grinned at them. It was difficult not to like him—he had the merriest face Elora had ever seen. She looked at Zurco. He seemed a harmless enough fellow, twenty years old or thereabouts, with plain features, a lean build and a deep scar on one cheek. He walked none the worse for her sister's bite. Tyke opened the gates and they rode through to dismount in a dirt yard. The building proved to be a great warehouse filled with iron cages. Inside them, on covered straw mats, rested the new slaves. They were naked and scrubbed clean, leather collars strapped around their necks. Jugger was supervising the order in which they would be led out to the auction block, a book of lists in his hands and a long leather leash hooked to his belt. He greeted the Commander and Eidolon smilingly but with his usual reserve, and Elora he called sweet thing, telling her she was looking wonderfully pretty. She wanted to kiss him, so she did. When he received it cautiously it suddenly dawned on her that the kiss was improper, but the Commander did not seem displeased. She felt tremendously lucky as she followed the three men down 82

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the rows of cages. It was a pity to see her former playmates locked up like animals and she blushed with guilt, but she could not help being grateful that she did not find herself in the same predicament. The Commander glanced at the girls as he ambled by, never pausing and never approaching the bars until he saw Anthea pacing in her cell. Here he stopped at once, displaying an uncanny instinct for trouble that Elora found highly unsettling. Anthea turned and saw him, and Elora noticed a jolt of fear in her eyes too brief for the others to see. When she glanced at the Commander, however, she knew he had noticed it too. "Bring this one out," he told Jugger. The brawny soldier unlocked the cage, stepping quickly inside as Anthea lunged for the door. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and snapped the leash onto her collar. She fought him and he was forced to drag her out, but once she faced the Commander she stood straight-backed and still. "This one is worse than your colt," said Eidolon. "She bit Zurco on the ship. Whenever I'm not around she's a misery to manage." The Commander studied Anthea, his blue gaze inscrutable. "She attacked one of your men and you didn't slit her throat?" Eidolon hesitated, then shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I punished her well, I assure you." The Commander did not soften. He seemed to lose interest. "Sell her low," he said. "I want her working in the fields." Anthea spit at him. He moved away so quickly that her saliva landed on the floor, but his eyes widened with cold rage and Elora, mortally afraid, stepped forward. "Don't hurt her," she begged. "She’s my sister." The Commander looked surprised, still distracted by his anger. "Nonsense. She looks nothing like you." "We have different mothers," snapped Anthea. "One is dead and one you took, and I curse you for both." The Commander dealt her a blow across the face that almost knocked her down, but when Anthea straightened Elora saw he had 83

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measured his strength so well that he had not even left a welt on her cheek. Eidolon seemed puzzled. "I thought you would like this one." "I like courage, not stupidity. Lock her up." He glanced briefly at Elora, who was still trembling, and walked away. He did not stop until he reached the cage of the red-haired princess. Fine boned, long-necked, she held herself with all the dignity of her station, meeting his gaze coldly and steadily, her arms down at her sides. She appeared utterly unashamed of her nakedness, as a princess should before underlings. Then without warning she put the palm of one hand to her forehead, went down on one knee and made a deep, ceremonial bow. "You may rise," said the Commander. Elora thought that for the first time she heard respect in his voice. The princess straightened as tranquilly as she had bowed. "May I speak?" she asked. "Yes." "Are you the King?" "No. There is no king here." "There is great ransom in store for you if you should return me to my father." "I am sure of it. But you must understand that I can never give back what my men have bled to take." She eyed him without expression for a moment. "I understand fully." The Commander turned to Jugger. "She will not go to auction. Take her out of this place." He looked at Eidolon. "She is for you, Captain. I hope you will appreciate her." Eidolon was overwhelmed with pleasure but he frowned, perplexed. "I was certain you would want her for yourself." The Commander shook his head. "You gave me Elora. You've earned the next best." 84

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Elora. He had spoken her name. And pronounced her better than a princess. She knew she was blushing and lowered her face to conceal it, but it was unnecessary. The Commander and Eidolon were walking on, arms about each other, and from the red-haired princess she had nothing to hide. **** All of the White City had flocked to the auction. The Commander and Elora rode back to Court through empty streets. He did not speak again, or look at her. He had given the island girl with the soft eyes to Jugger. Everyone else had gone to the block. At the stables he handed the Hellchild to four petrified grooms who were promptly dragged away into the building. Elora began to dismount. "Stay on your horse," he said. "Follow me." Behind the stables stood a massive, circular stone edifice. He walked into it through the mouth of a wide tunnel, disappearing in the shadows. The Elegant followed of his own will, with Elora apprehensive and rocking tautly on his back. There was nothing but darkness ahead. The air blowing through the passageway was cold and dry. She heard a distant thud and what sounded like the scream of an animal in pain. She could not see the Commander anymore, but could hear the soft sound of his boots on packed dirt just a few steps ahead. Then she saw an archway leading out to dazzling light. She found herself in an amphitheater. The stands were empty, except for a few servants removing colored streamers and scattered flowers, leftovers of some celebration. On the arena was a tall, blond woman working a white horse. She wore fitted breeches and slim, rawhide boots. That was all. Her upper body was naked save for two gold armbands in the shape of serpents. She had a mane of curly blond hair that fell down to the middle of her back and forward over her shoulders, and beneath it 85

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her small, widely spaced breasts rose and fell lightly as the horse trotted with high steps. Elora stared in amazement as it curled two legs up simultaneously and held them raised a full second before letting them down to raise the other two, dancing from side to side. The rider sat very still and apparently effortless, her tanned skin gleaming in the hot sun under a thin coating of sweat, the fuzz on her forearms pale gold and the fleece under her armpits soft, the color of wheat. Her eyes were a blue so dark they seemed almost violet and at times coal black, depending on how the light struck them. Eyes the color of the deep sea at sundown. She raised them and saw the Commander watching, and although her serene, indifferent expression did not change, although she did not seem to move at all, the horse suddenly turned gracefully toward them, its perfect head bowed and its mouth working furiously on the iron bit, its neck arched as if bound by immense strength even though the reins were held delicately as butterflies in the woman's slender hands. The horse stopped directly in front of the Commander and went down on one knee so that it knelt before him, the woman sitting motionless and straight, her head bowed and her long curls covering her face. And she spoke, her voice light and caressing. "Commander." He stroked the horse's neck but looked only at the woman. "You have trained her well." "Thank you, my Lord," answered the woman without looking up. His hand slid from the neck of the white mare to the woman's thigh. He let it rest there. "Do you think you might allow me to see your face?" A long moment passed. The woman did not move and the Commander waited patiently. He caressed her thigh. Without warning the woman swung her other leg over the neck of the mare. The Commander stepped back quickly to avoid being 86

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struck and the woman landed with her feet planted squarely before him. With a toss of her head she shook the mass of blond curls out of her sea-blue eyes. Elora was shocked. Not even Eidolon dared to show arrogance before the Commander. But this woman had practically kicked him in the face, and now when he tried to kiss her she leaned away, hooked her hands on her hips and glanced loftily at Elora. "What is that?" she asked irritably. "Your new student," he replied, not in the least insulted. The woman leaned against the kneeling mare and took her time looking Elora over. "The fishmonger's daughter," she said flatly after a while. The Commander only smiled. "You gave her my best horse." With a last annoyed glance at him she walked away toward the bleachers. The Commander touched the mare's bent leg with his boot, making her rise. "Do as Ayesha tells you," he ordered Elora, who still stared in disbelief. He followed the blond woman to the bleachers. They sat down side by side. The Commander did not try to kiss the woman again. "Canter him once around," she called out, leaning forward to observe with her elbows on her open knees, her small breasts still, weightless. Elora was far from being an accomplished rider. In her village by the sea she had learned to swim well and climb rocks after the sheep, but she had never owned a horse, having no need and no money for one. The few rides she had enjoyed were on the back of a thin, worndown gray donkey the butcher used to deliver his cuts and rented out on holidays for a little extra change. The Elegant moved so smoothly that she had no trouble holding her seat, but she could not keep her legs from swinging back and forth and her hands from bouncing with every stride. When she drew back on the reins she did so too firmly and The Elegant slid to an abrupt halt, forcing her to grab his mane in order not to fall. 87

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She straightened in the saddle, feeling clumsy, and lifted her eyes to the haughty woman expecting a reprimand. But Ayesha only tilted her head thoughtfully. "Again," she said. Again Elora cantered around the arena. When she neared the Commander and Ayesha she drew back very gently on the reins. The Elegant stopped gradually but too far past the couple. Her face burning, Elora turned him around and walked to stand in the proper spot. "Look at me," ordered Ayesha. Elora lifted her face, and the woman smiled for the first time. An unhurried smile, but strangely pleased. She turned to the Commander. "She will be very good." "Why, because she doesn't make the same mistake twice?" "Because she wants to be good. Look at her. She is furious." Elora turned away her face. She did not like being so transparent when everyone around her was so enticingly mysterious, and she wished the woman would go away and humiliate her no more. Then a young man ran in through a red wooden gate across the arena. His clothes were drenched in blood. Elora tightened her hold nervously on the reins as he approached, but The Elegant did not fret when the boy rushed past them. The Commander rose. The boy knelt before him, hands shaking. "What happened?" "The spotted bull, sir. He's killed another groom. We could not stop the bleeding and he's died just now." The Commander glared at Ayesha. "I told you to get rid of it." "Just another month," she begged, touching his arm. "I can't. He's killing men left and right." "He is so beautiful. He will be magnificent, I swear." The Commander regarded her sternly for a moment. "One month. Not a day more." "Thank you, my Lord." He turned to wave away the boy, and when he looked at Ayesha again his eyes softened. He smiled and touched her cheek. And then 88

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Elora saw that she faltered on her feet ever so slightly, as if in a swoon and held up only by his gaze, and she said, her voice trembling, "I love you more than the sun." **** Elora walked a step behind the Commander as they returned to the palace, studying that long, easy stride that she had to run to match. The way he never looked down, certain the ground would rise to meet him. The wave of his dark hair as it blew in the wind. The way he was ever alert but never uneasy, as if the world held no evil that his hands could not keep at bay. She was lost somewhere between the strength of his shoulder and the sight of the breeze pressing the white shirt against his side when he finally spoke. "Ayesha is an Amazon princess. I almost had to kill her to catch her. But she never dared kiss me without my permission. Only you have done that." **** Five hundred candles lit the banquet hall, flickering and swelling like little heartbeats in the breeze. Oak doors lined the vast room on either side, opening onto wide terraces of pink and green marble that overlooked the palace gardens. Tables covered in white linen lined three sides of the hall, facing in and meeting end on end, and on them were large platters piled with spiced rice and fruit, silver dishes loaded with dripping meats, loaves of steaming bread and raspberry cakes covered with sweet cream. Attendants garbed in white circled without pause, pouring wine into the golden cups of the men who sat along the tables. The Raiders were there, gathered to either side of Eidolon, who conversed gaily while his lovely dark slave sat on his lap, caressing his golden chest. The Commander sat apart from them at the head of 89

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the tables. To his sides were advisors and nobles in their brightlycolored silks and jeweled fingers. Uthra had placed Elora behind his chair when the banquet guests had begun to assemble, and there she remained, motionless, wearing a long dress of gray-blue silk and a crown of white roses in her hair. The Commander had not looked at her when he entered the hall, being greeted all around. He had not looked at her when he sat down, a pair of proud young stewards holding out his chair. And now the food was long served and being enjoyed and she still remained unnoticed. But she never dared kiss me without my permission, she could hear him saying in her head, over and again. Only you have done that. She remembered that first horrible mistake in his bedroom, and throwing her arms about him when he had given her The Elegant. She had believed he was pleased, but it was not true. She was an irksome and clumsy slave, and he did not love her. She wanted to cry, but she did not want to embarrass herself even more. So she clenched her teeth and stared ahead at the main doors, which were opening. The red-haired princess entered followed by her flock of island women. The hall fell silent as they advanced in perfect formation, chins held high. They were nude, their bodies completely painted in the same colorful designs of the robes they had worn on the ship, their lips and eyes outlined in sliver. Jugger's voluptuous, brownhaired beauty was among them. A sweet, haunting melody began to play. The women formed a loose circle and started to sing, then, led by the princess, to dance. Long fingers brushed lightly against nipples and cheeks as they turned around one another, voices rising and rising, hair twirling, tumbling back over their shoulders, getting tangled between their breasts. The Commander leaned forward in his seat, his eyes wandering over them. Elora saw that every man and woman in the hall was staring, some struck motionless, others swaying drowsily in time to the music. Without warning the Commander stood up and turned to her. She started as he grasped her by the waist, and violently brushing 90

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the table clear with one arm, sat her down on it facing him. The clatter of plates was shocking and the music stopped. For a moment the hall was unbearably silent. "Keep singing," ordered the Commander. The music began once more, unsteady at first. The women sang. Elora sat frozen as the Commander undid the silver clasp of her dress and opened it to expose her body. "Hold her." Two perfumed lords grasped her gently but quickly by the shoulders, pulling her arms back and supporting her so that not only was she left completely helpless but she could see what the Commander would do to her. He parted her legs, reached over to a silver platter piled with meat and picked up a soft, square chunk dipped in gravy. His hand disappeared between her thighs, his eyes never leaving her face, and with a gasp she felt him insert the warm, dripping meat into her vagina. Her walls contracted immediately, but his fingers were too strong. He drove them deep enough so that she could not push the morsel out easily, then reached for another. Elora moaned, her folds swelling as he filled her with soft pieces of meat, taking his time with each, his fingers prying her wider, pushing in deeper. His eyes roamed lazily over her body as she writhed and tried to turn away. The lords held her firmly, smiling, soothingly stroking her hair and her cheeks, her throat. She closed her eyes. They were murmuring to her but she was past all understanding, it was only purring in her ear. The Commander stopped. Her vagina was deliciously stuffed and hot, and she could feel the juice trickling out of her into the crease of her buttocks. His hand touched her mouth and she licked the gravy from his fingers. He lingered a moment, studying her as she tasted him, her eyes closed, then he drew back and knelt before her widespread legs. His tongue went in between her buttocks, gathering the juices there. Parting her, licking up towards the tender flesh of her sex. She threw 91

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her head back and moaned, arching her spine and opening herself further to him as he sealed his mouth to her opening. He pushed his tongue inside, drawing out the meat, and ate from her. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, spreading and lifting them to hook on his shoulders while his jaws worked against her, suddenly ravenous. She pushed out with all her might, squeezing the chunks of meat into his mouth, her moans growing louder and more abandoned. The lords were laughing softly, approvingly, and she wrapped her arms about their waists, holding on desperately, their sumptuous garments crushed in her fists. Someone was spreading a cool, thick substance on her breasts. She opened her eyes to see rich mounds of cream melting on her erect nipples. The lords kneaded them with their manicured hands, and then mouths closed down on her, teeth scraping gently, new arms sliding around her back to lift her toward the hungry lips. Tongues on her neck, in her navel. Warm sauces being rubbed against her armpits and then licked off. One of the lords was kissing her mouth, an older man with steel-gray hair, his face lined, his eyes half-closed in ecstasy. Then he was feeding her. Dates, almonds, plump berries. The blood-red juice trickled from the side of her mouth and he lapped at it, devastatingly slow and tender. The Commander's mouth still pressed hard against her sex, his tongue forcing her open as he coaxed out the meat, the warm gravy, her come. And the women sang. And sang. She was emptied and on the verge of climax when he withdrew. The mass of bodies covered in velvet and silk parted and she was left staring up at him, trembling, wanting more. Breathing heavily, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. She could see the length of his erect organ pressing against the cloth of his trousers. He slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her, his head bending down to her once more. She stiffened, thinking she would fall, but the lords held her safe and she relaxed utterly into their arms as the Commander touched his tongue to her anus. He teased the rim, 92

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licked at the scant fuzz around it. She sighed. This was new to her, this obscene little caress, and she felt the tiny opening widening, shuddering against his lips. Without warning he pressed his tongue into her. She gave an astonished cry and tried to shut him out, but he was holding her fast, parting her cheeks, pushing in with amazing strength, and of their own will her muscles relaxed and gave in to him. Her tight ring enlarged and as his tongue probed deeper and his mouth sealed on her she came, the thick lips of her neglected sex palpitating and her hips rocking indecently against him. He kept his tongue inside her even after the orgasm, reaming her, grunting softly. She swooned, her body limp in his arms, and he drew back and left her lying there, ending his sweet rape as abruptly as he had begun it. **** Hours later, she waited for him in his chambers. He had scarcely looked at her in the banquet hall afterwards, returning his attention to the dance that had so aroused him and to his conversations with the lords. "Don't wash her," was all he had said when Uthra had led her from the room, still weak with pleasure and unsteady on her legs. All the candles were snuffed out and the sheets on the massive, inlaid bed turned back. The terrace doors were open. Crickets sang in the woods below, their high, grinding hum carried on the whistling wind as it blew through the trees. The heavy black cloth over the gilt mirror had slipped off and the moon shone round and bluish in it, lighting the chamber with an eerie but somehow purifying glow. The lions in the hunting mural went in and out of shadow as the vaporous terrace curtains rose and waved in the breeze, and it seemed the beasts were alive, moving, shifting their red, painted jaws. She stood in a corner, not daring to sit, not daring even to move. Uthra had placed her there and given no instructions. He opened the door and stood leaning against the frame for a minute, his body outlined by the torchlight outside and his face 93

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hidden in shadow. As he entered and shut the door, he stumbled slightly. He was drunk. It took him a few moments to find her, standing so still in the dark. He motioned for her to approach. She walked to him and he leaned down over her, swaying a little, his lips very close, his blue eyes bright and unfocused. "Did you like it?" he whispered. "What I did to you? I wouldn't want to do anything you didn't like, you know." He smiled, not without malice. She could smell the liquor on his hot breath. Her body felt broken and her skin tingled at the very suggestion of his touch, and she faltered, wishing he would take her but certain he would not. He enjoyed making her suffer. "Well? Did you?" "Yes, my Lord." She was breathless. He stared at her a moment, then burst out laughing. "My Lord? I am your Lord? When did this happen?" Still laughing he stumbled to the round table and poured himself a drink from one of the crystal decanters. Its delicate, sculpted stopper slipped out of his numbed fingers and rolled off the table to shatter against the floor. He did not seem to hear it. Elora had never dreamed that she would see him so clumsy, so wholly lacking control. He must be furious with her. But to her surprise she was not afraid of him, only sorry. Sorry that she had failed him, that he did not love her, sorry that she would lose him. "I'm sorry I kissed you." He turned to her, looking baffled. "What?" "I'm sorry I kissed you without your permission." He seemed to sigh and almost fall. Leaning on the table for support he gave her a slow, loving smile. "Oh, but I'm not. Kiss me, Elora." He held out his hand. "Kiss me again." She was not sure how she arrived in his arms, but she arrived and his mouth was open on hers, her arms around him, his hands in her hair. Their tongues exploring and lips pressing together gently, sucking, tasting, eyes closed, bodies so limp they would have fallen 94

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had their embrace not held them up. He lifted her against him and carried her to the bed, faltering slightly, her legs swinging as he moved. But she was unafraid, he would never drop her. They tumbled onto the soft white sheets and still knew nothing save each other's mouths. Finally he opened his eyes to gaze down at her, his fingers tracing the curves of her face. He untangled the crown of white roses from her dark hair. She kissed his cheeks, his eyelids, the tender flesh of his earlobes. She stroked the nape of his neck, kissed his throat, sucked on it adoringly. He gathered a mound of her long, lustrous locks into his palm and buried his face in them, smelling their perfume. "Elora." He kissed her full on the mouth again. She unbuttoned his shirt. He lifted himself to give her room, brushed her gray gown open and rested his large hand on her breast, squeezing it gently. Then he bent down to kiss it. But she was pushing him firmly away with both hands, sliding the shirt back to lick his chest, curling the soft hairs about her tongue. He sighed and kissed the top of her head and she bit him, almost fiercely, then pressed her delicious little mouth to his right nipple, sucking hungrily, biting him again. She felt his nipple harden in her mouth, heard him moan, mouthed him, tasting the salt of his skin. Her arms moved around his back, unable to encompass him but kneading every muscle, discovering his shape. Her mouth shifted to his other nipple and teased it until it too had tightened and he was rocking gently on top of her, pressing his groin against her damp, naked crotch. He cupped her chin and slid his tongue into her mouth, grunting drowsily as she fed on it. He mouthed her pale, delicate throat. His hands moved down to fondle the warm, rounded buttocks, the arching waist, the smooth curve at the small of her back. He ran his fingers up her spine and bowed his head to suck on her breasts. She breathed deeply and heavily, flexing her fingers in his hair as he worked his way down her body, covering her in kisses. Then slowly, unsteadily, he got to his feet by the bed, drawing her 95

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up to sit before him. She knew what he wanted before he asked, and her passion vanished. She sat rigid and staring as he began to unbutton his trousers. He laughed softly, unashamed, completely unaware of her dread. "I'm a little drunk, my darling. I'm not seventeen anymore." He reached out to caress her head. "You're going to have to help me." Elora was in a cold sweat, her hands clutching the sheets at her sides. She struggled to stop the bile from rising. He kept stroking her hair without hurry, without notion. "Take them off," he whispered. "Take them off and kiss me." She reached up, fighting to keep her hands from shaking, and slowly pulled down his trousers. His cock was limp between his legs, pushed slightly forward by the large scrotum. The scent was light and clean and she liked it, but the thought of having to take him into her was overpowering. She managed to kiss the hot, silky flesh only once before the vomit rose to her mouth. She ran out to the terrace and was violently sick over the rail, tears springing to her eyes. By the time he reached her and wrapped his arms about her she was sobbing. "Oh." He held her carefully, kissed her cheek, wiped her mouth with his hand. "What is it, my darling? Did someone hurt you? Did Eidolon hurt you?" She shook her head vigorously but kept crying. He was turning her to face him. And then he smiled, realizing. "I see." He laughed kindly and kissed her hair, her cold cheeks. "It's all right. It's all right." He led her back into the room, his arms supporting her, his mouth seeking hers. She tried to turn away, not wanting to offend him with the foulness of her lips, but he didn't care, he was kissing them, cleaning them with his own. He sat her down on one of the yellow chairs by the table, opened a decanter of red wine and filled a large silver goblet. After taking a long draught he held it to her lips. "Drink." He fed it to her as though she were a little child, holding her face 96

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up, making her swallow until the goblet was emptied. She felt lightheaded, her throat heated and washed clean. He filled the goblet again. She started to refuse but he kept her from turning her face, hand cupping her chin, his eyes holding hers. "Drink it. It helps." His thumb was parting her lips. She gave in and let the warm liquid slide down. It overflowed and he bent to lick it from her jaws, sighing. A shot of electricity went through her, her sex convulsing as if he had touched her there. She grasped the goblet with both hands and drank greedily. He was kneeling before her, his mouth open on her jawbone, sucking gently at what she dropped, his breath hot on her upturned face when he paused to study her, enchanted. She swayed in her seat, her forehead wrinkled with sudden excitement, lids heavy with the liquor. He took the empty goblet from her and set it on the table. He massaged her throat, slid his thumb into her mouth. She sucked it willingly, hard, leaning forward to tease his bare chest with her nipples. Haltingly he drew back and got to his feet, took off his open shirt and tossed it aside. He removed his boots and trousers. She stared languidly at him, completely unclothed before her for the first time. His organ had thickened. He lifted it to his belly and offered her his testicles. "Smell them," he whispered, leaning towards her. She pressed her face between his legs. His scrotum was warm and heavy against her nose, against her wet mouth, his scent intoxicating. She cradled him in her open palms and kissed the fragile skin. "Oh yes." She barely heard him, but the spreading of his thighs was unequivocal. "Yes." Tentatively she licked the scrotum, pushing her tongue further and further around, trying to fit him in, but he was too large. She mouthed him through the sheath. Succulent and hot, ever patient, he arched carefully towards her, allowing her head to push between his taut thighs. He moaned weakly, like some large but mortally wounded beast, and when she paused to glance up at him she found his eyes closed 97

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and his features contorted with disabling pleasure. His member was tensing and his hand trembled slightly as he held it away from her face. She removed his fingers and he looked down at her, dazed, as she took hold of the shaft and licked it from root to tip. He grunted low in his throat and rocked his hips toward her, his eyes never leaving her parted lips. He gathered her long curls to rub them against his belly. And Elora realized with a thrill that he was completely helpless. She could hurt him. She could do anything she wanted and he would let her, as long as she didn't stop caressing him. He was hers like he had never been Eidolon's, and she wanted him desperately, she wanted to make him scream. Holding his penis firmly by the root, still unsure but tempted by the heat of his body, she sucked on the broad wet tip, working her tongue around it, full of wonder at its softness and the sudden swelling of veins under her fingers. She took him in deeper, opening her lips as much as she could, the organ giving small spasms and nudging the roof of her mouth. "Deeper." He could scarcely get the words out. "Open your throat." His hand went to the back of her head, fingers trembling. Elora shut her eyes tightly and impaled herself on him. She choked at once, her throat contracting violently, but she threw her arms about his buttocks forcing him in, holding her breath. He howled and his hips jerked forward, his cock throbbing inside her. "No!" He was gasping, yanking her back. "Not yet." Kissing her desperately as she coughed. "Not yet." Devouring her, tearing off her dress. "Oh, Elora, not yet." She couldn't breathe as he lifted her into his arms, his mouth everywhere, his hands mauling her. In a moment he had thrown her back on the bed, pinning her wrists. He spread her legs wide and hovered above her, panting, holding back, he was almost weeping. She stared up at him in delicious shock. She had waited so long for this. It seemed years. 98

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He guided one of her hands to his cock. "Put me inside you." He closed his eyes. She wrapped her fingers tenderly about him, and as he moved forward pressed him into her slick, turgid sex. He sighed as he entered her, and he was enormous and she fought to keep her eyes open, to enjoy the sight of him and not swoon, his head bowed above her. She kissed his hot eyelids and remembered the ship, the rough hold, Jugger forcing her back from his body. "You are meant for something better than me, than Eidolon, than all of us here. There is such a man, and once you have been in his bed you will wonder that you ever yearned for any other."

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Chapter Three The Commander

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he did everything with him. She followed him everywhere in her little black boots, and he would let her hold on to the back of his shirt, and the lords in the Court and grooms in the stables stared with amazement as he let her jump up on his back and carried her about, her legs encircling his hips and her rounded arms folded around his throat, forcing his head back to kiss his cheek. She sat at his feet on the steps of the dais while he held council and passed judgement in the Great Hall, walked beside him as he inspected the city's vast granaries filling up for the coming of winter, poured the wine when he closeted himself with weary Rangers who returned from long travels to bring him news of the wide land and the Amazon women in the Mountains of the Moon. When he visited the hot foundries to test the strength of the new blades she was with him. With him she entered the long army barracks to review the ranks, and when he rode out into the hills to train with the cavalry, she was the first one waiting at the palace stables upon his return. She saw the new crop of horses foaled on warm hay beds and the packs of enormous white mastiffs trained for the hunt. She saw the harvesting of the fields, and the shady groves where Court gardeners picked fruit with careful hands. He took her to the forests bordering the great river to watch the wild brown deer graze among the thickets and taught her the names of the flowers that grew there. He knew the 100

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songs of the birds in the wood and could whistle their call to them until they answered. He taught her to follow a trail and to avoid the lair of the tusked boar, and she gathered chestnuts for Uthra, carrying them back in a little pigskin pouch at her waist. In the afternoons he would sit at his desk, teaching her to read from his yellowed books. Clumsily at first she copied the writings onto clean pages, getting ink stains on her fingers and his shirt. Sometimes after a hard exercise with the troops he would sleep away the hottest hours of the day. Then she would abandon her books to stand by the bed, enraptured, studying the curves of his long body under the light draping of white sheets and the soft stirrings in him as he dreamt, his breathing placid and his head turned to one side, the rush of breeze from the open terrace doors cooling his brow. **** The women of the Court lived in a maze of airy rooms and lush gardens beyond the great gates engraved with willows and water lilies. It was known as the Labyrinth, and the women adorned it like a flock of exotic, brightly plumed birds, pampered to no end by their boy attendants in blue robes. Elora saw little of this world at first, for the Commander kept her with him most of the day. But Uthra groomed her there and there her clothes were kept, and at times she bathed in the perfumed water of the stone pool and had her meals among the flowerbeds with the other women. They kept their distance from her, for she was not of their class and did not know their ways. None of the village girls had made it to the Court at auction, just as Eidolon had predicted. But the women from the green island had, and prompted by their red-haired princess they welcomed Elora into their circle. Her name was Rowena. She remained the most elegant, selfpossessed creature Elora had ever known. It was said that Eidolon worshiped her. He sent for her every evening. He showered her with gifts. The women of the Court deferred to her instinctively and she 101

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ruled the Labyrinth with a cool and easy hand. Elora she treated with courteous respect, including her in all conversations and saving a place for her at table. But she also watched her keenly, and Elora sensed that the princess expected something from her and was waiting for a sign. "Why are you so kind to me?" she asked one morning as they sat on the edge of the bathing pool, fragrant blossoms floating past their submerged legs. "I am a peasant and a stranger and have done nothing to deserve it." The princess raised her blue eyes and smiled. "You will travel the Long Road one day. And I will follow you. I have seen it in my dreams." She slipped into the pool and swam away through the flowers. Daria, the green island girl given to Jugger, sat beside them, and Elora turned to her. "I don't understand." Daria was warm and quick to laugh, but her dark eyes were wise beyond her years and utterly serious when she met Elora's puzzled gaze. "She has the Knowing of Healing and the Gift of Sight. All of her bloodline have it, it is passed down from king to king and to their offspring. If she has seen it, it will come to pass. But more than this I cannot tell you. I do not have the Gift, and only the dreamer understands the dream." **** The Commander had hunted that midsummer morning with his vassal lords and the raider captains, and now they gathered to picnic in a forest clearing. Tables covered with embroidered cloths and laid with silver dishes were joined together under the trees, as they had been in the banquet hall. Ropes of ivy woven with lavender and tuberose hung above them, winding from bough to bough and perfuming the air. Every man had a woman at his side or in his arms, their flowing gowns splashes of color against the green of the grass and their 102

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jewels set in gold sparkling in the sun that filtered past the canopy of branches. Eidolon and Jugger sat flanking the Commander, flushed and sweating from the hunt, draining their wine cups. Daria played a lute for them while Rowena sat on the table behind her, braiding her hair. Elora stood by the Commander with a small hand resting on his shoulder, her eyes roving over the clearing. Ayesha was also there, but she sat to one side of the feasting party, her back to a tree trunk and her knees raised against her chest. She wore a long robe of moss green and would have been all but invisible against the bark had her mass of blond curls not given her away. Once in a while the Commander would turn his head to look at her, and she would meet his eyes with her kaleidoscope ones and smile her slow, dryly humorous smile. A baying of hounds disturbed the pleasant meal. The guests rose quickly from their chairs, abandoning all conversation. The wail of the dogs came nearer and with it the sound of galloping hooves crushing undergrowth. Then a girl ran screaming from the trees, followed by a dozen white mastiffs with their jaws bared. Her thin dress was torn and her long auburn hair a tangle of pine needles and prickly cones. Her arms and legs were covered in red welts from her flight through the thickets. She was one of the women from the Court. Behind the mastiffs came armed soldiers on horseback and on foot with rawhide whips unfurled in their hands. The girl turned to face them and stumbled backward towards the tables, gasping. The enormous dogs advanced, spreading out like a wolf pack before the kill. The women screamed and retreated, knocking over food platters and spilling the wine. The men watched with interest, hands resting on their sword hilts. Elora had never seen an attempted escape before and it had never occurred to her that anyone would be foolish enough to try. The Commander rose from his seat as the fugitive girl approached, her back to him and her eyes riveted on the hounds. 103

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The largest one closed in on her while the rest growled, and as her groping hands touched the edge of the table it leapt toward her. Elora had a vision of the girl's throat ripped out and the violent spray of blood across the damask tablecloth, and without thought she reached for the dagger at the Commander's belt, tore it from its sheath and flung it at the leaping hound. Her arm was strong and her aim unnerving—she surprised even herself as the blade sank fast and true into the mastiff's heart. It died with no time to make a sound, dropping at the feet of the girl. The gathering was shocked into silence. Rowena's eyes opened wide with something like glee as she spun her head around to look at Elora. The Commander's hand wandered to cover the empty sheath at his waist, too late. For a moment no one else moved. Only the rustle of the wind in the branches broke the stillness. Ayesha watched Elora from under her tree with unqualified astonishment. Then she smiled. The Commander nodded tersely to the soldiers. The mastiffs were leashed and the shuddering girl dragged away. Without a glance at Elora the Commander knocked over a table and stepped over it to the dead hound. He removed his blade from its white breast and wiped it clean on the grass. The party disbanded quickly. Guests hurried to their horses, followed by the slave-women. In a frenzied, raucous wave they galloped off through the forest toward the white walls of the city. Eidolon grabbed Elora's arm and led her to The Elegant with a rough hand, practically throwing her onto the saddle. The Commander followed, and as he mounted the Hellchild found himself face to face with Ayesha on her white mare. "She's full of surprises, your little fishmonger," said Ayesha with a smile and a hint of merry malice. The Commander glared and Elora ducked her head, but the Amazon was undisturbed, and rode away laughing. The Hellchild bounded after, his rider silent and stern. Eidolon herded Elora behind them, pale with suppressed rage. 104

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They galloped hard out of the trees, across a narrow vale and up the sloping path towards the city. High on the walls the stewards saw them coming and shouted down the command to open. The gigantic gates swung slowly inward and the large company of battle chargers and pleasure ponies swept through, followed by the panting hounds. They sped along the winding streets with a great clatter of hooves on cobblestones, pedestrians rushing out of their way, and without slackening their pace rode up the palace hill, over the moat and through the ring of woods into the stone fortress of the Court and the stable yard. There they dismounted and tossed their reins to a flock of surprised grooms. Four soldiers dragged the runaway girl into the palace and all of the party followed, festive and boisterous now, eager for what was to come. The blue-robed boys guarding the entrance to the Labyrinth rushed to open the carved doors as the soldiers approached with their captive, the hallway behind them choked with shouting lords and flushed women. They strode past the rock-hewn pool, where bathers surfaced and left the warm water to follow, and into the heart of the gardens. There, raised on a stone dais, stood two tall posts made of ebony wood, varnished and mirror smooth, a series of tethering rings running down their sides. Two boys appeared carrying a moroccocovered case and a strangely fashioned wooden stool. It was rectangular and rather low, one rounded indentation carved at each end. The runaway girl screamed at the sight of the posts and flailed her arms uselessly as the soldiers tore away the remains of her dress. Two other boys approached, silk ropes coiled in their hands and a jar of translucent, honey ointment held forth. Eidolon scooped out a handful and turned to the girl. The soldiers held her firmly, strong hands prying open her thighs, and while she stared up at Eidolon, trembling, he smeared it slowly, deliberately, onto her sex. Elora looked at the other women. Most showed only casual 105

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interest in a spectacle that was obviously familiar to them. Some watched with sympathy, some with lust. The four soldiers withdrew. Jugger and another raider stepped forward to lift the girl and carried her onto the dais. She wept as Eidolon unfurled the short ropes. The Raiders turned her around to face the crowd and stood her between the posts, their hands reaching underneath her to part her legs again. She did not struggle as the boys placed the wide stool beneath her, but her thighs quivered uncontrollably as they were pressed against the rounded hollows so that she stood unable to close them, the delicate pink lips of her sex exposed. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. The Raiders paid no attention. Eidolon raised her arms and tied one wrist to a bronze ring on each post. As the Raiders withdrew, the first drop of clear liquid escaped from her pulsing folds. The morocco case was opened. Eidolon drew from it a whip with a profusion of braided leather tails streaming down from its thick, rounded handle. The girl winced as he let them brush gently, casually against her sex, wetting them with the dripping ointment. He stepped back and squared himself before her, and without warning snapped the whip violently against his boot. The braided tails crackled like a fire exploding to life and the girl jerked back frantically, tugging on her fetters. But Elora saw no more, because at that moment the Commander took her firmly by the elbow. She flinched with surprise when he touched her, but did not think of resisting as he led her away down a narrow path and into the privacy of a hedged garden, stopping under the cold shade of an elm. He towered over her, his chilling blue eyes tearing into her and his grip a vise on her arm. She wanted to scream but did not dare. Goose flesh rose on her thighs and her palms went moist with a rush of fear. The Commander did not budge. Elora's eyes finally filled with tears but she could see that they did not move him. "You killed one of my finest hounds." 106

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"I thought it would tear her to pieces." "Who lives and who dies is not your decision. You have to earn the right to make such decisions." His grip tightened on her elbow and a small sob caught in her throat. "He would not have harmed her. He knew what he was doing, which is more than I can say for you." "I'm sorry," was all she could muster. "I don't care if you're sorry. And I don't forgive you." He released her and stepped back. "If you touch a weapon of mine again without my permission I'll make you wish you had never come across the sea." He turned and left her. She sank to the ground in a heap and for a while her dread was so great that she could not even weep. He had spoiled her so much that she had forgotten to fear him, and had thought she never would. Suddenly he had transformed into something foreign and bewildering to her, and she realized that she knew him not at all. The things he must have done. But she loved him still, like she had never loved anything, and with impotence unleashing her grief she began to cry in earnest. She cried until she had no more tears to give. Evening came and the garden grew black, but she did not stir. Dew seeped through her thin dress until she was shivering, damp leaves fell on her bent head and into her lap as wind shook the tree. An owl hooted occasionally in the distance, keeping its own weird and secret time with the night. When she could stand the cold no longer she got stiffly to her feet. Blind, arms held out before her against the shadows, she felt her way along the hedges and back up the winding path. An orange effulgence ahead encouraged her to make haste, stumbling over uneven paving stones into the center of the garden. The slave girl knelt on the wooden stool, her thighs kept open by a thick bar fitted between them and her arms still bound to the whipping posts. Her head drooped against her chest. Her eyes were closed. A ring of torches circled the stone platform, flames reflecting off the polished ebony posts and the girl’s defenseless skin. 107

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Nobody else was in sight. Elora crossed hesitantly to the platform, wondering if the girl was dead. But she breathed. Many men had taken her; her belly and thighs were crusted with their drying semen. Her pubic hair was also soiled with pearly fluids, and under it her sex remained reddened and moist. The whip had touched her everywhere. Pink welts covered her upper arms and slender back, her buttocks and the tender insides of her legs. But there was no bruising, and no blood had been drawn. Elora knew the blows would fade without marring the delicate skin. There was an inspired cruelty in this too, in the care with which the beating had been carried out. The girl remained flawless. Her punishment had cost her masters nothing. Elora approached and timidly touched her face. The girl stirred, opening her eyes. They were hazel-green and flecked with yellow at the rim of the iris. It took her a minute to focus on Elora's face, but when she recognized it, she smiled. "My name is Larima," she whispered, "and from this day forward I am yours. I will follow you to the ends of the Earth." Elora bent to kiss her damp brow. "Go inside now," said the girl. "Do not trouble yourself about me, I am not in pain. They will come for me in the morning." But Elora lingered, too curious to let the moment pass without asking. "Why did you run? It is impossible to escape. You must have known it." Larima quickened somewhat, the thought reviving her spirit. "I ran because no one had done it before." **** Elora walked into the Labyrinth to find a group of women resting on cushions around a low table, eating almonds and cut peaches. They fell silent when they noticed her, and followed her with curious eyes as, lowering her own gaze, she hurried across the room. Emerging 108

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through an archway into the next hall she discovered Uthra, who approached her quickly. She carried a heavy cloak draped over one arm. "Where have you been hiding?" she asked, wrapping the cloak about Elora’s shoulders. "You're chilled to the bone. The Commander sent for you hours ago. I have searched and searched." Elora trembled despite the warmth of the garment. "Could you tell him that you did not find me?" Uthra slapped her face. Elora flinched with the sting, astonished. "You shame yourself with this cowardice. I am your keeper and you shame me also. Hold your head up when he gives you your punishment and try not to disgrace us any more." Without bothering to groom her or change her dress Uthra escorted her furiously from the Labyrinth and through the torchlit Court to the Commander's chambers. She knocked on the door and immediately marched away, leaving her to face him alone. “Enter,” came the command from within. Elora pushed one leaf ajar and slid through, closing it soundlessly behind her. The room was lit only by the flickering glow of the fireplace. Facing the blaze was a tall, ornately carved armchair, and there he sat with his legs crossed, warming a cut-crystal goblet filled with amber liquid between his hands. At his feet lay a rug of black fur stretching almost to the hearth, and on a table at his side stood a vase crowned with apricot rosebuds, and a bowl of candied dates. He ate one, then turned his head to look at her. "It’s late. Where have you been?" Elora felt like a shriveled, wind-battered bird but fought to hold his even gaze. "I didn’t move. I only just came in." "You've been sitting in the night air all this time?" "Yes." He considered this, turned away, took a sip of his drink. "Come to the fire." She crossed the dim chamber slowly and stood before him on the rug. He leaned back in his seat, looking her over at his leisure. 109

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"Undress for me," he said. Elora set aside the cloak and undid the silver brooches at the shoulders of her lilac gown. With head bowed and eyes on the floor she slid it down over her arms, past the slope of her waist and hips until it fell to the rug. She wanted to fold into herself, but remembering Uthra's warning she straightened and pulled her chin up. Her hair tumbled down about her, black tendrils curling about her face and the full curve of her breasts. The Commander drank again. His gaze lingered on her gorgeous gray eyes and the rose button of her mouth, on the paleness of her throat and the dark pink of her nipples. On her small, nervous hands and her slender ankles, and her little feet half buried in the deep black rug. "Lie down for me," he said, but this time it was almost a question. She stretched herself out before him, sinking into the warm bed of fur. He set down his glass and rose from the chair, and closing his fist over the bunch of apricot rosebuds tore them cleanly from their stems. Kneeling beside her, he sprinkled them on her body, beginning at her toes and moving slowly up to her face. Elora shivered as the petals dropped on her. He grazed her plump lips with the backs of his fingers and she could smell the perfume of roses on his hand. Then he brushed the tangled curls back from her brow. "Do you forgive me?" she asked. "Not yet," he answered. "But I will." He bent down to kiss her. She tasted the warm, bittersweet brandy on his parted lips; slid her tongue into his mouth. He quickened, cupping a broad hand over her breast and squeezing it. Her nipple hardened at his touch and she folded her arms about his neck to draw him closer. He resisted, and moved away from her. He walked to the bed and she saw with surprise that Eidolon lay naked against the green velvet cushions. He had been there all the while, though she had not noticed him in the dark. The Commander undressed. Eidolon watched him serenely, 110

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without troubling to move. The Commander climbed onto the bed and laid a hand on his thigh. Eidolon smiled, parting his legs to receive him, and the Commander bent forward to kiss his powerful golden chest. Elora knelt on the rug, the petals sliding off her body to the fur. She knew she was not welcome between them and her jealousy was sharp and almost unbearable. She folded her hands on her lap, covering her sex, wishing Eidolon would vanish. The Commander rested his cheek on Eidolon's breast, feeling the heart beat strongly against him, and Eidolon caressed his head, running his fingers through the mink brown hair and working its soft waves into the palm of his hand. The Commander lapped at his throat, at his tight, dark nipples. He lifted Eidolon's arms against the pillows and nuzzled the warm hollows of his armpits. Eidolon sighed and murmured a soft something, and the Commander kissed him full on the lips. Their mouths opened against each other. Eidolon arched his back and the Commander slid an arm around him, stroking the curve of his spine, the tops of his buttocks plumped by the pressure of the bed. Their filled cocks touched and Eidolon massaged them gently together, teasing forth the clear hot fluids and working them down over the reddened shafts. The Commander kissed him with sharpened appetite and rocked his hips slowly into the caress. Eidolon reached down further to fondle the testicles. The Commander moaned into his lips and Eidolon broke the kiss to suck on the smooth line of his jaw. For a long time the Commander did not move, his body rigid. Small moans escaped him as Eidolon massaged his swollen genitals between slick, strong fingers. Now and then his hard buttocks contracted in a helpless spasm, and Elora watched the muscles of his back rippling in the glow of the flames as he fought to keep still. She saw Eidolon smile and lie back onto the pillows, spreading his legs wide so that his erect and darkened penis was in full view. She felt a wash of heat stream through her loins. The Commander sat 111

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back on his haunches and ran his hands along the insides of Eidolon's thighs, kneading them, leaving marks on the golden flesh. He cupped the slick, rounded testicles and squeezed them with sudden tenderness and utter absorption. Then he pressed two fingers to Eidolon's lips and Eidolon mouthed them. As the Commander shifted his hand down to the parted buttocks Eidolon grasped his own cock and testicles and lifted them out of the way, his anus already slightly enlarged by desire. The Commander touched his fingers to it, rimming it slowly with moisture. The ring widened further, inviting, and slowly he thrust a finger inside. Eidolon groaned and tensed, his cock jerking under his hand. The Commander slipped a second finger in, wetting the anus thoroughly, probing the channel. Eidolon groaned again and released his throbbing genitals to grab a fistful of velvet in each hand. The Commander worked him with deeper and firmer thrusts. Eidolon's body relaxed. Only his cock remained stiff, bobbing slightly while he rocked his hips, droplets of fluid leaking from the tip and sliding down the raised weave of veins. Then the Commander withdrew his hand and reached for his own cock. He rubbed the large, gleaming head onto Eidolon's dilated opening, making him sigh and raise his legs. Cradling the offered thighs, the Commander brought them up around his waist as he thrust, and Eidolon's anus yielded with a shudder, spreading hot and enormous to receive him. They coupled tenderly at first, eyes locked together and hips rounding slowly, soft groans parting their lips. But as his testicles rubbed into the crease of Eidolon's buttocks and grew moist with sweat the Commander's breaths became heavier and his organ reamed the slick anus with growing force. Eidolon massaged his dripping cock against the Commander's stomach, enticing him to greater violence, and with the wetness spreading on his belly and Eidolon's testicles bulging between them the Commander rammed his penis in, overpowered by lust, the tight anus milking him until he 112

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could stand no more and ejaculated with a shout, creamy drops leaking out with each pounding surge, covering his loins and Eidolon's buttocks and soaking the heavy swollen scrotum that slapped without grace onto the desired flesh. Eidolon gasped in ecstasy. His semen jetted forth onto the Commander's chest and face, and from his lips Eidolon licked it hungrily as the Commander sank down onto him, exhausted, his penis still tumescent and shuddering. Eidolon grasped it and stroked it firmly, making the Commander moan and wet himself again, growing flaccid and weak until he begged for respite with a kiss. They lay embracing for a time, their hearts slowing, their breaths coming easier. Even then they did not part but held with bodies pressed together, limbs entwined and faces buried in the curve of each other's necks, smelling the fragrance of skin and silken hair damp with sweat. Elora knelt unmoving before the fire, the heat of the flames on her back and the wetness that had seeped from her overflowing onto the backs of her calves. When she bowed her head the veil of hair shielded her face, but it made no difference: she was too defeated and worn out to weep. Not only did she ache to join them and lie crushed and safe between their bodies, but she had now witnessed that the Commander could be fragile in his passion with another. His surrender did not belong to her only, as she had believed. It made her desire him all the more, this sudden explosion of uncontrollable and unpolluted lust in him, but what could she give him that he could not find elsewhere? She was in the end, she thought, no different from the others. Spreading her legs she lowered her open sex onto the black pelt, pressing until she felt the fur rising slick and soft between her folds. It made her longing worse, but better to feel that than to feel nothing. The Commander rolled drowsily from Eidolon's embrace to lie face down on the bed, his eyes closed. Eidolon lifted himself on one elbow to brush a matted lock of hair from his brow, then kissed him lovingly on the back of the shoulder. 113

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He turned his head to look at Elora, and somehow the Commander sensed it. "Take her if you like," he murmured into the sheets. And he slept. Eidolon bent down once more to kiss the nape of his neck. Then he rose from the bed, pulling on his trousers and shirt, his heavy boots. He picked up a velvet cloak and motioned Elora to approach. She followed him to the chamber door and waited outside as he shut it gently, careful not to disturb the sleeper. Only then did she remember she was nude, but she knew he would not care. When he turned to her his eyes were hard and she knew also that he would take her as he had that first time on the ship, brutally and without pause. But she wanted this now. She did not need tenderness from him, only to forget herself under the onslaught. "If you embarrass him again I will beat you senseless," he told her. "I will beat you as much as I love you." She frowned with surprise, with confusion. "You do believe that I love you, don't you Elora? Because I do, I love you desperately. Every time he touches you I want to steal you away, and I have never envied him a joy in all my life." He swung the cloak around, letting it settle on his shoulders. "But never forget, Elora. I love him more." He turned and walked away down the hallway, and left her standing in the shadows. **** She did not see the Commander again for some time. He did not send for her, and she imagined that he was punishing her with his absence. She could not go into the Great Hall or run loose about the Court without him. She could not ride The Elegant out of the city or even past the palace walls. There were no more books or reading lessons, and no more spilling of ink on his lap. No lovemaking in the afternoons; no more excursions into the woods to gather chestnuts 114

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for Uthra. And there was no more riding in the great arena. Ayesha did not send for her either. She seldom came to the Labyrinth these days, and when she passed through she did so quickly, tired and dusty from mysterious exercise and eager to be gone again after her bath. Elora wandered about the Labyrinth rooms without purpose, marveling at how boring life was there, at how she had never noticed it before, and at how the other women did not seem to mind. She felt caged at last. Larima kept her company when she was not busy serving her master. She belonged to one of the older lords, a man who had bought her on the block when she was thirteen. He was kind enough, Larima would admit with a little sigh, but she did not love him. He was delicate and fastidious and spent more time before his dressing mirror than he did with her. His amorous moods were brief and his groping clumsy, and Larima longed for something new. The Labyrinth thrived on gossip. It was all the women had to entertain them and there was not a secret in Court that did not eventually leak down to them through their masters. The High Counselor was ill with a bloated liver and not expected to live. There was much bickering in the Great Hall as to who would take his place and the Commander spent long days in somber meetings whose content nobody knew. There was an uprising on the northern border and seven hundred soldiers had been sent to keep the peace. Jugger led them. The Amazons in the Mountains of the Moon had been suspiciously quiet. There had been no attempts at a siege and no raiding parties to the foothill villages for over a month. It was whispered that the Commander brooded constantly about it. He sent out more and more Rangers and they kept returning without information. Most important to the women, the grand festival that marked the end of summer was approaching. Carnival players would come from every neighboring town, auction would be held on the block when new slaves were delivered in yearly tribute from smaller, weaker 115

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realms, and the great Bull Dance would be held in the arena. Only Amazons knew the art of the Bull Dance. They were trained for it in the depths of the mountain forests and to see one perform was a great privilege, for the dance was sacred and could only be given as a gift of worship or a gift of love. It would gladden their Earth Mother into a bountiful fall harvest and a mild winter, and it was Ayesha's gift to the Commander. Preparations for the festival soon had the Labyrinth in a state of superb, permanent confusion. Every woman was fitted for a new gown by her blue-robed boys, a dancing spectacle around bonfires was planned, the green island women were to sing before the Court and put the summer to sleep, and everyone tried to guess what the palace kitchens would serve up at the outdoor banquet that the Commander held every year in the western meadow, welcoming the change of the season and the shifting of the skies around the Evening Star. Elora was fascinated by the Bull Dance. She had no idea what it might be and none of the women could tell her, for none had ever seen one. Consumed by curiosity, she watched Ayesha come and go. Sometimes she had open cuts on her arms, and sometimes she could be seen limping as she hurried past the bathing pool to lock herself in a room with Uthra. Finally Elora could not resist the desire to investigate. There was a massive, ancient oak at the back of the Labyrinth gardens with a thick cover of leaves and handy branches to climb, and she knew that if she were to slip into it and over the wall no one would miss her until suppertime. If she managed to sneak quietly to the arena she might see Ayesha dance, and if she was very lucky she might even catch a glimpse of the Commander somewhere along the way. She told herself that if she could only see him once — even hidden, from a distance — it would loosen the knot in her chest and wipe away her fear that he was never coming back. And so one morning while the women breakfasted and the boys were busy inside she wandered off through the gardens and up the 116

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old tree to freedom. She had been careful to wear a gown and not her breeches and boots, for in this way she might pass unnoticed through the Court, one more slave going to attend her master in his chambers. She felt refreshingly bold and thought her plan very clever, and it did not occur to her that there was not one lord or servant in the palace that did not know who she was. But although she fooled nobody as she ducked from hall to hall with her hands demurely folded before her, it did not in turn occur to them that she would dare leave the Labyrinth without permission. Not a single person stopped or questioned her, and she reached the stables safely. She did not cross the main courtyard, taking the long way around in order to avoid the grooms. They were sure to know she had no business with The Elegant today. Sighting the arena at last, she crept through a line of tall hedges and into the dark, chilled tunnel that had once frightened her so much and now felt thoroughly familiar. But when she peeked from the shadows into the arena it was empty. She was enormously disappointed. Not to have glimpsed the Commander anywhere was bad enough, but to miss Ayesha also made her little adventure a complete failure. Then she noticed that the red gate was unlocked. She had never been through it, but she knew the spotted bull was kept somewhere beyond. Cautiously she stepped out into the sunlight and glanced around the stone bleachers. There was nobody in sight, not even the old man who came to sweep them daily with his tattered straw broom. She braced herself, and ran across to the gate as fast as her legs would take her. Behind it she discovered another broad tunnel, but this one was shorter. She could see a dim glow ahead, and the sweet stench of manure wafted toward her as she advanced. She heard the low rumblings of a large animal and when she emerged from the tunnel found herself in a round chamber. Its vaulted stone ceiling was very high, crowned by a well hole with a wooden grid that let in the sun. Narrow doors banded the girth of the room, plated in iron and 117

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securely locked. Piles of fresh hay rose against the walls and at the very center, in a pen built from oak boards thick as roofing beams, stood the bull. He must have weighed a long ton. Formidable black horns curved out from his temples, narrowing to thick points. His coat was snow white with gray spots, and the muscles of his shoulders rippled when he moved, the skin hanging loose on his chest like a draped mantle. He raised his head from the trough and examined her with curiosity, his dark eyes intelligent and soft. He did not seem irritated by her presence, and she took a few cautious steps toward the pen. The bull returned to his feed. She took another step, and another, and soon she was at the very bars, looking in at him and thinking how exquisite powerful things were, and hoping that he would never be harmed. She found herself admiring Ayesha, for despite her strange roughness and her cold contempt Ayesha possessed a heart that understood it was a sin to kill anything so wild and strong, and she had saved his life. When the bull charged the bars he did it so fast and without warning that by the time the surprise hit her she was sitting sprawled on the floor, flung back by the force of his head crashing into the beams. He did not retreat, but dug in his hooves right there and rammed the bars again. The pen shook like a thing made of twigs and the thick oaken beams began to crack. She did not move, for there was no escape possible if the pen could not hold him. And as he hurled himself forward a third time she knew it would not hold for long. The wood was giving way, splinters flying. There was a confusion of frantic footsteps and shouts as the narrow doors burst open and men ran in wide-eyed from all directions, scattering about the room. “Elora!” It was Eidolon, racing past her toward the pen with Ayesha at his heels. “Elora, get out! Get her out! Get her out!” 118

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But the grooms were desperately trying to shove new beams through the post loops of the breaking ones and there was not a hand to spare. Eidolon and Ayesha tore long, rawhide whips from their wall hooks and unfurled them in a single stroke, lashing out at the bull, which seemed not to feel the blows in its fury. Elora scrambled back across the dirty floor, still sitting. Everyone was shouting and running but nothing seemed of any use. The bars kept weakening. The grooms began to falter with panic. Only Eidolon and Ayesha pushed on, side by side before the enormous lowered head that battered the wood without pause. The middle beam burst at last and the bull’s horns tore out, almost piercing Eidolon’s thigh, but now the whips licked free at the opening it had made, cutting into its face. It snorted and fell back gradually in a storm cloud of flying hay and the grooms were finally able to ram fresh beams across, sealing the pen. Eidolon and Ayesha pursued, climbing onto the rails to strike and strike until the bull had retreated to the far end of the enclosure. There it stood shaking and bellowing in protest, but its rage was spent. Ayesha dropped back first, her chest heaving, and let the whip fall to her side, but she did not loosen her grip on the handle. Eidolon stumbled away from the bars, bumped roughly against her, and taking no notice of it hurled his whip onto the floor with a yell of colossal ire. Breathless and shaken, he turned to Elora, and she saw the look of immense relief pass through his eyes. He rushed toward her and she smiled with gratitude and love, and held out her hand to him. He opened his palm and struck the side of her face with such violence that she crashed almost senseless against the floor. Her skin burned as if it were melting from her cheekbone and the pain made stinging tears rise to her eyes. Even when he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her screaming to her feet she could not believe that he had hit her. Ayesha cringed with uncharacteristic pity. "Eidolon—" she began, but he swung around like a madman, 119

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dragging Elora after him. “Shut your mouth and remember your place! You may sway him with your cold eyes and your hot breast, but you are nothing to me!” Ayesha relented with a bitter glare, and then Elora lost sight of everything except the stone slabs on the ground as Eidolon towed her into the black tunnel, her head bent at an unnatural angle and her hands tearing at his unyielding grip on her hair. She could not move fast enough for him this way, so he let her hair go and took her wrist instead, and in this manner, crying softly and stumbling all the way, she was dragged back to the palace. When he pulled her inside through a little-used entrance and down a deserted marble corridor she was still too deep in shock to fight him. It was not so much his cruelty that dazed her, but the monstrous betrayal of the blow, when she had only wanted to kiss the very hand he had hurt her with. He dragged her up a spiraling stairway, torches impaled on brass holders lighting the way. At the top he kicked open a thick wooden door and shoved her before him into a bedchamber. It was a tower room. Its walls were hung with lush red draperies and lined with man-sized niches hewn out of solid rock, but there were no statues in them. A wide balcony looked up at the mountains, and at the very center of the room stood a huge bed covered by a canopy of sapphire-blue velvet, its drapes open on one side and tied back with golden cords. Across from the bed yawned a black fireplace carved in the shape of a dragon's jaws. A strange, leather-covered beam—long as a man and wide as a tree trunk, and mounted on a framework of iron bars — stood alone on a black, woolen rug. Eidolon bolted the door. He ripped off her gown and tore it into four long strips of silk, and clasping her arm pulled her to the padded beam. The wind was knocked out of her as he threw her over it, bent so that her arms and legs hung down, her stomach pressed to the leather and her buttocks raised. She fought him then. She knew it was useless but her reason 120

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failed her, she was too afraid. Eidolon kicked her legs open, one hand pushing down on the back of her neck, and tied her wrists and ankles to the iron bars. When he retreated he left her gasping, her hair billowing down about her face so that she could not see. She heard him thrashing about behind her, tearing at the draperies and breaking she knew not what little objects in his path, muttering unintelligibly. She had the faint hope that he would exhaust himself before ever getting around to her. But then he calmed, his breaths slowing, and she felt his hot hand press against her backside in a sinister caress. His boots moved around her. She heard an armoire door open and close. Something pierced her curtain of hair and she screamed, shutting her eyes. She struggled wildly against the bonds but they did not yield. The thing stroked her cheek, snake-like. Opening her eyes, she saw that it was a leather crop with a broad, flexible tongue at its end. He waited until she had stopped writhing, then withdrew it. She glimpsed his boots moving away. He paced behind her for a time, his steps uneven, pausing often, as if he were trying to decide how best to approach her. His silence was more terrifying than any threat and she wished that he would speak. She wanted some warning. She could not prepare without it, and not being able to steel herself against him made her feel like the pain had already begun. With a jolt of alarm she felt the thin rod of the crop slip between her parted legs, stroking the folds of her sex, opening them. He rubbed her very gently, seeking her clitoris and teasing it until she whimpered, and until the rod was wet. Then he retreated again, leaving her turgid and palpitating weakly. She wept. The first blow came from the side, catching her broad across the buttocks and wrenching out a scream. Her body convulsed, tensing too late, and quickly he struck her again. She clenched her teeth, forcing the moan down her throat when he hit her a third time, but this did not appease him. On the contrary, the licks of the crop came faster and stronger and she succumbed, wailing openly. He crisscrossed her raised backside with a flurry of quick, 121

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stinging slaps, the loose leather tongue of the crop curling to flick against her hips. Her buttocks contracted, the flesh swelling pink under the blows, and she wriggled helplessly against the beam, sweat breaking out all over her until she could feel her belly slapping wetly onto the leather. He paused then, but only for a moment. Before her last cry had died out in the echoing room the crop smacked the back of her knee. She pulled instinctively on the ankle bonds, trying to bend her leg, and the silken strip tightened, digging into her skin. Eidolon worked his way up the backs of her thighs without making a sound. She heard only the whacking of the crop and her own moans. He had slowed his progress considerably, allowing her that one long instant between strokes so she would feel the full burn of the sting and the welt rising on her flesh. A deep, unfamiliar rage began to flood through her, mingling with the pain. She had never hated anyone, and yet she knew at once it was hate; she recognized it in that same, blind way one recognized love, like some endlessly talked about but indescribable fruit that once in the mouth required no explanation. It dulled her fear and her agony, and she held onto it fiercely, believing in her boundless innocence that she had made one of the great discoveries in life— that only hate made it possible to endure the unendurable. She sealed her lips, refusing to cry out again, promising herself that sometime, in some way, she would visit this torture on him tenfold. Her heart hardened for the first time and found a twisted sort of peace. At the tops of her thighs the whipping stopped. She felt Eidolon’s palm press against her seared buttocks, squeezing them together. Then he withdrew his hand, running the hard length of the crop into the crease, stroking her anus and letting the broad, soft tip lap at her open sex. The wave of pleasure was instantaneous and caught her completely by surprise. She tried to arch her hips and close her folds, but he shoved down on the small of her back, keeping her flat to the beam and fully exposed. The tip of the rod dipped into the crevasses of her sex, tracing the wet depths between the lips, sliding out to caress their pulpy ridges. 122

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And then it entered her, slowly and deeply, teasing but not thick enough to satisfy. She let out an irrepressible groan of longing and lifted her buttocks, pushing back to welcome the crop. Eidolon worked it leisurely back and forth inside her, and she felt the pad of his finger tap her anus gently, almost slipping in as the muscle ring enlarged. But he did not penetrate her. She protested loudly when he abandoned his caresses, her reddened backside undulating and her hair sweeping the floor tiles as she writhed on the beam. He did not respond to her supplicating moans. She heard him step back. She waited. She felt the tears dripping from her eyelashes, sliding over her wrinkled brows and her hot forehead along with her sweat. It suddenly occurred to her that she had forgotten to hate him for those excruciatingly sweet moments. The feebleness of her conviction humiliated her and she hated him all the more. And then, without warning, the loose tongue of the crop slapped square against her sex, erasing everything from her mind but the jolt of pain, electricity and inexpressible shock. He waited for her shackled body to ride out the spasm, and did it again. She gasped, squirming, straining against the bonds without effect, growing taut and then slack over the beam as it went on, ceaseless, unvarying in force. The stiff rod never touched her, only that horrible flicking tip. Her burning folds spread wide as it snaked between them to punish her very core, hot as a branding iron but arousing her all the same, all the more, until she felt the thick fluids expelled from her so violently that it was almost like a man ejaculating and the next blow landed slippery and sloshing on her soaked sex. She barely noticed it amid the shudders of her orgasm, and after this Eidolon hit her no more. She heard the crop fall to the floor. "It is so much worse, isn't it?" He sounded very far away, but she could feel his breath against her leg. "The pain is always worse when one longs for it." She sighed as a rush of cool breeze touched her scorched buttocks. Then his hands covered them, trembling, hurting her 123

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enormously even though his touch was gentle. "You came so hard you wet my trousers," he whispered shakily, and pressed his open lips against her sex. His tongue slid into her and she convulsed again with a fresh flood of excitement. He drank out her juices with a kiss. Then he was on his feet and gone from her, and the next thing she felt was his cock, wet and eager, driving in to spread her walls and shoot its rich liquid into her depths, rubbing her frantic and sweet into a new, immediate, unexpected orgasm. When he withdrew, she wanted only to sleep. She could not recall ever being this tired. She yielded easily as he untied her and lifted her from the beam, and followed him in a strange hypnosis to one of the empty niches carved from the wall. He placed her before it and she took that final, obedient step without considering what it meant. Swaying a little she allowed him to clasp her wrists into padded shackles high above and her ankles to the sides, well spread. It was not until he moved away and she saw him buttoning his trousers that she realized she could not lie down, she could not rest like this, and that he had done it quickly to catch her unawares because he was as exhausted as she, unable to face another struggle. He had even postponed covering his own genitals in his deceitful, premeditated haste. She wondered if his coupling with her had not also been a trick, and she wanted to rip the skin strip by strip from his beautiful face. But she said nothing when he looked up at her, his eyes severe and unwavering even though the wrath had gone from his gaze. "Think on what you have done," he said. He stumbled out of the room. **** She remained there counting the long hours, watching the sky outside the balcony burn bright blue, then fade to a sluggish mauve as the sun rode away over the palace. When the servants arrived to light a 124

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blaze in the dragon’s black jaws they glanced at her avidly and whispered to one another, but they gave her not one kindness and abandoned her the moment the firewood began to burn. Eidolon returned after it was dark, removing his clothes in the glow of the flames. He left them heaped on the floor and crawled into the comfort of his bed without acknowledging her wounded stare. Dawn came with a slow parting of clouds in the east, and still Elora had not slept. Whenever she began to doze off her knees slackened and the pull of the fetters on her wrists roused her brusquely; she had squirmed and shifted throughout the night. Now her legs were weary and she cried in frustration, but her sobs had so little vigor they were almost inaudible. The fire in the hearth had died long ago and her hands and feet grew slowly numb, the room turning colder every moment. Her sex ached with unbidden longings she could not explain. Eidolon lay peacefully among the velvet blankets, his sensual face and strong limbs even more inviting in repose, and she tried not to look at him, rubbing her cheek against a sore shoulder, drying away the tears. He did not stir with the movement of the door but she looked up, startled, and saw the Commander enter without noticing her. "Good morning." Eidolon turned over and opened his eyes with a languid smile. The Commander took a step toward the bed, laughing merrily. "I heard you had quite an adventure yesterday. Was Elora very frightened?" Then he saw her. His face drained of color, and for a moment he could do nothing but stare. "What have you done?" He rushed to untie her. Elora was so ashamed at being found in this outrageous disgrace by him that she cringed and turned her face away, stifling a sob behind pressed lips. "What have you done?" he kept asking, his hands tearing at the shackles. "I gave no leave for this." 125

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Eidolon sat up drowsily. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. "What do you mean?" "You beat her. I can see that you beat her." "Yes...I don't understand." The Commander tried to help her down from the niche but she shrank from him, folding her arms tightly over her face to hide it. He misunderstood the gesture as one of fear and stroked her belly lightly. This only shamed her more, so she turned her back on him, moving further away. "I gave no leave for this," he answered Eidolon helplessly, repeating himself without knowing it, struggling with Elora to lift her bodily from the niche, her arms still covering her face. She heard Eidolon moving about and then heard the anger rising in his voice as he finally grasped the Commander's disapproval. "She was nearly killed. We were all nearly killed. Everyone is talking about her..." "Not now," whispered the Commander urgently. "Be quiet. We will speak of it later." He carried her from the room and down the tower stairs with quick steps. She felt the cold bite of the morning air as they hurried through silent corridors, the vast palace sleeping still. "Uthra. Find Uthra," he said. "But she is not hurt," protested Eidolon, and Elora realized he had followed with them. "She is terrified. She will not let me touch her. Go, quickly!" In his chambers he tried to pry her arms from her face, tugging only halfheartedly while she squirmed and refused to face him. "Elora. Elora, please. I will not hurt you." She could not bear the touch of his hands. She felt dirty and horrible, and in spite of his kindness she was certain that after this new failure he would never forgive her, and never love her again. Leniency in him was proof of nothing, like anger in him was proof of nothing. His mind resisted her scrutiny and went in all directions like 126

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an odd wind, and because she could not fathom him she did not trust him. She wondered what they were saying about her in the palace. Uthra entered with Eidolon and the Commander retreated. Elora submitted to the old woman’s ministrations with relief, following her away into the bath, letting her arms drop when she knew the Commander could no longer see her. Uthra washed the grime from her body, rubbing her with a medicated oil that deadened feeling in her skin until the welts ached a little less. She warmed her feet and hands and gave her water to drink. "He was easy with you," she said, helping her into a soft robe. "I did not think he would be so easy with you." Elora wondered if Uthra meant Eidolon or the Commander, but the old woman's eyes told her nothing. She ducked her head again when they emerged from the bath, concealing the blush on her cheeks beneath her hair. Uthra guided her to the Commander's bed and there she curled up into a little bundle, grateful to disappear into the fresh pillows and the cocoon of warm blankets that Uthra spread over her. She closed her eyes and Uthra hummed tunelessly, stroking her head. Time passed and she dozed, and then she heard Uthra say, "I think she sleeps." There was silence in the room after Uthra's footsteps retreated and the door closed. Elora peeked from her hollow of bedclothes to see Eidolon and the Commander sitting side by side at the round table. The young raider was sullen and withdrawn even though the Commander did not look angry. Gently he placed a hand on Eidolon's thigh. "You must never do this again. She will hate you for it. She doesn't understand." "She could have died." Eidolon’s voice trembled slightly. "She is a slave, she must learn to do as she is told." "She will never be a slave. She obeys because she is curious and entertained. She does what she likes. In her heart she serves no one." "She must learn to serve you, you are her master." "She's a child, Eidolon. Children trust you so much..." "And why should she not trust you? You are a living god to her." 127

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"I am not a god, Eidolon." Elora saw that he buried his face in his hands and she thought that he must be very tired, he must not have slept comfortably the night before. "I don't want to be a god." **** He came to her that evening and kissed her mouth, waking her from a dead, dreamless slumber that had lasted from morning till dark. Candles illuminated the chamber. The table was littered with empty plates and she knew he had dined alone, watching her sleep. She slid her hands down his chest to draw the tucked shirt from his trousers. He withdrew from her to remove it, and as he bent down once more she reached for the silver buckle of his belt. He stopped her, raising her arms above her head and leaning forward to kiss the slight blue veins on the insides of her wrists and the thin bruises Eidolon's fetters had left on her. She pressed her face against his naked chest, inhaling the scent of trees and wind and fast horses on him. Slowly he ran his tongue along the inside of her arm, tasting her. He bit the relaxed muscles softly and made her quiver. He lapped at her armpit, then sucked carefully on her breast, letting the stiff nipple slide out wet from between his lips. She closed her eyes and yielded as he parted her legs with his own, moving on top of her. His palms pressed against the valley of her stomach; then he mouthed it forcefully and she flinched with a jolt of pleasure. When he drew himself up to kiss her face, her found her weeping. She embraced him, pressing her moist cheek against his shoulder. He sat up to cradle her in his arms and stroked her hair. "Go back to sleep," he said. "It’s been a long day." **** 128

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The sun passed over the great mountains and chased the shadows from the room. Elora turned over in a tangle of sheets, her hands feeling blindly for the Commander, but the bed was empty. He had left her again. Uthra stood beside the round table, serving her an enormous breakfast. Her heart sank and she clutched the pillows to her face, trying to find his smell on them. The White City flowed into the round arena to watch Ayesha open the festival celebrations with the Bull Dance. It was a hot morning and the stands were filled to capacity; one could almost taste the people in the air. Maypoles hung with colored streamers lined every stairway. Scattered bands of musicians with painted faces and golden bells jingling atop their conic hats played each a different tune, and the cacophony of it, mingled with the shouts of the crowd, was cheerful and invigorating. The blue banner with its golden dragon flew from every post around the amphitheater, and on the far side, above the red gate, was a tent held up by twelve unmoving stewards in pristine white silks, silver swords at their waists and jeweled chains flashing across their breasts. Under this tent sat the Commander with Eidolon at his side, and around them the High Lords of the Court. Elora and a selection of the Labyrinth women were brought to sit on the stone bleachers directly below them. Uthra had dressed her in a green gossamer gown and gathered her long hair into a soft chignon at the nape of her neck, adorning it with a single white camellia. She felt rather pretty and hoped that the flower would not wilt. She so very much wanted the Commander to notice her. Rowena led the procession and took her place, naturally, in the center. Eidolon smiled at her when she glanced over her shoulder to study him calmly. Elora turned her eyes to the Commander but he was not looking at them, his mood tense and his hands clasped before his mouth. An old man in black robes emerged from the tunnel across the arena and as he hobbled slowly toward its center, leaning on a 129

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wooden staff, the crowd fell silent. He raised the staff above his head and drove it with surprising force into the sand. He laced a long white ribbon through a loop at the top and left it flapping in the wind. No one spoke as he disappeared back into the tunnel. It seemed to Elora that no one breathed. Then a great racket shook the red gate. Two sentries drew hard on pulley ropes, unlocking it from the safety of the stands, and the spotted bull charged into the arena, raising a cloud of dust. His long, curving horns were painted gold, as were his cloven hooves. He trotted once around, lifting his great head to look at the quiet multitudes. Then, undecided, he stopped, pawed the ground, and moved to the center of the ring to await his challenger. Rowena leaned close to Elora. "How many grooms, do you think, died gilding those horns?" There was no compassion in her tone, merely curiosity. To Rowena the men of the White City remained enemies, and a dead enemy was an enemy put to good use. The gates at the mouth of the tunnel opened and Ayesha rode out on her white mare. She wore a sleeveless ivory robe, gathered at the waist and flaring softly to the middle of her thighs. The solid gold snake bands shone on her upper arms. Her feet were bare and her corkscrew locks pulled into a single braid running down her back. The mare's reins were hooked to her leather belt and in her hands she held numerous wreaths made from red roses, golden streamers threaded through the blossoms. The bull raised his head abruptly, but did not charge. Ayesha cantered around the ring with her arms held out and the streamers flying behind her. The crowd pressed in to watch her pass, a river rush of murmurs coursing through the stands. She leaned back almost imperceptibly when she neared the tent, and as the harness at her waist drew on the reins the mare stopped gracefully and knelt facing the Commander, one foreleg bent on the ground. The bull stampeded across the arena and the audience gasped in unison. 130

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Ayesha did not move. The sound of approaching hooves grew loud behind her and still the white mare held her bow, her strong neck curved and the long, silky mane dragging in the dust. Elora gaped at the bull hurtling closer, sunlight flashing off his painted horns. Ayesha looked serenely ahead, up into the blue distance, smiling her slow, secret smile. The red rose petals shivered in the breeze, wreaths dangling from her outstretched arms. The Commander was staring at her, and as the bull lowered its head to strike, no more than three strides away from the kneeling mare, he closed his eyes. The mare rose from her bow and sprang aside in one motion. The bull stormed over the spot where she had stood, her raised dust still in the air. Unable to check his speed he crashed into the wooden wall of the arena. The boards cracked with the impact of his massive head and he staggered back, dazed. Ayesha cantered away and when the bull spun around the mare was dancing side to side in the center of the ring. He shook his head, pawed the dirt and charged again. Ayesha urged the mare forward and the animals galloped towards one another. In that last, excruciating moment the mare veered to one side, and as the bull passed by, lifting his head in frustration, Ayesha hooked one of the rose wreaths on his gilded horns. The bull was not unclever, but the mare was swifter and—like her rider—difficult to discompose. Ayesha circled him over and again as he churned upon his own tracks trying to gore her. With every pass she draped one more wreath over his horns. He chased her around the arena, a torrent of streamers trailing from his head. When he failed to catch her he stopped to regroup, and then it was she who charged, sailing past in a blur of red roses, the mare's flowing white mane brushing against his flanks. He spun to watch her go and found himself with yet another wreath left tangled above his brow. Then Ayesha made the mare kneel again. The bull gathered himself and thundered toward them. The mare 131

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could see him coming now and tried to break her stance, but the reins remained taut and she snorted into the sand, showing the whites of her eyes. Ayesha freed her at last and the bull's lowered horns missed her snowy breast by a fraction, striking earth. He crashed to his knees and slid to a grinding halt, leaving two grooves in the sand and sending clods of dirt flying so far that they struck the wooden wall. Scrambling up on shaky legs, chest heaving, he bellowed with rage. Ayesha's face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. With a single wreath left, she rode to the wooden staff in the center of the ring. Elora suppressed a gasp as she undid the harness at her waist and dismounted. The white mare galloped away into the safety of the tunnel. Ayesha took the white ribbon from the top of the staff, draped it around one of her arms and turned to face the bull, gently waving the red wreath in the other hand. The bull considered this shift in matters for a minute, perhaps wise enough to know that the situation was not as promising as it appeared. Ayesha advanced with lithe steps, dancing for him, waving the red wreath back and forth above her head. He pawed the ground. She halted, stood on tiptoe on her long, bare feet, and lowered the wreath to her side. Holding it close by her thigh, she shook it, tempting him. He bellowed once more and trotted from side to side. She shook it again. He lowered his head, fascinated by the wreath, and attacked. This time Ayesha did not shift at all to evade him. When he was upon her she simply lifted her arm out to the side, and the bull followed the red wreath, spearing it from her grasp onto one horn, where it spun and then rested, one last crown upon his head. Ayesha walked away toward the tunnel. The bull watched her go, shaking the mass of golden streamers from his eyes. Elora turned to look at the Commander and thought she saw something akin to fear in his face. It was only a slight pallor, a 132

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tightening of the jaw, a shift in his gaze, which became unblinking as he followed Ayesha's leisurely progress. The bull burst into a run, packed dirt flying from under his hooves. Ayesha stopped and listened to his approach, but she did not turn around. Elora grabbed Rowena's hand, squeezing hard enough to stop the blood flow. Rowena was staring at the Amazon in bewildered horror and did not seem to mark Elora’s grip. Ayesha turned at last. She ran directly toward the oncoming bull. In two strides of her long legs they were about to collide. The bull's great head went down. Ayesha's hands reached out for it. And as he sought to ram his horns into her body she grasped them. He threw back his head, lifting her off the ground, and she vaulted over him in a perfect leap, carried by his force and balanced flawlessly on her straight, strong arms. She landed squarely on his wide back, feet planted one before the other along his spine. He took one more stride, confused, and she somersaulted off him, landing on the ground behind him with her arms spread wide and a dazzling smile for the stunned lords under the tent. Then Elora missed the white ribbon on her arm. When the bull stopped and turned at the far end of the ring she saw it. Ayesha had somehow left it wrapped around his horns as well. The multitude burst into applause. Three stewards on horseback galloped into the arena waving red capes and the bull followed them out through the tunnel. As Ayesha walked along the packed stands the men of the White City threw armfuls of flowers at her feet. She did not look down at them, stepping carelessly over the carpet of petals until she reached the tent. Eyes fixed on the Commander, she placed a hand on her heart and made a slight, graceful curtsy. Then she disappeared through the red gate. The Commander did not move. He had smiled at her, and traces of it lingered on his face as he stared vacantly at the spot where she had paid her respects. The crowd fell silent and waited. It was clear that no one could shift until he did. 133

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He stood up abruptly and without a word or pause for ceremony left the theater. The High Lords seemed momentarily at a loss. Eidolon suppressed a smile, and gave the signal for the festival to begin. As the women of the Court were led from the stands in two orderly rows, Elora turned to Rowena, choked with awe. "She is wonderful. I could never turn my back on anything so terrible." Rowena shrugged. "She is mad. Madness is not courage. There can be no courage without fear." **** They were crossing the great, blue-cobblestone courtyard when Elora saw the Commander hurrying toward the stables. Slipping her hand out of Rowena's, she dropped back to follow him. The paired rows had relaxed into a swirl of little groups and she moved with such discretion that neither the women nor the blue-robed boys escorting them realized she was escaping their circle. She knew that what she was doing was ridiculously foolish, but although she feared discovery it still did not occur to her that her actions might be wrong. Right and wrong remained irrelevant in her experience. The only thing that was unpardonable was getting caught. The stables were unusually quiet as she crept past a pair of marble centaurs guarding the entrance and through an archway of fretted stone into the principal building. All the grooms had departed for the festival and the horses munched on their feed with a tranquil air in row after row of stalls. She could not see the Commander anywhere, and now that she found herself alone in this eerie silence it suddenly seemed truly dangerous to have pursued him. She had disgraced herself quite enough already. But she knew that he was looking for Ayesha. She had often wondered about them, about what they said and did when they were alone, and she longed to observe them together. She would not turn back. 134

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She heard their low voices and carefully approached the halfopen door of a harness room, peeking in from the shadows. Ayesha had loosened her robe and undone the long braid so that her unruly curls fell about her shoulders, covering her small breasts. She still wore the snake armbands, and their worked gold shone here and there through the tangle of blond locks. She was sitting on a wooden bench, laughing softly at something the Commander whispered while he knelt before her washing her feet. Elora had been in the White City long enough to know that masters simply did not do this for their slaves, but as Eidolon was so fond of pointing out, the Commander was peculiar. He rinsed the dust from Ayesha's legs, running his hands up the backs of her calves and pouring water onto her strong, lean knees. He went on speaking but Elora did not catch the words; he spoke too softly. Ayesha guided his hands past her knees and up the firm curve of her inner thighs as she parted her legs, and Elora glimpsed the silky pelt of amber curls hiding her sex. The Commander let her control his movements. There was no rushing Ayesha into anything, and he was too clever, Elora thought, not to hesitate a few moments even after an express invitation. But when the diffused beam of light passing through a skylight above them strengthened with the shifting of a cloud and she saw his face emerge from the dimness, she knew herself mistaken. He was absorbed in the details of Ayesha's skin, and the slowness of his progress over her thighs was neither a gesture of politeness nor an attempt at provoking her lust; he was simply enjoying her to the fullest. His hands were trembling slightly, leaving white marks on her flesh. Watching her face the great bull had thrilled him incomparably even while he feared for her safety, and he seemed to want to touch her with all the thoroughness and violence in the world just to prove to himself that she was still alive and in his arms. Ayesha smiled as he slid the open robe back from her shoulders, leaving her naked and moist from the passing of his wet hands. The sunlight still shifted slowly across them as it fell through the grid of 135

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beams supporting the skylight, and the smells of leather and soap mingled with the scent of hay in the warm room, making Elora comfortably drowsy. She watched the Commander trace patterns of light on Ayesha's skin, parting the curtain of hair to uncover her breasts, running his fingers gently over the delicate rim of her collarbone and into the hollow at the base of her throat. Ayesha did not attempt to touch him. She sat with her arms limp at her sides, letting him explore the contours of her body and following his intent gaze with her own. He touched the droplets of water on her legs, rubbing them into her flesh with his thumb. Finally he kissed her breasts, pressing his lips tenderly to their undersides, his cheek grazing her erect nipples as he moved away. She bent her head then, and with the lightest caress under his chin guided him up to her mouth. They kissed with a slow, effortless hunger. She stroked the hollow of his cheek with the backs of her curled fingers. There was no sigh and no pause, and although they were joined only by their kiss it seemed to Elora that it would have taken godlike strength to break between them. He does love her best of all, she thought with resignation, and a twinge of pain. There was such a clean, unapologetic magnificence to Ayesha, and Elora knew that as she was she could not match it. I

amuse him, but she interests him. She can be contentious and teasing and even condescending, and he loves her all the more for it. She knows the secret to his mind. I must learn what this is. I must change. The Commander brought his kisses to Ayesha's stomach; to the patch of tight blond curls between her thighs. Ayesha closed her eyes with an audible breath of longing and Elora's jealousy arrived so suddenly and so acute that she could bear to watch no more. She turned to slip away down the row of stalls, and it never occurred to her that she could not be like Ayesha, or that the Commander would have been sorry to see her try. 136

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The last thing she heard was Ayesha's moan, and she knew his tongue was inside her. **** The Commander and Ayesha were conspicuously absent from the banquet in the western meadow. Elora sat at one of the long tables, restless, watching the Court make merry as the sun fell out of the sky. The huge bonfires were lit. The green island women sang. But she did not care for these pleasures now. She remained itching and overwrought with unhappy imaginings until Uthra came to say the Commander wanted her. When they stood outside his door she could hear groans of pleasure and the struggles of wild lovemaking within, and this time Uthra did not knock, but pushed the door open a very little and motioned her to slip inside. Candles spiced with cloves and chypre lit the room, their scent heavy in the air. Blankets, cushions and discarded garments were strewn haphazardly across the floor. Ayesha lay sprawled on the bed with the Commander on top of her, his face between her legs and his engorged member in her mouth. Her hands tore at the disarray of sheets while she pushed her head hard onto him, and when he teased her by withdrawing she clasped his hips in an iron grip and captured him again between her lips. He moaned and pressed the folds of her sex together with his fingers, lapping at the moisture that overflowed. Then he turned his head to bite her softly, holding her closed and shuddering between his teeth. Ayesha bent her knees and thrust up her hips, pressing on her heels until she had broken his clasp and was fully open against his mouth. He dipped the round of his chin into her pulpy crevasse, rubbing hard and steadily. She clung to him, suddenly rigid, and sucked tenderly on the tip of his cock. Her head undulated slowly, eyes closed, the mass of her hair brushing the insides of his thighs. The Commander slid his 137

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hands under her buttocks, encompassing her whole and digging into the cleft. He pushed his tongue into her. She gasped with delight, throwing her head back, and relinquished her hold on him to clutch at the crumpled sheets. He moved away before she could prevent it and sat on the edge of the bed. She rose to her knees, looking from his eyes to his sex rising against him like a spike, one thick, pulsing vein raised along the wet shaft, marking the rhythm of his heart. They smiled at each other, heads tilted, as if in a game of wits. She darted forward and tried to kiss him. The Commander stood up and reached for his black robe. "Come in, Elora," he said. Ayesha turned, surprised, and stared greedily at her. "Ayesha was beautiful today, was she not?" Elora hesitated. She found the fact that he seemed to have eyes in the back of his head unnerving as ever. "Yes," she answered finally in all sincerity. "Very beautiful." He put on the robe, wincing a little as he closed it, then vanished into the bath. The women contemplated one another across the room, Elora uncertain and Ayesha glowing with manifest heat. "Light the candles," said Ayesha. Elora glanced about. "But there are already several..." "Light them all," insisted Ayesha. "I want to watch you move." Elora took a taper from its holder and walked obediently around the chamber, lending flame to the others. The hunting mural emerged slowly from the dark and the room brightened until everything was tinged with an intoxicating amber hue. "Now come here," said Ayesha. Elora set aside the candle and advanced to the edge of the bed. Ayesha patted the sheets, holding her in thrall with an unwavering, violet gaze. The bed was hot, dampened by their sweat. Ayesha leaned so close now that Elora could see each of her long eyelashes distinctly, the faded scars on her body, and the slick coating of his semen on 138

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her golden pubic curls. The sweetness of her breath was maddening, and her lips soft like no man's could ever be, when she kissed. She kissed Elora's mouth, her throat, then her breasts through the green gossamer gown. She plucked the camellia from her black hair, tossing it carelessly away, and undid the chignon at the nape of her neck, combing out her locks between gentle fingers. Elora stared, yielding helplessly as she was laid down on her back, warm and throbbing with quiet lust. Ayesha swung one thigh across to mount her, her wild curls tumbling forward over her shoulders in a perfumed cloud. Pressing their sexes together she let her wetness seep through the green cloth. Elora felt it spreading on her groin and sighed. Ayesha smiled and kissed her open lips. She began to grind easily against her, studying her face. Elora shuddered, her folds filling with a dizzying rush of blood, and then Ayesha asked, "What are you thinking?" Elora gazed up at her with an adoration that belonged only to the moment, her eyes blurred and the words coming unbidden, without real thought. "I want to be like you." Ayesha flushed red and pinned her arms down in a burst of sudden cruelty. "You will never be like me!" she hissed. "Never! You will never be like me because you don't know what you have." Elora was too taken aback to struggle. Her body tensed and the breath went out of her, and while Ayesha glared she forgot to draw it again. But although Ayesha's grip did not soften, her expression calmed inexplicably. She kissed Elora soothingly on the brow. She kissed her eyelids and licked her earlobes with sweet intensity, and then she moved down, lifting the delicate, rippling skirt along her thighs to uncover her pubis. When she nuzzled the nest of damp curls Elora parted her legs at once, still shaken by the assault but carried along, unanchored, on a current of indefensible submission and desire. Ayesha spread her darkened folds with skillful fingers and 139

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pressed her tongue to the stiff, tiny knob of flesh in between, sucking it mercilessly while Elora moaned. She ignored the widening mouth of her sex and the juices that pulsed from it to dribble down her chin. Elora stared up at the massive wooden canopy of the bed, the candlelight playing over worked ivory, the jade and lapis lazuli stones glimmering like raindrops. She arched her back, pushing out, enjoying the torture and her own awful yearning, and when she thought she could stand it no longer Ayesha's fingers pumped forcefully into her, nearly lifting her off the mattress. She cried out and rocked her hips. Her eyes closed. She felt the trickle of fluids over her quivering buttocks and the sweat gathering on the backs of her bent knees, her orgasm about to burst. Ayesha never stopped sucking, following her undulations with flawless rhythm, devouring, amazingly strong. Then a warm hand rested lightly on her face and she opened her eyes to find the Commander bending over her. He smiled, indulgent, pleased for her, running his thumb across her parted lips. She kissed his fingers and stretched her smooth, graceful neck to reach his mouth, but at that moment Ayesha saw him too. She scrambled over Elora and clasped her jealously to her breast. "Go away," she said. The Commander regarded her peaceably for a moment. He started to retreat. Ayesha lunged and gripped his thick wrist with a small, wounded cry, like a child caught in a bluff, and kissed him desperately on the lips. He closed his eyes and opened his strong jaws on hers, pushing his tongue inside. Ayesha grabbed his shoulders and Elora slipped down in between as they knelt over her, locked in a starving kiss and sharing her taste along with the heat of their mouths. The Commander drew back at last, the robe partly open and his chest heaving slightly. Ayesha pulled him onto the bed. She yanked Elora to her knees and thrust her at him like a sacrifice. Before Elora could think his mouth and tongue were pressing on hers, giving her back her own salty fluids. His large hands closed over her buttocks, 140

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squeezing her to him, and she felt his penis stiffen under the robe, against her belly. She wrapped her arms about his neck and flexed her fingers in his hair. He left her breathless and kissed Ayesha then, Ayesha who was stroking her back with hardened nipples and flattening her small breasts against her, rounding her waist to find the part in her thighs and massaging her filled sex. The fingers pulled up her skirt and traveled back around her hips, but when they dipped between her buttocks to touch the tight, still virginal mouth of her anus the Commander clasped Ayesha's wrist, stopping her with a jolt. "No," he said. "Her first time will be with me." "It is one act of pleasure among many, nothing more." "True." "Then why so determined to keep it only for yourself?" "Because it is not the act that I am interested in, or the pleasure." Ayesha seemed hurt, but then she smiled and kissed him generously. He buried his face in the mingled tresses of their hair, the dark and the fair, smelling them, reaching out to grasp Ayesha and embrace them both. Ayesha cupped Elora's chin and forced her to seek his lips, and when they met she kissed him too in a disorderly joining of mouths that was as delicious as it was unexpected. The Commander finally untangled himself from them, removing their eager arms from his shoulders and his waist. He laid Elora out on the bed, her skirts bunched around her hips and her legs parted. He kissed the inside of her knee, looking into her eyes. Slowly he brushed his cheek along the supple length of her inner thigh until his mouth touched her sex. He nibbled on the lips, stabbed his tongue between them gently. Elora tried to grasp his head but he moved away, kneeling between her legs. He undid the belting of the robe but he did not open it, and it rested there, draped temptingly over the bulge of his genitals. He guided Ayesha onto her, turning her around so that she faced him and spreading her thighs so that she straddled Elora's upturned face. 141

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Elora stared with fascination at the tender maze of flesh above her mouth, flushed lilac peeking out from a fragile shield of golden hair. She lapped at it, tentatively at first, teasing the slick curls. Ayesha moaned and lowered herself, convulsing weakly, and Elora slid her tongue between the folds, tasting her fully at last, surprised by the heat and the smell of it and the enormity of that wonderful clean, salty flood, thinking that now she knew, that this was it, this was what he liked and felt and longed for when he ate from her own sex. She grasped Ayesha's hips and mouthed her avidly, learning to make love all over again, and then she felt his hands raising her legs and the robe sliding back from his body with the friction of her thighs, and the hot, rounded head of his cock leaking against her. He rimmed her distended little cleft with heated drops, and then plunged inside, grunting low, stuffing her with exquisite violence and a girth that still hurt just a little during the first few thrusts, until her tight walls had yielded to him and she was molded to his width. She moaned against Ayesha while the Commander rocked into her, ripe and frantic and coring her sweetly, all the time kissing Ayesha's mouth, squeezing Ayesha's breasts. But when Elora was again on the edge of bursting he emptied her and took Ayesha from her arms. She whimpered, struggling to her knees, and watched with an impatient frown as he made Ayesha lie back. Although she was heaving in his grasp Ayesha obeyed without question, staring at his erect sex. She dipped her fingers into the thick, glistening mat of dark curls around it. He allowed her to fondle the heavy scrotum only briefly. It contracted against the base of his cock, the shaft jerking violently, and he had to push her hand away to keep himself from coming. He reached for Elora, coaxing her onto Ayesha, face to face. Ayesha embraced her, and Elora's silky black locks tumbled onto the scented blond hair that flared out tousled and damp on the pillow. She bent close to taste Ayesha's parted lips. They kept kissing while he spread their legs, caressing the insides 142

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of their thighs, their buttocks, pressing his heated testicles into the clutch of their wet folds. Then Ayesha cried out, their bodies rocking together as he entered her. His stomach struck Elora's backside. Ayesha began writhing underneath to meet his thrusts and Elora lifted herself slightly to make it easier. The pelt of his curls teased her open sex. She felt the hot, momentary covering of his body; his kiss on her spine. It was not enough, but Ayesha was so beautiful and abruptly, touchingly fragile that she could not find it in her heart to be jealous. She was tossing her head from side to side as he ground circles into her, his hands like a vise on her hips, and she murmured, "Yes. Yes. I love you so." She stiffened suddenly, clawing at Elora's shoulders, and hung on until he had wrenched forth her very last spasm. When she finally collapsed Elora straddled her dazedly, conscious only of the burning sensation the scratches had left on her back, the amber glow around them and the thick, aromatic air. She felt herself entered with a slow, careful thrust. Astonished and grateful that he was still hard, she pushed wildly against him demanding force. But the Commander grasped her hips and kept her still. He knew her well. He knew that she protested wanting really to be ignored, and more than that, he knew his own limits. Though she may not guess or care he could endure only so much, and he wanted to outlast her. It was not easy: she was so firm and young and overwhelmingly passionate. But he closed his eyes and kissed her hair, giving her the best and most tender part of himself, hoping that one day she would grow up, and understand. Elora moaned, oblivious and happy beneath him, shuddering with each measured, leisurely stab into her sex. Ayesha smiled and opened her green gown to kiss the fullness of her breasts, lapping at the sweat that had gathered between them and sucking richly on the dark rose nipples. Together and with increasing pressure they brought her finally to orgasm, her cries filling the room. 143

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She fell against Ayesha and he closed her legs, squeezing them together to stop her trembling and help her into rest. She barely noticed him kiss her cheek. She rolled across the bed locked in Ayesha's embrace, breathing in her perfume and submerged in the incomparable softness of her body, and went to sleep. **** When she came awake they had drifted apart. Ayesha still slept, her tanned limbs sprawled over the cooling sheets, and she had become an alien thing again, intimidating and unapproachable. Elora felt a barrier rising between them despite the fervor they had shared such a short while ago, she could not help it. She knew Ayesha disapproved of her somehow. She wanted to be liked, but she could not seem to earn it. The multitude of candles had been extinguished and she turned to discover the Commander sitting at the table, smoking and watching the terrace curtains undulate gently in the dark. He smiled and patted his lap. She crawled quickly from the bed, ecstatic to be invited into his arms at last. She could not wait to kiss him, and clung to him in a ferocious embrace when he divided his mouth from hers. He stroked her back through the thin shield of her gossamer dress, allowing her to rest her cheek on his shoulder and keep him prisoner for as long as she chose. "Don't you love me anymore?" she asked him with a sigh, not knowing whether he ever had and hoping to trick an answer from him in the affirmative. But he only smiled and asked her in return, "Have you missed me?" "Oh yes!" She rubbed her face into the warmth of his chest and caressed the soft brown curls at the nape of his neck. "I am ever so sorry." He pushed her gently away, grasping her upper arms. "Sorry for what?" He seemed sincerely confused. 144

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"For...everything I did," she answered, unable to explain herself because she did not understand her crimes. "I am sure Eidolon would beat me even harder if I should do it again. But you are too clever for that. After all, a beating lasts only so long. To be sent away is forever." "You think I have been away from you on purpose?" "I know I deserve to be punished," she told him with childish resignation, "but I am so lonely without you." The Commander smiled, a pleased smile that Elora misread as amusement when it was love. He was, above all else, disarmed by her; by her unstinting faith in him, her lack of fear even as she spoke of her punishments. By that impulsive sweetness and that indomitable open heart that welcomed everything without prejudice, making her imagine herself in love. No one had ever belonged to him so completely and so willingly, and yet not belonged to him at all. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the terrace, and there he sat on the rail and held her like a treasure as he looked out over the city into the night, and at the tall, ominous mountains beyond, rising to block out the stars. Elora rested comfortably in his grasp and was careful to be still. She did not comprehend his mood, but she sensed with that unerring, animal instinct she did not yet recognize in herself that he found solace in her quiet company, and that at this moment, for some reason, he needed it. "It will be a hard winter," he said after a while, almost to himself. Elora gazed down at the banquet tables on the meadow and the men and women dancing around the bonfires, and she thought that he meant the snow would fall long and be deep. She stroked his chest, combing her plump fingers through the loose curls. His sex was large and warm underneath her but it did not stir. He simply wanted to be held. It occurred to her then, briefly, that he was not happy, but the thought did not last long enough to disturb her. "Tell me about the place where you come from," he said, 145

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brushing his hand across her forehead in a slow, constant caress. "It was a very boring place." "Tell me all the same," he insisted, and kissed her hair. She told him of her village by the sea. Of her father's small sloop and the kinds of fish he caught. Of nets drying in the sun and blackberry bushes that grew wild in the woods that lined the Great Road. No one knew where the road came from or where it led, since no one had ever thought of following it anywhere. The travelers that passed through were lone wanderers who stank of sheep and kept to themselves, speaking only to ask for a beer or a bath in the one town inn. She told him of the butcher's gray donkey and Anthea's red geraniums potted carefully on the windowsill, and of rising with the sun and sleeping deeply when it fell, long and empty nights of sleep. And it seemed to her that he sighed, and would have traded everything he had for a place beside her father's meager hearth. Again she was confounded by his sadness. She looked up and found his eyes closed. "Why are you sad?" she asked, touching his lids. They fluttered but did not open. "I'm not sad, my love. I'm enjoying you." She knew this was not the whole truth. She wrapped her arms about the width of his shoulders and began to hum as though only for herself, one of those old childhood tunes without words, and slowly, with a delicate pretense of distraction that did not quite fool him but moved him indescribably, she rocked him like a child and planted occasional soft kisses on his throat. When he finally carried her back to the bed, Ayesha was still sleeping. He laid himself between them and closed his eyes, and soon his breathing was even and deep. Elora snuggled into the curve of his arm and spread a palm on his chest. And as she was about to drift away herself she felt a slim, warm hand close over hers. She opened her eyes to find Ayesha regarding her with an expression of pure gratitude, and she realized the Amazon had been awake all along, listening to her sing the Commander to rest. She smiled and Ayesha 146

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returned it, and from that moment forward they ceased being strangers. They fell asleep with their fingers laced together over his heart. **** Fall came with a burst of red, orange and burnished bronze and the smell of apples in the forest air. Elora ran forever loose with Ayesha, out of the walls and over the plains, the only two slaves in the city allowed to roam unguarded and sure to come back, the one because she had nowhere else to go and the other because she could not bear to be anywhere else. Jugger returned from the north in triumph, and with his friend safely home the Commander's spirits seemed to revive. He smiled and laughed freely again. Eidolon spoiled Elora with little presents and affections, and appeared to have quite forgotten her early misdemeanors. She had not forgotten and could not forgive, but she pretended to like him for the Commander's sake. Jugger she was in ecstasies to see, and as always he called her sweet thing. She had become a fine rider, and Ayesha was almost as proud of her as she was herself. They often rode into the woods, just the five of them, to do what she called adventuring and they, smiling, let her call what she pleased. She would pluck a large red apple from its tree and toss it to the ground in a wide clearing. "Watch me!" she would say, cantering away on The Elegant, "Watch me!" "I'm watching you, darling!" the Commander would assure her, reining in the Hellchild as the others gathered near him. She would gallop headlong towards the apple, and as she flew by she would lean down off her saddle and scoop it up in her hand, perfectly balanced and lovely, and then pull up laughing before them, looking only at him, asking again, "Did you watch me?" "I watched you," he would say. "You were wonderful." Rowena taught her to dance and Uthra made her a yellow dancing 147

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dress, and on warm afternoons Jugger, Eidolon and the Commander would lie on the grass of the Labyrinth gardens and watch her dance with the green island women around its marble statues. Larima played on a harp to accompany them. Sometimes they would dance until it was dark. On one such lazy day, already late in the season, the sky clouded unexpectedly over their amusements. It began to rain and the island women scattered seeking shelter. But Elora did not mind, she was too happy; she kept dancing with her face turned up to the drops and the yellow dress clinging to her while she laughed, trying to catch the downpour in her hands. Jugger smiled from the picnic on the grass and shook his head. "What a heartbreaker she is." "Ah, yes," said the Commander. Eidolon bit into a pomegranate, tearing open the thick rind. "You have nothing to worry about. If she is anything, she is yours." The Commander turned to look at him patiently. Eidolon failed to notice any burst of feeling in his face, but Jugger lowered his gaze to the ground. **** "Tell me a story." "A story." "A story about you. They say that you came from the north. But no one knows anything else." "What you want me to do is tell you a secret." "Yes. A secret." "When I was a boy I lived in a house with a smiling dragon in the courtyard. And I would play with him." She kissed his mouth and his throat, and he ran his hands over her body. "Why don't you ever touch me there?" 148

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"Where?" "There." "Here?" "Yes." "I will. Someday." "When?" "When you are ready." "I am ready." But he only smiled and kissed her again. "You touch the others there. Eidolon and Ayesha. You do it to them." She hesitated. "Would you like me to do it to you?" He laughed. "Why? Do you want to do it to me?" She blushed and buried her face in his chest. "I have a present for you," he said. "For me?" "You like presents, don't you?" "I like your presents." "What a little flatterer you are." "I do not think I could ever flatter you enough." She meant it, and he smiled. "Do you want to see your present?" "Right now?" "Right now." "Oh yes!" "Let's get dressed then." She was surprised, unwilling. She nuzzled him. "No. Tomorrow. I don't want to leave the bed." "Do you want me to go for it?" he teased her, sitting up. She held him down and kissed him avidly, coaxing. "No. Tomorrow. Don't get up. Don't leave me." "It's only for a minute." "No!" She clutched at him with sudden intensity. "Don't leave me. Don't ever leave me. Ever." 149

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"I see. I'll make a bargain with you. I promise not to leave you if you'll promise not to leave me." "I will never leave you! Never. Never." "Should I send for your present, then?" This had not occurred to her, and she brightened at once. "Oh yes!" He went to the door and spoke quietly to the sentry. When he returned to her she kissed him repeatedly. She climbed on him and teased his sex. "Not now. Don't you want to wait for your present?" "No." "Elora, please." "Don't you want me?" "Yes. I always want you." "Even when you take Eidolon or Ayesha?" "Even then." "I love you, I love you, I love you..." "Don't say that." "Why not?" He faltered. "You don't have to say it. I know you love me." "But I like saying it." "I know." He pulled her close, kissed her hair. "I know you do." A young white mastiff trotted into the room and jumped on the bed. "Oh! He's beautiful! I love him! I do!" "I know you love him." He watched her play with the dog at the foot of the bed. "You can keep him here tonight if you want." "Really?" "But it's either him or me." "Come, puppy. Come, come." She led the dog to the door and ushered it tenderly outside. Then she ran back to the bed and flung herself into his arms. 150

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"Well. I am flattered now." She kissed him, relaxing against his chest. "There is one thing I would like to talk to you about, though." She lifted herself to look at him. "You're still mad at Eidolon, aren't you?" "No..." "Ah, but I know you are." She hesitated. "Are you still mad at the bull?" "No. I was never mad at it. It is a bull. It does what it does." "Did you ever think that, perhaps, Eidolon and the bull are a little alike? Very splendid and a little unthinking, and they just do what they do. Eidolon loves you, you know. He loves you very much. He only hurt you because he was afraid for you. He was so afraid. And when Eidolon gets scared he gets angry. It is all he knows. But he never meant you any harm. So you see, you must dance with him a little, like Ayesha danced with the bull. Trick him a little, and forgive him a little for what he cannot help. I know you can trick him. You can trick him very well. But you must try to forgive him too." "I'll do it for you." "No. Not for me." "I don't understand." She started to cry. "No. Don't cry." He rolled over to lie on top of her and kissed her, holding her close. "Don't cry. Let's not talk about it anymore." "I'm sorry." "I'm not angry with you, darling." "I know. I know." "There. Tomorrow you can play with your puppy and take him riding in the woods." "Yes..." She started to calm. "He needs a name now. You'll have to think of a name." "Yes. I'm sorry. I don't know why I cried." "I do. It's all right. It's all right." 151

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**** A frost descended on the trees and snow buried their fallen leaves deep, and the White City receded into the landscape, insubstantial, hovering like a mirage of white on white over the wide land. The great gates were sealed, open only to hunting parties and the hardened, careful Rangers that slipped soundlessly through at night. Curtains were drawn over the tall windows of the palace and doors were shut against the chill, and the terraces were left desolate, piling high with snow. Inside the fires blazed day and night, making the grand apartments feel suddenly comfortable and snug, and Elora delighted in their constant warmth and artificial cheer, finding it marvelous that for the first time in her life she did not have to go outdoors and brave the winter winds. But she noticed that Ayesha became sad in her confinement, gazing wistfully toward the mountains and following the river greedily with her eyes until it vanished up the evergreen slopes. "There is a waterfall," she said. "Just beyond the foothills over there, over there on that rise. And when it is cold enough and the river slows this waterfall begins to freeze, and grows into a rippled mountain of ice, and the water that still flows over it sparkles like diamonds in the sun. You can walk right up to it and touch it. Right over the frozen pond. I should like to show it to you. I should like that very much." "Do you miss your home?" Elora asked. "In the winter. The mountains are very vast, and clean in the winter, and you can ride for days and never over the same spot twice. There are herds of dappled deer and brown hares still about, and the eagles sweep down from their aeries. And the great gray wolf packs come out, passing like shadows with yellow eyes under the trees." "Why don't you visit your home, then? I am sure he would let you go if you promised to come back." "No," said Ayesha. "If I rode into the mountains I would never 152

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come back." "Why not?" "You ask rather too many questions," Ayesha told her, and went away. But she kept talking about the waterfall, and on a crisp, quiet morning she slipped into the Labyrinth and said, "I will take you today. I know a secret way out of the walls." Even though she had spoken in a whisper that Elora herself could barely hear Rowena materialized at the doorway and approached them confidently, somehow fully in the know. "I should like to come too," she said. "And why should I take you?" demanded Ayesha. "I do not know you, and you have never wanted to come riding before." "But I want to come today," answered Rowena without the slightest hint of discomposure. Elora watched the two women regard each other coolly with their heads held high and their blue eyes fixed, and she remembered she was standing between two princesses, and felt suddenly very small. "Very well," said Ayesha at long last. "But you are my responsibility, and if you try to escape I will slit your throat." Before Rowena could answer Daria was hastening through the door, whispering, "Where are we going?" And behind her came Larima, eager as a pup. "Take me. Take me too." The whole affair had become so ridiculous that Ayesha had to suppress a laugh. They rode through the city bundled into gray cloaks, Elora's young mastiff bounding ahead, and slipped out through a small, unguarded gate hidden among the recesses of the back wall. The mountains loomed high in the distance and they galloped hard to cover ground fast, along the firm banks of the river and avoiding the treacherous rifts shrouded in snow. From the sentry posts the white dog was invisible against the blanketed ground, and they looked like yet another company of Rangers rushing out into the wild world. 153

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Soon they had been swallowed by the mountains. Ayesha slowed her white mare and Elora drew alongside on The Elegant. They held hands as the horses climbed the rocky slopes. Rowena followed, bright eyed and giving no signs of wanting to escape. Daria kept close beside her, shy and a little unsure in the shadow of the great peaks, and Larima brought up the rear, grinning, clutching the mane of her shaggy brown mount. They passed under tall, naked trees whose branches threaded high above their heads, adorned with glittering icicles. Beyond lay the evergreens, pines and cypress growing so thick together that as the horses pressed through, brushing them with hot flanks, snow rippled down in waves over their softly coned shapes. As they cut across the next clearing Ayesha squeezed Elora's hand and nodded discreetly to one side, and Elora turned to see three wolves, two grays and the leader black as coal, padding away over a snow dune and into the cover of the forest. The mastiff bristled, but made no sound. The sun had pushed through the morning clouds when they reached the waterfall, and as they broke from the ring of trees into the circle of the pond Elora caught her breath with astonished pleasure. It was high as two houses put together and skirts of ice spread wide and crystalline from its crown, reflecting the light and appearing to shift like a living thing while the river trickled in thin currents over them. They dismounted. Ayesha led Elora over the slippery crust of the pond, walking as surely as if in the grip of good earth, holding Elora up so that she would not stumble. They came to the wall of ice, and taking strides sideways they ran their hands along its corrugated breadth, laughing. Abruptly, Ayesha fell silent. Her palms dropped from the ice and she snapped her head around to glare at the forest in alarm. "What is wrong?" asked Elora. "Be quiet!" Then Elora became aware that the entire wilderness had hushed. Not a creature stirred or showed its face, and the gentle swaying of 154

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the branches seemed unexpectedly and tremendously loud. Ayesha grasped her wrist without taking her eyes from the trees. "We should not have come," she whispered. "I have made a terrible mistake." She dragged Elora quickly across the pond, sliding and slipping until they scrambled onto the snow. The mastiff too had become aware of some danger and shifted, turning circles, beginning to growl. "Get on the horses," ordered Ayesha, heaving Elora into the saddle. Rowena and the others hurried to comply, but no sooner were they astride than the dog began barking furiously at the wall of evergreen. They heard the rumble of hooves and the crushing of the brittle undergrowth, and then the Hellchild burst through the barrier of trees into the clearing, snorting steam and sending snow flying before him in all directions. The Commander rode him, cloaked in gray. Eidolon and Jugger followed hard behind, and after them came Flan, Tyke and Zurco, all on battle chargers and armed to the teeth. Ayesha rode ahead to meet them as they brought the horses to a grinding halt, their wide chests drenched with lather and their hindquarters steaming in the chilled air. "Forgive me," she said to the Commander, devastated. "I thought that we would be safe." "Never mind that now. We must move quickly. Ride ahead." "They are here already! You should not have come for us!" The Raiders were circling the women protectively and the dog kept barking as if possessed. "Ride!" shouted the Commander in a fury. Ayesha cringed and the white mare shied nervously to one side, and at that moment an arrow came sailing from the trees and buried itself in the mastiff's white side, flinging him onto the snow. He gave a little yelp and was quiet, and in the silence that followed his mad barking, before Elora could overcome her shock enough to dismount and rescue him, a myriad of white shapes came forth like a 155

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mist out of the wood. They were tall women, long-limbed and strong. Covered in ermine pelts, they faded in and out of the landscape, moving lithely, their boots lined with fur and leaving hardly a mark on the ground. At their waists hung swords in plain leather scabbards and they held tall white bows, each fitted with an arrow and aimed directly at the huddled, besieged company. The Commander looked around at them slowly, the rest of the men sitting their horses with a hand frozen on their sword hilts. One of the women stepped forward. Elora saw that a gold band shaped like a serpent rested on her forehead; a diadem to match the serpents Ayesha wore on her arms. She looked like Ayesha, the same hair and high cheekbones and deep, ever-changing eyes. But she was older, thirty-five perhaps, while Ayesha could be no more than thirty. She drove one end of her bow into the ground and left it standing upright. "What an unexpected pleasure," she said. "To catch a few strays is always interesting, but to come by the Commander himself, that really is a prize." She advanced a little towards him. Flan's hand tightened on his sword and Eidolon stopped him with a look. "Remove yourself from your horse." Though all pretense of civility was gone from her tone she did not attempt to force him to it. The Commander dismounted. "Have your men lay down their weapons." The Commander looked again at the field of pointed arrows, at the tender, exposed throats of his women, at his men ready to die on their saddles. He turned to Eidolon and gave him a slight nod. The men obediently undid their belts and threw down their blades. When they slid from their horses, the women followed suit: first Ayesha, then Rowena, the rest delaying, unsure. The woman never took her eyes from the Commander. "Your sword on the snow." The Commander unsheathed his sword and dropped it at her feet. 156

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It was an unadorned, commonplace sword, but she picked it up carefully, like a precious keepsake she had been waiting for all her life. "You yield without combat?" she asked him, surprised. "I choose my losing battles carefully." The woman glanced at Ayesha. "Not carefully enough. But I do not blame you. I also would have risked everything for her." Ayesha dropped her eyes to the ground, shaking with a mixture of ire and shame. "Now she will be her master's mistress," the woman continued. "Perhaps you will enjoy that as well." The Commander made no answer. The woman walked to stand before Ayesha. She lifted her chin delicately and gave her a look of pure love and regret. "Or will you not enslave him that you gave yourself to like a peasant, and forsook your people and your sacred trust for?" Ayesha's lip trembled, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she stared at the woman. She turned her face away, pulling harshly from the tender fingers. Elora saw the enormous hurt in the woman's eyes and the weight of resignation that sank her shoulders a little. The woman wavered, fighting to recover her composure; then the whimpers of the bleeding mastiff drew her attention. It was trying to lift itself from the snow, its jaws stretching out to the arrow without being able to reach it. The woman regarded it distractedly, with some annoyance and perhaps even pity. She gripped the Commander's sword firmly by the handle and took a stride toward the dog. "No!" Elora ran before anyone could intervene; ran at the woman who did not seem to hear her and pushed her away from the mastiff with both hands. The woman staggered sideways. She turned, disbelieving the offense. Then her face paled with rage and she swung the sword back to strike. Elora watched in a daze as the blade rose gleaming against the 157

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sun, and heard Eidolon scream her name. And he was flinging her aside, throwing himself in the way. She hit the snow, unbalanced. She turned to see him kneeling there with a stunned, uncomprehending look on his lovely face. But the Commander was standing between him and the woman, and the woman was staring in confusion at the hilt of the sword still clasped in her hands, her curled fingers pressed against the Commander's abdomen and covering with blood. The blade had run his body through. Its point protruded behind him and had nicked Eidolon's chin. The woman looked up at his face in consternation, but he was staring hazily down, his hands closing over the entry wound. She yanked out the sword from between them and he bent over, the breath torn out of him along with the blade. Eidolon reached up unsteadily to touch the small cut on his chin. He still could not seem to grasp what had happened. The woman let the sword clatter to the ice as if it burned her and dropped back a step. The Commander turned around, still grasping his stomach, to look at Eidolon. He smiled a small, relieved smile. Eidolon gaped at the blood streaming down over his groin and thighs, running in rivulets down the length of his brown boots. Then the Commander turned away and tried to straighten, thick red drops leaking out from between his clenched hands to splatter on the snow. But the wound overcame him and he pitched forward to his hands and knees. He coughed. His arms began to tremble uncontrollably while he stared without focus at the icy ground. They gave way at last and he fell with his head forced to one side, his blue eyes still open, unmoving now. Ayesha howled, grabbing a discarded sword, and charged headlong towards the woman. The woman stumbled backward, unwilling to defend herself, and half a dozen Amazons leapt onto Ayesha, knocking her to the ground. She fought on, her gigantic, violent screams rocking the woods and the sword slashing wildly even though her arm was pinned at the elbow, opening slits in their ermine pelts and their arms. It took three of them to wrestle it from 158

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her grasp. Eidolon was crawling toward the Commander, wailing, clutching at his body, jostling him, when four Amazons pulled him roughly away. There was no reaction. The Commander's eyes did not move. His mouth had opened, and a trickle of saliva escaped from its corner, dribbling down his cheek onto the ice. Elora did nothing. She sat there beside the mastiff. It too was dead. The Amazon Queen quickly ordered a retreat. Ayesha was on her feet, eyes blazing while she struggled against the desperate hold of the women, screaming and screaming without pause. Eidolon was trussed and gagged so that he could only whimper. The Amazons hung him from his hands and ankles to a long pole and carried him away writhing, tears streaming down his face. Elora felt someone clasp her arm and lift her gently to her feet. They were moving and she went where she was led. "You can't leave him!" she heard Ayesha howl with a new, pitiful note of desperation. "You must bury him! Let me bury him! You can't leave him to the wolves!" But they did leave him, and as the somber procession reached the girth of the clearing and began to pass into the trees Elora glanced back. She was overcome, suddenly, by a blessed kind of deafness. Even Ayesha's screams faded. Hearing only the wind in the forest she looked at him, face down on the snow, a little breeze ruffling a lock of his mink brown hair and a dark red pool spreading slow around him.

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Chapter Four In the Mountains of the Moon Elora

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hey climbed for hours. Elora stared ahead at the steaming cloud of her own breath and did not cry. She saw him crumple to his knees again in a corner of her mind that she could not shut, and she thought, I have killed him. Larima held her hand, steadying her when she faltered over the deep snow. "Elora. Elora, don't give up on me." The shadows of the trees grew long as daylight began to fail and Elora raised her eyes to look at the bruise-colored sky. "Elora. There is always another place." The path curved around a patch of evergreens and into the mouth of a huge, unending cave. A weak glimmer of torches issued from its gnarled walls, far away. The horses moved three abreast over a winding road of squared stones, their shod hooves tapping rhythmically, echoing into the dark. Slowly the walls closed in and they entered a tunnel without light. The road sloped steadily upward for a while, delivering them blind and uncertain into a smaller cavern. Here torches lit the way once more and the black walls had been smoothed to a mirror shine. As the caravan pushed sluggishly on Elora could see their reflections swimming over the stone: Eidolon, wholly undone by grief, and Ayesha still fighting in the grip 160

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of her alarmed guards. Jugger with tears freezing on his copper cheeks and his mouth slack as the Amazons drove him forward, arms bound behind his back and a thick rope around his neck. Faithful Larima, disheveled and fascinated, holding onto her hand with a mother's care. Rowena and Daria serene as ghosts, and the three trembling Raiders with heads bowed, torn from everything they knew. They were in a tunnel again. The light was brighter, coming diffuse and gray from around a bend far ahead. Elora shut her eyes. She opened them when the pale winter sun hit her lids and looked upon this other place that she had come to, once again and as ever, against her will. The Amazons lived in a city built out of blue-veined rock in the heart of the mountains. It was carved from the slopes themselves, high in the clouds like an eagle's nest and protected from all sides. They called it the Stronghold. Hunting parties bringing deer and pheasant in from the forests watched them pass. An enormous black bear lumbered by, led on a silver chain after a very small girl. A pack of slim, shaggy hounds with great jaws and watery brown eyes followed, feathers still caught in their teeth from fetching kill for their mistresses. The buildings around them had handsome balconies and porticoes adorned with jade-green tile, but Elora could not see their beauty. She only noticed the ice crusting over them, the dark curtains drawn behind their windows. The air was thin and she could not breathe. The silence of the mountain made her want to scream. She thought the Stronghold an awful place and could not understand Ayesha's longing for it. Crowning the city was a palace perched atop a sheer cliff. A wide avenue lined with bare trees led up to its grand blackwood gates, and above them hung a golden shield boasting two intertwined serpents and a crescent moon. They were taken into this palace and there separated from the men. Elora let Jugger and Eidolon go with her gaze bent on the ground. She was too ashamed to look at them. Maidens in white 161

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gowns showed her and the other slave-women into a chamber with a warm fire and served them supper in silence, their courtesy unfailing and completely unexpected. Elora ate obediently, but without really tasting the food. She cut the meat into little pieces and pushed it around her plate. It seemed impossible to her that he was gone. People like him did not die. She imagined him rising from the snow and riding to rescue her with a thousand men. She imagined him in his bed surrounded by surgeons, imagined herself sponging his brow, taking care of him until he was well. Perhaps Ayesha knew a secret way out of these walls like she had known a way out of the White City. Ayesha was strong and she could do anything. She was like him. Elora knew these were idle thoughts. They made her a fool like Anthea, speaking of escape from the raider ship. But for once her practical nature failed her. She did not want to face what she had done, so she indulged in her fantasies and let the hours pass. That evening, four somber guards came to fetch them. The Queen received them on her throne with Ayesha standing wan and quiet by her side, and told them they were all free women now. Elora stared, uncomprehending, as she gave them horses and bags of gold, wishing them good fortune, offering guides to take them safe out of the wilderness in the morning. When they were led out of the room Elora glanced back at Ayesha, and Ayesha smiled farewell. She threw herself from the walls that very midnight, and by the time her attendants discovered her at dawn the wolves had feasted. Elora stood over her mauled body for a long time. Before the weeping Amazons carried it away she bent on her knees and kissed what was left of one bloody hand. Rowena, Daria and Larima followed her on their gift ponies when she rode back to the waterfall, though she had not looked at them or asked for their company. Nothing remained of him or the mastiff; only streaks of blood where the corpses had been dragged into the wood. Then it snowed and even that vanished, leaving no trace of them in the world. Elora stood on the frozen pond with the fresh, falling flakes 162

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melting against her cheeks. She let her eyes roam over the clearing and breathed in the forest scent. Every decision in life had been made for her. She had never noticed it and never cared. It had made living simple. Finally she knew herself to be completely alone, and she innocently, genuinely believed she was the first person who had ever been left this desolate. But she discovered she was not afraid, no more than a very little. She did not pause to think why she was so calm, why there were no tears, or why she could feel the beat of her heart like a slow, pounding drum in her head. She wanted only one thing from her life now and it was a comfort to find purpose at last. Purpose cleansed the mind and deadened her grief, and if it deadened everything else in her along with grief she did not care. She could see the days stretching ahead perfectly planned and perfectly clear. That what she wanted might prove impossible did not occur to her. She had always been blissfully blind to her limitations. When the snow ceased, she led the surprised little band back to the Stronghold and presented herself to the Queen. "I want to be like you," she said. "Teach me everything you know." Larima The Amazons returned us to the guest chamber where we had spent our first evening and bolted the door. Elora went to stand before a window, staring out at the city below. I could not understand what she was doing or why she did not weep. Even I was sorry he was dead. I had not known him, but for such a man to die on his knees, over a trifle and without honor, that was always a shame. I started to go to her and Rowena said, "Come here, Larima. Have some wine." Ayesha's disfigured body was burned on a pyre whose flames lasted a night and a day. The Amazons tore one shoulder of their garments, exposing their heart and left breast to the cold as a mark of sorrow. The pain would burn away their woe just as the great fire burned Ayesha to dust, and that dust scattered with storm clouds and 163

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dipping currents and flew away over the mountains. She would live with the eagles now. After this they need not mourn. It was a time for business. Tyke and Zurco, not deemed fine enough to be Court slaves, were delivered into service as laborers and disappeared into the mass of the city. Flan, because of his lithe frame and great running speed, was given as booty to a High Priestess. He would run with the dog packs after her wounded prey in the hunt, carrying the carcass back to the kitchens slung across his back. Eidolon and Jugger were kept for the private use of The Council. These were the finest of the Queen's warriors. They led her army and protected the city. There existed no power greater than theirs in the Stronghold, except her own. Elora still waited for an answer, and we were invited to be present that evening when the two Raiders were brought before their new mistresses for inspection. The Council gathered in a chamber hung with tapestries of marching Amazons, their legs bare and their tall bows raised, gray hounds racing at their heels. The room was brightly lit and the air perfumed with pinecones and boughs of evergreen. A great fireplace spewed out its warmth from one wall. The Council members settled onto low divans, drinking wine from gilded cups. They were beautiful women with elastic limbs and rich, fruity laughs, and they moved with the confidence of the very strong. The Queen wandered among them, addressing them without formality and kissing their cheeks. Her name was Hipolita. When she sat down at last Eidolon and Jugger were led into the room, naked, their hands tied behind them and thick, jeweled collars strapped around their necks. Eidolon offered no resistance to the guards flanking him, standing paralyzed with shock as the women approached. They caressed his legs and palmed his cock, smiling with approval as it flushed and tightened along with his face. They cupped his testicles, squeezing them gently, and spread his firm, rounded buttocks to explore the 164

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wrinkle of his anus. Some kissed him, but his mouth was dry. I found it amusing that he could not link his slavery with the one he had imposed on so many all his life: he had never imagined it from the other side. His embarrassment at his own uncontainable arousal was immense, and when an Amazon pinched the glistening tip of his organ and he spewed his semen into her hand with a shudder he was so mortified that he wept with rage. Silent tears, his exquisite cock hardening again in spite of them. I glanced at Rowena and saw that she was smiling, ever so slightly, but Elora remained inexplicably blank. I knew that he had treated her cruelly and she did not like him, yet there was no satisfaction, or pity for that matter, or even a hint of curiosity from her. The Amazon women laughed softly, petting Eidolon, spanking him a little. They set him aside tenderly and turned their attentions to Jugger. He stood in their midst without moving a muscle, carrying himself with quiet dignity despite the bindings and the shame. He had been chosen for size rather than beauty. The sight of his massive body, his almost bestial virility and his infuriating calm caused another kind of excitement. They were rougher with him. When his organ began to stiffen there was a great deal of whispering and laughter in the assembly. Hipolita herself slapped it with the flat of her hand until it was leaking. It took both of her palms to cup his testicles, and when she wrapped her fingers around his erect shaft they could barely encircle its girth. He bore it with a patience that was superhuman. It went beyond resignation into a state of divine indifference, which only aroused the women more. He sighed as his nipples were pinched and his pulsing sex stroked with heavy hands, but he did not complain and he did not yield. I admired him tremendously, and I could see the Amazons did too. They bent him over a stone table, placing his rigid member on the slab, pointing straight out from his loins. Two of them untied his hands and made him hold out his palms against the tabletop for 165

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support, kicking open his bulging thighs. Then a young Amazon knelt behind him, pressing the tip of her tongue delicately to his dangling scrotum. She licked up slowly and his testicles swelled, contracting against the split of his cheeks. With one continuous movement she ran her tongue up into the crease until she reached his anus. It tightened convulsively and he winced for the first time. The girl rimmed the quivering knot of muscle, soaking the black fuzz around it with her saliva. Jugger clenched his teeth, and in that same instant his resistance gave way, the sphincter relaxing and opening like a bud to expose the tender pink flesh inside. The girl’s tongue slid in easily, and as she pressed her open mouth to him, her strong, slender hands prying his buttocks wide and her tongue buried to the root inside him, he gave a low moan and his enormous cock jerked on the table, spilling out its fluid in long, thick spurts that splattered against the skirts of the women watching from across the way. When he was empty, the young Amazon withdrew. Others advanced to push their fingers into him, probing harshly. He moaned again and almost swooned. They held him up, his legs shaking. Hipolita walked around the table. She gathered a drop of his semen onto her finger from the soiled skirt of one woman and put it to her own lips. She looked into his eyes, but he would not challenge her. Another woman approached carrying a flat box made of dark, gleaming wood and embossed with burgundy flowers. She set it on the table between Jugger and Hipolita and the Queen raised the lid to show him what lay within. Jugger looked into the box. His entire body writhed a little in a tormented shiver, but when he raised his eyes to the Queen they remained passive. He did not attempt to move. Hipolita caressed his cheek, pleased by his obedience. She reached into the box and lifted a black, leather-covered object from its nest on the red velvet lining: two identical curving phalluses joined at the base by a bulging scrotum. The Amazons stepped aside as she returned to stand behind him. With a single, 166

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forceful thrust she drove one end into his rectum. Jugger gasped and bent full over on the table, his face scarlet, pressed to the stone. His orifice became wide and heated around the thick shaft and a new tremor ran through his turgid testicles, his large, limp sex pressed up against his belly like a limb in a vise. Hipolita kept a good grip on the phallus, holding it in place. She stroked his hip soothingly, waiting until his muscles relaxed enough so that he could not easily dislodge it, and then she removed her robes. Her skin was lightly tanned and alluringly smooth except for an occasional battle scar on her thigh or her arm. Curly golden hair flared around her slim, straight shoulders and a spine that looked as strong as an oak. She squared herself behind him on legs beautifully muscled from exercise and wrapped her hand around the black rod. Slowly and carefully, she reamed his enlarging channel. Jugger whimpered in response. His hips began to undulate as he welcomed her rape. She caressed his buttocks, then slapped them, hard and repeatedly. The copper flesh became tinged with a delicious red flush and his anus twitched around the black plug, starting to glisten with moisture. Hipolita stepped closer. With one hand she spread the folds of her sex, grown dark and thick already under its blond curls. With the other she slid the phallus into her vagina. Jugger trembled and sighed, and I could tell by the rapture in his face that he sensed what she was doing. When her hips pressed onto his buttocks he closed his eyes. He writhed under her, working the phallus against her groping walls, working it in himself. Hipolita groaned, her body yielding uneven spasms. She could not bear the teasing for long, and grasping his waist, she pounded him. He cried out in surprise and an agony of pleasure, bucking to enhance the penetration. His strength was so great that he almost unhinged her, but she held on fiercely, her hips absorbing the force of his thrusts. The black scrotum bulged between them and her fluids seeped out to lubricate their gored orifices while they churned in unison. Jugger was whimpering again: constantly now, high-pitched. 167

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She rubbed the juices around his stretched rim while the black phallus plunged in and out of him, her jabs frantic. His cock was filled and slapping on the table, begging to be handled, but no woman came near him and he could not lift his hands from the stone without doubling over. Hipolita reached her climax, letting it loose with a shout, and as he kept bucking desperately she pulled the phallus from him, leaving his anus enormous and his erection at its peak. I had never seen a man taken like this by a woman, and I knew Elora hadn't either. It was prodigiously arousing, his helplessness, all that harnessed strength. My face had grown hot and I could feel a trickle of moisture escaping from between my legs. Daria shifted her weight, twitching with her own surge of passion, and Rowena stared at Jugger, bright-eyed and focused. But all Elora did was sit down. Without waiting for invitation or permission from the Amazons she settled herself on a divan and very slowly, deliberately, crossed her legs. I quickened immediately with a bolt of fear. Elora had always been a little unthinking, but there was nothing impulsive or distracted about this gesture. It was a fully intentional and open challenge. I desperately wanted to do something. Her back was turned to me, so I could not warn her. I looked at Rowena and found her observing Elora, deeply interested. She showed no alarm whatsoever. I knew that Rowena saw things in her dreams, things that she never spoke of, and I sensed that something important was about to happen. I watched Elora sitting there with one arm draped over the backrest, eerily calm, inspecting the scuffed toe of her black boot. She reminded me of someone, but who that was, I could not tell. Hipolita was watching Elora too. The Amazons had pushed Jugger onto his back on the table and were tying him spread-eagled, his head hanging over the edge and his cock tremulous and disgracefully bloated against his belly. Hipolita motioned for Eidolon to be brought forward. He stared at 168

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the glistening black toy in her hand, and for the first time resisted. Even with his hands tied he was strong. The Amazons had to wrestle him to his knees, pulling his bound arms up at a painful angle in order to keep him subjugated. He looked all the more beautiful when he fought, and when they finally had him still, bent over with his blond locks tumbling down and his face reddened by exertion, I would have given almost anything to be in Hipolita’s place. She walked to stand before him and caressed his face with the tip of the black phallus, leaving a streak of come on his cheek. "This is not acceptable behavior, my beauty." Eidolon shut his eyes, panting, and jerked furiously away from her touch. Hipolita turned to her Amazons. "Get him up." Manacles padded with black fur were lowered from the ceiling on an iron chain. His hands were untied and forced before him, his wrists securely clasped. The Amazons drew on the chain until he stood perfectly straight, arms above, his smooth, golden body stretched. His skin gleamed with a covering of sweat and his cock bobbed before him, still dark and erect. Hipolita kicked the insides of his calves, forcing him to part his legs. Then she produced a long crop from a painted chest and turned unexpectedly to Elora. "Punish him," she said. Elora was up like a shot. She crossed the room in long strides and took the leather rod from Hipolita obediently, without hesitation. Daria and I were so surprised that we fell back a step. Eidolon stared at Elora in disbelief as she moved to stand in front of him and held the crop before his face. "You understand," she told him, "that I will beat you as much as I love you." Her thin, little-girl voice was neutral and quiet, and struck me as the most chilling thing I had ever heard. Having always seemed so simple, she had become, in one instant, a complete mystery to me. Eidolon's reaction was even more bewildering. His eyes filled with tears and he smiled at her, with a love so clean and obedience so 169

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complete that the Amazons themselves were moved. In spite of the pain it sent racking through his bound arms he leaned forward and kissed the tip of the crop with consummate tenderness. Elora flinched as if something inside her had broken. For an instant that steely curtain that she had drawn over her eyes since the Commander’s death wavered, and her babyish oval face looked almost young and mobile again. But she gave Eidolon no kindness. The hardness returned in the blink of an eye, and all expression vanished from her features. I felt genuine pity for him as she stepped behind his back. Standing with her legs well apart for balance she looked down at the crop, holding it first in both hands, then in one. It was obviously an instrument dauntingly unfamiliar to her. When she struck, however, she put the full force of her shoulder into the blow. Eidolon's body jerked violently as the rod marked itself across his buttocks in a long red welt. He cried out, left dangling from the chain, and the moment he had recovered his footing she swung the crop again. By the time she shifted from his backside to his thighs she had found her stride. Eidolon moaned as his skin became covered in white lines that flushed immediately to a startling pink. His tears finally spilled. Elora began using only the end of the crop, letting the slim leather tongue wrap around his calves with each stroke and making his muscles jolt, his hips undulating as he strained forward on tiptoe. She saw that he began to tire and stopped. Squatting to grasp his ankle, she ran her hand firmly up the back of his leg, squeezing the simmering flesh. Eidolon gasped and stiffened under her touch, his cock giving frantic little jerks against his belly. When her palm reached his reddened buttocks he groaned and arched his back, pressing into her grasp and opening his legs as wide as he could in an unequivocal invitation for her to touch his anus. She denied him this. Instead, she let her fluttering fingers move around him until they were caressing his stomach and she stood 170

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under the curve of his armpit. She looked up into his frenzied eyes, and he tried to kiss her. Quickly she drew back, slapping his cock with the back of her hand. Eidolon convulsed. A clear droplet of fluid leaked from the tip of his shaft. Elora planted herself before him and teased his organ with the tongue of the crop. He wriggled helplessly, trying to push himself towards her, throbbing under the soft strokes. Heated droplets kept leaking from him, wetting the strap. Elora pushed his cock down against his testicles with the side of the crop and then released it, letting it spank onto his belly. She advanced and slid one hand between his thighs. Eidolon struggled to kiss her again as she cupped his scrotum, but she slapped his face with the end of the crop, forcing him away. He stood quietly then, staring over her shoulder at the floor, his dark eyes blurred. The jeweled collar moved with the undulations of his throat as he tried to swallow in between gasps. Elora pushed his testicles back between his legs and made him close his thighs to protect them. She raised the slick end of the crop to his lips and he kissed it immediately, as if in a trance. Withdrawing to a comfortable distance, she began to whip his engorged sex. She did not hit him hard and was careful not to let the stiff rod of the crop touch him, but Eidolon flinched in despair nonetheless. The veins on his shaft swelled, its tender flesh smarting and flushed with arousal. When he was ready to burst, Elora abandoned this little torture. She examined him thoughtfully, like a work of art, and struck the flat of his belly. He jerked back. The manacles would not allow his body to curve but he could not help himself. She punished his stomach and his broad chest, lingering on the caramel-colored nipples until they were red, stiffly protruding little buds. She whipped his knotted biceps, the golden bush of curls at his groin, even the damp hollows under his arms. Eidolon writhed with his trembling legs pressed together and whimpered like a dog. Elora ended the beating at last. He deserved soft kisses now and I 171

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hoped she would give them to him, at least one. She did not. She wrapped her fingers around his cock and he gave a full-throated groan, rocking his hips, his scrotum bursting free as his thighs opened. He masturbated himself eagerly into her grasp. She watched the swollen, slippery head pumping through the tube of her hand, then his eyes as he stared down at himself, his moans coming without pause, louder and louder. And again when he was on the verge of climax she released him. He bucked and wriggled imploringly but she ignored it, returning to stand behind him. She worked the hilt of the crop into her wet palm. Eidolon froze when she pried apart his buttocks. The knot of his anus slackened and his eyes closed, small panting sounds escaping his lips as she drove the crop inside with a slow push. She left the long rod protruding from him, bobbing disgracefully while his rectum twitched around the buried hilt. I glanced at Rowena. Elora had succeeded in shocking even her. What she had done was not painful, of course, but the humiliation was extreme. Daria's generous brown eyes were sad. Rowena lowered hers, trying to compose herself. Elora dropped back a step and turned to Hipolita. Her right arm hung limp and her chest was heaving slightly, but her gaze remained focused and firm. Hipolita smiled a little, nodding her approbation. Then she left the room. The Amazons surrounded Eidolon. Elora moved respectfully out of their way and returned to our corner, walking with decidedly less energy than when she had left us. Ignoring our bewildered stares she took her former position on the divan, crossing her legs again and stubbornly lifting her numb arm to stretch it over the backrest. As the Amazons began pleasuring themselves with the men, a woman with dark brown hair and green eyes like a cat broke suddenly from their group to approach us. She sat down beside Elora, looking her over with open curiosity. "What is your name?" Elora hesitated. The woman held out her hand. "I am Callaris," 172

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she said. "I am Captain of the Guard." Elora accepted her hand and shook it awkwardly. "Forgive me. I have never done this before." Callaris smiled, glancing at Eidolon. "Your grip is good. Was he your master?" "One of several." It was almost a lie, and the confusion must have shown in my face because Rowena gave me a sharp, warning glance. Callaris had not noticed. She reached for a filled cup and offered it to Elora. "Will you take some wine?" Elora brightened and smiled with tremendous charm. "Thank you," she said, taking the cup. "I am at your service." **** The palace corridors were mercifully dim. Elora was able to hide her pallor from the self-possessed girl who led us and wipe the cold sweat from her brow without being noticed. She was a head shorter than the girl, and hard-pressed to match her gait. She lengthened her strides and I became aware for the first time that she was painfully nervous. She glanced covertly in our direction, but Daria seemed as discomposed as her and Rowena remote as ever. So when her eyes met mine I tried to encourage her with a small smile. A circle of stone pillars supported the dark, beamed ceiling of Hipolita's vast chamber. A magnificent bed of carved blackwood stood raised on a dais, draped in purple damask ornamented with silver embroidery. Its four posts were shaped like nude male slaves, arms uplifted to support a canopy of shimmering silver mail. A fireplace hewn from blue rock dominated one side of the room and five sets of doors opened onto a western terrace, their panels now shut and covered by heavy velvet curtains to keep out the cold. Two young boys were scrubbing the floor tiles on their hands and knees. Hipolita rested on a divan covered by crimson cloth. Leaning against it were a blue leather quiver embossed in gold and a tall, 173

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white bow crowned with a serpent's head. She was nude, a string of large pearls around her throat and her hair braided into a crown at the back of her head. One thick lock of loose curls hung free like a horsetail down her spine. A baby girl of three or four played in her lap, delighted gurgles escaping her as Hipolita tickled her tiny knees. The child stopped laughing when she saw us approach. She studied us with a serious air and disappeared. Elora bowed to the Queen. Standing with hands clasped behind her back like a soldier she looked at ease, but I could see her nails digging into the flesh of her wrist. Hipolita said nothing for a while. She examined us, toying occasionally with her pearls. "To be an Amazon requires great conviction,” she explained finally, with a thoughtful air. “And great patience." Elora made no answer. "You do not mourn your master?" "The only true masters are the ones we choose," said Elora. "I have chosen you." "Why?" "I have been helpless long enough." "To be an Amazon also requires great strength. You are small and delicate, you do not have it." Elora did not argue. Hipolita turned her gaze to Rowena. "And you?" she asked. "What do you wish for?" "Where she goes I follow." "But you are of royal blood." "Yes," said Rowena, and apparently felt it unnecessary to say any more. Hipolita hesitated a moment. She turned questioningly to Daria. "I too," said Daria. Hipolita looked at me and I nodded without waiting to be asked. She studied Elora again. "Your company does you credit." "I am grateful for it," answered Elora. 174

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She said it very gracefully, I thought, and although I did not feel any safer I was proud to be standing behind her. Hipolita got to her feet and moved to the bed, wrapping herself in a dark green robe. "Did you love my sister?" she asked without turning around. Elora faltered slightly but her detached expression did not change. "Very much." "I believe you," said the Queen. She stared ahead at the shadows dancing on the wall. "She asked me to be kind to you. It was the last thing she asked me." She returned to stand before us, belting her robe. "You do not have strength but perhaps you have endurance, and with endurance strength will come." "You will let me train, then?" "For one season. If you make it through the winter, we shall see." "I want his horse," said Elora, too abruptly. It was, at best, an impractical request. She would not require a horse until she could shoot and fence on her own feet, and this might take months. At worst, it was unpardonable insolence. The Hellchild should have gone to Hipolita. Daria and I froze. Rowena stared at the floor. Elora swallowed dryly, obviously aware that she had made a serious mistake. But Hipolita seemed amused. "You may have his horse, if you can catch it. My warriors herded it into a pen and have been unable to go near it since." She went to a dressing table and began brushing out her hair. "You have leave." Elora bowed stiffly and headed for the door. We stayed close on her heels. "Elora?" We turned around. "To inspire loyalty is the most difficult thing. It is a rare gift. Be glad of it." 175

Irene Maillol Elora Elora waited until the palace had gone to sleep. Then she crept out of the luxurious room where the Amazons had installed them and down the silent halls. The chamber where The Council had met was dark. Jugger had been taken away but Eidolon remained, mounted on a pedestal with his arms still chained to the ceiling. He stood too high for Elora to kiss his face, so she wound her arms around his waist and embraced him while he wept, his head bowed to look at her and his tears dropping into the blackness of her hair. She was disabled by the sheer generosity of his soul, understanding at last why the Commander had loved him and why he had asked her to be kind. That Eidolon had so quickly forgiven her for what she would never be able to forgive of herself she would remember all the length of her life. She kissed the silky skin of his thigh and made a silent promise to keep him safe. That night she slept like the dead while Rowena watched her and the others tossed fretfully, dreading what the morning would bring. Larima I do not believe Elora had any idea of what she had let herself in for, and us too, towed along in the bargain. I had never seen anything so brutal, not even in the White City. I had watched soldiers train there for years. It fazed her completely, and still she attacked it with a resolve that defied all understanding. We were dispatched from the palace to the common army barracks. There were no more fine meals and no soft beds. We spent our days carrying heavy logs up and down the mountain slopes, chased by company captains on horseback and buried to our knees in snow. Each week the logs became heavier and the pace faster, and each week we wore less clothing to harden us against the cold. We paid attention to nothing except our bodies, nursing ache after ache, 176

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our lips too cracked for speaking and our soft hands covering with sores until they callused. Rowena would sigh good-naturedly, wishing for just one drop of hearty peasant blood in her veins while Elora bandaged her swollen feet, and Elora would smile affectionately, kissing her damp hair. Daria never complained and I was allowed to whine as I pleased. After particularly grueling trials I would find that Elora had saved her slice of gingerbread from supper, leaving it wrapped in cheesecloth on my pillow. Hipolita had been right. Elora was small and slight and not designed to be a warrior. She suffered agonies, even greater agonies than we did, but Hipolita had been right about something else: the girl had a will of stone. Perhaps it was her rough parentage, perhaps her youth and perhaps simply a gift from the gods. She did not seem to mark her fortitude or to notice that we lacked it. Much as she had saved my life without thinking ahead or knowing the consequences she was now pushing us into a new existence with the blind conviction that we would all survive it. She was a creature who acted purely on instinct and raw tenderness, and she was an adventurer at heart. I think that in secret she enjoyed the hardships. She had often talked of longing for roads that led somewhere, and she had finally found one. My greatest comfort was that she seemed at peace. She never mentioned Him, and although she never wore anything but black from that dreadful day on she wore it smartly. It appeared more like a choice of fashion than a sign of mourning. Jugger By the time I was freed from my bindings on the table, Elora had left the room. Eidolon was being mounted on a pedestal. Exhausted and swaying slightly, he did not notice me standing there trying to meet his eyes. There was no pedestal for me. They led me out a side door and through a maze of dark corridors. Two Amazons flanked and two followed, and I was almost flattered that weak as I felt and after such 177

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an ordeal they would still consider me so dangerous. We reached a broad oaken door, and they motioned me to step through alone. The first thing I noticed was the enormous bed draped in deep violet, its silver canopy glimmering in the fire light and its four carved slaves large as life, an unavoidable reminder of what I had become. Then I saw her sitting at a dressing table by the hearth, combing her blond hair. She wore a green robe and a string of pearls around her neck. The room was eerily quiet, and her bare feet made no sound as she crossed to stand before me. I lowered my eyes. She smelled of hyacinth blossoms. I remembered what she had done to me with that monstrous black toy and in spite of everything she was I desired her terribly. She removed my collar with unexpected gentleness and set it aside. When she let the robe drop from her shoulders I could not help looking up, and found her on the edge of tears. "Punish me for my sister," she said. "No one else will." It was difficult to hate someone who already suffered such obvious pain. There I was, unfettered and three times her size, and all I did was kiss her throat. I kissed her right through the pearls and felt her sigh, and taking her long, fine hand I led her to that appalling bed. She stared at me in confusion, but did not question me. I laid her down. When I reached for the velvet bindings tied to the head-posts she offered me her wrists. She had strong arms and golden skin like her sister. I kissed the clean, tender hollow of each armpit as I tied her, leaving the bindings slack enough so that she rested comfortably, her shoulders nestled on a pillow, her head dropping back a little. I sat beside her and placed my hand on her belly. It was flat and firm, but the hipbones were slender, and to me, heartbreakingly fragile. She turned away her face. "You will find everything you want in the cabinet," she said. Something moved in the shadows. I glanced up sharply, taken aback, and saw a tall, young man step forward. He was shaped beautifully as a statue, broad shouldered and lean through the hips. 178

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His hands were enormous. But they were soft, and his fair skin was unblemished, it had never known hard weather or the point of a sword. He had been raised a slave. His eyes and hair were velvet black, and in contrast to the strength of his handsome face his lips were full and utterly kissable, deep rose, almost like a girl's. I was relieved he was there. It had been a long night, and much as I desired Hipolita I was too weary to satisfy her. The boy was fully erect. He opened the doors to a cherry-wood cabinet and moved aside. I went to look at the objects it held. I had no need of anything in it; if I had wanted to beat her the strength of my hand would have been enough. But I wanted to see what she liked. There were several crops and paddles, and a particularly slender and terrifying little switch. There were perfumed oils, leather manacles, blindfolds covered in peacock feathers. Of the phalluses laid out on the shelf the most beautiful was made of gold, not overly large but thick, with pearls encrusted round its base and a series of black silken cords dangling free. It suddenly occurred to me that all of these things might be used on me someday. The idea paralyzed me, though I could not be certain whether it was with fear or excitement. I picked up two little jeweled clamps joined by slight chains. They would not be painful, and so adorable on her small, pointed breasts that I could not resist. She shivered as I fixed them carefully to her nipples, the chains rippling in between over her perfect skin. I kissed her mouth at last. It was a slow, feeding kiss, and I knew she could taste the other women on my tongue. I let her enjoy them and closed my eyes, breathing in the hyacinth fragrance that still lingered from her bath and twirling her string of pearls around my fingers until it was tight on her throat and she gasped. Her skin grew hot and she writhed under me as I brushed my lips over her chest, licking the little chains into my mouth, tugging gently. She arched her back and her breasts swelled, jiggling enticingly against my pull, the nipples hardening. Her breaths became shallow and she tossed her head from side to side while her face flushed red 179

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from lack of air, her wrists straining against the bindings. When I pressed my tongue into her navel her whole body convulsed against me and I feared the necklace would break. I held her down with my free arm and bit into the soft curve of her waist and the flesh of her hip, more tenderly than I wanted to but hard enough to make her moan. I nuzzled her mound of tight blond curls, smelling her, biting again. She tried to open her legs. I prevented her by wrapping my arm around her thighs and tightened my grip on the pearls a bit more. She started to swoon, and when I kissed the crown of her palpitating little cleft it was wet. I let her go. She breathed again as the string of pearls fell free, tangling on the clamps and golden chains, and with her eyes closed she spread her thighs for me. The lips of her sex were elegantly long and very dark, and with one tease of my tongue they parted to reveal her opening, dilated already and slick. Her taste brought a rush of heat to my groin, and as I ate from her, entering her with my tongue and scooping out the juices, I felt that familiar tightening between my legs and the sweet burn spreading down my thighs to flood the very soles of my feet. I sucked on her delicate folds and the stiff nodule of her clitoris, her groans startling in the silence of the chamber, urging me on. I raised my head to look at her. I could not see her face, only the slender line of her throat and her supple, shuddering breasts pulling on the clamps, the chains tight between them. She had gripped the velvet ropes strapping her down so hard that her fingers were white with the pressure. I traced the length of her sex with my thumb, lingering, memorizing every quiver. When I touched the widened mouth of her vagina she jerked against me, and I let her swallow my thumb completely, twisting it inside. I curved my palm under her buttocks, pushing the middle finger into her crease. Her anus trembled against me, hot, moist with her sweat. It was time, but I still could not take her. My loins felt bloated and warm but my cock remained useless. I was feeling my age, I supposed, and it was not without jealousy that I turned my eyes to the magnificent young man and signaled him to 180

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approach. He climbed onto the bed looking only at her. But she was looking only at me, more surprised than ever. She bit her lip, and I knew she wanted me to kiss her again. I positioned him between her widespread legs, sliding one hand around to grasp his cock. It pulsed violently in my fingers as I worked his wetness down the shaft, and he bent forward to kiss her mouth. I grabbed him quickly by the hair, pulling him back. He stiffened, moaning low, and then undulated submissively against my hips, a vague smile playing on his lips. Slowly I guided him onto her, rubbing his engorged tip against her clitoris and then easing it inside. He trembled uncontrollably in the vise of my arm as her walls sucked on it, and she gazed up at me imploringly, sighing, raising her hips. I drove him in a little further, governing his thrusts, keeping them gentle so that they both whimpered with eagerness, and he turned his head, trying to kiss my face. I gave his cock a sharp yank that cured him of it. Hipolita cried out with pleasure, bucking underneath, and I let him sink fully into her, my hand crushed between their loins. Gripping his hair again I lowered his head against her breasts. He pulled off the jeweled clamps with his teeth and sucked hungrily on her taut nipples. I knew he was hurting her, but it was a sweet pain and she was in ecstasies, so I allowed it. My cock slipped between his hard, churning buttocks as I bent over his back. I tightened my hold on the root of his shaft, forcing him to ride her slowly. She smiled at me, and I gave her the kiss she wanted. She fed on my lips, sucking my tongue when I pressed it into her, pushing open my jaws. My fingers were soaked on her groin. I released his cock to masturbate her and she moaned into my mouth. The boy buried his face in the curve of her neck, his harsh grunts muffled by the swell of pillows. The rubbing of his backside was making my cock stiffen at last. I could feel their fluids spreading, the hot nest of soft hair in his crease caressing my shaft. His scrotum thumping against the sensitive flesh of my fattening tip was too much and I thrust between his legs, pushing his testicles forward, grinding 181

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into their pulp as the blood filled my sex. Hipolita groaned. I opened my eyes to discover that I had drawn back from her. She was trying to kiss me again. I had stopped masturbating her also. My hand was flat on his belly, holding him to me as he worked his hardness inside her. He was panting wildly, about to break, his anus pulsing against the matted hair of my groin. I pulled him away from her. She was too aroused to withstand his climax without reaching hers and I wanted that for myself. To my surprise, he did not protest. He managed to plant one loving kiss on her shoulder before I raised him up, and then he stood obediently by the bed, holding his head high and making no attempt to approach Hipolita or touch his torturously stiff cock. I knew that his deference was to her and not to me. He gave way simply because she had put me in charge. But I could not help admiring his control. It was my first real lesson in service. Hipolita surged automatically on the bed when he emptied her, but once he was standing and I knelt there with nothing left between us she lay still, looking at my mouth, at my hands resting on my thighs, at my cock. She really was a beautiful woman. Her violet eyes were bewitching. She was warmer than her sister and infinitely more seductive because of it. It had been a long time since I had been with anything but a girl. I had forgotten how exciting it was to lie with a woman of experience, how much sweeter and dizzying to submit as well as take. She could arouse passions that no girl knew how to reach, and the mere thought of her touch made my sex rise against my stomach with a yearning that was physically painful. When I leaned over her to untie her wrists she kissed it, and I wet myself a little, leaving a thick, clear droplet smeared on her cheek. I let her stroke my shaft as I lay down beside her, kissing the salty drop from her face, and she calmed while I heated, her skilled fingers boldly strong at first and then light as breath, keeping me constantly off balance. She wrapped one leg over my hips. We kissed, her erect nipples teasing the curls on my chest. I sucked her tongue and her throat, and pressed my face into the silky, fragrant mass of 182

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her hair. I discovered her curves by blind feel. The slope of her spine, her firm buttocks, the lean, muscled curve of her thigh covered in downy fuzz that I could only feel against the soft underside of my wrist. I squeezed her breasts and mouthed them avidly, almost able to hold them whole and excruciatingly sweet between my jaws. But she lifted my face back up to hers, and with her distractingly bright, chameleon eyes looking into mine she guided me into her drenched little sheath. The glove-like hold of her walls was maddening and the passage exquisitely warm. She contracted with each thrust, sighing, squeezing my girth. The breaths shuddered out of me as I struggled not to ravish her. When I had impaled her fully, the damp pulp of her sex quivering against my testicles, I reached between us to part the crown of her stretched folds. Her clitoris scraped against the wiry thatch of my pubis, left naked and defenseless. I clasped my other hand to her backside and ground her firmly onto the hardness of the bone. She whimpered. Her nodule swelled like a tiny erection as we coupled side by side, our arms about each other. The waves of heat increased, coming faster. I opened my lips on the fevered pulse of that thick, pumping vein in her neck. When she started to jerk against me, digging her fingers into my back and tightening her leg around my hips, I rolled her onto her back and mounted her. My cock started to slip from her and I arched to keep it inside. I hooked her knees over the crook of my elbows, pushing her legs up. Her whole body rocked as I drove in with swift, hard jabs. I could not control them, she made me forget everything. Her widely spread buttocks slammed against me, the tip of my sex beating against the very back of her passage. I stared at the sway of her breasts and the wide, wet opening around the purple root, and she grunted with the weight of the stabs, holding onto my wrists. Hair was tumbling into my eyes and matting with sweat on my brow, and the tingling, delicious bloating in my testicles was almost at its peak when she came. She gave a shrill cry. One clear, hot burst and then another 183

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trickled onto my groin. Her sex was so filled that for a moment she felt almost virginal, and then her orgasm passed away in spasms and she pushed hard against my chest. I thrust into her again, realizing with monumental frustration that I was still hard, but she was shriveling and spent, wanting no more, and I knew that license to punish was not license to disobey. I withdrew, shaking violently, clenching my teeth to repress a groan. She sat up, languid, still unbalanced. With her hands pressing down on my heaving shoulders she forced me onto my back against the pillows. She kissed my forehead moistly, enchantingly clumsy. "Don't touch yourself, Jugger." That she had used my name made the command disarmingly intimate and crueler somehow, but I was excited as a boy that she even knew my name, and I lay rigid and breathless while she walked away from the bed. She moved with small, tottering steps, bowing her head to fight off a little swoon. Pulling the cork from a bottle on the table, she drank. I tried to breathe easier and ignore the torment between my legs. She returned, smiling slightly. After examining me for a moment she sat down alongside my hips. Slowly, teasingly, she leaned forward, and then quickly she took my cock in her mouth. It was filled with hot brandy. As her lips pushed down to engulf me it spilled out, and the sudden soaking along with its warmth were like nothing I had known. I howled and burst immediately, the brandy coursing in wild rivulets over my scrotum and thighs and my cock jerking as she sucked it deep into her throat. I spent there, bucking like an animal and vanquished completely by the undulations; by the enormous friction when she swallowed. Her teeth scraped me while I thrashed, but it did not hurt. All I could feel was the eruption and the luxuriant, abandoned caress of her long curls rolling over the flank of my hips. She did not release me until every muscle in my body had gone limp. I thought I would faint and yet, when my cock fell drenched and shrunken onto my exhausted thigh and she kissed it she wrenched one more quiver out of me. I closed my eyes, my head swimming with 184

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sweet stupor and an afterglow of lust. I heard her walk away. I must have slept, because when she touched my face next and I sat up on the bed, four armed guards were standing at its foot. She helped me to my feet and opened her palm against my chest, holding it there as though I were some talisman that could make her well. "You are a kind man," she said. "And I regret your master's death. For your sake." I knew that she was sincere, that even more than an apology it was a confession that had cost her pride, but I wished she had not revived the memory. It sent a chill through me and I had to avert my gaze to hide the anger. There were few things in life that one could follow with eyes closed, knowing all the while that the path was well chosen. I had loved him like no other man, and I could still feel the weight of his hand on my shoulder. She must have noticed the change in me, but said nothing. Her arm dropped from my chest and I was led away, out of the room. It was very late and the palace was silent as a tomb. I tried to pay attention to where we were going, but the mass of corridors was too vast and dark, and I knew that escape was only a dream. Not that I had anyone to escape to, or anywhere I longed to return. Everything I cared for in the world was in the Stronghold now. **** Council slaves were housed in a long, stone hall with a tall ceiling and several burning fireplaces lining its walls. It was illuminated only by their blazes at this hour, but I could see large, stained-glass windows surrounding it, set too high to reach or break. Thirty or forty men rested in iron cages spread throughout the room. It was not as impressive a harem as the Labyrinth, but one had to consider that all this served only The Council, and there could have been no more than fifteen women to it. The palace held innumerable other slaves, Flan among them. I wondered where he was sleeping tonight. The handsome young buck from Hipolita's chamber had come 185

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with us. He had walked free and eager next to the guards flanking me, having obviously made the journey a thousand times and posing no threat. Two girls rose from a game of cards at a plain wooden table and approached as the four guards brought me to a halt. They were both pretty and quite tall, with blond hair and a decidedly feminine grace in their movements despite their firm, lean bodies and manly attire. They wore suede trousers smoothed by much use and stained in places, narrow of fit and sheathed to the knee in riding boots. The sleeves of their drab cotton shirts were rolled to the elbow, and jerkins made of cougar pelts cinched their long, lovely waists and pushed up their breasts into a most enticing curve. They had daggers at their sides and coiled whips hanging from their belts. One of them went to Hipolita's slave and I heard her call him Narso. He bowed his head submissively and nuzzled her shoulder, and she rewarded him by backing him against the wall and getting down on her knees to suck his still filled and reddened sex. He did not touch her, but he smiled and arched gratefully into her, groaning with release. He had been expecting her attentions. The other girl put two fingers on my chin and turned my head away from them. "None of that for you," she said. "Not until you've earned it." She had brown eyes and a becoming, playful smile. She could have been no more than nineteen. The guards said their goodnights and departed, eager to get to their beds. The girl folded her arms and looked me over at her leisure. "What a big, beautiful beast you are," she exclaimed with pleasure, almost with affection. "I am Geniani, your handler. Welcome to the kennels." With that she nonchalantly wrapped a firm hand around my cock and led me after her. I gasped with surprise, faltering, and she gave it an impatient, none too gentle tug. "Be quiet," she told me without turning around or slowing her stride. I followed her along the row of cages. Despite the undeniable humiliation of being steered in such a manner it struck me suddenly 186

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as enormously funny. I tried very hard not to smile. The cages were bedded with silk, the men inside sleeping naked and unbound. They a seemed a fine bunch. When the girl released me to unlock an empty enclosure I saw that she was smiling herself. She patted my cheek. "I hear you are a good pet. Let's keep it that way." She swung the door open. "Get in." My smile of amusement broke through at last; I was unable to restrain it. She showed no disapproval. But then I saw that Eidolon lay in the cage next to mine and it sobered me completely. He was curled up above the covers, his body still marked with welts from Elora's beating and his arms wrapped around his head while he wept silently. "Get in," I heard the girl say again, this time with an edge to her voice, and when I looked up her face was stern. I climbed into the cage and she locked the door behind me, leaving without another word. Crawling over the silk to the connecting bars I reached a hand through to touch his shoulder. He raised his head sharply, his eyes ferocious despite the tears, but when he saw who it was he softened. Clasping my hand he gave it a good squeeze, seeking to comfort me even though his distress was greater. It was difficult to return his brave smile. He could not stop crying, and let his head sink back onto the damp crook of his arm. I stretched myself out on the warm coverlet and held tight onto his fingers through the bars. One by one the fires went out. In the morning the kennels swarmed like a beehive with activity. Sunlight streamed through the colored windows, revealing designs of men and women coupling in varied and sometimes alarmingly athletic positions. The handlers thronged in, at least twenty of them, long crops swinging from their hands. All slaves were marched out to a walled yard and vigorously exercised before breakfast. We ran laps naked, barefoot on the ice. Then came hot baths and careful grooming, and all manner of delectable little tortures in preparation for a day of service. The men had been carefully chosen indeed. There were princes and poachers among them, and everything in 187

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between, but not one was without looks or vigor. They were superbly trained and easily aroused, and their sexual stamina was positively daunting. The handlers treated us in much the same way as a pack of fine fighting dogs, feeding us generously, stroking us often and pitting us against one another to pass the time. Narso was a high favorite and without question the leader of the group. His father had been some sort or other of court advisor in a minor realm to the south. Narso had been taken from him too early to remember the exact nature of his post or to have any feelings of regret about the loss. Hipolita had claimed him at the age of ten, part of her booty after crushing the small kingdom. She had been his first lover and there was no doubt that he cherished her to distraction. At thirteen he had begun service in her chamber, and by the time he was sixteen his qualities were so evident that he had been put out to stud. This was a rare distinction, for Amazons usually waited until a man had reached full maturity before deciding whether he was worthy of contributing his blood to their line. He was the father of Hipolita's little daughter, whom he did not know and had no interest in except as proof of good service. They would never cross paths as anything other than master and slave. Although he had not held a weapon or struck a creature in anger in the whole of his life, Narso’s strength was undisputed. He could wrestle like a devil when thrown into a pit and there was not a man in the kennels who had not opened his legs for him. In Eidolon he met his match. They suffered an instant dislike of one another, partly because Eidolon's beauty was the only one that could rival his and Narso feared Hipolita might grow to prefer him, and partly because he wanted Eidolon desperately and Eidolon would have none of him. They were put into a ring that very morning. Eidolon was still lethargic, unsure in new surroundings and taken fully aback by being forced into confrontation, so Narso had the initial advantage. But Eidolon had a dangerously short temper and he was a man who had fought for his life in battle, it was not a game to 188

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him. Narso was a head taller, certainly able to equal him in strength. In ferocity, however, there was no contest between them. Narso was unprepared for a soldier's resistance to pain and the sheer viciousness of his attack, and even among soldiers Eidolon was a barbarian. When he had Narso pinned to the dirt, strangling him with an unyielding hand that quivered from the brute effort, the handlers shifted uneasily fearing real harm. Narso yielded, arms opening to the sides, but Eidolon did not loosen the grip on his neck. It was not until Geniani let fly a crack of her whip on his back that he flinched and let go. Narso coughed and caught his breath, and then he turned over as a matter of course, offering his raised hips so that Eidolon could mount him. The Amazons and the other slaves watched with pleasure. I was surprised by the ritual, as was Eidolon, and for a moment he did not seem to know quite what to do with himself. Narso was devastatingly tempting and I had to admit that if he had been mine to take I would not have hesitated. But Eidolon flung him onto his back instead and, once more, locked a savage fist round his throat. Narso stared up at him in a daze, his luscious cock stiffening between his legs. "If you ever try my patience in this ring again," said Eidolon slowly, "I'll walk out with your windpipe in my hand." He got to his feet and offered his wrists to be cuffed. I could not be certain if the others realized it, but he meant every word. Geniani, for one, took him seriously. She did not reprimand him, but as she led us to a grooming table she warned him that though he may threaten as he pleased, his life would be forfeit if he should ever damage Narso or any other slave in the Stronghold. It would not be their last encounter. It is to Narso's credit that he never showed fear when facing Eidolon, even if he never managed to overpower him. There was only one man in the kennels whom Eidolon could not best, and that was me. Once I discovered, however, the fate that awaited the loser of those morning duels, I always let him win. The 189

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Council had an excess of slaves and did not call them all to service every day. For the ones who remained idle there must be some release. They were trained in pleasure and constantly avid for it, and it was left to the vanquished man to attend their needs. To couple with one handsome, proficient lover, brutal as he may be, is exciting, but to face ten or twelve of them is another matter altogether. Eidolon was my friend, and though there was no doubt in my mind that he could endure it, I spared him the ordeal. It of course escaped nobody's notice that I was losing on purpose. Geniani would laugh and pet me, and ask me if I was in love. The principal disadvantage of this system was that the handlers knew all they needed to do in order to see me defeated was throw Eidolon into the ring. Once the novelty of watching me be used by the pack wore off, however, we were seldom made to fight one another. Weeks stretched into months while we came to know the men and the girls, and our beautiful new mistresses with their appealingly provocative tastes and demanding appetites. The winter began to wane. Eidolon still wept at times, and at night I would hear him call to the Commander in his sleep. He had adapted to our enslavement with less resistance than I had anticipated, but I supposed his submission would last only as long as his heartbreak. On the other hand, his heartbreak might last forever. We did not see Elora after that terrible night when she had whipped him for the Queen's pleasure. He never spoke of it and never brought up her name. Even so, we could not help hearing of her progress; rumor always reached the kennels. I was sorry for what she had done but I could not really blame her. She was a child, and children move on. It is their nature. Larima The Amazons were warm women despite all tales to the contrary, and free with their friendship. Their respect, however, had to be earned. It was long into the winter before we were given our first weapons, 190

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and then Elora surprised them almost as much as she surprised us. She would be a superior killer. What she lacked in brute force she made up for in accuracy, and she was quick as a viper. There was not a weak spot that her sword could not find in three strokes. She could shoot an arrow through a pinecone at a hundred paces and every dagger that flew from her hand sailed as sure and alarmingly strong as the one she had used to save my life. She did not discard emotion while fighting and every encounter seemed oddly personal to her, but the restraint she could not apply to combat she displayed everywhere else. That sweet, girlish vivacity I remembered from the White City had coiled itself into something guarded and more arresting than elegance. The change was abrupt and unnatural, and made her more interesting than ever. We were full of theories, Daria and I, but Rowena never volunteered an opinion. She watched Elora like a hawk and told us to keep our gossip to ourselves. We sat warming our hands by the fire one night, the three of us who had known her when, watching her talk with the Amazon soldiers. Her legs were crossed as always and one arm draped over the back of her chair. She continued to remind me of someone, and after staring at her long and searchingly I thought I had found the answer. "She looks like Ayesha," I whispered. "She is trying to look like Ayesha." "No," said Rowena with complete tranquility. "She looks like Him." Hipolita Hipolita suffered a constant need to see the girl that was like an ache in her very bones. The Commander's big black horse was still kept in a high-fenced paddock with a small barn where he could seek shelter from the cold. No one had put so much as a halter on him yet. The girl went to see him every day, no matter how painfully she had toiled at the barracks or how rough the weather blew. Sometimes she stood 191

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by the fence for hours, ankle-deep in snow with a cloak drawn tight about her. And every day Hipolita watched from the palace windows, keeping out of sight, overcome by a thrill she had not felt in years. The girl was beautiful, but it was more than this. Her silence gave her an air of assurance beyond her years and a sense of mysterious promise she would have lacked if she had laughed, or even smiled often. Perhaps she had always been quiet, or perhaps she had become so after his death, after returning to that clearing and finding nothing but his blood on the snow. To discover herself so abruptly free and with the world open before her must have been a frightening experience. Hipolita respected her boldness, and found the serious little face difficult to resist. The flushed, rounded cheeks that were becoming leaner as she became stronger, the mouth so ripe it beckoned without trying, and those wide gray eyes that shone cold and calm like a luminous reflecting pool, endlessly tempting but impossible to stir. She had not wept for Ayesha, but the kiss on the pulp of her sister's disfigured hand Hipolita could not forget. In that kiss the girl had revealed a depth of understanding and compassion that would have inspired love in a rock. Hipolita could not deny that her sister had gone mad. To take one's life was foolish and weak, and Ayesha had been neither. To take it over a man, that was the height of disgrace. But in all the Stronghold only the girl had looked past the folly into the beauty of Ayesha's steadfast heart, and known that there were passions that the world simply should not challenge. Hipolita regretted that she herself had not been so wise. She had wondered at first if the girl, too, had loved him, but time had done away with this fear. The girl had not defended his corpse and she had not mourned him. There had been no moment of weakness for him as there had been for Ayesha. She had seen his men condemned to hard service and done nothing to have them spared. She had punished without restraint and what Hipolita thought was embittered and rather excessive cruelty. Not satisfied with that, 192

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she had committed the greatest insult to his memory; she had chosen to become the very thing that had finished him. She had taken his horse and his semblance, and if she could have done so she would have probably taken his name. Hipolita had recognized at once that pose of the crossed leg and the loose arm over the chair, that thoughtful tilt of the head. It occurred to her that here was a slave trying to avenge her slavery in the most perfect way: by replacing her master and erasing him from remembrance. The Commander's fame would perish when the girl's grew stronger than his had been. He would end as no more than a footnote in her own astounding story, for the girl would be a force to reckon with. Hipolita could see it even now as she took her first, raw steps toward the art of war. Elora It was early spring and Elora was almost happy. Ayesha had been wrong about the mountains; they were most beautiful when they were green. She went for long walks when she had the time, out the Stronghold walls and through that long cave into the light of the forests. There she saw curly-horned stags and herds of boar, brown partridges, pheasants that flew from the thickets in a blur of jewelcolored feathers. The sandy mountain lions sat quiet and confident on the high rocks. Small birds of all kinds fluttered among the budding branches pecking for food, and she practiced the calls the Commander had taught her, whistling to bluejays and nightingales, and to brown-backed thrushes with spotted breasts. The fruit trees were fragrant, covered in new blossoms. The brooks ran swift again, their stony banks lined by great willows dipping their branches into the flow. Elora would pick flowers from the trees and toss them onto the water, knowing they would wash down and down to join the river and arrive like presents at the tall, shining walls of his home. But these were brief, secret moments. Once they had passed she did not think on them much. She had the wonderful ability to focus her 193

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attention on outward objects, and though this kept her from selfknowledge it spared her the burden of melancholy. She liked the Amazons. She liked this strange life of constant endeavor. She admired their direct manner and truthfulness, and their rough but honorable ways. That she did not practice them she never viewed as contradictory to her feelings. She never wondered at a lack of honor in herself or felt the need to do anything to remedy the situation. Honor was very pretty and all that, but in her experience it never got one anywhere, and she had a long way to travel. The White City had taught her more than she had realized and her lessons served her well in the Mountains of the Moon. One seat of power was much like another and every Court had its currents; she knew how to navigate them. She had stopped imitating his look and his walk now. She did not need them any longer, for she was coming into her own. Transforming into a soldier had been difficult, but unlike anything she expected. There were no clear marks on the road and no awareness of a gradual progress. She had simply awakened one morning to discover she was good. It had crept up on her, and now she found it hard to remember a time when she had not been able and strong. Rowena was a calm, brilliant fighter, which surprised her not at all. Larima had turned out positively fierce in spite of her affable nature, and even Daria with her deceptively tender eyes and her still voluptuous but much harder body could hold her own on any field. Callaris came to the barracks often and Elora had been careful to cultivate this friendship, for with it came news of Jugger and Eidolon, and she knew they were well cared for. With the Hellchild also she had made significant progress, admittedly at the cost of deep bruises and a bite on her arm that had taken a month to heal. He would never completely belong to her, just like his master, but like his master he was not invulnerable to her charms and had grown to tolerate her with similarly good humor. She did not yet have the notice of the Queen, however, and there could be no rise in rank without it. She watched for an opportunity 194

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with those dove-gray eyes that had learned to reveal only what others wished to find in them, and it came at last with the flowering of the cherry trees and the waking of the bear. Callaris brought it about, though when she did Elora the honor of inviting her on a Council hunt, neither had the slightest notion of what would follow. Jugger The story swept through the palace like wildfire. Every time it was told it became more fantastic. Whether it had been a bear, a cougar or a boar as big as a small bull remained unclear, and whether Elora had used a spear or a dagger, or been astride or on foot varied with the teller. In the end we had it from Callaris herself, who came into the kennels to warn all the handlers that The Council would celebrate this evening and its slaves must be prepared. Apparently the hunting party had cornered a red bear at the end of a gorge. It had left a trail of dead dogs and was flinging them still against the rocks while the Amazons pierced him with arrows. The bear had charged unexpectedly, disemboweling Hipolita's horse and leaving her thrown, separated from the other warriors. Caught against the cliff wall, she had drawn her sword, but standing on its hind legs the bear was tall as a rearing horse. Even if she could stab him she would die in the crush of his jaws, and no amount of shouting and hurled spears could distract him from her. Elora had moved so swiftly that the Amazons had not ceased shooting when she rode between them and the bear. As the Hellchild galloped by she had flung herself onto the bear's back, dagger drawn, and buried it into the base of his skull. One of the stray arrows had run through her shoulder and pinned her to the bear, and they had fallen together at Hipolita's feet. Callaris had cut the stem and yanked it out to free her, and she maintained that though Elora had roared fit to bring down the peaks she had mounted the Hellchild immediately and ridden back bleeding and unabated all the way to the Stronghold. As for leaping onto the bear, I could believe it. Elora had never 195

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attained an Amazon's grace in the saddle, but she was an uncommonly agile rider and Ayesha had taught her to leap from horse to horse without much difficulty. This had delighted the Commander and he had rewarded her for it with many kisses. What she was doing on that deranged stallion of his I could not imagine, and to drive a dagger through the skull of a bear was impossible even for a man of my strength. It required unmatched instinct and skill to find the one soft hollow, even in leisure, with the beast already dead. That Elora could have managed it in the heat of action and with the pain of an arrow driven through her body was a feat I could not reconcile myself to. The mere thought of anything tearing that perfect, alabaster skin was a horror. And although I had never believed her to be without courage, it took something beyond courage to make possible such an act of lunacy. The slaves were groomed and dressed in silks. The Council feasted. Eidolon and I were not taken along to the banquet hall, and we were given no clothes. Geniani oiled our bodies and combed our hair, fitting us each with a good-sized leather phallus. Its silk straps wound around the hips and between our legs, tied to a ruby ring at the base of our erect organs to hold it in place. She led us to Hipolita's chamber and there we were chained to the wall facing her bed, left to expect her arrival. When she came in she paid us no attention whatsoever. Surrounded by a flock of eager little serving boys she bathed and perfumed herself like a courtesan waiting for her master, and when the moon had appeared round and white outside the western windows Elora strolled into the room. She was so changed that I almost did not recognize her. Her skin was painfully dark from long, hard days under the sun, and this made her gray eyes blaze startlingly clear and light, enormous in a lean, resolute face without gentleness. Only the mouth was the same, rosy and full, suggesting as ever the shape of a kiss. Her hair was pulled back to the crown of her head and braided down her back in the Amazon style, and she was oddly dressed in black, black from head 196

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to foot like a raider on a midnight run. She wore a longsword that reached her ankle and a dagger at her belt, and her bronzed hand was sinewy and well-callused on the palm, wrapped firmly around the dagger hilt. She walked erect, loose at the hips, and she would have seemed swaggering if she had not looked fully capable of delivering on everything the pose proclaimed. Hipolita waited breathlessly at the center of the room. Elora passed us by without a glance to offer her a brief, military bow. Straightening, she clasped her hands at her back as was proper and I saw a muscle in her cheek twitch. Hipolita reached for her left hand. "No," she said. "I know it is painful." Elora let her arms fall relaxed to her sides, but Hipolita did not release her hand. She held it in a shy, fluttering grip, looking down at Elora wide-eyed, flushed like a girl, discomposed as I had never seen her. "I thank you for my life," she managed at last. "It is perhaps lucky for both of us, then," said Elora, "that you did not kill me last winter." She had smiled, and the way she spoke of it, without a pause or a hint of regret, made my soul cringe. I glanced at Eidolon expecting to find his eyes bent on the floor with rage, but instead he was staring at Elora in odd, terrific excitement. Hipolita returned Elora's smile and finally, unwillingly, released her hand. "Are you hungry?" she asked, motioning toward a sumptuous supper for two that the serving boys had laid out. Elora did not even glance at the table. "No," she said, looking at Hipolita's mouth. Hipolita could resist no longer. It was obvious that she was desperately in love and had been so for some time. Elora saving her life had merely clinched it. She leaned forward impulsively to kiss her lips. It was a chaste and trembling kiss, and Elora received it with the satisfaction of the adored. But when their mouths parted and Hipolita's tongue touched her at last, tasting the plump swell of her 197

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lower lip, she shook with a shiver of lust and grasped Hipolita's face with her unhurt hand, thrusting her own tongue forcefully into the welcoming mouth. Hipolita embraced her, careful of the wounded shoulder, and they kissed passionately, standing crushed together. Hipolita tried to draw back, limp and longing for the bed, but Elora held her head trapped in the crook of her arm, insisting on the kiss with mindless ardor. I wondered how long it had been since she had lain with either a man or a woman. Hipolita managed to disengage herself finally, leaving Elora shaking, her breaths loud. She tried to unbutton the black shirt, but at this Elora stopped her. Regaining some semblance of control, she made Hipolita stand still. With hands she could barely govern and eyes focused on the Queen's graceful body, she undid the clasp of her maroon velvet robe and slid it from her shoulders. Underneath was a sleeveless gown of almond-brown silk, clinging and almost transparent. Elora actually moaned as she caressed her belly through the sheer cloth, the fronts of the thighs and the protuberant mound of the pubis, massaging it until her pressure forced the stiff blond hairs through the weave and they were tickling the palm of her hand. She ran her fingers up Hipolita's bare arms, kneading the firm flesh, and reaching the shoulders she tore at the fragile bows that held the dress together. It fell in ripples to the ground. For a moment Elora seemed paralyzed with need. Then she looked into the Queen's eyes and lowered her hands to her sides. Hipolita knelt on the pile of discarded garments. Smiling up at Elora she undid the buckle of her weapons belt and removed it. She opened her black trousers, easing them off with tender, teasing hands, sliding them over the very boots that the Commander had once given his new and cherished little slave. Elora parted her legs when Hipolita kissed the silky black curls at her groin, and as a firm, slender hand was pressed between her thighs she lowered herself slightly, arching her hips, her sex opening red and wet to receive the probing tongue. Hipolita mouthed her 198

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voluptuously, lapping at the pulp of swollen folds. She tugged gently on the slick wisps of pubic hair with her fingers and teased the rim of the opening. It trickled with pearly fluids, stilled by the very extent of its dilation as Elora stood immobile and taut, as fully exposed as she could make herself while keeping her feet. Hipolita sucked the pulsing knob of her clitoris and Elora closed her eyes. Her groans came deep and continuous, one hand buried in Hipolita's golden hair. But then something very curious happened. Hipolita inserted her tongue into the starved mouth and Elora howled, on the verge of orgasm. Her buttocks jerked. Hipolita slid a finger into the cleft and tried to penetrate her anus. Elora's eyes snapped open. She pulled away so abruptly that the Queen tumbled forward and almost fell. "Don't ever do that to me," said Elora with a cruel sternness that had an edge of panic to it. "No one will ever do that to me." Hipolita was too confused to be hurt and too smitten to be angry. "Why not?" "I do not like it," said Elora quickly. She shifted uncomfortably, faltering for a moment, and for that moment she looked again familiar and young. "It hurts." Hipolita smiled and got to her feet. She slid a seductive hand around Elora's naked hip, caressing the shapely swell of her buttock. "Perhaps no one has ever done it properly. Perhaps I can change your mind." Elora grasped her wrist and removed it. "No. You cannot." Her eyes flickered suddenly with something new, sinister and inviting. "But I will do it to you. If you want." She did not wait to be asked. Clasping the back of Hipolita's head with one hand she forced the other between her thighs, and with their lips almost touching she drove a finger hard and fast into her. Hipolita cried out as her sphincter convulsed and yielded, and Elora sealed her mouth with a ravenous kiss. 199

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A fist closed on her blond hair to hold her fast and the finger harshly impaled, Elora backed her Queen onto the bed. Her shoulder must have been burning but she did not seem to feel the pain. She did not relinquish the kiss for an instant, and even when Hipolita lay with knees bent and her legs spread wide, the finger pumping inside her, she could only groan into Elora's open mouth and Elora's tongue was filling her and stealing her breath. Elora curved over her on all fours, her own hips beginning to rock as Hipolita found her sex and rubbed it with abandon. With her free hand she tore at the braided hair, and as the ribbons fell away the black locks uncoiled, cascading down over Elora's shoulders. She moaned as Hipolita's fingers stabbed in between her replete folds, and Hipolita drew her back down to renew their interrupted kiss. The shirt was riding up with the twisting of her hips, exposing fully the split of her delicious, open cheeks. Her anus was quivering and slack above the plum-colored sex. She was as ripe as a woman could be, and I could not imagine how it would possibly hurt her to be touched there in such a fit of excitement. But Hipolita probed only her sex as had been requested, and finally Elora released her, too agitated to continue her caresses, and straightened onto her knees to bounce down on the length of the thrusting fingers until she burst. After the climax she sat there shuddering with her head bowed. Hipolita smiled, still flat on the bed, and fondled her gently now, coaxing new, exhausted spasms out of her. Elora swayed, making guttural little sounds, and then tumbled forward to kiss Hipolita's mouth and cheeks, her breasts, the hot belly, and with closed eyes and drowsy movements, lap devotedly at her filled sex. Hipolita drew a deep breath and let it out in a whimper, and all too soon she had spilled on the sheets and Elora was nuzzling her soaked folds and gathering the thick juice onto her tongue. Despite her own wild orgasm she remained aroused, her sex beating like an animal heart, and she tried to continue intercourse by kissing Hipolita's anus. The Amazon closed her legs. Elora kept trying, if weakly, climbing over her to kiss her eyelids, 200

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her fine throat. Hipolita smiled and brushed the long dark tresses from her face with both hands. Then, sitting up, she turned Elora over and pressed her down onto her back. Elora sought to raise her head for another kiss but the Queen did not allow it, placing a finger over her lips. "Shhh..." Elora sucked her finger, writhing a little and not really listening. Hipolita petted her adoringly. "I know what you need." She rose from the bed. Elora looked after her dazedly but did not attempt to get up. Her left shoulder had gone completely limp, and I knew by the way she avoided moving it that she had begun to feel the pain in earnest. Hipolita crossed to us and made an elegant little wave of offering with her hand. "Which would you prefer?" she asked. Elora lifted her head and blinked with sluggish surprise; she had not noticed us. Her head fell back on the pillow. "Neither one," she said. "Don't you want to do it to me?" Hipolita blushed with satisfaction, as I would have had I been in her place. She went to her little cabinet of pleasures and took from it the same black, two-headed phallus she had once used on me. Elora smiled at her as she returned to the bed. She spread her legs, moaning languidly when Hipolita worked the large tip into her sex. There was no need to oil the shaft; it slid in easily. Elora undulated her hips and Hipolita ground the phallus slowly against the rhythm, urging it deeper until the padded bulge of its scrotum was rubbing onto the luxuriant, matted hair around the opening. She grasped the insides of Elora's smooth, beautifully curved thighs and lifted them, kneeling in between. Straddling the other end of the shaft she lowered herself, sighing as it pierced her. Her sex flushed pink with the blood-rush, and when she was filled she began to rock forward. Elora welcomed the slow thrusts with smiles and grateful moans, raising her hips into the coupling. She reached up to pluck at Hipolita's stiff nipples with her good hand. Hipolita rode her faster, 201

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uttering high cries. Her head rolled in limp circles and her back arched to offer her tingling breasts. Elora's legs tightened around her waist to hold her in, ankles crossing behind her back and the heels of her black boots digging deep into the yielding, sunkissed flesh. She surged with the explosion of an orgasm but kept jerking. Though the telltale moisture leaked from her and her folds convulsed they did not shrivel, and she grabbed Hipolita by the shoulders to suck on her breasts and wail with her face pressed into their soft nest. Hipolita gasped and jabbed harder, her silky golden buttocks contracting as Elora's legs lost their hold, flapping helplessly, pushed high and back. The cries caught in their throats, and only a strangled exhalation of breath accompanied their throes as they burst together. The spread of their cheeks and the sight of the hot, damp mass of their sexes gored by that black pole were unendurable. My own sex throbbed as I watched them, desperately glutted and bound by the awful ruby ring so that I could not ejaculate. But that other clear discharge seeped from me, just a few, burning drops, which only made the agony greater. I heard Eidolon moan and glanced at him. He was overcome, and had looked away. When I raised my eyes to the bed again the phallus had been discarded and Hipolita was snuggling into the curve of Elora's good shoulder. Elora stretched out her legs. She did not cross her ankles but lay exhausted and carelessly open, toes turned out slightly as she relaxed, and I could see the pink lips peeking from the sweet dark thatch at the joint of her thighs. The hem of the black shirt was tangled round her waist and the muddy soles of her boots had left tracks all over the damask covers. She stroked Hipolita's hair distractedly, staring up at the silver weave of the canopy glowing orange in the hearth light. Her eyes closed for a few moments; she breathed a weary sigh. She looked at Hipolita, at the canopy again. She waited patiently. I was suddenly struck by how like a man she seemed. Every inch of her enchantingly feminine, but still like a man with his tender lover sated and wrapped in the strength of his arm, wanting attention even in sleep, and he 202

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with his mind elsewhere, ready for other things. Eventually Hipolita dozed. Elora disentangled herself cautiously from the embrace and turned her back to sit on the edge of the bed. She folded her left arm onto her thigh with a wince, and when she drew aside the black shirt to examine her shoulder the bandage underneath was stained with blood. She had torn open the wound. She seemed resigned, possibly because she was too fatigued for anything else. Getting stiffly to her feet she looked about for her trousers. She pulled them on, favoring her afflicted arm and clumsily did up the buttons. Her heavy weapons belt was too difficult to strap on with just one hand, so she slung it over her unhurt shoulder instead. She glanced at Hipolita once more, sleeping soundly. Then her eyes wandered around the magnificent room with mild curiosity, and finally came to rest on us. Eidolon straightened in his fetters. She gave him a tired smile. Staggering a little she came to him and kissed his mouth. He returned the smile lovingly while she caressed his cheek, and she said, "Don't you cry." His smile broadened and he shook his head. She turned to me then. I was still so stunned by the alteration in her that I do not know how I must have looked, but she pretended not to notice, testing the pull of my chains with concern. "Are they too tight?" she asked. "No, sweet thing." She kissed my chest. "I am grateful... that even now you can find it in your heart to call me that." Her gaze dropped away and she disappeared into the shadows. I heard the closing of the door. Eidolon was staring at the ground, smiling strangely. "She loves him still," he said, and there were tears in his eyes. Elora 203

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Elora wept too as she made her weary way back to the barracks, but it was with pain. She had never imagined there could be such pain. Now that she knew the point of a weapon she knew also the fear of it, and she was worried that it would make a coward out of her. She thought of him sitting in the sunshine watching her dance, and of the way he brushed her hair, but she was so tired and afraid that for once it did not help. She wanted to go home and be a girl again, making garlands out of seashells to pretend she was a queen and throwing nets into the bay, and for one brief, irrational moment she wished she had never met him. By the time she stumbled into the sleeping quarters and found Rowena waiting up for her, she had a spot of blood spreading through her shirt and well down her shoulder. Larima and Daria were also keeping vigil, and they helped her to sit on her cot while Rowena removed the shirt. "What have you done?" she demanded angrily. "I have made love to the Queen," said Elora with a total lack of perception. "I know you have made love to the Queen," snapped Rowena as if to a backward child. "I mean what have you done to your shoulder?" Daria laid her down, and Elora looked up at Rowena imploringly, with naive insistence. "Fix it, please. I know you can." "I need herbs from the forest and I cannot get out till morning." She hesitated, then turned quickly to Larima. "Gather me some cobwebs." Larima grimaced without comprehension and some distaste, glancing worriedly at Elora. "What?" "Spider webs. They keep the flesh from rotting." Larima hurried away to hunt for spiders and Daria followed her. Rowena sat on the edge of the cot. She started to remove the bloodsoaked bandage and Elora clasped her hand urgently. "You must fix it. The army goes to war soon. I must be ready. I must go." Something like pity flooded abruptly into Rowena's face. She bent her parted lips to kiss Elora hotly and with an almost sexual passion 204

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on the mouth. Elora smiled, petting her trembling hand. "Now I have kissed everything I love tonight," she said. And with that she closed her eyes. Jugger The Amazon nation rode to war, and Elora with them. The summer fruit would be picked and two seasons gone, and the leaves turning red on the forest trees before we would see her again. Hipolita led the ranks and The Council followed, but Callaris remained behind. As Captain of The Guard it was her duty to protect the city and to rule in the Queen's absence. She was an extraordinary woman. She had a healthy pride without arrogance and an easy temper, yet still she could be ruthless when ruthlessness was called for. I had fought her in battle long ago, and we had left our marks on each other, mine on her side and hers on my shoulder, two long slits of the sword. She remembered, and she liked to point out the scars when she mastered me now, planting kisses where she had once driven in steel. She bedded Narso and Eidolon as well, but I believe I was her favorite, and she treated me tenderly, which no one else did. She was much engaged, however, with so few troops left to her and the Stronghold vulnerable, and there were full weeks when I did not see her. The slaves did not like their women going to war. They were idle and irritable, and those who truly loved their mistress lived in constant fear for her safety. Fights broke out for no reason in spite of the punishments that were sure to follow and the handlers were often hard-pressed to keep order. I wondered for the first time what the Labyrinth must have looked like when we were gone. I too had my fears now, for Elora and sweet, soft Daria, and even Rowena with her lovely face and that flame-red hair that was the only warm thing about her. She did not know me or care for me, but she cared for Elora, and that somehow gave her a claim to my heart. I 205

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could not remember the name of that other girl, that auburn-haired one with the yellow-green eyes, but I hoped she would be safe too. I felt a kinship suddenly with all those lovers I had left behind for so many battles and so many years, and yet their faces blurred together. I could recall only details, never a whole woman, never an attachment. The sad truth was I had never been in love. Perhaps I was in love now, for after what Elora had done there was no reason for me to care, and yet I cared immensely. She was a seductive being and I was weak, I could not forget the way she had once been, sitting on my lap on the bow of that ship, full of wonder at the world and telling me that I made her happy. And Him, what would I say to Him on that day when we met again and he asked me how I had looked after his treasure? **** Although the handlers were allowed to tease us and even take us in their mouths, actual intercourse was forbidden. The reasons for this rule remained a mystery, but the girls resented it as we did and got around it well enough, turning a blind eye when it was convenient. Geniani was particularly daring and I had heard very passionate, so when she made her advances to me I did not resist. The risk was all on her side for once. As a slave I had no choice and no responsibility. It was positively refreshing. There was a wing of old bath and grooming chambers no longer in use that overlooked our exercise yard. There she marched me one afternoon with my hands cuffed in leathers before me. We wound up the stairs and passed down a quiet hall into a large, airy room. Its broad windows reached from floor to ceiling, the glass fallen away and long, red curtains billowing in the breeze. They were tattered and thin, and the sun shone through them. In places they were held open by makeshift ropes, affording a view of a walnut grove below. There was an empty bathing pool and a scattering of dried leaves on the floor. The only furniture left was a large divan covered in a cloud of 206

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white muslin. This cloth, however, was clean and new. Geniani removed my leather bindings and very deliberately set them aside along with her crop. She knelt before me. "You have been a good and obedient slave, Jugger," she told me in that mocking, playful manner that never failed to make me smile. "I think you have earned this at last." "I have always been an obedient servant to my masters," I replied teasingly, enjoying myself a great deal. She would remind me to respect her soon enough. "Although I admit the service was a little different." "A servant, you know, is a master in disguise." "Is that your experience of the world?" I asked, laughing. "Well," she said, and laid her hand on my groin. "We shall see." She lifted my cock on the palm of her hand and pressed her moist lips to the tip. The kiss made me flinch, and as I hardened and she continued her tiny sucking motions she ran her fingers along the shaft, giving it little taps and squeezing the root, scraping her nails up the underside hard enough to make me shiver. Her mouth did not open fully. I felt only the hot insides of her lips and the tease of her tongue on the head, pushing against the swelling flesh and dipping into the small slit that was starting to enlarge. My testicles warmed, but she made no move to touch them. She began to kiss the shaft now, biting its sides. I parted my legs and arched forward. She nipped the insides of my thighs and slid a finger into the crease of my buttocks, chaffing the knot of the anus. I pushed out against her and the finger went in, just barely, dry and almost hurting as she curved it to tug on the ring of muscle. She nuzzled my scrotum, and pushing the cock up against my belly she licked the quivering sack at last, spreading her jaws wide to mouth one testicle and then the other. I groaned, the first trickle of fluid seeping from me to wet her hand. My anus yielded and she drove her finger in deeper, pounding on that second door with harsh little jabs, grating on the tender wrinkles of the rim. Abruptly she withdrew, releasing my cock. It bobbed before her and she spanked it from side to side, watching it jerk back, 207

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smiling like a child with a new toy. I desperately wanted her to suck me, and it slowly came to me that I could make her. In fact, I was free to take her any way I liked. There was no one she could tell. Of course she might flog me raw afterwards, but I was not really afraid of the strap, and at the moment it seemed a small price to pay. I grasped the back of her head and she looked up at me. Holding my cock with thumb and forefinger I guided it to her mouth. When I pushed in she resisted. The head slid wetly over the line of her lips, and I forced them open until I could feel her teeth. I rubbed against their hard surface, over the joints, smearing my fluids on her. She fought the grip on her hair a little, but not seriously. Her jaws slackened, and still looking into my eyes she eased her slick lips onto the head and drew it in with a strong suck. I thrust immediately, burying the shaft in half way, nudging the entrance of her throat. Her arms wound around my thighs, and with another stab I was full inside. She tensed for an instant, choking, making me jolt with delicious pressure. Then her throat was wide and hot, milking me eagerly, and I had to pull away to keep from bursting. I lifted her roughly to her feet and kissed her salty mouth, coaxing her tongue into me. My hands cupped her buttocks, squeezing through the suede breeches. She wrapped one leg about me and my cock rose between her thighs, scraping on coarse leather, engorged against her cleft. I turned her around and shoved her towards the divan. She stood bent over with legs straight and palms pressed against the cushion, her fine blond hair falling forward and brushing over the muslin. Slowly I drove my cock into the tight sheath of her thighs, entranced by the punishing feel of the suede, and rode her this way, my organ growing purplish and her groove drenched with my constant leaking. When I felt the climax approaching I stopped, reaching around her narrow hips to undo the trouser buttons. I would have enjoyed ripping them off, but if she returned to the kennels with her buttons gone our encounter would be known to all and I did not want to get her into trouble. With the cloth forced aside I pushed my hand down 208

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the front of her trousers. She moaned, her sex pumping its wetness onto my palm. I clutched at the slippery mound of her folds and punched a finger into her. Her legs quaked, each thrust wrenching out a cry. She was about to fall. The bucking of her hips massaged my pulsing cock and I was afraid of spilling right there, into the suede. Quickly I stepped back and pulled her trousers down to her knees. She tried to open her legs. I pressed my palms to the sides of her thighs, keeping them shut, ramrod straight and supple under the shuddering curve of her white cheeks, the blond tufts of pubic hair and the pink swell of her sex exposed. I knelt behind her and nibbled on the tender backs of her knees. Then I tongued the crease between her thighs in one long lick, all the way up to the morsel of her sex. I prodded and bit her longingly, and she whimpered, shaking in my grip, still fighting to part her legs. Finally I stood and clasped her thighs between my own. Squatting slightly with one arm wound around her bent waist, I shoved my full length into her palpitating little nest and up the narrow breadth of her vagina. She let out a full-throated cry, her walls trembling with the force of the spread, and I rammed her desperately. My scrotum slapped against her closed thighs over and again, sending jolts of pleasure up my spine. I jetted with my organ impaled to the root in her belly, the orgasm so violent I could actually feel the semen spurting out of me and the burning, creamy mass coursing down until it overflowed the joint of her legs and soaked my testicles. I kept my cock in her kneading sex until all the stiffness left me and it began to ache. Then I straightened, letting it slide out with a thick, sloshing sound to droop red and shriveled against my groin. She tumbled onto the divan, and I turned her around to face me. She had not climaxed yet and stared up at me avidly, her dark eyes bright and her mouth slack. I tore off her trousers, bursting their knee hems a little as I yanked them off over her boots. Pulling her legs to my shoulders I lifted her until she hung upside down with her thighs to either side of my face, my hands holding up her buttocks. She 209

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weighed surprisingly little despite her height. I ate my discharge from her, sucking on her clitoris while she shook. She groaned loudly, stiffening, then filling my mouth at last. When I had lapped every bit of the flow from her sex I lowered her onto the divan. Lying down beside her I cradled her head in the crook of my elbow. She kissed me, sucking drowsily on my lower lip, nuzzled the curve of my neck. I fondled her through the cougar pelt of her jerkin and unhooked its thick buttons. She wriggled, mischievous, to avoid me, her imprisoned breasts jiggling enticingly under my hand. I stared and she laughed gaily, and I made her be quiet with a kiss. When I reached the last button of the jerkin her bosom spilled out, pushing aside the cotton shirt already open underneath. She had large breasts, rounded, set high on her chest. Her nipples were dark and generous and I kissed them immediately, my cock stirring between my legs. She sighed, arching herself into my mouth. As it opened wider her fingers flexed lazily in my hair, and then I felt the burn of her nails dragging across my back. A rolling flood of lust shot through me, and aroused to new heights as she kept scratching and marking me I mouthed the whole of her breasts, leaving the imprints of my teeth on her creamy flesh. When she'd had her fill and shrank away I yielded, however, and amused myself by handling them, testing their weight and slapping them lightly. She smiled up at me, delighted, and dug her nails into my chest. "You're hurting me," I lied. "I don't care," she said, and drew me down for a kiss. "Put your tongue in my mouth." We kissed long and slow while I palmed her belly and her hips, and finally, almost unconsciously, slid my hand onto her sex. It spread at once, plump and heated, and I masturbated her gently until she groaned, abandoning the kiss. I stopped pleasuring her and sat up against the cushioned back of the divan. "Go and fetch me your crop," I ordered. 210

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"No," she said like a spoiled child testing the boundaries, and smiled. I returned the smile but kept my voice firm to let her know I was in earnest. "Go and fetch it." She squirmed, hesitating another beat in mock stubbornness, but then she got up, happily removing her jerkin and shirt and her tall riding boots. Naked, charmingly flushed, she went to find the crop, and when she came back she presented it to me held in both hands like an offering. "Stand still,” I told her, “and open your legs." She squared her shoulders, arched her hips a very little, and reaching down she parted the folds of her sex with her fingers, displaying her tender insides for me. This I had not expected, and I veritably shuddered with pleasure. What a slave she would have made. She teased me, laughing with her eyes, and bit her lip. Swinging my legs over the edge of the divan I planted my feet on the floor, thighs wide. I caressed her breasts and belly with the tongue of the crop, massaging my erection all the while. Then I guided the strap to her sex and gave it a pat with a flick of my wrist. She groaned through closed lips. Her exposed core pulsed in response, the opening enlarging briefly, and the wet, swollen lips almost slid out from her fingers. I spanked her a bit harder and this time when she moaned it was open-mouthed. I rubbed my cock faster. I continued the slaps. Her sex reddened and her clitoris tightened into a quivering bud. A clean trickle of fluid began to escape her, and I made the crop lap it up. Her thighs were twitching now, but she kept them obediently open and her sex forced wide. She had wonderful stamina. I gave her another couple of stinging pats, and then I laid the crop aside. "Come here," I said. "I think you have earned it at last." In an instant she was straddled on my lap, her arms about my neck and her long legs clasping me round the waist. My cock slid along the blond, wiry curls covering her sex and into the downy 211

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crease of her buttocks. Holding her to me with one arm I stood up, and dragged a large cushion onto the floor along with a good stretch of muslin. I knelt on it, resting back on my heels, and arched into her scathed little opening. She grunted and slowly thrust her hips forward, her muscled calves squeezing me and the soles of her feet pushing against the base of my spine. My cock was engulfed at once, and I lifted my hips, grinding hot, easy circles into her. Only the warmth of her mouth on mine matched the sultriness of her vagina. I wanted her breasts again, and tugged lightly on her long hair to force back her head, feeding on her, large and luscious and leaving me completely dizzy. Her walls began to suck on my shaft and she dug her nails into my back again. I slid my arms firmly between her thighs and my body, pulling them up so that she clung to my neck with her knees bent over the insides of my elbows, forced wider and even more directly onto my sex. I thrust powerfully now, bouncing her up and down on its length, my fingers cleaving into her soft armpits. She reached her peak and wet herself on me. I knew I could not persist without hurting her, so I laid her out on the floor and straddled her chest, pushing my cock between her full breasts. She pressed them together over me, forming a tube that I quickly made slick with our juices, and pumping there I ejaculated on her face. She smiled and closed her eyes, her mouth open to receive the spurts, but I was jerking so violently that it spilled all over her, even into her hair. We lay embracing on the floor for a while afterwards. She let me lick the bitter drops from her face and sleep a little on her breasts. But then she patted my shoulder and said, "We must go back now." "No," I said stubbornly, and squeezed her to me. She grasped a fistful of my hair and lifted my face, fixing me with a stern gaze that betrayed none of the indecision usually exhibited by girls her age. "Don't be impertinent," she told me. It never ceased to astonish me how an Amazon, no matter how young, and no matter how pliant and playful one moment, could 212

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command such authority the next. If any other girl had said this to me I would have laughed, but with an Amazon you knew your limits, and you knew them with a thrill. I got up and dressed her, and before she fettered my wrists I pressed a respectful kiss to her hand. "I should whip you senseless for using me like a mad bull and making me whimper like that," she informed me in a severe tone, drawing away her hand. "It was positively humiliating." Back in the kennels she lathered me up and scrubbed me clean without any sign of softening, and then walked me to my cage. Frankly, I was relieved she had not punished me, I was so tired already. I wondered if she was saving it for tomorrow. But as I climbed in, crawling through the door on all fours, I felt her kiss on my backside, and when I turned around she gave me her most charming smile. I fell asleep laughing, and slept unmolested for the rest of the afternoon. **** Apparently she did not despise her mad bull as much as she contended, for she often took me back to that room. Now and then she had little presents waiting for me: sweetmeats, a handful of almonds, a bottle of wine, or flowers that she put in my hair and on my groin, adorning me and later kissing them away. When pressed for time we coupled in dark corners, in the steam-filled bath or the punishment rooms, or hidden behind a garden hedge with her clothes still halfway on. We were nearly discovered on several occasions, and these mad scramblings I did not enjoy. They always left me stiff and longing, and she would whip me soundly to cover up the act. If it happened on particularly trying days for her she became childishly sulky and cross, and consoled herself by throwing Eidolon into the ring with me, forcing me to lose the bout and end up servicing the men. There had not been a seriously frightening episode, however, until 213

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one evening Callaris came to the kennels unexpected. I had Geniani pressed to the wall in one of the lashing chambers, nude from the waist down and with her legs wrapped high about my hips while I pounded her eagerly against the wood. I had even put a little plug into her anus. Suddenly there were loud cries of welcome from the handlers outside, obviously meant to warn us. Geniani shoved me away in a panic. I was near climax and it was impossible to conceal it. But if my wayward young Amazon lacked qualities, they were not of imagination. She yanked her trousers on without bothering to remove the leather plug, splashed a bucket of cold, soapy water on me and the floor planks to justify going without boots, fettered me hastily to the wall. By the time the door swung open she was giving me the whipping of a lifetime. Callaris leaned in curiously and Geniani stood at attention, lowering the crop to her side. Callaris examined me with detachment: red-faced, painfully erect and still shaking and panting from the shock of the water. She smiled pleasantly at Geniani. "I think he's had enough," she said. "Give him the eunuch." She withdrew and closed the door, and Geniani collapsed onto a bench, sitting there a good ten minutes with her hand over her heart before she could walk again. The eunuch was named Mundros. He came from the northern plains, and had been castrated for his exquisite singing voice long before the Amazons had got their hands on him. Though he looked like a mere boy his experience in sexual play was considerable, and I suspected he was at least twenty. With age he would probably grow flabby and thick round the middle, but he was still delightful, his long muscles cleanly defined and his skin fresh and silken. He had fair hair and almond eyes with long, dark lashes like a gazelle’s, and his body was bare as a woman's down to the scant, downy pelt of goldenbrown curls between his legs. His penis was untouched, and with enough goading he could achieve an erection, but his real talent was in his mouth. The Council valued him highly, for they claimed he could give a woman pleasure with a skill no uncut man could 214

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approach. I reasoned that if he could do for them half of what he did for us they were completely justified in their praise. That his prowess did not lead them to run mad through the kennels with a knife I was daily thankful for. The other slaves spoiled him and fought over him, but they did not hesitate to impose their strength on him either, and now that their mistresses were away there was hardly a morning when he could not be found in the yard with one man in his mouth and one in his rectum, writhing and sucking helplessly while they toyed with his limp, shuddering cock. The handlers kept a sharp eye on these proceedings, but he was an eager little thing and would protest if rescued too soon. That he liked it made our craving stronger and the girls more tolerant of our rough attentions. When Geniani brought him to my cage that evening he was freshly groomed and blushing furiously, and I could tell he had not been used all day. His body was tense and his eyes had a focused, thirsting look, and as she locked the door she said good-naturedly, "Do try to leave something of him for the rest, will you?" I could not postpone that first surge of desire until he was excited enough to withstand intercourse without truly suffering, so when he crawled to me on all fours, his eyes demurely bent on the sheets, I immediately drew his face to my groin and pushed in between his lips. He grasped the base of my erect shaft with disarming swiftness, preventing me from thrusting in fully, and sucking only on the swollen tip, he brought me to orgasm. He did not swallow the sperm, but let it spill from his mouth onto me, spreading it over my penis and testicles with his fingers. I decided he had been in command long enough. Brushing away his hands, I lifted his chin, holding him a little roughly to keep him still. I spanked his face with my wet, flaccid organ, and he quickened at once, closing his eyes, panting, his breath hot against my skin. A few locks of his fine, tawny hair fell softly forward with the jerking of his head and they too were soon slick and soiled with my fluids. His long lashes fluttered with every stroke. He began to move his hips, the 215

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buttocks raised high, and tried to touch his cock. But this threw him off balance, and he had to press his hand hastily to my thigh to keep from falling. I gave him a rest and let him lap at my genitals. Eidolon was watching from his cage, diverted, smiling while he leaned back against the bars, one arm on his bent knee. I clasped the boy by the hair and guided him to the joint of the cages, forcing his face to the bars. Eidolon approached, and pressing forward on his knees slid his hardening penis into the boy's mouth, his hand taking hold of the head as I released it. Mundros kept wriggling his hips, toying with Eidolon's cock, rolling it around in his mouth. But Eidolon was not one for doing anything halfheartedly, or accepting anything less than absolute, ardent devotion, and he soon tired of this teasing. He pulled the boy closer, fingers tightening at the base of his neck. Mundros, who knew how to take a hint, sucked firmly and obediently on his cock. I moved back, running my knuckles over the boy's spine to caress the velvet-smooth cheeks of his backside. He looked like a woman from behind, even with his legs spread, only a trace of faded scar tissue marking the place where his testicles had been. I stroked it for my own pleasure, for I knew he could not feel anything there. He lowered himself, trying to shift my touch to his anus, and I gave him a hard, open-handed slap at the base of the buttocks. He gasped, his whole body writhing, but Eidolon kept him pressed to the bars and sucking. Closing one hand around his soft penis, I spanked him repeatedly with the other. His pale skin reddened with the blows and his buttocks swelled, and he moaned, high-pitched and womanlike, moaned even with Eidolon growing in his mouth and his lips sealed to the hot, blond nest of pubic curls. When I touched the feathery, wrinkled rim of his anus I felt his cock tense in my hand. I squeezed and chafed it lightly, pressing my testicles into the cleft of his buttocks to let him feel their warmth. He grasped the bars with both hands and sucked Eidolon with greater vigor. His anus quaked tenderly against the sensitive skin of my scrotum. It was almost like a kiss. I rubbed the tip of my shaft along 216

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the crevasse of his cheeks. My spilled semen wet him thoroughly and his flushed buttocks contracted spasmodically, pressing on my cock. I drew it up to my belly and urged its still-soft length against him. I reached down to work my testicles onto that delicious little scar. His anus shuddered violently, massaging the underside of my shaft. He moved up and down, extending this caress to the whole of my organ. The knotted flesh of his scar excited me to no end, perhaps because it reminded us both of my power over him. Soon I was swelling again, grunting languidly with my lips closed, and the dim, flame-lit hall was a cinnamon blur before my eyes. I felt him pushed back onto me and reluctantly focused my gaze to find Eidolon panting, his member flushed and rising rock-hard from his groin. Mundros was licking his lips. The rubbing had made them pulpy and thick, enchantingly dark. I touched his glistening anus with my fingers and he whimpered, trembling all over, but remained submissively crouched before me. I grasped his shoulder and turned him around. His penis was nicely bloated, and bobbed up stiffly as he rose to his knees. I kissed his mouth, sucking on the plumped lips, tasting Eidolon on him. He wound his arms about my neck and pressed his sex onto mine, grinding his belly against the coarse black tangle of my pubic curls. I could feel every hair on my body standing on end, the cascade of warmth spreading outward from between my thighs. I forced my tongue into his mouth, and then held his face in my hands and drowned a little in those almond eyes that seemed so helpless and cunning at the same time. He did not struggle when I opened a hand on his stomach and moved him backward to the bars, the silk sheets dragging under his knees. Eidolon reached out to grasp his hips and yanked him against the joint, his feet and calves pulled through and his thighs pressed onto the iron rods. Although Eidolon was not as large as I he was more brutal, and as he drove himself in with a grunt Mundros cried out, writhing in sincere agony. Eidolon did not care. If anything he was more aroused, and he reamed the anus with abandon, his hands tight on the slender hips. Mundros gripped the sheets in his fists, 217

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rocking, defenseless, and I thrust my cock into his mouth. We took turns using him, forcing him to turn around over and again, keeping both openings filled. When one of us neared climax he would rest while the other persisted. Mundros was stronger than he looked. Sore and covered in sweat, he received us hungrily, his worked mouth darting after us when we withdrew from him and his buttocks wide, churning incessantly. Finally Eidolon gave out and spilled into him, retreating the instant he was sated to sleep in the back of his cage. I amused myself a little longer, riding the boy up and down the mess of damp sheets and prodding his anus with my fingers while I made him suck the dark, drenched spike between my legs. By the time I stretched him out and pressed the length of my body against his back he was almost senseless with exhaustion. His sphincter was dilated to the point that he could not fully close it, raw with chafing and so sensitive that the lightest touch made him quiver. When I slipped inside his moans were loud enough to wake the entire palace, but I was past thinking or caution. I squeezed him against me until my shaft was buried in him and my testicles bulging between us, our bodies tingling with shared sweat. I kept him still. His rectum throbbed around me with exquisite force, pulpy and inflamed, drawing on me like an impossibly heated mouth. I kissed his shoulder softly and brushed the tousled locks from his damp brow. But he could not relax, taut as a bowstring in my arms, sucking my thumb if I allowed it. It had taken hours to bring him to this state, and he was worth the trouble. I waited until his moans subsided and he nestled his head on my arm. Then I fondled his rigid cock, giving him small kisses all the while. He closed his beautiful eyes, his anus massaging me without pause, and as I pinched the fattened crown of his penis between my fingers, tugging on it gently, he gave an enormous shudder and reached orgasm at last. The walls of his rectum clamped down on me with sudden, colossal strength, and I let the surge ride out, filling him with a warm stream and breathing sighs into his hair. 218

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He turned to face me when we had both calmed and kissed my chest. I kissed his forehead and held him near, and drew the sheets over his sweating body so that he would not catch cold. **** A few days later I lay naked on a white bed, arms tied to its posts while Callaris straddled me, gently rubbing my chest with aromatic oils. It was a pleasantly warm afternoon, streaks of clean sunlight slanting across the room. An armful of lilac flowers shivered softly in the breeze, bursting from a large clay jar set on a stand beside the bed. On this stand also were the scented oils, bottled in clear glass with colored stoppers. Lavender, sandalwood, neroli and vanilla, their perfumes mingling as Callaris let them drip from her fingers onto me. From time to time she would pluck a handful of the fragrant lilac petals and massage them also into my skin. Mundros sang for us from the edge of a bathing pool, accompanying himself with a lute and curling his toes in the water. My bindings were very loose. She had left them like this on purpose. I could undo them with a simple turn of the wrist, but I would not have dreamed of it. Narso had told me once that the mark of true submission was a slave who would be led over hot coals with mere ribbons on his hands and never think of breaking free. I could not deny that I had been made a true slave at last, at least where Callaris was concerned. I gazed up at her tamely, lulled by the marvelous pleasure of her touch, wanting nothing more. She wore a robe of rich, citrine brocade that set off her green eyes. Above her, draped over the ironwork of the bed, swaths of vaporous white muslin undulated with the lazy gusts of air like a patch of clouds. She returned my drowsy smile and leaned in a little closer. "Geniani has been playing with you, hasn't she?" Though she did not cease her gentle stroking, I was jolted and at once fully aware. I wanted to protect Geniani, but I could not make myself lie to this woman, and I knew that even if I lied it would do no 219

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good. "Yes, mistress," I answered, my voice quiet and dull. Callaris kneaded the muscles of my chest, her feline eyes focused, inscrutable. "And do you like it?" I hesitated. She moved her hands to my throat and slowly massaged it. The fear I felt came so slow and confused with my devotion to her that it gave me no protection. "Yes." She laughed softly, delighted. "Well," she said, "I suppose it's all right, then." She kissed my lips, amused by my surprise, and returned to caressing my chest. But gradually her smile faded. I could not escape the feeling that the massage was intended to relax her even more than to pleasure me. "What’s wrong, mistress?" She wavered, sitting back, her slick, warm palms resting on my stomach. "Messengers came this morning. The enemy is stronger than we had believed and our army is bottled before a river. They cannot take the bridge and cross to the city. We're losing hundreds of women." I thought of Elora buried in a shower of arrows and spears, clinging to that unruly black horse. Callaris stared out the window at the mountains. "Our soldiers have killed every animal in the woods behind them. Soon there will be nothing left to eat." It was not my place to ask, but here I broke the rules immediately, without any doubt or fear of reprisals. "Can you tell me if that girl is still alive; the girl who came with us?" "Elora?" She spoke the name like something utterly familiar, and I realized, with inescapable finality this time, that Elora belonged to them now and not to us. It hurt, for with her going the last of our old existence was washed away. I could think of nothing to say, but when Callaris noticed my dejection she misunderstood it as simple 220

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concern. "Elora fights with the lower ranks; I have no news of them. But she did well by the Queen and she has the attention of The Council. I am sure that she is safe, or we would have heard otherwise." She combed her fingers through my hair and smiled a little, curious. "Are you in love with Elora, that you ask about her?" "My master loved her. I am answerable to him." "But your master is dead." "So will I be, one day. And then how will I face him?" Callaris seemed moved. She regarded me thoughtfully for a while. "I should like to have a child by you," she said. "When the time is right, I can't think of anything I should like so much." She embraced me, resting her soft cheek on my shoulder, and I freed my hands from the bindings to hold her close. Her offer was as touching as the idea was horrible, and I did not want her to see the pain in my face. I did not want to father a daughter whom I would have to bow before like a stranger. Or worse, if she gave birth to a son, I did not want him to grow up in the Stronghold, locked in a gilded cage and never knowing anything more. Larima It was Elora who took the bridge when our company captain was killed trying to lead us across. To say that she took the city singlehanded was a gross exaggeration, but without the bridge there would have been no victory. She had a knack for being in the right place at the right time and making a great exhibition of herself. She was flamboyant and loud, and in the confusion of battle people are easily led, just as they are easily tricked. She was promoted to battalion commander midway through the war and completely unprepared for the responsibility. Though she was a splendid fighter, she was not an administrator. She had no sense of order and no patience for strategy. When she entered a field, she simply crashed ahead like a battering ram while the rest 221

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struggled to keep up. That our attacks were successful had little to do with planning. We won because she cut a path so wide through the enemy ranks that no recovery was possible in time to keep her following from flooding in. That she was brave could not be denied, even if her displays of courage were a bit elaborate. The Amazons loved to see her little shape tearing wildly ahead on the huge black horse, and what she could not give them in wisdom she gave them in pride. They fought lustily for her. As for us, Rowena fought to protect Elora, Daria fought to protect Rowena, and I fought just to stay alive and ride the phenomenal wave to the very last. Elora could drive you absolutely insane, but she made you feel your days had meaning, and that there was something magical waiting at the journey's end. She held the southern flank of the siege for a month while Hipolita and The Council attacked from the north. It was Rowena who kept the battalion organized with her collected mind and her quiet ways, but it was Elora who never let our spirits fail. She slaughtered the oxen, the pack mules and even began killing the horses to keep us fed, and when we ran out of bandages she tore the Amazon flags to make more. She was last in bed and first in the saddle, and at night she would wander through the camp in her muddy black clothes and wet boots, visiting the wounded, praising the fit, learning all their names. By the time the city's defenses failed and Hipolita crashed through the northern gate, Elora was controlling half the army. She rode in from the south with more than five thousand women behind her, and they called her Lachesis, Disposer of Lots, for like the second Fate, they said, she determined the length of men’s lives. When the vanquished king feasted us in his castle we sat at the royal table. Hipolita kept Elora beside her, smiling, leaning close. They whispered loving nothings to one another and their fingers laced together under cover of the linens. There were already rumors that on our return to the mountains Elora would be made a member of The Council. Daria and I were overflowing with pride. Rowena sat apart, always the calm and interested observer, and when we tried to make her join the revelry she said, 222

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"Enjoy it while it lasts." Jugger The Stronghold celebrated for eight days and eight nights when Hipolita returned triumphant from the land east of the mountains. We heard in the kennels that she had brought with her a booty of slaves and riches the like of which had not been seen since the days of her grandmother's rule. We heard also that she had brought back a new lover, and that The Council would grow by one. The palace was adorned with garlands of wild flowers and autumn leaves. The Amazon colors hung proudly from every balcony: two serpents and a crescent moon on golden silk. On the last day of the feasting, after performing the Bull Dance and making sacrifices at the temple of the Earth Mother, The Council assembled and sent for its slaves. We were bathed and scented with a variety of perfumes, each designed to flatter a different part of the body. The handlers gave us no clothes at all. They lined our eyes in silver and crowned us each with a wreath of fresh roses. Crimson, orange, blush, white and lilac, roses of every color. I remembered that I had taught Elora their name, and here I was, wearing them in her honor. Eidolon was consumed with hate. He had been furious ever since the return of the army, and now he struggled on the grooming table, shaking off a blood-red wreath as the handlers tried to place it on his head, slapping away their hands in a fit of temper, overturning and breaking bottles. He did not quiet down until Geniani threatened to strap him to a beam and whip him half to death. She was angry with him, afraid that he would embarrass her, and kept a close watch on him as we padded in single file through the torchlit corridors and into the Council Hall. It was a very fine evening. The balcony doors were thrown open to let in the cool night air and the sky was pricked full of stars. The Amazons wore bright, rippling gowns of thin silk. Their hair was 223

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loosely gathered up, adorned by ivory combs rimmed with diamonds and all other manner of jewel stones, long tendrils falling free to caress their cheeks and their throats. There were no weapons and no heavy cloaks; they were ready to make love. I was surprised to see Rowena and Daria among them, along with that other girl whose name I still could not recall. I would discover in time that Elora went absolutely nowhere without them. As the handlers left us to our mistresses Daria approached me. She looked just the same. A little thinner and firmer perhaps, her skin a little darker, but still soft-eyed and smiling, and kind to everybody she met. It was an awkward moment. I had been her master and did not know how to face her. But she made it easy. She touched my wrist as she done a thousand times, as if all were well between us, and when she offered me her cheek I kissed it without shame. She left me to join a group of women conversing gaily in a corner, and there I finally saw Elora. I could not understand how I had failed to notice her before. She carried no weapons this time, but she was dressed in trousers and boots even here, and everything on her was black. Her hair was still worn in that severe braid. It did not matter in the least. She looked radiant. The bloom had returned to her cheeks and her gray eyes were alive again. I could see the rounded curve of her breasts at the carelessly open collar of her shirt, the outline of her nipples beneath the black silk. Her hips were sleek and graceful under her fitted breeches. Life as an Amazon suited her. She had reached her womanhood at last, and she had never been so devastatingly beautiful. The rest of the evening passed before me in a haze. I could not take my eyes from her. Supper arrived in great golden trays that were soon covering every table. The women talked and laughed, telling stories of the war. When she laughed with them I shivered with pleasure just to hear the sound, and when they slapped her back or threw an arm about her shoulders I envied them every touch. I had missed her terribly, much more than I had let myself acknowledge. 224

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I had grown used to watching her from a distance in the White City, never entertaining the thought of possessing her again. It struck me as enormously ironic that now when I was at my lowest, divided from her by my station and without even the right to address her, I stood a greater chance of being close to her than ever before. Hipolita surprised her with the gift of a sword. It was exquisite: long and light and shining like white gold. The hilt was studded with large sapphires. "This sword belonged to Ayesha," she said with a wistful smile. "She would have wanted you to have it, and I know you will wear it with honor." Elora seemed overcome. She ran the tips of her fingers gently along the sword, and then slowly took it and clasped it to her breast. When they embraced I felt sharp, angry jealousy, and when Hipolita guided her down the line of slaves — introducing her to everything that would, from this night onward, be at her disposal — I became so hot and light-headed that I had to lean discreetly back against the wall for support. But when she drew near she did not quite meet my eyes. Eidolon stood beside me, and it was him she looked at. She tried to caress his cheek. He pulled his face away violently, then glared at her with such wrath that I was afraid he would attack her. Elora recoiled, taken aback. Hipolita, livid, raised her hand to strike him. "No," said Elora, mildly clasping her wrist. "It does not matter." Hipolita calmed. They kissed and moved away. I stared at him, in terror for his life, uncomprehending, hurt because he had wounded her feelings. "What is the matter with you?" I whispered furiously. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He kept his burning gaze on the floor and did not answer me. Even when I was brought to the divans and put to service I tried to keep her within eyesight. I could barely concentrate on the woman in my lap, kissing my neck and languidly stroking my cock. I returned the kisses distractedly, my hand loose and limp on her hip, and watched Elora covertly while she kept making her rounds. She 225

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inspected Mundros with curiosity and Narso with admiration; she toasted and drank with the women. Eventually I saw her move to the door, her arm laced though Hipolita's. They exchanged whispers. Hipolita laughed, nodding. They kissed on the mouth once more, and then Elora was gone. I was passed from woman to woman for a while. They petted and teased me and passed me on again. I did not want any of them, suddenly, and I hoped Callaris would take me away soon. She, at least, would be patient with me. But it was Geniani who appeared. The woman I was amusing moved on to another slave. Geniani strapped a collar on me and led me quickly from the room. "I suppose you're proud of yourself," she said. I followed her in confusion down the dim hallways. She was not taking me to the kennels, and she was not taking me to Callaris. We were in a wing of the palace I had never entered before and I was immediately on my guard. "What have I done?" "Be quiet," she admonished curtly, and made me walk faster. Elora When the handler led Jugger through the door, he stared at her with an astonishment so complete that it looked like horror. Elora shifted a little in the middle of her new, luxurious chamber and tried not to appear uncomfortable. She bought herself some time by turning to the blond girl, who was undoing his leather collar. "What is your name?" It was important to know their names. Elora was nervous, but not nervous enough to forget this. "Geniani." Elora smiled warmly, and gave her a slight nod. "Thank you, Geniani." "Certainly, Lachesis." 226

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The girl bowed low and went away happy. The door locked. Elora was left defenseless. She had taken down her braid but dared to presume nothing more. Now she bent her head and let her hair fall forward, shielding her expression. It was an old, silly trick, but she felt silly, and unsure. He had not smiled at her like he used to. He looked like he wanted to run. "Are you angry with me, too?" she asked him quietly. Jugger faltered for a moment. The tension left his body breath by breath, and he spoke in that deep, caressing voice that had always made her feel so safe. "No, my sweet. I could never be angry with you." Elora almost sighed with relief. She realized with a shock that he had been nervous too. That it would ever be possible for her to make him nervous had never occurred to her. It gave her a little thrill, because it was proof to her that she had changed, and that she was doing well. She could not make him nervous for long, however. He was already smiling kindly. Elora mistakenly believed that he smiled because he understood everything, because he could see things that the rest failed to notice. She was confusing him with another. She did not grasp that he was offering her not trust but surrender, that his acceptance was unconditional and blind. If she had known this she would have appreciated him more and worshiped him less, but she was not wise enough. She still lived under the impression that all things obvious to her must be doubly obvious to the people she admired, for naturally they were better and cleverer than she. Without respect for her own talents or a real sense of self, she placed herself too low and everyone she loved too high, giving them more credit than they perhaps deserved and at the same time making demands on them they should not have been required to meet. When she looked at Jugger she saw not who he was, but who she needed him to be. He became sanctuary and salvation and she was a supplicant again. She crossed the room to him, hesitating. Her shyness was half truth and half artifice, even if she did not guess it herself. She was not the little girl from the raider ship anymore, but she was eager to 227

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please him, so instinctively she gave him what he expected and wanted. When she touched his broad chest, however, the trembling of her hand was real. He was home to her. She longed for his warmth and his familiar scent, for all the things pure and good in him that reminded her of that sweet, wrecked life she would have given anything to get back. "You seemed so upset when I came to you in the line," she told him. "I was afraid to look in your eyes." She drew away her unsteady hand and gave a small, self-conscious laugh. "I have never made love to a man as a free woman. I don't know what to do." She was grateful when he lifted her face and pressed a tender kiss to her mouth. While it lasted she closed her eyes, and then she watched, entranced, as he began to unbutton her shirt with one slow, skillful hand. He noticed her staring and withdrew. "Don't stop," she told him, unable to take her eyes from his fingers. "I love the way that you do this. Such little buttons, so easy for you. It's like magic every time." "Oh, Elora." He bowed his head. "It was only that one time. Just that one time." "But it was the first time for me. It was important to me. I remember, even if you don't." He embraced her without warning, very tightly. She felt the crush of his strong arms on her frame and could not breathe, but the force of his desire did not startle her. It too was familiar, and because she had believed it lost it was like a gift, she yielded to it completely. "I have not forgotten," he whispered, burying his face in her hair. "I have not forgotten anything." He carried her to the bed and lay on top of her. The outline of silver paint brought out his black eyes. It made them appear exotic and his blunt face finer, more graceful, somehow. The effect was astonishingly seductive. She kissed his eyelids, and his mouth again. Her fingers brushed through his hair and came upon the crown of roses. They had chosen white roses for him, and her first thought was 228

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that the choice had been perfect, they were so lovely against his dark curls. It was not until she was lifting it from him with both hands that she remembered another crown of white roses and another dark head. She had worn white roses for the Commander. He had untangled them from her locks just like she was doing now. She flung the crown away quickly, far from the bed where she could not see it, and kissed Jugger with sudden, desperate passion. His thick tongue in her mouth and the press of his fingers on her spine wiped out everything else. She moaned and raised her legs around him. When he drew back she clung to his neck, smelling him. She licked his skin. He pinned her arms down, forcing her to look at him. His member was hard against her covered sex and his expression agonized as he fought to curb his lust, but he waited it out, mastering her as well as himself, and when she had calmed he opened his mouth on her upturned throat. He sucked her gently into a daze. She did not move when he released her arms and unbuttoned the last of her shirt, spreading it open to enjoy her breasts. He covered them in small kisses, nuzzled the crease beneath, teased her with the warm, wet insides of his lips. She stared down at him as he moistened her nipples with the tip of his tongue, and he raised his silver-lined eyes to watch her sigh. His hands caressed her stomach and pulled loose the buckle of her belt. She undulated voluptuously on the bed as he removed her trousers, kissing every inch of skin he bared. He had to hold her still to take off her boots. She became aware, and straightened her knees to assist him. The boots dropped to the rug with a soft thud, and with a curved palm large enough to encompass the whole of her calf he slipped off her stockings. Then he was standing before her, her little bare feet held against his belly and his erect cock nudging the backs of her ankles. She could feel the liquid on its tip and the small, invisible shudders passing through him. He kissed her insteps and her toes. Spreading her legs slowly he knelt on the bed to focus his eyes on her sex. She liked it when he looked at her this way. He would kiss her there now, and she had 229

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never enjoyed this from him before. He rested his forehead on the silky triangle of curls at her groin. He breathed on her. His parted lips touched her only very lightly, stroking her folds without closing on them. She watched his head moving lazily against her, longing for the feel of his tongue. Each heavy breath sent a shock of warmth rippling along her walls to her very womb, and when he sucked her at last she flinched hard, pushing out with the muscles of her stomach. Jugger moaned and drove his tongue inside, rubbing her clitoris between his fingers. She thought he would make her come on his lips, but when she was beginning to throb, he stopped. He remained crouched between her legs with his face pressed to her thigh, panting. Elora smiled and reached down to caress his head. After a long, dizzy pause he stirred, climbing onto her, leaving a trail of moist, untidy kisses on her body. His large penis glided wetly along her flank, over the tops of her thighs, until it rested quivering and warm against her sex. He mouthed her breasts again. His massive hand moved to her shoulder to brush aside the shirt and he found the mark of the arrow wound. It was a small scar, round and dark. She could see how it pained him. He kissed it tenderly and looked into her eyes, sad because he was helpless. "Please be careful." "I am," she said, stroking his cheek, smiling to reassure him. "You see? I have no others." "I thank the gods for it." "Thank Rowena." She laughed softly. "I cannot get rid of her in a battle. I think she goes to war only to protect me." "Does she really?" "Oh yes." She let her fingers travel over his face. "She looks after me just like you did." He made love to her hungrily. First on the bed, then carrying her outside to the cool dark of the terrace, pressing her against the ivy covered walls to ride into her, bending her over the rail to punish her from behind, drenched and whimpering with his enormous cock jerking inside. When he had exhausted her and she lay sprawled under him on the carpet he suckled her again, mesmerized by those 230

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breasts that he had once told her were perfect. He came one last time just from kissing them. His thick spurts jetted against her hip, and after, while he lay spent and tame, his arms wrapped about her, she turned her head to stare out at the ink-black skies and the collection of stars above. "You are very beautiful, Jugger," she whispered. "And you still make me very happy." Jugger I carried her to the bed when she was asleep, and soon I too drifted away, into a soothing darkness without dreams, her little body curved against mine and her soft, disheveled hair on my face. A hand on my shoulder woke me. Rowena stood by the bed, and she motioned me to get up. I hated to leave Elora. I would have resisted, but I did not want to disturb her rest. Rowena allowed me to part with her slowly, inhaling her perfume once more, kissing her, tucking her in carefully as I had done so often. I watched Rowena walk around the chamber dimming the lamps and checking the blaze of the fire. She picked up my crown of roses as she headed for the door, and I followed. Geniani waited outside. Rowena looked down at the roses, not knowing where to dispose of them, and finally she just handed them back to me. "Thank you for Elora, Your Highness," I told her humbly. "I know you have cared for her. I am so grateful." She regarded me evenly for a moment with her frigid blue eyes. "Her name is Lachesis now. Good night." With that she turned her back on me, and I watched her glide away, her head held high and her lustrous red hair streaming down to her fine waist, shining in the glow of the torches. I dropped my gaze to the floor. I was resigned to being little, but she had made me feel like nothing. "She really is cold-hearted, isn't she?" observed Geniani with disdain. I looked up, surprised, and had to smile. 231

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Geniani gave me a kiss and patted my chest affectionately. "Come along, my big darling. Don't let her bother you." I was grateful for her kindness. She held my hand all the way back to the kennels. The hall was dim, and those slaves who had already been released from service slept soundly. Only Eidolon remained wide awake in his cage, and when I climbed into mine he glared at me. He waited until Geniani was gone. "Did you make love to that little whore?" I tried not to be angry with him. He had a good heart. I could not understand what had brought about this change. "You must not say such things," I told him. "He would not have wanted it." "He is dead!" He spit it out like an accusation. For a long time he stared out the bars of his cage and said nothing. "And she is not what I expected," he added at last. "What did you expect?" I asked, sincerely confused. "I expected Hipolita never to return from the war." I was appalled. The sheer peril of saying what he had said froze me for a minute—he would have been executed just for uttering the words. I glanced about fearfully, but he had spoken softly and none of the other slaves stirred. "To kill a queen is suicide," I hissed at him through the bars. "You have been unfettered in her chambers and so have I. Why should Elora bear the burden of doing what neither of us has had the courage for? You are unfair." "And you are a fool to think that she ever cared for you. It is convenient for you that he is dead, isn't it? Now you can hope again." I could have forgiven him anything but this. That he would think me so base, so disloyal after all these years, was unpardonable. If there had been a sword within reach I would have used it. I turned my back on him and pretended to sleep. The next morning we were up early and did not look at each other. I could not wait for the exercise yard, where I would be able to get my hands on him. But it never came. The handlers had a sharp 232

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nose for these things and they did not want any fighting they could not monitor. They put us into the ring. I knew that I could not hit him, or they would end the bout, so I hurt him in other ways. He was so angry and proud that he did not let on to the pain, even when his ribs came close to breaking. I was glad that he was young and stubborn and foolish, because no one would come between us until it was too late and the bruises would last for weeks. When I had so overcome him that I thought he would lose consciousness I flung him face down on the dirt and rammed my cock into him. He struggled and kicked but it was no use. He could not push me off; he only made the friction greater. The fit was so tight at first that it was painful for me, but I pounded him brutally nevertheless. His strength finally broke and his body went slack under me. He did not, however, give me the satisfaction of a single yelp. His chafed anus began to enlarge with the thrusting and I began to wet myself, easing the entry. I tried to cling to my anger but the passion came unbidden and overwhelmed it. I had never coupled with him before. He was so beautiful and brave, and I loved him, I did. I could not change that. Our shared past was too dear; the ties too powerful. We had scraped through the worst of dangers together, risking death for one another more times than I could count. I knew in my heart that he would have given his life up for me, even now. I heard him moan, he was yielding to me. His hips lifted, pressing back as he pushed on his elbows with his head bowed and his wavy golden hair in the dust. The more he yielded the more I slowed. I found myself kissing his shoulder, and he guided my hand to his cock. His anus was deliciously slick now, the rubbing tremendous and hot. He ejaculated in my grip as I worked my fingers quickly on the head of his turgid penis, and as he stiffened and shuddered I felt my own orgasm explode. My head sank against his neck, and he turned his face to kiss me on the mouth. "Forgive me, Jugger. So sorry." I embraced him and rocked him slowly, and then I turned him 233

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over to kiss his forehead and brush the hair from his eyes. He smiled at me. "It doesn't matter," I told him, kissing his face over and over. "It doesn't matter." He put his arms around me and let me cradle him beneath me. He kissed my cheek and my hair. "It has been a long road, hasn't it?" he said. "It has." "It's been fun, though. You have to admit it." This made me laugh and I held him close, and for one moment I was completely happy. But then the handlers were pulling me to my knees and taking him away from me, and I realized what I had done. "No," I begged them, reaching out for him. "Take me instead. Please." They paid no attention. "I've hurt him. Eidolon, tell them. Tell them you are hurt." But he told them nothing. They chained me to the stone wall of the yard like a dog, and all I could do was watch while the men used him. He tried to resist when Narso pushed him down on the grass. It was no good, he was too weak, and because he did not cry out they did not realize what they were doing. They kissed him avidly and stroked him roughly, enraptured, forcing themselves into him with loud groans. When it was over, he lay sprawled on his back and did not move. They assumed he was resting and sat down to chat. Then the red marks I had left on him started to turn purplish. Narso was the first to notice. He crawled to Eidolon and examined him in alarm. Eidolon was awake, but just barely, and with unexpected tenderness Narso tried to help him to his feet. He could not walk. Mundros ran inside to fetch the handlers. The slaves were picking Eidolon up very carefully. One of them had brought water cupped in the palms of his hands. The girls rushed out in a pack, Geniani running ahead. They made the slaves set him down and probed him for broken bones. There were none, of course. I had been trying to make him suffer, not kill him. This did not calm the girls, however, and suddenly I was afraid 234

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that I had done more harm than I thought. They gathered into a huddle and argued quietly among themselves. Geniani kept shaking her head, but the others insisted nervously and finally, grudgingly, she gave in. The slaves stared with disbelief as the handlers lifted Eidolon and carried him to a large, wooden wheel in the back of the yard. It was set upright and fixed to a pole so that it could be spun round. Protruding at its center was a thick phallus carved from wood, polished to perfect smoothness. The handlers impaled Eidolon on it, planting his feet securely on wooden rests at the edge of the wheel, tying him with legs wide. His arms, too, were spread and fettered above. One of them produced a small jar and poured a red confection onto her palm. She covered his genitals with it, the rim of his anus, his nipples and underarms. They left him there in the heat of the sun with his head drooping against his chest. The horrified slaves were herded back to their cages. This was grievous punishment even for a healthy man. When Geniani walked past me I scrambled after, clasping her hand. I fell to my knees. Before I could say a word she slapped me violently across the face. "It is the Queen's order for his disrespect to Lachesis. Be quiet or you will get the same." She glared at me, so livid her whole body was shaking. "You are a clever devil, and because we did not stop the fight I cannot punish you for it. But you will pay for this. I promise you." She hurried away. He remained there all morning. Insects swarmed around him, attracted by the sweet red drippings. He writhed as they touched down on his skin, crawling over him, tickling with their tiny legs. The phallus ground in his rectum and his cock became painfully erect. His nipples hardened under the constant teasing. The sack of his testicles twitched and swelled, helplessly exposed between his fettered legs. I was unshackled and taken in to breakfast, but I could not eat a 235

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thing. They groomed me and put me in my cage. At noon we were let loose in the yard to stretch our legs. The slaves pitied Eidolon, but they would not go near him, distancing themselves from his shame and the possibility of a similar fate. I waited until the handlers had gone inside, and then I approached him. He stared at me with glazed eyes, and his member jerked when I brushed the flies from his chest and armpits. "They will see you." His throat was parched. I could barely hear him. "Go away." I wiped my hand carefully over the red slop on his inner thighs, on his scrotum. I cleaned the mess of flies from his cock. He moaned softly, arching into my grasp, and bending down I sucked on him adoringly. He spilled into my mouth almost immediately. His body slackened with relief, and I began to lick off the red ointment. It was honey, mixed with an extract of berries. Suddenly he held his breath. I looked up and saw him staring fearfully past me. Geniani was striding across the yard with her whip uncoiled. I did not care. I had known that it would happen. I accepted the lash without shifting, the strap curling around my hip and waist, and then I held out my hands so she could cuff me. The handlers strapped me onto the wheel next to his, but upside down. The berry ointment was applied, and they put some more on him for good measure. The blood rushed to my head and the phallus and the insects did their work. Hours passed. We did not speak. It was foolish to waste any strength. I heard light footsteps crunching on the grass. It was that girl, the Labyrinth girl with the yellow-green eyes. She looked us over. Then she went away. But in a little while she returned with two of the handlers. They took us down and strapped on a pair of leather collars. I put an arm around Eidolon to support him, but he signaled that he was all right. The girl held her hand out for the leashes. "I'll take them from 236

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here," she said. The handlers bowed deeply and left us. It seemed strange to me that they would humble themselves before her with such readiness and respect, but then I remembered that this girl had proved her worth in battle, and they did not have that rank. You would not have known she was a soldier to look at her. She was so relaxed and loose, and coltish still. She had a pleasant face. Not just lovely, but amiable: bright-eyed and quick to smile. She seemed happily alert and interested in everything. "Come on then," she told us casually. "You're too heavy to carry." We hobbled wearily after her into the kennels. She led us to one of the bath chambers. The pool had been warmed and there were sponges and soaps waiting on a table. She removed our collars and we stood watching her, numb with lust, while she took off her clothes. She gave no sign of noticing and chattered away like a little parrot the whole time. "My name is Larima. Do you remember me? I was one of the Court women. I belonged to Lord Hespen. He was very old. Do you remember him? I tried to run away once. Do you remember when I tried to run away?" We nodded and could not get a word in edgewise. "Get in the water. I'll be right there. I've never been here before, but it's very nice. It's very pretty. I like it, do you? I bet you don't. It's boring, isn't it? That's what they never tell you, how boring it is. I brought you something. I don't know where it is. Let me see where it is. I'll be right there." We stepped into the pool while she rummaged around in her clothes. She dug out a little silver bottle on a thin chain and hung it around her neck. It fell to just below her breasts and swung enticingly when she moved. Eidolon made an effort and closed his mouth. She took a bar of soap from the selection on display and slipped gracefully into the water. We were on our knees, submerged up to our chests. Her movements slowed as she approached and her smile 237

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changed into something less broad and more teasing. She began with me. She soaped away the red mixture, working unhurried circles around my nipples, gently stroking the hollows under my arms, brushing her fingers through the lathered curls. She liked this, and lathered the whole of my chest, flexing her hand in the thick black hair. "Sponges are a waste of time, don't you agree?" I did not say anything, but I could not help smiling. She liked this, too. Her hand slid between my thighs. She caressed the rim of my anus, making me quiver. Then she cleaned my genitals, lingering on my cock. She had not given me permission to touch her, so I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes. When she had coaxed a small moan out of me, she turned to Eidolon. He held still as well, but devoured her with his looks. She bathed him carefully, never pressing on his bruises, although I do not think that he would have minded. When he was clean, she reached for the tiny silver bottle and uncorked it. "This is from Rowena," she told him. "She says it will kill the pain." She held it to his lips. Eidolon hesitated. "Don't be such a baby, drink it." He did, with obvious distaste, but she made him drain the bottle. "It's bitter," he said. Without warning she leaned forward and kissed him, her tongue darting into his mouth. He was too surprised to react immediately, and she drew back, licking her lips. "You're right. It is bitter." Eidolon reached out and clasped his hand gently on the back of her neck. She did not protest. Tentatively he pulled her close, opening his mouth on hers for one careful, explorative kiss, then another. His other hand moved under the water to feel the slope of her waist. She smiled at him. "I always thought you were so lovely. But you never noticed me." There was no resentment in her voice. Eidolon's eyes wandered over 238

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her pretty face. "I've always been prodigiously stupid," he told her. "Ask anybody who knows me." They kissed again, deeper this time. His hand slid around her hip to caress her buttocks. She spread her thighs as he drew her against his body, and his cock slipped into her. I watched them kissing longingly, softly, with their eyes closed, their long, loose hair mingling over their cheeks, auburn and gold. Eidolon's arms wound completely around her back. She kept hers pulled back to the sides, afraid to touch him. He curled her legs about his hips, sending ripples through the water. "Put your arms around me," he asked. "I don't want to hurt you." "Please do it. I don't care." She did do it and he kissed her again, rocking slowly into her. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, holding on, caressing the muscles of his back. Her lids fluttered, becoming heavy, and shut. She breathed easily, and although her lips did not part she moaned, her body arching, weightless and languid against him. Eidolon kissed her hair and offered her to me with his eyes. I moved to them, aroused even by the warm flow of the water as it gave way before me, and pressed myself lightly to her back. She smiled, bending her head, turning her face so that I could kiss her. I kissed the curve of her jaw and her slender neck. I kissed Eidolon, and then both our mouths sought hers. My penis slid under her buttocks and I felt her widened rim, Eidolon's shaft rising into her, the soft bulge of his testicles swaying in the water. I opened one hand on her belly to keep her steady and grasping my cock, I guided it into her vagina along with his. She gave a great groan of delight as her walls spread to accommodate us. Eidolon gasped and thrust harder. I pressed in with one single, slow movement, our organs rubbing together and twitching like snakes inside her. When I felt his scrotum on mine I began to rock, and soon we had found our rhythm. Larima whimpered ecstatically, her hands roving, trying to touch 239

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and hold both of us. I moved my hand to her clitoris but Eidolon was already there, fingering her gently. I cupped her breasts, lifting her out of the water a little so that he could suck them. He bowed his head, his blond curls tumbling and dragging on the surface. His mouth opened on her nipple, then wider. He tasted and suckled her, starved, yet inexplicably courteous, his hunger tempered by a sweet and desperate subservience. The more rigid our organs became the closer our testicles pressed together, and finally I had to touch them. I palmed the large bulge and fondled it, sealing it up against the root of our cocks and her gorged opening. The shudders this brought on reverberated through the whole of our bodies. Eidolon moaned without restraint and stabbed powerfully into her, startling me, almost forcing me out. Larima shook, imprisoned between us, her shrill little cries incessant and her eyes squeezed shut. She climaxed, her vagina tightening and then pulsing wildly as Eidolon kept jabbing desperately and I simply held on, maintaining our balance and driven toward my own surge by his violent rubbing. We burst into her, not quite together but almost, pumping in water as well as our come. The heaving slowed. As our cocks became limp the force of her last, weak convulsions pushed us out. The surface of the pool calmed. Eidolon's arms slipped from her and he leaned exhausted against us. I reached around to him and held us all together. We kissed her over and again, and she sighed happily and stretched herself between us with the fluid, enviable grace of an athlete in her prime. "You’re so wonderful," she murmured. "So sweet, both of you. I wish you were mine." When she stood we knelt before her, kissing her dripping little pelt, lapping up the water from her thighs. She dried us and combed out our damp hair, and soothed Eidolon's bruises with a brownish cream that vanished as his skin absorbed it, another gift from Rowena. We dressed her and went so far as to strap on our own collars. "You should know," she said, looking particularly but not unkindly at Eidolon, "that it was Elora who had you taken down." 240

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He accepted the small reprimand as quietly as it had been given, and when she left his eyes followed her to the door. "You really like this girl, don't you?" I asked him, faintly amused. He stared at the empty doorway. "Yes," he said. "I really like this girl." **** The next time we saw Larima, she was different. Terse with the handlers, almost harsh with us. A week had passed. Eidolon had watched for her every day. Now that she came it was to Elora's bed she was taking him, not to her own. I had been summoned as well. Eidolon remained angry at Elora, but he was so taken with Larima that he would not display temper in her presence. She did not know him and therefore could not appreciate the magnitude of the compliment. She did not even meet his eyes. She moved quickly, leading us through the palace, wasting not one motion and yanking on our leashes to make us keep up. She was nervous; frightfully excited about something. I could tell we were the last thing on her mind. Daria opened the chamber door before Larima had a chance to knock twice, and we were rushed inside. Rowena was removing the handling collar from a tall, tow-headed slave. It was Flan. We stared unabashedly. I had never expected to see him again. He was wearing a white loincloth, and the moment Rowena stepped back he ripped it off. Larima locked the door and he smiled briefly at us. He was leaner than I remembered him, but magnificently strong: running the hunt at the stirrup of his High Priestess had proved beneficial in the extreme. The sun had bleached his hair to a tint so pale and pure that it looked like silver in the lamplight, and there was a new dignity to his movements that sorted well with the self-possession I saw in his eyes. At the moment, I could neither fathom it nor share it. Daria's hands were at my neck, undoing the buckle of my collar. Then I noticed Elora there, on all fours, reaching under the bed. She 241

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drew out a long, cumbersome bundle of rolled clothes and from it unwrapped three swords and a battle-mace with a spiked head. She threw the riding clothes and boots at us. "Get dressed," she said. "Hide the swords under your cloaks." The other girls were strapping on mail shirts and two daggers apiece. Elora looked at me. "The mace is for you. I hear you favor it. Is it true?" I was at a loss. "Yes." It was Eidolon speaking. "He does." "Good." She eased a black mail-shirt over her head and buckled on her sword. The girls were picking up their own blades, loosening them in their sheaths. "And the rest?" asked Daria. "It's with the Hellchild," said Elora. She smiled. "I did not think there would be a safer place than under his straw." The girls laughed.. I thought they were all deranged. Flan was pulling on his clothes without fuss. I turned to Eidolon, but his eyes were on Elora, loving again and full of remorse. "Elora," he began. "I..." In a moment she was before him, pressing her fingers to his lips, silencing him. She kissed his mouth with enormous tenderness. Then she removed his collar, tossing it to the floor like a hated thing, and she kissed him there too, where it had touched him. He embraced her and they stood holding each other, both so dazzling, such beautiful lovers. It calmed me just to look at them. But all too quickly they had parted, and we were struggling into shirts, breeches and heavy cloaks. The garments seemed coarse and stifling to me after so much time spent away from their like, offending my pampered skin after all those silks and velvet. When I picked up the mace, the steel felt alien in my hands. Elora settled into an armchair. Larima and Daria sat on the edge 242

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of the bed and Rowena poured herself a cup of wine. Elora nodded towards a long divan. "Sit down," she said. "We wait for midnight." We sat three in a row, Flan’s long hands laced loosely on his knees. We waited. Eidolon rocked compulsively and I cracked my knuckles, trying to stay calm. Daria braided and unbraided her hair. Rowena looked out the terrace doors, watching the autumn moon rise. Elora closed her eyes and actually fell asleep. "Relax," said Flan quietly. "I’ve seen her kill. She could kill you in two strokes." I turned to him, disbelieving, angry that he should exhibit so little concern for her. "You have seen her hunt. It's different." "Killing is killing. She kills everything the same way." The women were watching me with cool, steady eyes. They said nothing. Elora slept on, undisturbed. When it was time to set out Daria had to shake her awake. The palace was dark. Our footsteps echoed softly as we slipped down its deserted halls. Elora walked ahead with her cloak pushed back over her shoulder, one hand resting casually on the hilt of her sword. We made a few odd turns, obviously long-studied and reviewed beforehand. Serendipitous as our unimpeded movement seemed I knew that it had been vigilant observance of sentry stations and schedules that now left us with only two unavoidable guards in our way, standing at the outer gate in the very back of the palace. The corridor lamps burned low. All they could see was Elora approaching and a bulk of indistinct shapes behind her. As we drew closer I felt Larima's hand on my stomach, holding me back, keeping me in shadow. Elora stepped into the light and the guards turned front to front, their heads held high and their wrists clasped behind their backs at attention. Elora did not slow down. When she was between them she spun around, drawing her sword, slitting one throat and then the other in one swift and balanced turn. The spray of blood hit my chest and Larima's face. Larima wiped it off and kept going as though nothing had happened, but I balked, stupefied, and 243

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Rowena had to shove me along. Eidolon staggered against the wall, reaching instinctively and irrationally for his sword. Flan alone maintained some degree of composure. He shot me a quick, significant glance. She was frightfully fast. All these months I had heard tell of the Lachesis and refused to believe she existed. Now I was aghast, and I realized there was nothing Elora would not do to carry this through. What she had submitted to for Him seemed suddenly unimaginable. The calculation, the patience, the risk and wounds of war, the touches and the lust and the evenings of laughter she had endured in careful silence. It had never occurred to me, how she loved him, and I am certain it had never occurred to him. We had supposed her too young and thoughtless. But she had loved him with a constancy beyond her years and our understanding. It was a tragedy that he had not lived to know it. I believe he would have died a happy man. Quickly we pushed on to the great oaken doors and flung them open. Rowena and Daria tied them wide so that the hallway yawned immense and without block of any kind behind us. The path led down to the stables, lined on either side by stone hedges built high. And beside the stables, in a large paddock with a thick fence, grazed a herd of those long-horned monsters that Amazons used in the Bull Dance. We ran the rest of the way. There was no time to lose and no turning back now that blood had been spilled. Rowena, Daria and Larima saddled the horses, padding them with body armor and head plates to protect them from arrows; all except the Hellchild, whom they dared not approach. Elora ducked between his powerful legs and dug mail shirts large enough for men out of the straw, along with helmets, bows and quivers for the women. She then strapped armor onto the Hellchild while Daria handed us our mounts. Elora put foot in stirrup and swung onto the stallion's broad back. He held still as stone for her, and it was almost painful to see how he suited her, as if all the while meant for her and not for Him to ride. Perhaps this too was a conspiracy of love. Rowena sat astride The 244

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Elegant, long and straight as a lance, and Larima rode Ayesha's white mare. For the rest of us they had chosen the finest of the Council battle chargers. "Where's the chestnut?" asked Elora. "At the barrack stables," replied Rowena. "He's always kept there. It couldn't be helped." Elora hesitated, looking peeved. "Elora, for pity's sake! You can't have everything you want!" Rowena shortened her reins with a jerk. It was the first time I had seen her lose her composure. Elora rode out through the back, plucking a torch from the wall as she went. Rowena snatched up another. Daria and Larima reached for coiled rawhide whips. We kept close to one another, still confused, as they rounded the building and reached the rear gate of the bull paddock. Elora unlatched it with her boot and kicked it open. When we rode in the animals began to stir and move away from the torchlight in a mass. They were about two hundred head. There were bellows here and there as ascendancy duels broke out, but aside from that their progress was sluggish. They were not yet alarmed. Elora urged the Hellchild into a run and flung her torch into the herd. There was a squeal of pain and the sizzle of charred flesh. Then the torch hit the ground, dripping with oil, and the tall grass already dry with the season caught fire. The stampede was immediate. As Rowena threw her torch in for good measure the others began to crack their whips, shouting at the top of their lungs. The bulls charged madly toward the front gate, crashing through and sweeping like an avalanche between the stone hedges, straight for the open doors of the palace. Eidolon and I exchanged alarmed glances. We spread out at full gallop to help. Flan was moving after stragglers. With the wall of flames rising and curling and coming on behind us, we drove the herd into the Amazon Court. It was already awake. The bulls wreaked havoc with everything in 245

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their path. Women ran out their doors only to be trampled. Lamps crashed down, drapes and tapestries burst into flames. Black clouds of smoke advanced with the destruction and the bulls became even more crazed. Dozens split from the main thrust of the herd, ramming down doors, tearing over furniture, scrambling up stairways with a horrible scraping of hooves and horns on stone, looking for a way out. We rode desperately hard to stay directly behind them, ducking as the fire licked up the walls and ceiling beams cracked above us, the horses struggling not to slip on the waxed floors. More and more Amazons appeared. Arrows began to fly. Animals fell wounded and tripped the ones running after. The bulls had to leap over each downed beast and it slowed them down somewhat. We felt the darts coming at our backs, sailing past, and dug in our heels to drive the horses into the dubious protection of the herd. Elora had planned her gamble shrewdly. No amount of arrows would do the trick. It took eight or ten to really stop just one bull. They found their feet and charged on, bleeding, enraged. Our horses were nimble and much steadier, and soon we were riding almost at the head of the stampede, staying on its flank. We would pass right through the royal wing, and as it approached Elora drew her sword. She steered the Hellchild violently to one side. A bull knocked his hindquarters out from under him. The steel-plate armor protected him from being gored but he was half down, sliding and scrambling on his forelegs trying to recover. If they fell, they would die. Larima flew past me. My horse hit the wall, jostled by the white mare, and I was nearly unseated as well. The charger was agile and held together. When I raised my eyes, Larima had a rescuing hand under Elora's arm and the Hellchild was up. He slammed into the wood doors of the royal chamber, which were already, inexplicably, parting. Elora disappeared through them and Larima followed. Rowena and I slipped after, but the others were carried away down the corridor by the force of the herd. The moment I was inside I saw what had happened. Mundros had unlatched the doors and one of 246

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the Hellchild's hooves had struck him coming down from a rear. He had died before hitting the ground. I felt a wince of pain—there was no time for more. Elora was leaping off the saddle and Rowena screamed at me, "Hold the door!" We jumped from the horses and shoved the panels shut, working together frantically on the latch. When we had it secure and I turned around Larima was grabbing the nervous chargers and Elora was striding across the room. Hipolita was in the back, near the bed, reaching for her sword. Elora headed directly for her, interested in nothing else, but Narso was there too. He snatched a poker from the fireside. Naked and screaming, he charged forward to protect his beloved queen. Elora decapitated him without a thought. Then I was horrified to see Geniani stepping in the way, mortally afraid but bravely giving challenge. I was too far away to intervene. "Elora, no!" She did not hear me. Geniani brought down her sword. Elora blocked, twisted, and lopped off her arm with one smooth stroke. Geniani fell aside. She made no noise. She would bleed to death in a minute. All her kisses and smiles and the pleasures she had given me came back like a blow to my stomach, and I was so sick I had to double over. Hipolita met Elora with her sword raised, but surprise and rage worked against her. She swung in from the side and Elora blocked. The blades scraped together for an instant with a terrific grating sound, and then Hipolita pulled back to swing again. Elora let go one hand from the hilt of her sword. She was too small to parry a blow with a half-grip and I cringed. Raw talent was no match for experience; she was reckless. But her speed was uncanny. She grabbed Hipolita's arm while it was still raised, and single-handed she drove the light, lean sword through her stomach and out her back. 247

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Hipolita jerked and fell to her knees. Elora dropped down with her, holding the blade inside to the hilt. She twisted it and blood spurted onto the sapphires. "This is for Ayesha's honor," she said. "And for him that you took from both of us." She kept pressing on the sword as if she could not press enough. "Your palace is burning to the ground. I am all the legacy you leave. When The Amazon remember this day they will curse your name along with mine." She yanked out the sword and turned away. Hipolita fell forward onto the stones. Elora did not waste time watching her die. I knelt beside Geniani, unconscious already in a wide pool of blood. I touched her hair. Elora glared at me as she strode past toward the Hellchild. "Show some sense, man. Get on your horse." Outside the smoke was thick, and the flames threatening to consume the hallway had scattered all opposition. The bulls were gone. We rode for our lives. When we reached the grand stairway leading down to the public rooms a pack of barely dressed but ferocious and fully-armed Amazons was climbing toward us. Elora cut a path through, wailing like a banshee, which made her twice as frightening. The combat was too close for arrows so Rowena and Larima slashed away as well, using the horses as battering rams. I wielded the mace as best I could, feeling clumsy, trying to get close to Elora, although I could see that she did not need me. We broke past into the large front halls, and as we reached the main foyer we caught a glimpse of the bull herd. It had crashed through the great blackwood gates and was disappearing down the road towards the city. Eidolon, Daria and Flan had waited for us faithfully and were about to pay for it with their lives. A second wave of Amazons was flooding in, led by The Council. Flan had a puncture wound in his thigh and Eidolon a bad cut on one arm. Daria was bleeding from the forehead where a blow had glanced off her helmet. And the fire kept spreading, climbing up the curtains and the banners and eating away 248

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at the ceiling timbers. We jerked our horses to a halt as the Amazons turned on us, calling for the Queen. They still did not know she was gone. I realized that in spite of everything I had not expected to die. The bull herd was getting further and further away and with it went our one, slim possibility of escape. It occurred to me suddenly that perhaps Elora had never considered survival important, that, having done her duty by Him, she might think it reward enough. But Elora showed no signs of being prepared for martyrdom. She galloped directly toward Callaris, who was fronting the attack. Callaris raised her sword. Elora, inexplicably, sheathed hers. Callaris hesitated for one fatal instant, and as the Hellchild swept by Elora threw herself from the saddle onto her. The momentum was immense and they rolled across the floor in a tangled heap, crashing against a column. Callaris hit first, the wind knocked out of her lungs. Elora yanked out a dagger and held it under her throat. "The Queen is dead!" she screamed. "Stand down or she dies too!" The Amazons wavered. They did not want to believe, but if it was true they dared not risk Callaris. Slowly they withdrew from Eidolon, Daria and Flan. They came no closer to us. Elora climbed to her feet, dragging Callaris along. The Hellchild had kicked a circle clear around himself and Elora struggled towards him, limping badly. She was not strong enough to pull Callaris onto the saddle. "Get on this horse. Get on it or I’ll slit your throat." Callaris hesitated. She was unafraid, but she could not leave the Stronghold without a leader. It would collapse. She mounted the Hellchild with Elora clinging to her back, scrambling on after. Elora grabbed the reins one-handed and kept the blade at her neck. "Ride on!" she shouted at us. I could barely hear her above the roar of the flames. We urged the prancing, panicked horses across the room as the Amazons parted, and made for the open gates. The night air hit our lungs cool and 249

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clean as we galloped down the road. I glanced back. There would be no host after us. They would be busy getting everyone out of the palace alive. But in the city the alarm bells were tolling, the army waking in the barracks. "Catch the herd!" yelled Elora. "The herd will protect you! Take it through the cave! I will come!" We were at the bottom of the slope and she was leaving us. When I tried to chase her Daria grabbed my reins, yanking the horses to a halt. "Don't you dare!" she hissed at me. "Your captain has given you an order and you will follow it!" I stared at her, completely taken aback. It was too late, in any case. The Hellchild had disappeared into shadow and the ring of his hooves was fading fast. We took the most direct path through the city, hoping that at least some of the herd remained together and ahead. Amazons streamed out of buildings, shooting, yelling. Rowena raised her bow. The other women followed suit, killing what enemies they could without straying from the road. But there were too many, and finally we simply bent low to the saddles and left it to luck. Rowena and Larima were shot through the thigh, Daria in the arm. I had two arrows in my leg and Eidolon was pierced through the shoulder. An arrow jerked wildly in the middle of Flan's back. Fortunately it had not passed the mail; he would bruise without bleeding. I saw the herd, fifty or sixty of them running still, clearing the way. The wide, torchlit entrance of the cave yawned before them. They balked and started to break up. Rowena and Daria faltered. Larima slowed the mare, giving us up for lost. Eidolon and Flan looked at me. When I spurred on my horse they followed. We spread out shouting, beating the flats of our swords against the bulls. It was a relief to be useful again, at last, in some manner. For a while I did not even feel the arrows. The herd tore into the cave and as our weary horses slowed it left us behind, pounding away down the tunnel. When we reached the 250

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forest outlet the Amazon sentries were dead, trampled while trying to close the gap. We were through, we were miraculously alive, and Flan let out a wild yell of glee that spoke for all of us. "Halt!" called Rowena. "Halt! Elora!" We pulled the horses around and exchanged troubled glances. "The waterfall," said Eidolon. "If she lives she will come there." Rowena nodded. "You are right. Lead the way." It surprised me that she would surrender command to him, but she was wise. He was not the pride of the Raiders for nothing. It was a march of many hours made even longer and more disorienting by the dark. None of us could have found that clearing again. He had made the journey only once, gagged, carried, overcome with tears, and yet he rode down the slopes sure and quick, weaving through the maze of trees and rocks, bridging narrow streams, glancing back to make sure we were all safe behind. We followed him like children. As the dawn began to break and gray light flooded over the mountaintops we heard the strong rush of water, and he led us through the pines into the circle of the pond. We dismounted, feeling faint. Everyone had bled a great deal. Pulling out the arrows, we hastily bandaged each other's wounds. We needed shelter and food, and real medicine, or we would die all the same. Rowena tried to gather some herbs to dress the punctures but it was still dim and she was so weak she could hardly walk. I had to support her, dragging a useless leg that I could no longer feel. We heard the sound of horses in the wood. Many horses, fresh and well shod. Too tired to resist an attack, we simply sat there. Two riders came out of the trees leading a caravan of a dozen stock mounts and two mules packed with heavy saddle bags. They were Tyke and Zurco. Eidolon, Flan and I were all rendered speechless, and the women seemed every bit as surprised. Tyke and Zurco rushed to embrace us, laughing, almost crying with happiness. Then they noticed that Elora was not with us, and their smiles faded. "Where is the little one?" asked Tyke. 251

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My companions were still mute with amazement. "She stayed behind," I answered at last. "We do not know..." They looked stricken, both of them. "She will come," said Rowena. Tyke and Zurco had wine. They had ointment and needles, and a poker they could heat to cauterize a wound. Luckily this was not necessary. We thought I might need it, but Rowena shook her head. I could have kissed her hand with gratitude. "We cannot stay long," said Tyke. "She told us to wait only until the light crosses the clearing and hits the water. Then we must take you away, with or without her." We watched the shadow of the peaks shrink as the sunrays moved toward the waterfall. Their gleam hit the rush and made it sparkle, and Eidolon buried his face in his hands. "She will come," said Rowena again. But she did not sound certain, she who had always been certain of everything. Tyke and Zurco asked us to mount the fresh horses. We wavered, but knew there was no point in arguing. And then we heard a whistle, sharp, repeating, clear as a bird’s call. It was His whistle, and every Raider in the clearing paled. It was eerie, wonderfully so, and for one brief moment of happy lunacy I expected to see His face. The women brightened, scrambling to their feet. The Hellchild trotted in from the pines. Elora looked singed, and scratched from flying through the bush but otherwise unhurt. Callaris still sat before her, doubtlessly the reason she had survived, and led behind her came Eidolon's beautiful chestnut stallion. She tossed the lead into his hands with a childishly proud smile. "There," she said. "He is yours again." I was absolutely furious, but then it occurred to me that she had gone not after a horse but after everything the horse meant. She somehow believed that if she could return everything lost, gather all the little pieces of the past together without forgetting one, she could 252

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make things the way they had been. She was not bringing back a horse, she was trying to bring the Commander back to life. She wanted the world to look the way it had looked when he had walked in it. Eidolon saw this too. Even Callaris saw it, and for an instant she regarded her Lachesis—her deceiver, her betrayer, her Queen’s murderer—with pity. They had dismounted, and Elora said, "Give her a fresh horse." Zurco led the best of the bunch forward and handed the reins to Callaris. She had not expected it. I do not think she had expected to live. She stared at Elora. Elora sheathed her dagger. That momentary flash of naivete was gone from her expression as if it had never existed. "You are a good woman," she said, "and you were not here that day. Your people will need you now; rule them wisely. Raise Hipolita's daughter as your own. Make her kinder than her mother. But do not ever think of coming after me, or what I love. If we meet again I will have no mercy." Callaris said nothing. Perhaps somehow, she understood. She nodded and rode away. Elora looked around the clearing slowly, searching for something. She took a few steps, turning, looking at the pond, changing her position. And then she walked to a spot that seemed random, but I knew he had fallen there, she remembered the very spot. She knelt before it and kissed the ground. Taking the dagger from her belt, she cut off a long lock of her hair. She tied it carefully with a little black ribbon and left it for him on the grass.

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Chapter Five The Company of Nine

E

lora bent over the edge of the old stone well to examine her reflection. She had not worn a dress in so long that she felt almost naked in it. It was the dress of a peasant girl, a drab brown dress with wide sleeves, cinched by a white bodice that laced up the front, pushing her breasts into a slight swell above the neckline. Her feet looked tiny in the plain calfskin slippers, and for a moment she missed her black boots. She felt unanchored without their weight, as though if she did not tread carefully she might wander off the ground. She tied a long, stained apron around her waist, picked up the basket of apples she had gathered that morning and started down the road. She had secretly bought Zurco and Tyke with her army wages and taken them out of the Stronghold to a small village in the western hills, far from the high mountains and the White City. There they had become blacksmiths, living quietly at the end of a country way, waiting. Behind their humble forge and an old barn was a patch of fruit trees, and nestled among them a wooden cabin, poor but snug. The path to town advanced through the woods in wide curves, kept clear by the tramping of plow mules on their way to be shod at the little forge, the wagons of wandering merchants and the occasional band of carnival players roaming from one festival to the next. Dried leaves swirled down from the trees, and Elora brushed them off her 254

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hair with a careless hand. She had expected to cry after the Stronghold, but the tears had never come. Perhaps she had waited too long and grief had passed her by without her noticing. He still crawled around in her dreams, however; vibrant, flawless, too alive. It disturbed her, for she had others to think of. His men and his women belonged to her now. More than revenge had been won in the mountains, and she realized that the earning of their love was more important than any revenge, that although it had not been her goal it was her true reward. She would never be alone again. She felt that He had left them to her care, and that she must take them someplace good. They were not at home in a lowly cottage on the edge of nowhere. Their wounds had already healed and she could sense them growing restless for a way of life they knew. The village was a collection of wooden buildings and narrow alleys organized around a badly paved square. The tavern doubled as a brothel, the cobbler and the butcher shared quarters next door, and there was a market where men traded everything from sows and poultry to homespun cloths. A scattering of small farms surrounded the town, broken up by patches of forest that no one had the means or the energy to clear. Elora saw the slave-women running errands and working in the fields, wearing dresses exactly like her own. It surprised her to discover that she was not at home here either, in this quiet spot so like the one where she had been born. These clothes, which had once been so familiar, now felt like a disguise. She smiled to herself, amazed at how quickly the body forgot. She wandered through the streets peddling her apples, listening in on conversations. Two Rangers come out of the east had just arrived and the village was buzzing with news from the Mountains of the Moon. A thin crowd was trickling into the tavern, and there she found the Rangers trying to consume a meal, perhaps their first in days, but being kept from it by an eager audience. The Rangers were serious, uncommunicative men, dusty from long travel and already weary of questions, but the villagers would not retreat. Elora kept well to the 255

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back of the gathering, watching them from a corner. She did not recognize either of the two, but so many Rangers had passed through the White City that she dared not take a chance one might remember her face. "Nobody knows who she is," protested the elder irritably, his plate going cold before him. "She belonged to him, that is all. She rides his horse; a large, black horse. They call her Lachesis. It is a title of honor, among the Amazon." "Does she ride with many?" asked the innkeeper tremulously, as if he expected a battalion to storm in at any moment and burn the walls down about him. "She rides with White City Raiders," said the Ranger. "These are dangerous men. Perhaps some Amazons, and they are dangerous as well. Some say there are only nine." The second Ranger emptied his mug of ale. "But they say she is clever and that the gods are with her; she does not need more. What she did with nine riders, the Commander tried to do for ten years with ten thousand and failed." "They tell us she was seen moving west," offered a farmer nervously. "We are far from our King and he already does battle on the great lake. Who will protect us if she comes?" Elora slipped out of the room and found herself a quiet alley. She squatted there, oblivious to the damp wood of the wall against her back, wondering how soon she could move, and how long it would take her to reach the lake. When she raised her head, a man was watching her from the mouth of the alley. He had fair hair and golden skin, and though he was young his eyes were already lined by a life spent in the fields, squinting into the sun. He looked a little like Eidolon, but the features were coarser, not as elegant. She let him approach before getting to her feet, and he smiled down at her. "Buy an apple from me, sir?" She held one out on the palm of her hand. "You're a pretty girl," he told her, tilting his head, curious. His 256

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eyes were an inoffensive, watery blue. "You're not from these parts. I've never seen you before. Who do you belong to?" "I belong to no one." "You are all alone?" "Yes. All alone." "It is a dangerous world for such a little girl to be alone in." "Do you really think so?" she asked him. He misunderstood, of course, and laughed innocently, delighting her. "What is your name?" he said. "Elora." "I will buy all your apples, Elora. If you will let me kiss you." She took him to a room above the tavern, and there bathed him in a wooden tub, making him wait, insisting on his obedience, which he yielded with bewilderment. He lay prone on the bed and watched her undress. She straddled him, rocking slowly against his sex until it was hard, pressing it between her thighs. He tried to touch her breast but she held down his wrist. She closed his eyes with the tips of her fingers, taking a strange and kindly pleasure in the soft shivering under the lids, the delicate flutter of his lashes. Had she stayed across the sea she would have married a man like him, borne his children, cooked over his stove, mended his fraying shirts. He seemed terribly fragile to her suddenly, made of a different stuff. And yet the Commander had bled to death just as this farmer would have. There were no such things as gods. She felt him leaking against her, and then he was moaning, his cock sliding inside. Elora guided his hands to the joint of their bodies and made him touch his sex as it rose into her. His fingers flexed on the slick, black curls of her pubic hair, parted the lips, sought the tightening nodule within. He thrust more violently, staring at her, and she pinned his wrists down again. For a while she did not move, enjoying the silky, pulsing girth of his shaft against her walls and the rapid cadence of his breaths. She bent close and kissed his slack mouth. 257

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"What is that?" he asked, his eyes on her shoulder. "An arrow," she said. "Soldiers came. They killed my family." She found that she was not thinking of her father or Anthea, or of that mother she could barely remember, but of the Commander, and quickly, stubbornly, she pushed him from her mind. "You are not like other women I know," said the young man, trying to free his wrists. "No. I am not." She allowed him to touch her stomach and her firm, silky thighs. When she undulated against him, he closed his hands on her hips and stopped her. "Where are you from?" he asked her, quiet but insistent. "From a village like this one. Far away. A village by the sea." She smiled. "I was a fisherman's daughter." He sat up abruptly to kiss her mouth, and then he was on top of her, lifting her legs about him, his lean hips circling, grinding, the pressure of his trunk on her belly making her sigh. She climaxed with a loud moan, and his warm semen spilled into her, his lips open and moist on the arrow mark. Afterwards she lay stretched on her side while he caressed her back and the flank of her hip. She watched a patched blue curtain waving in the breeze at the window. The thin, wooden panel creaked, then slapped shut with a gust of wind. "Come and live with me," he told her, nuzzling her hair. "I will take care of you." "I know you would. I thank you. But I cannot." "Will I ever see you again?" She turned to look at him. His eyes were puzzled, and sad with a longing that she knew was not real and would pass, even though he could not imagine it at this instant. She stroked the blond hair on his chest and kissed the strong, graceful curve of his neck. "You will," she said. "I promise." She waited until he was asleep before slipping away, and left him the pennies he had paid her on the pillow, along with the basket of 258

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apples. Making her way home through the forest she sensed a shadow gaining on her, blending with the trees. She stopped, turning to find only an empty path, the woods quiet and bathed in the slanted light of a late-afternoon sun. Then a man cloaked in worn green stepped out from behind the shrubbery. It was the eldest of the Rangers. He was forty, perhaps, his closecropped hair beginning to gray, his eyes keen and dark. "I know who you are," he told her, advancing slowly with his hands held out before him as a sign of peace. "I saw you once. Though I daresay you do not remember me." Elora waited in the middle of the road. She kept her hands at her sides and watched the glint of his sword peeking from under the cloak, trying to guess how fast he was. "You sat on his lap while he listened to our tidings. You poured the wine for us. He liked to run his fingers through your hair." Elora smiled sweetly, but the softness of her expression did not fool him. He halted a prudent distance away. "He is sorely missed. The White City is weak without him. The High Lords quarrel among themselves and the army is divided. It needs a leader." Elora advanced, impressed by his shrewdness and stopping before him, examined him. She could almost smell the plains on him, the forests where she had learned to ride. "I like your eyes," she told him. "They are honest eyes." "The Raiders would come to you," he said, "and the army will follow where they lead. I would follow you. If you asked me." Elora took his browned, sinewy hands in hers and squeezed, surprising him. This time the warmth of her smile was genuine. "I do not want his city without him in it," she explained, thinking of green velvet pillows and wondering who slept on them now. The man hesitated a few moments. He lowered his gaze. "I understand," he answered at last. His hands trembled ever so slightly in her grasp, but not with fear. 259

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She lifted them to her lips and kissed them, and then she let him go. "Fare well, Ranger." He withdrew a step and bowed slightly. "Fare well, Lachesis." Elora turned and walked away from him along the path. She heard the crunch of his boots on brittle leaves, then nothing. He vanished into the trees like a spirit, making no sound but the sound of the earth. That evening, she shed the peasant dress and clothed herself in black once more. She braided her hair and buckled on Ayesha's sword. Her boots had come to show their wear, but someone had lovingly polished them for her. "Aren't you a pretty picture," she said to her reflection in the long mirror by the bed. "What's your name?" She did not know the answer, but neither did she think to look for it. **** They were all gathered around the table when she came downstairs. Daria and Zurco were serving supper. Tyke shot her a glance less resentful and more fretful than he meant it to appear. "I wish you wouldn’t wander off like that. It was sundown before you came back. You should not go to town without telling somebody." "Of course," said Elora mildly. "I am sorry." Daria tried to suppress a laugh but could not. Tyke glared up at her testily. "What are you laughing at?" "Nothing," she said quickly, and set down his plate. Elora had led five thousand soldiers into a winning war and broken the power of a dynasty that had lasted untouched eight hundred years, but she still had to ask for permission to go to town. That Tyke failed to see the irony in this seemed positively quaint to 260

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Daria, and that Elora was equally blind bordered on the absurd. Flan and Larima were struggling to keep a straight face as well. "Your horse kicked me again," said Jugger, changing the subject in that gentle, unobtrusive way of his that nobody in the room dared to disrespect. "If he keeps this up he can learn to pitch his own hay." Elora approached and knelt before him. "Where did he kick you?" she asked tenderly. "In the leg." She bent forward and kissed his thigh. He laughed softly. "The other leg." She kissed his other thigh. Jugger smiled, studying her, and she climbed onto his lap to kiss his mouth. He fed on her fruity lips, pressing his tongue between them lightly, enjoying his new and blossoming pride in what she was becoming. At times she was still that young girl full of stubborn innocence, and at times she seemed a little bruised, a little rough around the edges, but once in a while she would sit back with a calm self-assurance flooding into her gray eyes. She acquired a beguiling elegance in these moments and looked a woman full grown. This would vanish as unexpectedly as it had come, and she would be childish and playful again, wanting to be petted and spoiled and giggling sweetly at the silliest things. He was not concerned, however, not anymore. He knew that she would find her place in the world. She would carve it out by sword if necessary, just like her master had done. Although a minute ago she had been oblivious to everything taking place around her, now she felt serene and adult in his arms, wearing the boots he had polished in order to remind her of her talents and to show her that his confidence in her was complete. He caressed her face with his large palm, the supple curve of her breast, her waist. Then he let his hand rest on the hilt of her sword. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked with a quiet knowing. The others stirred, taking notice of her garb for the first time. Elora stood up, sensing the tacit approval in Jugger and immediately encouraged. She walked around to the head of the table 261

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and placed both hands on the edge, leaning slightly forward, her weight on her palms. "We ride south with the first snow," she informed the company, watching them carefully for a reaction. "I hear in the village that Balidor is under siege. He no longer has the protection of the White City. He is not outnumbered yet, but his troops are in low spirits. When winter sets in the great lake will freeze and the enemy will march right over the ice to his gates. He needs a champion, and we must make a living somehow." She sat down and crossed her legs, resting one arm over the back of her chair. She stared across the table at Jugger, thinking of what the Ranger in the woods had said. "Do you think that he would give his army to a girl? If she asked for it?" "I think that he would give it to Lachesis," Jugger answered, "if she asked for it." "This enemy King is a powerful warrior," said Eidolon with a frown. "Vicious, enormous. His name is Megante. I have seen him fight five men on his own, and win. His sword is a thing I could not lift. The first thing he will do is hunt you down. He’ll cut right through the army, any army, to do it." Elora glanced at Rowena. The princess refused to yield an opinion. She bent her steady gaze on Jugger, and he lowered his own. **** Jugger was still shy of Rowena. Even though she treated him courteously now there remained something so majestic, so forbidding about her that he simply could not breach it. He could not understand how Eidolon had commanded passion for such a woman. She was too fine: radiant and remote and slipping through all holds like a water sprite. She burned cold, and he could not warm to her. She came alone to him that evening, surprising him as he was about to go to bed. He had a low fire crackling in the hearth, and the glow passed through her thin nightdress as she crossed before it. She 262

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sat on the bed and ran the palm of her hand lightly over the sheets, smoothing them. Jugger stood before her at a loss, holding his shirt in his hands, and she looked up at him with her wintry eyes, always one step ahead of everyone else. "There can be nothing without you," she said. "You and I must never be enemies." Jugger assumed she was talking about Elora, telling him that she was theirs to guard and guide as well as to follow. "Yes," he answered her. "Yes, of course." She laid her hand on his thigh. Then she took the shirt from him and kissed his fingers. Jugger was astounded. He stared ahead at the wall and did not move. Rowena stood up, pressed her cool face to his chest. She was tall, and he could feel the satin brush of her hair against the curve of his throat. She ran her hands along the stiff length of his arms. He swallowed, glanced briefly down, away again. "Would you prefer it if I left?" she asked, very gently. His heart was beating like a drum against her cheek. "No." He bent his head and kissed her hair, overwhelmed. He kissed her long lashes and the corner of her mouth as she lifted her face to him. "No." Then her tongue was inside him and he was moaning softly, his hands trembling on her back. She did not smell or taste like anything except her own clean flesh. He could not compare her to a single thing, she was absolute. They sat on the edge of the bed and she reached up to let loose her long hair. Jugger touched her soft, pointed breasts through the nightdress, opening his palm on them lightly, tentative still, brushing a thumb across her nipples. Her fine, red tresses rippled down onto his fingers, his wrist. She smiled and crossed her arms before her chest, sliding off the narrow shoulder bands, baring herself down to her waist. He leaned forward to kiss her mouth, and she received it with lips parted, savoring him. Then she guided his head to her breasts. Jugger suckled her slowly while she caressed his shoulders 263

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and the nape of his muscular neck. She pressed on it, working her fingers in the tender hollow, massaging it firmly. A rush of heat spread down his back to his loins, immediate and dizzying, flooding into his cock. When they were nude she sat straddled on his lap, her arms wound about his head. He kissed their silky insides, from the elbow to the joint of her armpit, sliding his tongue in, sucking her there. The length of his shaft pressed against her sex, rising, opening the folds. He arched into her and she moaned. He thought that she had moaned with pleasure, but when he looked at her face she seemed to be in real pain. "Am I hurting you?" "Yes..." She could barely speak, her voice choked and her brow wrinkled in an agonized little frown. He stopped at once and tried to withdraw. "Don't," she begged him. "Don't stop." She smiled tremulously, pushing down to urge him deeper in. Jugger hated to hurt her, even if for some reason she welcomed it. It was not in his nature and he could not calm himself. His erection began to soften. She kissed him tenderly, caressing his face. "Don't," she said. "Don't be afraid. It doesn't matter. It's too wonderful to matter." Her hand slid between them to grasp the root of his penis, her long fingers pressing on it, stroking the bulge of his testicles underneath. Jugger looked down, dizzied. He watched her touching his cock. She made him kiss her again. Her surrender was complete, and so very sweet because it was so difficult. He had no words to tell her how much it excited him, how much she moved him, and felt an almost irresistible impulse to hold her tight. It took everything in him to force it back, to return the gentle kisses and not move, waiting for her hot little sex to yield, letting her ease him in. She widened. Her fingers worked the thick, pearly juice into the groove of his thighs. Her breaths became less labored and she smiled. Jugger moaned, rigid, pulsing helplessly inside her. She undulated against him, her wet palms open on his chest. 264

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"Yes, you can." She nuzzled his face, prodding gently. "You can do it now." He thrust into her carefully, gratefully, trying to keep his eyes open. She offered him her fingers and he licked them clean. She ran them over his face and through his hair, and as they kissed again her breasts rubbed against him, weightless, her stiff nipples teasing and tangling on the abundant curls of his chest. She sank further onto him, taking him in almost whole, and then lifted herself slowly, lingering, starting to ride him at last. Jugger drew back and stared at her coral mouth, damp and slightly swollen with his kisses. She sighed, and he pushed instantly against her, jaws wide. He wanted to devour even her breath. His hands went to her hair, drawing it to his face while his tongue coaxed hers between his lips. When she broke the kiss with a groan he let her locks run like water through his fingers. He thrust faster, slapping the undersides of her breasts a little, pinching the nipples. They were small and jutting, startlingly dark in contrast with the unbelievable whiteness of her skin. She quivered and jerked eagerly against his hips, guiding his broad hands to her buttocks. Jugger yanked her forward, plunging deep, scouring. She forced her thighs wider and stared at the flame-red thatch of her pubic hair slapping on his. The pummeling on the head of his cock was driving him inexorably, too quickly, to the brink. He felt the bloating almost out of control, the coiling and rolling up of the heat through every vein, and pressed one hand into her soft red nest to masturbate her, the other clutching at her pliant buttocks, slippery with sweat. Her body went taut as she let him pound her, and then she convulsed with a high-pitched cry, her head thrown back and her long, disheveled hair tumbling wild, whipping against his hand and the swell of her backside. He emptied into her, red-faced, the sharp spurts making him thrash like lashes from within. He collapsed back onto the bed and Rowena sat on his groin, smiling. She bent to kiss him and he rolled over on top of her. She liked his weight, and pulled him close while he caught his breath, 265

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panting in her ear. He slid his tongue in and felt her shiver, and sucked languidly on her earlobe until she rubbed her face against him like a cat. He bit her shoulder, then kissed the mark he had made. She relaxed utterly as he moved down her body to examine her sex, licking it open, sucking the folds and her silky red curls, drawing the creamy discharge into his mouth. There was no pain and no sign of bruising, she was all right. Jugger decided not to mention how relieved he was. It seemed unwise, after so happily forgetting himself. He climbed back onto her and let her lap the bitter fluids from his tongue, and she fondled his wet genitals until she had made him hard again. They coupled harshly, deliciously, tossing among the cotton sheets and knocking pillows to the floor, and after that she still wanted more, so he made her come one last time with the thrust of his fingers, suckling on her tight, bursting little knob, confused by his own ardor as well as hers. Finally she curled up against him, running her fingers contentedly through the black pelt on his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "Rowena?" It felt odd to say her name. "Yes?" "Why was it so difficult, the first time?" "I don't know," she said. But she did, and blushed. "I was nervous." Jugger laughed and stroked her long, delicate back, and she dozed in his embrace. Time passed. He watched her for a while, tried to picture her as a little girl. He drifted in and out of sleep. His lids fluttered open when the door creaked and he thought he saw Eidolon glance in. Eidolon withdrew, and it seemed to Jugger that he heard Elora, speaking softly in the hall. Then there was nothing but the rush of the wind in the apple trees and he passed away into blackness till morning. Rowena awoke before he did, but he felt her leaving the bed and clasped her hand. He made her sit down and dutifully sponged her clean with warm water. She studied him with a half smile while he 266

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bathed her slim white feet. "You should not do this," she told him. "You're not a slave anymore." "No. But you are still a princess, and I am still a soldier." She looked out the window at the turning leaves. **** The first snow fell light and clean. It was a fine morning without wind when the company set out, abandoning the cabin, the dusty forge and their brief interlude of domestic bliss. They were excited to go, and before Elora had finished dressing she could hear them shouting her name from down the stairs, calling at her to hurry. She was wrapping on her woolen cloak when Jugger leaned in the door. "Your company is waiting, Lachesis." He watched, diverted, as she fumbled for the clasp of the cloak in a confusion of black folds, charming and small and laughing at her own incompetence. "And no one can saddle your horse." "That name! That name!" exclaimed Elora as if it pained her, hands to her head. She sighed, and smiled guiltily. "I do have to admit how much I like that name." He laughed agreeably and took her outside with an arm about her shoulders, and drew up the hood of her cloak to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. They rode in pairs through the forest, which spread around them in an endless pattern of brown and white, its trees stripped of leaves. The heat of the day melted puddles in the snow. When they reached the village, people stopped in their tracks to watch them pass, recognizing their two farriers but not daring to address them now that they wore swords. Merchants came out their doors. A cautious crowd gathered, following at a distance, exchanging whispers, staring at the girl on the black horse. The Raiders returned these looks blankly. They were used to 267

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being gaped at. Larima shifted uneasily on her white mare and Elora received, like a slap, a brief vision of the Commander moving through his city, nodding at the men who saluted, never smiling, resigned to that wall. The young farmer she had made love to stepped forward from the crowd, uncertain. She reined in the Hellchild as he approached, met his water-blue eyes wide with disbelief, laid a gloved hand on his cheek. He kissed it. Jugger and Eidolon exchanged glances. Eidolon frowned questioningly and Jugger shrugged. "Take me with you," said the young man. "I do not ask to be your lover. I only want to be near." Elora smiled with some regret. "You cannot come where I am going." She brushed back a lock of his hair. "Be well, my darling. I will keep your village safe." The Hellchild pulled on his bit, stomping a foreleg on the thin, powdery snow, digging to the mud underneath. The company rode on, and for a few miles Elora missed the tender, hapless farmer, though she had not missed him before. By noontime even the dark smoke curling out of village chimneys had vanished. They made a curious group—armed men and women riding peaceably side by side. Bit by bit, they descended from the highlands toward the vast and gently sloping southern country dotted with infrequent trees. The chargers moved lazily, patient despite the fact that there was no end in sight to their pilgrimage, nothing but land ahead. Sometimes an eagle would scream overhead, or one of the pack mules would bray in protest, tugged along behind Flan's horse. Eidolon and Larima led the way, and she laughed merrily at things he whispered in her ear. Rowena kept The Elegant next to Zurco. She had taken to hunting with him in the woods, teaching him the Knowing of herbs and healing roots. He was a good student and she liked his quiet disposition. They were deep in a lesson even here, her slender hands fluttering about while she described some plant, or the 268

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working of some potion. Her Amazon bow was slung across her back, decorated with a woven thread of fragrant evergreen leaves. Elora wondered if Zurco had picked them for her. Elora calculated that it would take them a week to reach the great lake. She was silently rehearsing what she would say to King Balidor, and making a list of what she would need in the event he agreed to her proposal, when she noticed that Jugger was staring at Rowena with a contemplative, wary expression. "Does she frighten you?" she asked him curiously. "No." He smiled, but it faded into uncertainty. “She puzzles me. I can't understand her mind.” "How interesting," said Elora. She brushed a fleck of snow from her thigh. "That's exactly how I felt about Him." **** For Larima, playing the part of Lachesis was a revelation. Elora had disclosed her identity only to the King. Then she had ordered four identical black suits of armor made and requested from Balidor the three largest, strongest black horses in his stable. She had divided his army into four camps, and while she and Daria fronted the battalions attacking from the center, Rowena and Larima led two more, charging from each side. In this way she had given the army four Muses instead of one, and Megante four targets that were spread too wide for ambush. One could not stop a warring force without killing its leader, and if its leader was everywhere what could one possibly do? The invading troops faltered at the sight of the black figures and Balidor's ranks advanced with fresh confidence, following the armor and the horse, never knowing or caring whether they rode behind the real thing. The mere probability of it was enough to push them forward. Larima had never led a charge before, and discovered that riding in that first row was not as glorious as it looked from a hundred yards behind. It was terrifying not to have anything but ground 269

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between her and a mass of waiting lances. Elora had foreseen this, however, and had assigned Eidolon to ride with her stride by stride and stroke by stroke. Larima felt almost magically shielded by his presence. Jugger rode with Daria, Tyke and Zurco with Rowena. For herself Elora had kept only Flan. Eidolon seemed to find his task agreeable. He never strayed from Larima's side. In battle he covered her mistakes and in camp he followed her like a shadow, smiling with amusement when the soldiers bowed reverentially as she passed. They were sitting in the shelter of her tent on that stormy afternoon that she would never forget, he on the bed and she on the ground before him with her head bent forward. She had a sore shoulder and he was rubbing in one of Rowena's foul-smelling ointments to soothe the muscle. Heavy snow had forced them from the field. It would probably fall all through the night. Eidolon kissed her back unexpectedly. She turned to look at him and he smiled. "Are you surprised?" he asked. "Yes." "Do you mind?" Larima turned away blushing. "Of course not. You know you are the most beautiful man I've ever seen." He knew it very well, and laughed. He kissed the nape of her neck. When he did not withdraw Larima leaned against him and his long hair fell forward over her shoulder to caress the side of her face. He breathed, and she waited, eyes closed. She felt him stand up. Taken aback, she watched him walk away. He pushed up his sleeves, raked the blond curls from his face and filled a wooden tub with water warmed at the hearth. Larima got impatiently to her feet and crossed to him. He smiled and let her stare. She tried to kiss his mouth, but he bent his head, evading her, sliding his hands under her woolen gown. She shivered as he slipped it off over her head. He looked her 270

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over for a moment, pleased, his dark eyes provoking and merry. He touched his fingers to her breast. The nipple was stiff and sensitive in the sudden chill of the tent. It ached when he teased it and Larima cringed a little, involuntarily. Eidolon took her hand and helped her into the tub. He knelt beside her to cup water in his palms and poured it over her chest, warming her breasts. He touched them again, and then without warning bent forward and closed his mouth on one nipple, sucking it gently. Larima flinched, startled, but in the next instant she moaned and pushed into his lips. His tongue heated her slowly. She could feel the current spreading in waves to her groin. She exhaled softly as the sensation overpowered her, and lay back. His mouth moved to her other breast. His hands did not touch her, and she stared at his forearm stretched across the tub, running her fingers over it, mesmerized by the smooth grain of his skin, the golden hair that covered it, the width of the wrist. She drew his hand under the water to her belly, but he pulled away. "What are you doing?" she asked, trying not to sound frustrated, while he rubbed a bar of soap between his hands. "I thought you said sponges were a waste of time." He moved behind her and began to wash her back. "You’re not going to make love to me?" She heard him laugh again. "Only if you are patient." His arms wound about her to lather her breasts. She breathed deeper to keep from breathing faster and he kissed her neck, his flexing hands moving along her ribs down to the fleshy swell of the hips. He stroked her stomach. She parted her legs and his fingers slid between, but he did not enter her. He teased the curls of her sex, then cupped his palm over it and squeezed. Larima reached back to touch his face and he took her thumb into his mouth. For a long time he held his hand over her groin, letting her explore his high cheekbones, his closed eyelids and his parted lips with her wet fingers. Larima wanted more, but it was nice to be played with and she was curious to see what he would do next. She 271

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knew he was getting even for her little teasings at the Stronghold. He was not being quite fair, however. She had not made him wait this long. His finger pressed between the folds of her sex, making her writhe with an abrupt surge of pleasure. It amazed her, how excited she was. He was an able lover, and he was handsome and young, but it was more than this. It was every memory of him striding through the Labyrinth without ever taking notice of her, punishing her in the gardens on that summer day, which she was sure he did not remember, he had done it to so many. It was the way he had blocked so many blows aimed at her in battle, the way he had tried to block that sword coming at Elora in the snow. His desperate howls over the Commander as he bled to death, his face dropping into his hands when the sun hit that waterfall, the way he had kissed the crop that Elora held before him. He could not hide anger or love, and he felt them both with such animal purity it was overwhelming. Suddenly Larima wanted to cry. "Eidolon. Please." When he saw he had upset her, he stopped immediately and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Shhh..." He kissed her lips and pressed his tongue slowly, briefly, into her mouth. "I'm sorry. I was only playing." She laughed without knowing why. She was happy just looking at him. He seemed relieved, and did not torment her any more. Larima wiped her nose and he smiled at her affectionately. He bathed her arms and feet, and brushed a strand of hair from her face, curling it back around her ear. Then he left her to spread a blanket on the makeshift bed of stretched cowhide piled high with furs. Larima got to her feet as he returned. He poured clean water over her, and gathering her into his arms, carried her to the bed. She let her eyes wander over him when he slipped free from her embrace. His shirt clung to him in damp patches. A single drop of water trickled down his chest to disappear into the rim of the cloth. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the patch of bare skin above his 272

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collar. The wind beat against the tent, its ropes groaning as they tightened about the stakes holding it up. Eidolon kissed her shoulder, only once, her navel. Then his hair trailed over her wet legs like corn silk, and she felt his tongue on the curve of her ankle. Starting at her feet he licked the water from her skin, moving over her body with total absorption, lapping her dry. She shuddered and tried not to shift, but could not help it. She flushed everywhere he touched her and the cool, tingling feel of the air was more intense after the heat of his mouth. She groped at him, stroking his dampened hair, squeezing his shoulders when he mounted her. His cock was hard under his trousers, pulsing on her thigh. He drew the blankets into a nest around her body and nuzzled her throat. They kissed again, and this time she held him fiercely to her, pressing into him until he quivered. He arched his hips against her with a small moan and she spread her thighs to enfold him. "Touch me," he said. Larima hesitated, wanting to prolong the moment. She caressed his face. He reached down to undo his trousers, lifting himself slightly, staring at her with a fervent, aching gaze. She slid them back over his hips. His cock jerked hard and drenched against her and she closed her hands on his buttocks. He sighed, hiding his face in the slope of her neck. She felt him thrust slowly into her. It was like a release in itself, the wet, thickened flesh joined at last, and she rocked against him, opening her thighs wider, grinding into his crotch. Eidolon tensed and stabbed deep, moaning loudly, uncontrolled. The bed creaked. She was afraid he would climax too soon and clamped her legs around him, forcing him to be still. He fought her a little, but then quieted obediently, sliding his arms under her back, crushing her to his chest. She held her breath and listened to his, and to the quickened beating of his heart. He tasted her, and she shivered under the scrape of his teeth. "Eidolon..." 273

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"Yes?" "Do you remember...” But she thought better of it. He would not want to remember. "Nothing." He drew back to look at her. She wavered, and he kissed her lips. "Tell me," he insisted. "That first night in the Stronghold, when they made you kneel and they tied your hands." He smiled playfully. "Yes?.." Larima could not say anything more. His cock throbbed gently inside her and she tried to make him thrust. He pulled away slowly to kneel between her legs and crossed his wrists over his groin, teasing. "Would you like to?" He arched his eyebrows and she laughed. "Yes." He stood up and took off his clothes. Larima watched him, delighted but suddenly shy, pulling the blanket close about her shoulders. He climbed back over the furs and knelt facing away from her, hands at the small of his back. He gave her an amused, tantalizing little look over his shoulder. "Go on. Tie them." Larima hesitated for a moment, then touched his back, his warm buttocks. He bent over, resting his face on the pillow, and closed his eyes. She caressed the swell of his testicles and the hot cleft between his cheeks. She closed her hands on his offered wrists. But then she pushed him down onto the bed, stretching herself on top of him, giggling, embarrassed. "I can't." "Why not? You took slaves in the Stronghold, didn't you?" "It’s not the same." "Sure it is. Go on." He turned his face to smile at her, enormously diverted. "You have my permission." He had changed. Being a slave had softened him, and given him a new kind of power. She tied his wrists with a leather strap and turned him over onto his back, straddling his thighs. She caressed his erect cock and he groaned, smiling still, his eyes moving over her body. 274

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She lapped at his flat stomach, letting his cock press between her breasts. He arched into the groove. His face flushed. When she guided him into her he pulled on the bindings and squeezed his eyes shut. Larima rode him slowly, thrilling at the way he writhed underneath her. He was desperate by the time she bent close and let him kiss her breasts. He came staring into her eyes, and that glazed look of total surrender was as wonderful as his liquid jetting into her and the hot, waning grind of his sex. She bent over to caress his bound arms, shuddering as he flinched and weakened inside her, letting the last tremblings of her own orgasm wash away. He kissed the top of her head. She dried the sweat on his brow and covered them with the blanket, but she left his hands tied. He did not ask her to free him. Horses trotted by outside. She thought about the war, and wondered where Elora was taking them all. Propping herself up on one elbow she stroked Eidolon's throat, the clean line of his jaw. "Am I very clumsy out there?" she asked him. "No. You are a fine soldier." He laughed softly. "I hate to admit it." Larima wrapped her arms about his neck and made him kiss her. "Not as good as Elora," he pointed out, shrugging lightly. "But then again, none of us are." "That you really hate to admit, don't you?" she told him wickedly. "Oh, yes." He laughed into her mouth. "Is she the best you’ve ever seen?" He faltered, and his expression changed into something wistful. "No. But she's almost as good as he was." Larima held her palm against his cheek and watched him remember. "Did you ever see him fight?" he asked her suddenly. She shook her head. "I saw him ride back once, leading you home. He never smiled, even though he won. Elora always smiles when she wins. But I suppose when you’ve won so many times, it doesn’t matter so much anymore." "That was not the reason," answered Eidolon. His eyes remained 275

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distant, but he spoke without pain, and she was glad to see it. "What did you love most about him?" she asked. "Everything. I loved everything about him. What was there not to love?" He studied her, pleased, and sighed. "He was like you, in a way. He loved life." Larima untied his hands so he could embrace her. **** It was cold inside the long tent, but comfortable compared to the gale blowing outside, making the canvas walls flap in an uneven beat. Elora walked slowly down a row of soldiers just returned from a night raid that had yielded fifty horses and as many men dead in the opposing camp. Flan had led them, and walked beside her while the soldiers stared ahead, legs planted wide and hands clasped at their backs. She stopped before a young man with dark hair and straight, broad shoulders. His features were hard but weirdly elegant, the mouth thin and sensual, even now, chapped by the severe weather. He seemed familiar, somehow, and she examined him for a moment, wanting to touch him. He kept his eyes respectfully averted. Casually she dropped her arms to her sides, and dared to press an open palm between his legs, wondering what he would do. His eyes widened in surprise but he did not stir or look at her. Amazed that he did not move, she rubbed him completely hard. His cock filled quickly in her hand. She could feel the heat of his body through the cloth and the tightening of his scrotum. His jaw clenched, but he still would not so much as blink. When she felt his organ twitch she drew back, not wanting to embarrass him by making him climax. Flan remained expressionless. "I am impressed," she said to the company in general. "It is a privilege to fight beside you, gentlemen." She left the tent. Flan followed, sober in the extreme, but the moment they were in the open he burst out laughing. "What an evil 276

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little minx you are!" he chided her merrily. "You do not think he liked me?" Flan kept laughing and wiped a tear from his eye. "I'll wager he comes to your tent before nightfall." Elora stared. "You really think so?" "I would." He slipped one hand inside his cloak and produced a small almond cake as if by magic. Elora cupped it in both hands like gold. "Thank you, Flan." "It’s been a long time since I gave you treats, hasn't it?" "Have I changed so much?" she asked with a hint of regret. He lifted her chin, turning her face this way and that. Elora submitted, waiting anxiously. "You have improved," he told her. "He would have liked you this way." She smiled up at him gratefully and he winked. Then he trudged off, his head bowed against the wind and the pelting of the snow. Elora scurried to the protection of her tent, feeling giddy, enjoying the sensation so much that she did not pause to consider she was still seeking to please a dead man, or that she had promised herself not to think of him anymore. She fed the fire and changed out of her wet clothes. Nestled snugly among the furs of her bed, she proceeded to eat the almond cake very slowly, luxuriating in every morsel, puzzling over how Flan managed to get his hands on such rare and dainty things. She had lived on nothing but stew with stale bread for a month. She listened to the wind blowing furiously outside and hoped it would last. **** The young soldier came to her just as Flan had predicted. He entered looking uncertain and stood in the center of the tent staring at her, the snow melting on his brown hair. Elora studied him from the bed, surrounded by a scattering of yellowed maps. He was flushed with 277

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anticipation, but his hazel eyes were guarded and he did not come closer. This did not surprise her anymore. She knew the look; that entranced look tinged with fear. Everyone looked at her this way now. It wearied her, and she wondered if this was how she had looked at the Commander on that first night. He had borne it well, but she realized now that he had not enjoyed it. She rolled up the maps and carried them to a table. The tanned hides of the floor were icy. Sitting down on a plain wooden chair, she rubbed one bare foot against the warmth of her calf. The soldier’s eyes followed the hem of her heavy nightgown as it raised a little. He did not smile, so she did. "What's your name?" she asked him. "What's yours?" Elora hesitated, taken aback. He had a strong voice, and the challenge came without warning. He was testing her. She found it rather sweet that he was so proud. He stepped to kneel before her and closed his hands over her feet, massaging them. "You do have a name, don't you?" His palm moved up the back of her calf, kneading it roughly. Then he slipped his fingers into the crook of her knee and explored the tender flesh, caressing with a new softness, although his eyes remained hard. "Elora," she told him peaceably, and looked down at his hands under the cloth, curious as to how far he would go. He pressed on her knees, then ran his thumbs slowly up the joint of her thighs. "Are you the one?" he asked. "The one?" "The real one." "Perhaps." "You look different without your sword," he told her with an almost perverse satisfaction. "You're just a girl, after all." But Elora could tell he really was surprised to find it so. 278

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"What's your name?" she asked him again. His fingers reached the soft triangle of hair at her groin and stopped, curling there. "Open your legs for me," he said. She obeyed, seduced by his daring, unblinking stare and amazed at her own willingness, and he brushed his knuckles lightly over the lips of her sex. Suddenly he opened a trembling hand on her, pressing with a desire so violent it felt like rage. He grasped the back of her slender neck and yanked her into a kiss. His tongue pushed forcefully into her mouth, and as he swept her up from the chair with one arm thrust between her legs and his large hand clutching at her backside like a claw she was abruptly, terribly afraid. It struck her that she had been foolish, that he was inestimably stronger than her, and that without a weapon she was, as he had so shrewdly pointed out, just a girl. She could hit him, of course, but her intuition told her that this would only incense him further. Though she could not guess what offense she had committed she believed, as ever, that understanding the crime was unimportant; it was avoiding punishment that took real skill. He threw her on the bed, the gown shoved up around her waist. His fingers dug into her sex. He did not penetrate her, but the harsh rub of his hand on her dry, delicate folds was painful all the same. She cried out, louder than was necessary. She did not fight him, however, and when he hesitated, she did not move. He stared down at her, undecided but still demanding, exhilarated by her compliance, by the doll-like perfection of her face and her lustrous black hair spread out on the furs, her little hands held submissively open and limp to either side. It never occurred to him that behind the veil of that plaintive, helpless look she was measuring him, that she had already remembered the dagger beneath the pillow a few inches from her fingers, and that he was taking his life in his hands. Elora decided to give him time. He really was very fetching, and she could see now that he was not exactly angry, it was something else. He tore open the buttons of his trousers and drew out his dark, 279

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swollen sex. It was spattered with his own leaking and he guided it to her cleft, stroking the lips and their thin shield of curls with its slick head, wetting her. He spread the juices slowly, with an arrogant gentleness, and when she raised her head shyly to kiss him on the mouth he seemed pleased. "There," he said, the strokes deeper, fuller, beginning to excite her. "Kiss me again." Elora received him with yielding, parted lips and sucked tenderly on his tongue when he slid it inside. He closed his eyes, groaning softly. His hand strayed from his throbbing organ to touch her breast. She undid the buttons of his shirt and caressed the smooth, muscled breadth of his chest. He relaxed on top of her, his shaft pressing slowly between her thighs, teasing her patiently now. His passion mounting, he drew back from the drowsy kiss and pushed his trousers further down. Elora wrapped her legs about him, letting him feel their silky insides on his naked hips. She stared up at the slanting roof of the tent. His mouth opened on her throat. Her sex heated and filled as the taut, delicately veined length of his penis began to rub on her very core. And as his hands wandered over her body with fresh care and an intense, illogical devotion it all became suddenly, unexpectedly clear. She remembered blue trousers. Stomping new boots on blue cobblestones while Eidolon complained.

Lesson number one. Whenever men feel women moving into their domain, they get immediately nervous. Women are better at almost everything. She could not repress a merry smile, and was relieved that her lover did not see it. He would have misunderstood. She was not really laughing at him, it was the Commander she smiled for. The realization was like an opening into his mind, the very first she had acknowledged and so enormous, and she felt a burst of love for him so great that it extended even to this coarse, wonderfully simple boy she was embracing. She kissed his hair and pulled him closer, eager, rocking against him, and when he thrust into her she held his face in 280

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both hands and pressed her lips to his, moaning, laughing, tearful and deliriously happy. He climaxed almost at once, but she did not mind. She knew he would please her if she was patient. He removed her twisted gown and pinched her nipples to stiffen them, bringing out their pink flush. He pinched them harder, until she flinched slightly. Then he clasped her ankles together in one fist and raised her legs, bending them back towards her body, exposing the tender bottoms of her cheeks and the mound of her sex. Pressing his open hand to it, he worked the damp curls into his palm. Elora gazed at him, sitting on the edge of the bed with one leg folded underneath him and his hazel eyes bent on her sex. He was still somewhat out of breath, lips slightly parted as he exhaled. His organ lay heavy and wet against his thigh, and the patch of curly hair on his groin was arresting, dark, glistening with spilled semen, thinning as climbed toward the tight button of his navel. His wide shoulders were relaxed, hunched forward. Only the large muscle at the front of his upper arm moved while he flexed his hand on her, and she took as much delight in the sight of his latent power as she did in his caress. His hand moved to her buttocks, circling, stroking gently. He looked into her eyes, and then without warning he spanked her, quick and light. She flinched, but only with surprise. The slap had done no more than warm her. He smiled and gave her a moment to protest. When she did not he spanked her again, harder. Elora gasped, shivering as a small, tingling flame of heat spread through her buttocks. "Did he ever do this to you?" he asked. "No," she answered, knowing instantly whom he meant. "He never struck me." "He should have," said the soldier. "You need it." He pushed her legs farther up, tighter against her torso. Her backside raised a little from the bed. He dug his fingers into the blushing flesh, squeezing, and then gave her another swift, measured 281

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slap. Elora felt no resentment as he went on, only a pleased kind of curiosity. She liked the brief sting of his palm that faded into a slow, sweet burn between cuffs, and she liked the idea of it, of a mastering that did not hurt. It freed her, and the pleasure in his face freed her even more. She knew he would not stop even if she cried out, and she wanted to, just to hear herself. She cupped her hands over her breasts and squeezed, closing her eyes to concentrate on the sensation. He spanked her until she began to ache, but even then the scorching was unlike any other pain: teasing, barely sustained, tremendously arousing, and though she writhed and moaned in his grip she did not want it to end. When he spread her thighs and touched his tongue to her sex, she was overflowing. He pushed inside, kneading her reddened cheeks in his hot hands. The quick, eager reaming of his tongue made her muscles contract, forcing him momentarily from her. She reached down to grasp his head and thrust her hips toward him, insisting on the feeding touch of his mouth. He stabbed into her once more, his jaws opening, and lingered hungrily there while she crushed his thick, wavy locks in her fingers. She called him her lord when he mounted her, and he made her repeat it with each thrust, rewarding her every time she said it, refusing her if she stopped. Finally the rocking was so intense that she could not speak and he could not ask for it, and she was oblivious to everything except the rhythm of their bodies. She tensed with orgasm and heard him moan, and then she was dissolving under him, jolted helplessly by his last spurts of strength. He kissed her lips and her neck. Her legs slipped from his hips, the warm, crawling fluid trickling onto her punished buttocks. "My Lord," she said again, wondering why it felt so true. He shifted to lie beside her and cradle her head in the crook of one arm, brushing stray tendrils of hair from her cheeks. She had expected him to sleep but he seemed wide awake, fascinated by the details of her face and her skin. 282

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"You are beautiful," he told her. "I am grateful that you came to me." Elora stared at the flecks of green in his eyes. They looked like bits of light passing through leaves in a forest. She touched his lids with sudden longing and a terrible, unbidden guilt. "But I don't love you," she confessed sadly. The moment it had left her lips she realized it was a dreadful thing to say, and cursed herself for hurting him when he had given her so much pleasure. He laughed. "I don't love you, either." He shrugged carelessly. "What difference does it make?" "You don't mind?" He studied her quizzically, surprised by her innocence. Then they heard a familiar voice outside. "Lachesis?" It was Balidor. The soldier scrambled to his feet and dressed hastily. Elora laughed, amused by his modesty, and wrapped the furs loosely about her body. "Come in," she invited, and the King stepped through, ducking his head to slip under the rim of the tent door. He remained erect and tall despite his considerable years, sinewy and astute. His black eyes peered at her from under white eyebrows with a lust tempered by the self-control of a mature man. Two of his grown sons entered with him. The soldier stood stiff at attention and Balidor smiled. "Carry on," he said, and the young man was gone. Elora giggled happily. "You have very pretty soldiers," she told him. "Yes I do," said the King. "He looks a little like the Commander." She sobered abruptly, taken wholly aback, realizing it was true. Balidor either failed to mark the change in her or pretended not to. "Dark hair, strong jaw, something in the mouth," he continued casually, agreeably. "Don't you think? I knew the Commander well. He was an elegant being. Almost paralyzing. He gave me a slave once, 283

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a beautiful woman. She remains my favorite to this day." He let a silence settle and Elora could not fill it. "Have I upset you?" he asked ingeniously. "No." She shook her head and gave him an unnecessarily bright smile. He pretended not to notice this either. "You called a meeting in my tent. Did you forget?" "I did," she admitted quickly, eager to have him gone. The old King smiled blandly, tranquil, and left followed by his sons. Elora folded her arms tightly and curled into herself with a nearly physical anguish. She was furious at the Commander, his perfections unabated and indelible even from beyond the grave, haunting and holding her prisoner still. She had never resented him so violently or wanted so much to be rid of his spell. At the same time she missed him bitterly, with a desperation she had not felt since those awful, early days at the Stronghold. She thought of the lovely soldier, and was glad she had not learned his name. **** She began to mourn him then. She dreamed of his death. Every night he died in a different way, and every night she failed in all her desperate attempts to save him, waking as he drew his last breath. She told no one of these dreams, and she took no more lovers, dreading to betray herself once more and discover him in the face of some other stranger. She threw herself into the business of the war, hoping to find distraction in the battlefield as she had before, but the purpose and energy that his killing had fired into her were gone along with Hipolita. She felt adrift again, and this time she did not even have her hate to console her. That had burned away with the Stronghold, and now there was no one left to blame for his death but herself. Only through perpetual motion could she keep herself from 284

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dwelling on it, and she fought without any sense of self-preservation, more reckless than ever, lulled by her early victories into the notion that she was beyond the reach of all harm. Jugger and Eidolon drilled her constantly, begging her to protect her rear flank, flying into rages. But she had the habit of accepting only advice that agreed with her own desires. It had never been in her character to obey for any reason other than to avoid punishment, and now that she could not be punished by anyone she saw no reason to change. All her life she had gone against the stream, and she was acutely aware that had she followed it her fate would have been that of those slave girls in the village, of poor, misguided Anthea, plowing some farmer's field. She wielded her power like a toy, as irresponsibly as she had wielded her power over the Commander and without ever making the connection. Though she had always known the overwhelming violence of her love for him, she remained ignorant of the fact that it had been returned, believing the struggle and loss to have been hers alone. She was fortunate in this delusion, and all in the company were careful to preserve it. It was the only thing that allowed her to move on. Move on she did, month after month, pushing the army through sickness and cold, forth from the shores of the great lake and mile by mile over the plains. War in the forests proved an altogether different beast. Once the plains gave way to woodland the army was scattered by the trees. Companies became confused and flowed into one another. The line of combat was now invisible and it was not uncommon to cross it inadvertently, resulting in entrapment behind enemy ranks and immediate slaughter. Raids into a sleeping camp increased in the shelter of the brush and no one slept easily. Worst of all, when they lost the advantage of open ground Lachesis was no longer something backed by a solid wall of force—she became vulnerable. In her tendency to overdo things Elora was given to forgetting these dangers, particularly in moments of high excitement. She hunted to the finish and the concept of letting anything escape was beyond her. She was a 285

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great killer, but not yet a great warrior. Spring had turned the ground to mud and the rain fell without pause. Under the weight of a terrific downpour and in the inevitable disorder that resulted from hour upon hour of fighting without clear landmarks Elora led her company into a large clearing to find that Larima was already claiming ground there. Horses faltered over deep puddles and crashed down, throwing their riders. Arrows were flying everywhere. Elora cut a line through the field looking only ahead, and being so fast in her progress, was soon separated from Flan and her men. Larima saw the line of trees approaching to swallow her up and spurred her black charger after. Eidolon rode behind, but a fresh inflow of enemy troops came between them, blocking his path. "Larima! Don't follow, Larima! She is stronger than you!" Larima glanced over her shoulder and he was still shouting, trying to break past. She knew he was right. Elora could survive what she would not, and worse, she might slow Elora down instead of helping her. But her body might also block that one fatal arrow aimed at Elora, and this was reason enough to dare. Elora did not notice her until their mounts were galloping side by side. The iron visor of the helmet hid Larima's face completely, but she raised her sword in salute and Elora smiled under her own iron mask, delighted. She loved having Larima there. What a lovely picture they made, two nameless Amazons in black, and what a gift it seemed to have come together and come so far. They were adventuring. A small, stray pack of infantry soldiers fled before them, scrambling up a shallow embankment and dropping out of sight beyond. As the horses reached the slope Larima's charger stumbled in the crumbling earth. The Hellchild drew ahead. Elora made the top alone, and discovered, waiting concealed beyond the rise, a dozen knights on horseback spread out in a well-planned crescent around Megante. The infantrymen ran to safety behind them. Elora reined in the Hellchild. Her rashness had caught up with her at last. Her first thought was that the Commander would have 286

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never made such a mistake. Her second was that Jugger would be dreadfully cross when he found out. It took her a moment to realize that Jugger may very possibly not have the opportunity of reproving her. She felt a debilitating warmth coursing through her that she knew was fear, and then came the added horror of Larima appearing beside her, yanking her mount to a halt with a terrified gasp. That she had brought herself to this was devastating for Elora, but that she had dragged her precious friend behind her was unpardonable. It struck her finally how blindly she had abused the love and loyalty of Larima and of all the others. Eidolon had saved her life twice and lost his beloved doing it. She could not count the times when Rowena had thrown herself into the path of horrible danger to stand firm beside her during last summer’s campaign in the East. At the Stronghold she had towed them every one through unimaginable hell thinking only of her own grief, nearly letting them bleed to death in order to rid herself of her guilt. All the while she had thought she was leading them as He would have wanted her to and caring for them so perfectly, and all the while she had been dashing about like an unruly child while they scrambled after her trying to pick up the shards of the things she broke and catch her before she herself was battered to pieces. She had never really fought alone, and now she must. Had Larima not been there she would have died running. She was saved by the fact that her courage came to her never for her own sake but only for the things she loved, and while she had Larima there to protect it did not fail her. "Keep back," she said. "But do not stand down. Hold your ground or they will chase you. Wait for me here till it is done." Larima barely managed a nod. Elora drew her sword and rode the Hellchild slowly down the embankment. Megante had hesitated, not knowing which Lachesis to attack, but now that he had a clear target he advanced from the line. He was a hideous sight, hulking and covered with blood diluted pink in the rain, streaking down his armor and the white flanks of his 287

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horse. His soldiers waited in the shadow of the trees, not proposing to interfere until they were needed. Elora delayed the charge, peering at Megante through sheets of water, searching for that one weak spot in his massive steel bulk while she let him note how small she was, how fragile and easy for his powerful arm to impale. Her own arm started to shake with dread and she could wait no longer. She released the Hellchild into a gallop, dropping his reins to grasp her sword in both hands. The white charger flinched as Megante dug his heels into its sides, then hurtled forward. For the first time in her fighting days Elora made not a sound as she spurred the Hellchild on. The rain beat mercilessly against her visor, but she found suddenly that nothing could blur her sight, that she knew exactly how many strides it would take for the horses to clash, and that now at the crucial moment her body charged itself with a coordination she would not have known how to access through sheer will. Every bit of training she had ever received crystallized into a perfect whole. It was as if time itself were slowing just for her, giving her the leisure to control each instant. She knew precisely what to do, and there was no fear anymore, only a sleek, predatory caution. As the white horse met them and Megante thrust his huge blade at her trunk she swung a blow at his neck, pushing off one stirrup and away from his stab. The King's head flew from his shoulders, severed neatly between the edge of his armor and the protection of the helmet. Elora's swing was so tremendous that it threw her from her horse. She hit the earth with a thud, a clatter of metal and a violent splashing of muddy water, rolling over in a tangle. The enemy knights faltered in astonishment. She was scrambling to her feet, still grabbing onto the sword, when they charged her. At the top of the embankment Larima recovered from her own shock, let out a feral yell and stormed ahead to protect her. She fit her bow as her horse slid down the drop, but only two knights veered 288

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from their path. She killed the first even before she had made flat ground, and as she drew a second arrow from her quiver she knew she would never make it to Elora's side in time. The rest of the horses were nearly on her. Larima let the arrow fly, toppling the last stray rider, then watched in helpless agony as Elora waited for the leader of the pack, holding so still she seemed paralyzed. Abruptly she took one measured step to the side and sliced her blade across the throat of his charger. The horse went down with a gurgling scream, sliding past her with its own momentum and crushing its rider underneath. The three behind crashed down as well, unable to clear the hurdle, and the rest struggled madly to avoid collision, breaking away in all directions. Elora darted in between them and ran for the Hellchild. Larima was close enough now to draw her sword, but the riders ignored her, turning to chase Elora as soon as they were able. She made it to the black stallion and clambered onto his huge back, but she had barely settled in the saddle when the first knight brought his sword down on her from above. Elora jerked forward and the blade struck the armor plate over the Hellchild's hindquarters. He faltered under the blow but held strong, leaping ahead. And Larima could not believe it, Elora was in the clear, the reins wound about one fist and her sword rising in the other. The three unhorsed men grouped as Larima reached them. One she crushed under her mount and the second she slashed at, cutting into the shoulder joint deep enough to disable him. The third was running for his life so she let him go, returning her attention to Elora. The Hellchild was passing between two chargers. Elora's sword rose and slashed down at an angle, cleaving through the face of one rider. She moved on, and then Larima saw the other man tilt over and fall with blood spurting from his neck. She hesitated, unable to understand how Elora had managed the double kill, having never swung across for a second blow. 289

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Four men were left and Elora was surrounded. She still had not made a sound and hardly seemed to move. The shifts of her blade were small, and suddenly she was not much to look at, a completely different warrior from the one Larima had come to know. But everything she touched she felled, it was the most horrifying, efficient bit of fighting Larima had ever witnessed. She did not advance. She had the inescapable sensation that Elora was not herself but overcome by some mad trance, and that if she approached she would be cut down along with the enemy. With a chilling swiftness it was all over, and Elora was left there spinning the Hellchild around as the riderless chargers cantered away. Elora pulled the stallion up. Her shoulders sagged a little. She sat immobile a few moments with the rain falling thick on her and the bloody sword held limply at her side. Then, wearily, she sheathed it and examined her mail shirt. Megante's blade had cut though the steel weave but the wool underneath was miraculously intact and her skin untouched. Larima urged her horse forward at a walk, her limbs feeling numb and her own blade terribly cumbersome as she struggled to slip it into its cover. Elora turned to watch her come, and when the horses were neck to neck she removed her helmet. Her cheeks were flushed and she was sweating profusely, yet she looked flooded with calm, the barest trace of a smile on her lips. "I have never seen..." Larima began, but could not finish. "I cannot believe you are alive." "Neither can I," answered Elora. She glanced away, at the mangled bodies. "It’s a miracle." She looked at Larima again. "Let me see your face." Larima pulled off her helmet, fumbled and dropped it. "Come here," said Elora, reaching for the bit of her charger and drawing it forward. She leaned slowly toward Larima and kissed her fully, tenderly, on the mouth, raindrops sliding down their faces and straying between their lips. "I will never forget that it was you who did not leave me, and 290

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stood beside me on this day. You will not have to endure such a day again. I swear it." Larima started to cry, laughing through her tears. "I love you," she exclaimed as if she had just discovered it. "I am still so frightened, but I love you." She sobered. "I do not regret a single moment that I have spent with you. Don't ever make that mistake." Elora lowered her eyes, moved beyond anything she could express, and replaced her helmet. She leaned down to scoop Larima's out of the mud. "Ride home next to me, then. Not behind me. I want them to see us side by side." **** The camp was in chaos when they returned. The word had spread and the armies fallen back from each other. Balidor's soldiers gathered in a wild mass, cheering, running after the two black stallions as they pranced their way through the tents. The gray skies and the storm faded from their notice. Elora waved from the Hellchild, her arm raised in that arrogant gesture of triumph that she had perfected among the Amazon and that she was now enjoying for the first time. Never before had she felt it was earned. Lachesis was only a parlor trick she had invented. Because it was her own creation, she had not been able to believe in it as others had. It had remained an identity separate from what she thought to be her true self and one that she could not claim. She had never felt so false and far from it as she had in that wood surrounded by slaughter, but after it was all over she had finally understood what Rowena meant when she spoke of the Long Road, and realized that her conquests were truly hers. Up until that moment she had blundered along, driven solely by outside forces, thinking herself invulnerable by virtue of her devotions and worthless without them. That she had any merit of her own had never occurred to her, or that she could stand as a thing of value while owing herself to no other. Suddenly her sorrows could 291

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not detract from her wonder at her own journey, or her satisfaction at the worlds that she had opened for herself. She thought of her beloved Commander, aware that it was his death that had forced her to find her own path and made her life, this full and limitless life, possible. It was a pity to know it. His loss was a twist of fate that she could never take pleasure in, but he was not the center of the world. On the contrary, for her the world had lain beyond him. It struck her also that he had never been real, not even when she had been in his bed. Like the dragon on his banner and the statues in his gardens he had been a mythological object, dazzling and easy to long for but impossible to meet on equal footing or to capture in the flesh. So she bid him goodbye and tenderly put him away in the quiet of her past with her other ghosts, where she knew that he belonged. Jugger was waiting at the door of her tent, waiting on the fringes of her life where she had left him, smiling more from relief than blind pride and sick with worry over her. Out the corner of her eye she saw Rowena pushing through the crowd, Tyke and Zurco at her heels. "Are you hurt?" asked Jugger cautiously, despite all evidence to the contrary. Elora dismounted and took hold of his large fingers, running her thumb over his knuckles, gazing down thoughtfully at their joined hands. She passed the Hellchild's reins to Larima. "I will meet with the company later," she said. Larima wavered, less confused than Jugger but just as surprised. Then she nodded. Elora entered the tent pulling Jugger behind her, but as they stepped through the canvas door she released him. He halted and she walked on to the fire burning in a makeshift hearth of rounded stones, removing her weapons belt and the torn shirt of mail, dropping them to the floor. She turned to look at him, wringing the water out of her long braid, then freeing her hair. "I missed you today." "I wish I had been there," he told her. "I should have been there." Elora pulled the drenched black shirt over her head and tossed it 292

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carelessly aside. "That is not what I meant." Her lack of expression unsettled him—that lasting, piercing, unembarrassed stare. He let his eyes wander to her shoulders and her wet breasts, to the dark rose points of the nipples and the dimple of her navel just above her fitted trousers. The slender length of her little arms, still so rounded and feminine, revealing their strength only in the firmness of the flesh. She sat down to tug off her boots and slipped out of her breeches. Jugger tried to ignore his arousal at the sight of her nakedness and concentrate on why she was offering it. "What happened in the woods?" he asked her. "Many things," she answered, and refused to elaborate. She moved to stand before him. "Somebody told me once that there was no friend under the sky like you. He was right, and I’ve been a fool all this time, chasing after pipe dreams. No one has ever treated me with such gentleness and faith as you. And you are what I want, if you will have me." She touched the steel mesh on his chest, clawing at it experimentally, trying to feel his body underneath and failing, hating that it separated her from his flesh. She reached for the buckles on his side and undid them roughly, loosening the coat of mail. Jugger removed his baldric and sword to help her, then lifted off the cumbersome armor. She tugged at his shirt, raising it, combing her fingers through the dark curls on his breast. He discarded the shirt and she embraced him, pressing her damp, cold face into his ample warmth. Her wet hands dug into his back and her mouth opened on his nipple. She was hot inside. It passed to him and coursed through like an elixir as she teased him with her tongue. She had let him go, and her hands were working quickly on his trousers. Jugger gazed down at her. Although he was taken aback, he was by no means paralyzed; he simply chose not to move. It seemed strange to him that he could regard her with such detachment now that the moment was here at last. He felt none of the tenderness that had accompanied his desire for her before; only a sharp, undiluted 293

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lust. But then she had never touched him like this before, with such mastery, and he had always felt responsible for her pleasure. Now he wanted to take it crudely from her. His feelings were so tempestuous that his mind had to dissolve them into selfishness in order to withstand them, veiling the meaning of the act, allowing him no thought beyond the fact that there was a woman before him, and that she would service him like countless others had. The purely physical aspect of the coupling was all the familiar ground left to him, and unconsciously he sought his steadiness there. Elora mouthed his trunk and the hard flesh of his stomach, curling her tongue on the black hair, tracing its thinning mass with hungry kisses down to his belly. She pressed her hand into the crotch of his trousers and wrapped it about the large, silky shaft. It quivered immediately at her touch, galvanized, filling and pushing against her hold as she drew it out. She worked firmly up from the root, pulling on its length, massaging the darkening, bloated crown. Jugger reached underneath to free his testicles. She brushed her fingers against the warm, tightening scrotum and he opened her hand fully on it, making her squeeze and fondle the glands, shifting and slippery within their sack. She parted her lips on the broad head of the cock and stabbed the tip of her tongue into its tiny orifice, teasing out a drop of fluid. Jugger groaned. His palms closed on the sides of her face, fingers pushing back her dripping, tangled tresses and cupping the whole of her head. He kept her immobile with those hands that could have easily crushed her skull, and arched his enormous cock into her. Elora moaned from the sheer size of it, dazed by how indefensible he had rendered her. He was not fully within and yet she was gorged with the still-swelling tube of flesh, her teeth scraping it as he rocked, pleasuring himself on her, his early spill overflowing against the roof of her mouth and trickling down with the rubbing to her tongue. Its taste overcame all her other senses then, and she knelt with her hands pressed helplessly against his massive thighs, eyelids trembling and shut tight, letting him use her. The cock plunged deeper, harder, 294

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until it pierced her throat. She jerked and tried to draw back, to draw breath, but his hold was ferocious. She surrendered, wondering vaguely how long she could last like this, and trusting him to guess it even as his savage grunts told her that he was aware only of his own rapture. Jugger watched her yield, driven wild by the way she looked at his feet, by her exquisite nude body, writhing and moist, and the image of his punishingly thick sex thrusting into those dark, wet lips. She milked him violently, without will, her deliciously hard, narrow channel contracting and his scrotum banging with a dull sound against her chin, growing hotter every time it struck. He bent double as the climax erupted and his semen poured forth, yanking her onto the jerking cock, his buttocks clenching. Then she pulled back desperately and he knew she was choking. He almost could not bear to let go of the magnificent pressure but he did, letting her fall back from him and rubbing his still ejaculating member into her face. Elora flinched with the burning spurts splattering on her cheeks and her closed lids, but she loved the feel of it, riotous and impossible to check, and the agonized, vanquished moan that escaped him. The emptied shaft softened but he could not stop moaning, weakly now, shuddering and grinding his hips, cupping his testicles to work them against her too, smearing his come on them. Finally the grip on her head eased. His fingers flexed clumsily in her hair. She rested her forehead against his groin and relaxed her hands on the fronts of his thighs, feeling the huge muscles quiver as he stood there, hunched forward, trying to keep his feet. He reached under her armpits and drew her up. The semen was so thick on her that she could not open her eyes. He licked it from her lids, and then his tongue pushed into her mouth. She clung to his neck and fed him the sperm she had not swallowed. He sucked it out of her eagerly, his hands grabbing her buttocks, spreading them. Groaning and groping incessantly at her, he stumbled with her to the bed. His bulk crushed her for a moment as he lowered himself onto her prone body. They looked into each other's eyes for the first time, 295

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with no expression other than lust, lapped at each other's faces. His powerful hands did not stop clawing, squeezing, delighting in her curves. He lifted himself somewhat and yanked her thighs apart. His jaws clamped down on her breast, hurting her, but not enough to make her deny him. He did not suckle her, simply devoured, and she quaked under him, moaning loudly. He rubbed his face into her ribcage, into the soft valley of flesh at its center; he bit the slight swell of her belly and the mound of her sex. Then, his fingers pried open her slick folds and his tongue slid between, pushing deep into her enlarged opening, writhing there. She cried out and arched her back, growing maddeningly turgid, her juices flowing unrestrained. Jugger twisted his face against her, persisting in the kiss. When her loins raised from the bed he slammed her down, emptying her. Two of his fingers entered her slowly while his tongue flicked on her clitoris. Elora thought she would go insane from the pleasure and bucked frantically, but his colossal arm pinned her at the hips, forcing her to be still. He thrust harder, though, pumping his fingers in to the hilt, quicker and quicker, those sharp little slaps of the tongue teasing her swollen nodule without respite. She grabbed the furs beneath her and came. The orgasm rode through her, and as soon as it had crested another surge followed. She shook, disbelieving, prisoner still of his unyielding grip. He finished her off without ever loosening it. Only when her sex was spent and shrunken did he remove his arm from across her trunk. His mood softened. He kissed her body with that old, familiar tenderness as he crawled to stretch himself beside her. Their lips met, probing gently, and his hands brushed over her in loving caresses, down her flank to her thigh, over her belly, to the rounded shape of her breast where he paused, palming it, his thumb delicately stroking her erect nipple. She drew back to look at his face and her satisfaction was complete. "I’m mad about you," he told her. "I do not deserve you, but I will 296

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not question my blessings." "You are wrong." She smiled, her little fingers seeking his face. "Although I could never argue with you, you are too sweet." She frowned playfully. "It is very frustrating, really. I do so love to argue. Did you know that?" He laughed his velvet-soft laugh and shook his head. Her thumb traced the line of his lips and he took it into his mouth, sucking it like a cock, his eyes closing. Elora rubbed her other hand into his chest, working it in slow circles, winning from him a drowsy moan. She reached down to touch her sex. Jugger felt her move and opened his eyes. He stopped sucking her. He watched, languid and aglow with fascination, as she inserted two fingers into her drenched vagina. His eyes went from her hand to her face. She smiled, glanced at his unbuttoned trousers. "Take them off for me?" she asked. Jugger sat up to remove them along with his boots and heavy wool socks. She touched the small of his back, the plumped cheeks. He returned to lie by her, covering her hand with his as she masturbated herself. He gave her mouth another kiss. Elora drew her wet fingers from between her legs and pressed them to his sleeping cock and his testicles. "Come here," she said, pulling him carefully towards her. "Lift yourself." He shifted to his knees, crouched over her, and she slid her hand between his thighs, coaxing his large scrotum forward, gliding into the crease of his buttocks. Her fingers teased the knot of his anus, rimming it with moisture, exploring the tiny folds. Her met her gaze, smiling slightly, his breaths placid and deep. The sphincter loosened. She guided her fingers more directly onto it, knowing he was ready, and entered him. He exhaled raggedly. His dark eyes glazed. He almost kissed her but held it back, wanting to look at her. He licked his lips as she began to ream his insides leisurely, watching his expression change to ecstasy: the wrinkling of the brow, the lids finally, helplessly, fluttering shut. "Oh Elora," he whispered. "Yes..." 297

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She kissed his throat gently, time and again. He started to groan, barely audible, but she could feel the vibration against her lips. She continued to sodomize him, pressing on the wall of his rectum, on the gland just behind. The ring of muscle tightened, then yielded, his scrotum filling, quivering on the underside of her wrist. He nuzzled her, his hips beginning to writhe. "Turn over," he told her, his face flushed dark. "I want to mount you." There was no hint of request in his voice. It was flat and quietly commanding. She had no doubt that he would have forced her, and was terribly tempted to wait simply so she could feel him do it. But her desire to please him was stronger. She withdrew from his dilated anus and twisted onto her stomach. His sex was already stiffening. It dug into her hip, then into the cleft of her warm cheeks as he covered her. Grinding in, brushing the mass of her hair aside, he mouthed her exposed shoulder. He moved down her spine, kissing always. His hands massaged her backside avidly. "Show yourself to me," he said. Elora tucked her knees under her body and lifted her hips, spreading her thighs wide. His tongue lapped immediately at her sex. His fingers probed her. Then he curved over her back and the length of his member stroked her, ripe and simmering. She moaned as he cupped her breasts. Her passion flared. She reached under to massage her clitoris, undulating against him, working her buttocks into his groin. "Yes." He kissed her hair. "Move. Show me that you like it." She turned her head to kiss him. His mouth opened on her cheek, the breath caressing, damp and heavy on her. "Take me," she begged. Jugger straightened to grasp his cock and drove it through the thickened lips, up her disarmingly taut and tender sheath. She gasped. She had almost forgotten how big he was. He held her firmly by the hips, working it back and forth, sinking further each time. She 298

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heard him groan. He spanked her once. The huge head stabbed against bone, pounding on the very back of her replete tube, threatening to press even beyond. He hesitated and she whimpered in protest, jerking back onto his thrusts. "No!" She was gasping and could hardly form the words. "Deeper. It doesn't hurt." He plunged into her once more and this time his cock speared her fully, his hips sealed against her and the tip breaking through that last door to her womb. The sensation was marvelous and she bucked, seeking to repeat the entry, but he grabbed her abruptly, forcing her still. "Wait." His cock throbbed within and his grip tightened even more. "Don't move. I can't take it. Wait." She obeyed, his face buried in the slope of her neck. His whole body shuddered violently. He choked back a moan. She believed for an instant that he had climaxed, but his shaft remained hard and pulsed gently. After a few moments he ground a slow circle in her. His hand moved down her belly to stroke her sex, the pad of his finger dipping expertly to her twitching little knob and rubbing in rhythm to his coring organ. He resumed his thrusts, slowly now, making the climb last. Elora sighed. He kissed her cheek before rising away from his crouch, and rode her sitting back on his haunches, pulling her onto him. He stared at the fragile length of her twisting spine, her wonderful hair, soaked still, dragging over the black furs and disappearing against them. At her succulent, widespread cheeks, the skin so flawless and suffused with a raw blush from his rough handling, the tiny pink mouth of her anus shuddering with each jab. He wanted to take her there. The image of his penis opening that dainty ring, her quaking flesh, the monstrous spreading, overwhelmed him. How intimate to take her in that most secret place, hear her little cries, feel that slow, tight sinking and fill her belly with his seed. He could never be closer to her than that. But he knew from Eidolon why she had refused this one act to all others, and he dreaded being refused as well. It would destroy everything she had 299

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given him today. He was too wise to be greedy, and knew that he must wait for her to offer it. So he withdrew from her and bent over to lick her there instead. This she allowed with pleasure, moaning and trembling wildly. He wet her thoroughly, slurping, tasting, indulging in a ceaseless moan himself. The anus twitched delightfully against him, and she came just from that licking, pumping her hot fluids into the hand that he kept clasped on her sex. Even when she moved away from him to lie flat he pursued her, keeping her cheeks open with his thumbs, lapping at the tight orifice, kissing it. Finally he rested the side of his face on her buttocks, stroking her velvety hips, feeling his hard cock pulse beneath him. She relaxed and he turned her over. Her thighs parted at once. She smiled, reaching out to embrace him, and he went into her, thrusting unreservedly to a violent, luxurious orgasm. When he rolled from her she climbed on top, winding her small arms about his neck, kissing his face, his mouth, his chest. "I love you, Jugger," she whispered. "I have always come home to you, whenever I needed comfort. But I need no comfort now, and still I wanted to come home." Jugger gazed up at her, enchanted. "I promise I will make you happy." "You always have," said Elora. "You are the only one who has always made me happy. That is what I learned today."

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Chapter Six The Ranger

I

f it had been summer, he would have died. It was the cold that saved him, slowing his heart and the pumping of the blood. When Uthra came upon him he was half frozen, and half alive because of it. The wound was horrible, and more horrible the fact that he was awake. His eyes were open and locked. He could not move them and he barely breathed, but he felt everything, clinging to consciousness with all the tenacity of a seasoned sufferer. She was an old woman and could not lift him, so she dragged him from the clearing to her pony waiting under cover of the trees. She tied his hands with a rope and hauled him onto the saddle, and draped over like the carcass of a deer she took him away. There was a small cottage in the foothills that woodcutters had once used, and after them Rangers, for it was secluded and the Amazons, if they ever came this far down, neglected it as a thing abandoned. She fettered him to a filthy bed without sheets and started a fire. While his blood soaked into the mattress she stoked the flames until they were high, heating a poker to a fierce red. She steeled herself, and drove it, smoking and sizzling, through the channel of the wound. He screamed, his body jerking on the bed. Then his eyes closed at last and the bleeding stopped. He had been fortunate. There was no blood in his mouth and she knew that although the ribs were broken, the blade had not pierced 301

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any organ. But the loss of blood alone could kill him, or if an infection took he would bloat with fever and die. She could not move him and she did not want to. There was nothing a White City surgeon could do that she could not, and more kings had been murdered in their sickbeds than had ever died in battle. He was not safe anywhere now. She warmed him, rubbing his limbs hour after hour until she could rub no more. She fetched a reed and forced water down his throat. She waited. For days he hovered between living and dying, unconscious. She did not despair. She knew him of old, and was convinced that his strength extended far beyond the merely corporeal. She pressed cooked herbs to the wound and made him drink her potions through the reed, massaging his throat to force them down. She kept the pony in the room to add to the heat of the small fire and hoped the smoke curling through the chimney would not betray them. He opened his eyes finally, but he did not seem to know where he was and he looked at her without recognition. She did not bother to speak to him. There were other voices knocking about in his head, voices he loved more than hers, and she trusted to them. She caught a rabbit and made him take some broth. The wound had almost closed, but despite her precautions a fever came on and the pus began to push on his skin. His trunk bloated and blotched red, and she knew that if it came to purple he would rot from the inside. He was burning up and starting to convulse. He whispered incoherently, urgently, fighting wars he had already won. She tied him to the bed again from ankle and wrist, and with a knife she cut a slit in the wound to let the festering liquid drain. The pain was agonizing, and sometimes he would scream for a quarter of an hour. It was a terrible thing to hear a man like him scream. She covered him with the pony blankets, sponging his pale brow as best she could while he tossed, praying for him to lose consciousness. The wound cleaned, and little by little she brought him around. 302

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She stitched the cut and kept him bandaged. He began to drink on his own but he still did not speak to her. He slept most of the time. She took these opportunities to fetch wood and meat, and to make stealthy excursions up the mountain. One frigid morning, seated next to his bed and resting, she felt his touch on her hand. "Uthra..." he whispered. He smiled, and she pressed tenderly on his weak fingers. "Where is she?" That this was the first thing he should ask made it all the more difficult to answer. Uthra lowered her eyes. "She has joined them. I have seen her training in the forests. I am so sorry, Commander." He wavered for a moment, his blue eyes anxious. "Is she well? Does she look strong?" "Yes. Very healthy." "Does Ayesha train with her?" "The princess is dead, Commander. She took her own life." He turned away, his fingers slipping from her grasp. He did not speak again for many weeks. **** By the time spring arrived he was strong enough to wander on his own. He climbed the greening slopes and watched Elora throwing flowers into thin streams, never guessing that they were for him. He saw her kill a bear and ride off to war on his black colt, and knew that he had lost her for good. He had lost many things in his life, some simply to time, and it was not a feeling he was unprepared for. The sensation might be deeper this time, more poignant, but it was not bitter. She had exceeded all his expectations, and he was proud of her. He returned to the cottage where Uthra was preparing his supper and watched her cook, seated on a low stool before the fire, her rough skirts spread on the freshly swept planks of the floor. "I am 303

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leaving, good nurse," he told her softly. "I give you your freedom. Go back to your home across the sea." Uthra did not look up from her stew pot. "You gave me my freedom many years ago. I refused it, if you will remember. It is foolish of you to think that I would accept it now." He smiled, and let a moment pass. "Things are different now. I will not return to the White City. If I should rule it again I would be the enemy of the Amazon again. I would be her enemy. That is too high a price." He crossed his legs and draped one arm over the back of his chair, his eyes clouded, his head titled slightly to one side. "I'm not sure where I will go." "I will wait for you, then," she said, "until you return." "I do not know that I will return," he explained, but she only smiled. "You will return," she told him confidently. "For me, you will return." The next morning he buckled on his plain sword and cloaked himself in worn green, and Uthra handed him the battered brown boots that were now stained with his own blood. His lucky boots. She waved farewell at the cottage door, and he left the mountains without looking back. When he neared the first village in his path he killed a stag, and traded it at the inn along with the silver buckle of his belt for a good stock horse. He rode west across the plains until he reached the sea. There he gazed out over the endless blue toward the place where she had come from, and stood on the pier where she had landed, wondering how it had looked to her young eyes and what futures she had imagined for herself. He left his horse at a public stable near the port, then stepped into a tavern for a hot meal. It was a rough place the likes of which he had not entered in a while. It smelled of unwashed men and ale, of roasted mutton and of the sea. The dusty oil-lamps managed only a weak glow, and as night fell the room built of cut logs darkened pleasantly, warming when candles were set on the wood tables but 304

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still leaving each to his own space if he so chose, slightly shrouded and undisturbed. Sailors bantered and bragged and spilled cheap wine from a barrel while the innkeeper and his scrawny sons kept their plates filled. In the back stood a row of slave women dressed in calico, displayed atop discarded fruit crates and waiting patiently to be bedded, their leather collars leashed to the wall. They were young and some quite handsome; the old and plain were kept at work in kitchens, washrooms, tilling fields. Little by little the customers plucked them from their stands, fondling their thighs and breasts through the cotton, getting them drunk, passing them from one lap to the next. The Commander watched from his secluded corner as the tavern grew rowdy and deceptively gay. Every man in it made friends with the stranger sitting next to him, and every man would have slit that stranger's throat over a woman or a lost bet. The innkeeper approached, wiping his hands on a soiled apron. "And what for you, Ranger?" he asked. The Commander smiled inwardly. He had been a Ranger long ago, and what else could he have seemed now to the innkeeper with his battered cloak and muddy boots, the longsword at his side? "A plate and a bottle," he answered. The innkeeper shuffled off. The Commander lit a cigar he had bought in the square and let his eyes roam, feeling inconspicuous and refreshingly free. A new party of sailors had just entered and were roughly clearing themselves a place in the center of the room. Their leader was a giant of a man with hair the color of wheat. He wore his shirt open to the waist and two crossed daggers at his belt. The Commander found it difficult to guess his age, but he was a young buck, no older than Eidolon. Twenty hands tall at the least, almost a full head taller than the Commander himself. His cheekbones were high, the nose perfectly, almost unnaturally straight and elegant. His green eyes were heavy-lidded and deeply sensual, even though they lacked all expression except the wish for a good brawl. The mouth was 305

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unremarkable and his jaw narrow, but sheer size gave his features power. His body was smooth skinned and well formed; it was as though bone and muscle had grown in perfect proportion but with absolutely no restraint. The Commander thought him rather beautiful, and rather foolish as well. He crashed through the tavern with careless arrogance, bullying and sure, but tempt the wrong man and that would be that. Brute strength came to nothing in real combat, and he was no soldier, only a large and lovely pirate. Still, the Commander thought him endearing. He was reminded of Eidolon, and of himself in those early years, wandering the northern forests with a pack of young savages, rash and untried. The innkeeper brought his supper and he drank the tepid, mulled wine slowly from the bottle, letting the meat cool a little. The young sailor had noticed him and was asking the innkeeper for information. The man whispered a few words, shrugging his ignorance, then hurried back to the relative safety of his counter. The Commander lowered his eyes and concentrated on his meal, not wishing to encourage an introduction. When he was through the young sailor had not approached, but he had stared for a while with a combative air, a challenge that the Commander was careful not to acknowledge. The innkeeper returned to clear his plate, and the Commander glanced briefly toward three women who remained tethered in the back. "That dark haired one with the lilac dress," he said. "Send her up to me, will you?" He laid a few coins on the table and walked calmly toward the stairs in the rear of the room, taking the long way around in order to avoid crossing near the sailor. He could sense the young man's eyes still on him, itching for a fight, and it would be a pity to have to kill him. The stairway was narrow and pitch black. He felt his way to the top, running his hands over the walls damp with sea moisture, and waited for the girl. In a few moments she appeared, climbing with a practiced step 306

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even in the dark. He followed her to a small chamber and watched her stoke the fire. She lit a candle and closed the window. The room was plain, but kept clean. He knew it was her room and that the efforts were hers, and it aroused an immediate tenderness in him. A large bed pressed against one wall, covered in faded red sheets. She had placed an earthen pot bursting with pansies next to it. There was a filled washbasin on a stand, its lacquer beginning to chip, and an armless beech chair in one corner. The Commander laid his cloak and sword belt on it. He took off his worn leather waistcoat, and the girl came to stand before him with her hands at her sides. Her hair was brittle, left too long and uncared for near the salt and sun of the sea, but she had a pretty face and a pleasingly rounded body, and her belly was hot and soft when he opened his palm against the thin dress. He kissed her mouth and tasted elderberry wine. She had a weary, vacant look that he could not blame her for, but the kiss surprised her, and her eyes warmed a little. She knelt to remove his boots and undid the buttons of his trousers. When he drew the shirt off over his head and tossed it aside she stared at the jagged scar on his abdomen. Her fingers wandered to the one on his back, where the blade had pushed out at the side, and pressed on it with morbid fascination. "This is not right," she whispered, astonished. "No one could live after such a wound." She gazed up at him coquettishly. "You must be very strong. Or very blessed. Which one is it?" The Commander contented himself with a smile, amused and rather charmed by her feeble efforts at seduction. She kissed the scar, easing down his trousers. Her cheek grazed the curling hair on his groin, and as her lips parted and her breath caressed his genitals he closed his eyes. She kissed his sex, and then he felt her palming it, exploring its size and weight before taking it in her mouth. He had not been with a woman for such a long time that it was simple for her to excite him. She had barely begun to suck and press on him with her tongue when he withdrew, already hard, a first drop of liquid swelling from the small, dilated opening. 307

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He sat on the edge of the bed and made her stand before him. His hands slipped under the hem of her dress, moving slowly up the backs of her thighs, baring the pale flesh, finding it yielding, resilient, and tremendously welcoming. He took a deep, slow breath when his hands reached her full buttocks, and rested there a moment. She lifted the dress over her head and he pressed his face to her naked stomach. She smelled wonderful. He had never known a woman who did not. The scent varied slightly each time, but it was instantly recognizable and soothing to him. He could have waited forever as he was and not shifted, it was that magical. Even his lust bowed to it. She dropped the dress, and it caressed his knee as it fell to the floor, clinging to it briefly, still hot from her body and making him quiver. He kissed her belly and the thick mound of her pubic hair, stroked his newly bearded cheek against it. Then he pulled her onto the bed and embraced her. She nuzzled his throat and opened her lips on it in hesitant kisses, confused by his patience, and a gentleness she had grown never to expect. She stroked the nape of his neck and tangled her fingers in locks of his silky hair, not daring to rush him and becoming afraid precisely because he was not cruel. He sensed it and said, "Rest easy, my love. I will not hurt you." She wavered for another instant, and then drew closer, winding her arms about him and holding him tightly, too tightly. He knew that she would have followed him anywhere and that he was doing her a disservice, spoiling her for other men, but he could not help himself. His sex pulsed against her with soft, quiet throbs and she spread her thighs to press it onto her own. She was damp; she gave a little moan. The Commander cupped one of her plump breasts in his hand and squeezed it, feeling the nipple stiffen, rubbing into his palm. He kissed her mouth again, letting her tongue push into him, giving away the kiss rather than demanding it from her. When her hand slipped between their bodies to grasp his cock he allowed this, too, stroking the tousled hair from her brow while she wet him with her own fluids and guided him inside. He mounted her as she began to rock, and 308

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made her touch her swelling clitoris while she whimpered and sought his lips without respite. Her sex was kneading and drawing on him even before he had penetrated her fully, and it was over quickly for both of them. He groaned almost painfully, sorrowfully, as he came, and yet he was not sad. It was only the intensity of the release, and the relief of being once again in a woman's arms and discovering that he could still feel. He slept for a while, and awoke with her hot mouth sucking gently on his dormant sex. She smiled lovingly at him, closing her hand around the shaft as it tightened, lapping at the dark and delicately wrinkled skin of his scrotum. The Commander laid his head back and draped a folded arm over his face, covering his eyes, and in that warm blindness he let himself fill and tremble, and finally burst in her tight throat. He would have liked to give her a gift, but being a slave she had no use for money, and any little trinket would have been confiscated right away. So in the end he merely thanked her and patted her cheek, and left her meager room, never to return. He might have stayed with her till morning, but he was running low on funds and figured a straw bed next to his horse would do him well enough. It was past midnight. The lights were dimmed and the tavern quiet. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw the blond sailor sitting stealthily in a dark corner, thinking himself invisible. He pretended not to notice but let his cloak fall open, keeping his sword within easy reach. He was already crossing toward the door when the sailor stood up clumsily, hampered by one too many drinks. "I have been waiting for you, Ranger," he said, louder than he had intended. He cleared his throat and pulled out a chair with a brief, harsh scrape on the wooden floor. The strident boom of his voice in the silent room seemed to have embarrassed him, and he was quieter when he spoke again. "Come and have a mug with me." The Commander considered his options. To refuse would have been an insult, and as things were, he had nothing better to do. He approached and took the offered seat. The sailor towered over him, 309

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his large bulk swaying slightly. Then he dropped back into his chair, letting his long, powerful legs splay in a careless show of force. The Commander crossed his own and rested an elbow on the table, hands laced together on his lap. He watched peaceably while the young man poured ale into a pewter cup and shoved it towards him. He drank, but only once. He did not particularly like ale. "What do they call you, Ranger?" The Commander thought about it for a moment. "Ranger will do," he said. The sailor laughed. "You're all the same, you Rangers, so mysterious. I'll wager you're criminals one and all." He nodded at the Commander's sword. "Handy with that thing, are you?" The Commander smiled and chose not to answer. "My name is Olean," said the young man. "I am sailing a cargo of slaves down the coast to the southern lands; to a place they call Biskra. Do you know this place?" The Commander nodded slowly. "I do." "We need a guide to take us inland, and you seem in need of employment." He smiled broadly, amused. "You don't look very prosperous. Not that Rangers ever do." The Commander hesitated, affecting distraction, patting the pockets of his waistcoat. He drew out another cigar and rolled it between his fingers. "What's the matter?" asked the young pirate irritably. "My ship is not good enough for you?" The Commander got to his feet with reassuring mildness, but still he felt the rush of bellicose tension ripple through the boy. He did not quite reach for his daggers, but every one of his enormous muscles tightened in readiness. The Commander simply moved away to the dying hearth fire and squatted to light his cigar. "It's a simple question," insisted the sailor with a sharp hostility that nevertheless betrayed eagerness, nervous and almost tender, as if the Commander were an object of desire. "It is not so simple," said the Commander, "for me." 310

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"Why not?" Why not indeed, thought the Commander, and laughed softly at himself, which made the other regard him with confusion and sudden apprehension. But then an exhausted sadness passed over the Commander's features, and he saw the sailor lose his anxiety. In the mind of a young man—the Commander knew—sadness belonged only to the beaten. "Very well," said the Commander. "I will come." "The black round ship on the far pier. I'll expect you tomorrow at dawn." He stood up and staggered out without another word. The Commander continued to squat before the fire with his head bowed. **** He was a man who had for the whole length of his life incited the worst and best in other men. His maleness was so charged and somehow overwhelming that they could not resist measuring themselves against it. It was a curse of sorts, because no matter how much gentleness he heaped on that strength, he could not hide it. They sensed it intuitively, like wild dogs sense the future leader in their pack even before he has grown to full fighting-size and try to kill it. As a boy he had fought continuously, never inviting the brawl but mechanically ferocious when it came, and as a man his power had opened roads for him, but he had never been able to walk them without shedding unnecessary blood. He had never been able to guess at what it was in his appearance that provoked these feelings, either. Whether it was something in his eyes that betrayed him, or a special, secret scent that he himself could not detect. It never occurred to him that he could not detect it because he had never met his equal. He was a male animal too, and unconsciously prey to that very same urge he resented. In the end, reasons did not matter. He could not walk into a room without having the spell take. They stood up against him simply to 311

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prove to themselves that they were men, and even after they had lost they gained peace, following him blindly and proudly, mining honor instead of shame from their defeat, drawing their steadiness from his own and possessed of a haughty devotion. That they had dared to face him was all the test most required, and the ones for whom this had not been enough lay strewn along his wake in uncountable graves. His rise to fame and his rule at the White City had for a while protected him from them, or rather them from him, but now that he was again adrift and unknown in the world the cycle began afresh. He had been too seasoned for too long to enjoy the game anymore, and he had grown to feel a guilty responsibility for his challengers, even the vilest ones. He felt alone, too, within his sex. Women did not suffer these foolish needs. That belligerent yearning was not part of their make, as he told himself that it was not part of his. He was not blind to the fact that unlike other men he had never had to doubt his manhood, that he had felt it breathing and swirling inside him like a magic vapor since childhood, but like all men he had had to prove that manhood to the world. He had suffered fear, cold, and hunger like every other man, he had earned his place with no less hardship, and whatever advantage his talents had given him the furor they aroused had tempered, making his road arduous in a most singular way. The weight of his inordinate superiority pressed on his iron heart, and it was only in the company of women that he felt at ease, accepted without fear or envy and allowed some measure of humanity. He felt close to them, oddly feminine in his soul, and it amused him that it was these slight, smooth, delicate beings whom he was so radically different from that he felt akin to. Olean was yet another hot-blood joining that long line of eager victims, and it was mostly this that had made the Commander waver. There had been also the spontaneous, foolish reluctance to take himself even farther from Elora, but he quickly recognized that a continent between them left her no less distant than a mile—they were separated by stronger, more forbidding things than land. This awareness brought on him a prostrating loneliness. He needed to 312

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belong to something, anything, in order to dispel it, and perhaps the black round ship was the very thing. He knew he could handle the boy. He could even make the boy happy, and he longed to make someone happy without tearing them apart. He had killed Ayesha with love, and lost Elora in spite of love, and what he had led his poor men into he could not even bring himself to consider. Where was Eidolon now? He sold his horse and arrived on the pier with the sunrise. The waters were still shimmering with fiery light and the slowly parting clouds were tinged pink and apricot and lavender at the edges, dissolving against a bright blue sky. The black round ship rocked lazily against the pier, its sails carelessly dropped and flapping in a waking breeze. When he climbed the shifting gangplank, swelling and falling to the rhythm of the tide, he found the crew sleeping away last night's drink on deck, scattered about and twisted like a field of corpses. Their young captain snored contentedly among them and the Commander stood over him a while, studying him in detail now that he had the leisure for it, envying him his uncluttered dreams. Then he sat down on the raised deck of the poop, overlooking the slumbering crowd, and waited. The glare of the sun brought them gradually around, staggering to their feet to lower buckets over the side and splash water on their faces. They did not notice him at first, but the moment he was seen sabers were drawn and angry, high-pitched threats started to fly, all at once demanding to know who he was and what he thought he was doing so casually and comfortably perched on their property. This they did from the safe distance of the lower deck, for although they did not know who he was they could tell at a glance what he was, and not one of them was a match for a hardened Ranger, not even with their heads clear, which was not the case, at present. The tall man with the glacial blue eyes and thick beard that looked to have gone untrimmed for months watched them silently, with a penetrating yet totally removed expression that gave them the jitters. The ruckus finally woke their captain, and then matters were 313

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settled quickly with a few shouted orders and a few smacks on the back of heads, both of which the sailors accepted as the norm, uttering no more than a slight grumble here and there. Olean showed the Commander to a private cabin and warned him to keep it clean. As a mere guide he should have slept among the sailors in their common room. There were no logical reasons for the arrangement except one, but the Commander had been prepared to face this also. He accepted the accommodations with a bland nod. It was only after Olean had left him that he realized he had nothing to unpack. He laid his cloak, his sword and his embarrassingly light coin pouch on the bed, and made his way back to the deck. The sailors were wolfing down a quick breakfast of ale and brown bread, preparing to feed their cargo of slaves fettered in the hold. The Commander did not bother to go below and look at the women. They did not interest him, and he would see them soon enough. He sat on the rail and watched the gulls fight for scraps of floating garbage, and watched the crew make ready to sail. He was pleased to discover that, at least in the running of a ship, Olean was an able man. He got his crude and ragged band organized with surprising swiftness and made only one efficient trip into the hold to insure that all was right. When the ropes were tossed to land and the round ship glided away from the pier he helmed her himself until she was safely from port, past the shoals and past jagged reefs that did not quite break the surface but that his experienced eye could spot lurking beneath dark blue waves. Then he pointed her south, riding on the current and pushed by a following wind, and disappeared into his own cabin to chart a course. The weather was unusually warm for a spring day and the Commander sat under shade of the sails, watching the coast drift by a few miles off the port side. The sailors steered clear of him for a few hours, but gradually they approached with shy questions, large ruffians turned soft with a childlike wonder, asking what the inside of a palace looked like, and if he had ever seen an Amazon, and how many kings he had met. He told them enough half-lies to satisfy them 314

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and by the time the sun went down and supper was served in the galley they were speaking freely before him, talking of how the land would change now that the great Commander from the north was murdered and gone and the power of the White City failing, with vassal lords turning renegade and smaller realms breaking off left and right, and armies teetering on the brink of war. After supper the sailors disappeared into the hold to enjoy the women and the Commander retired to his cabin, wondering how soon Hipolita would attack the White City, and what flowers would be blooming when Elora finally walked as mistress the palace she had come to know as a slave. His instincts told him that the Amazons would wait at least a year, harnessing their strength while the White City bled away its own. He unbuttoned his shirt, and was bent over the washbowl when Olean opened the door. "Why haven't you gone to the hold?" he asked, looking insulted. "Are my women not good enough for you?" The Commander straightened wearily, wringing out the rag he had been using to clean himself. He set it down next to the bowl. "I don't want to fight you," he said, but prepared to, wanting to end it right here and spend his voyage in peace. "I don't want to fight you either," answered Olean, stepping inside with a cruel smile, and shut the door. Above all else, the Commander felt relief. He had not expected it to be this easy. Olean was so contentious that he had believed coming to blows would be inevitable no matter what else followed. He did not move when Olean advanced. The young pirate loomed before him, glaring down with furious satisfaction, and he returned the gaze unblinking, with a tranquil, even stare. Olean examined him like a sacrifice, then spun him around and flung him against the wall, pinning his hands above him. He was inestimably strong, and the Commander winced with mild surprise. He would have had trouble freeing himself now even if he had wanted to. The huge length of Olean's body pushed against him, pressing him to the wood. His legs were kicked apart. He felt the stiff bulk of the cock rubbing his 315

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backside, and then Olean's mouth opened on his neck for a harsh kiss that was almost a bite. He rested his forehead on the wall and sighed heavily, with a first awareness of lust. Olean kissed him again, mouthing him, licking the sensitive hollow behind his earlobe. "You really are a fine-looking man," he whispered. "I do not think I've ever seen one so goodlooking as you. Even in your forest rags and that scraggly beard." The Commander said, "Take what you will." Olean hesitated for a moment but did not ease the pressure of his hands. "So easily? Why? I know you are not afraid of me. I did not think you would stand down from anything." The Commander made no answer, tired of being denied even the privilege of fear, and Olean turned him roughly around. "I have to tell you," he observed with great pleasure, "that I am disappointed." "In that case I apologize." Olean did not soften. "What do you want?" asked the Commander, betraying a sad desperation at last. "Just tell me what you want." Olean faltered slightly. He released the Commander's hands and touched his face. He leaned forward for a kiss. The Commander smelled his young, musky perfume and tasted sweet rum as the tongue pressed into his mouth, and Olean's soft bangs brushed warmly across his closed eyes. A firm hand closed on his crotch, cupping his scrotum through the trousers, teasing the hardening length of his sex. He moaned, and Olean drew back. "This will do, Ranger," he said. "For now." He pushed the Commander down to his knees and slowly stroked his hair. "This will do." The Commander stared in utter fascination at the outline of the swelling member under dark cloth. For a few moments he could not move. This he had not done in years. So long in fact that he had forgotten it would be asked of him. Eidolon had never permitted it. Eidolon had never permitted so many things, forever adoring and 316

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eager to submit, and the Commander had never forced them, he had loved Eidolon too much. Olean tugged impatiently on his head, drawing him near. He kissed the hot groin, and then he was unbuttoning the trousers in a daze, lifting out the heavy, reddened genitals, taking the cock between his lips. Olean groaned, spilling a few droplets of clear liquid at once. The Commander shivered, jolted by the taste and the wonderful sensation of power that came coupled with his helplessness. He sucked greedily on the engorged shaft, pushing his lips to the very root, feeling his throat strain open and the momentary lack of breath, and the delicious salty trickle filling his mouth. Olean continued to groan and stroke his head with increasing force. He squatted slightly, spreading his taut, massive thighs, arching into the caress. The Commander let his arms hang limp at his sides, swaying on his knees as he kept sucking, mesmerized. He felt his head released and Olean's anxious hands pushing the open shirt off his shoulders. He reached back and yanked it off, clinging to Olean's cock, breathing in the heady scent of his damp testicles. Finally Olean pulled away, raising him to his feet. The Commander staggered a little before finding his balance. He licked his lips, trying to slow his pounding breaths. The heat of his own flushed face made him dizzy, and the idea that he might actually collapse was strangely enticing to him. When he managed to focus his gaze he saw Olean staring at his waist. He glanced down at the terrible scar, and then their eyes met. Neither said a word. Olean's expression changed from awe to fear to a quiet thrill at the thing he had captured in his bed. He touched the scar with the backs of his fingers, brushing lightly on the charred, stitched-together flesh. Then he quickly undid the Commander's trousers and shoved them down to the middle of his thighs. The sex jerked free, dark and growing. Olean nearly bent forward with the impulse to lick it. He balked, struggling against it, forced the Commander to turn around and pushed him violently onto the bed. The Commander broke the fall with his arms and lay face down while 317

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Olean wrested off his boots and trousers. He started to crawl towards the pillows at the headboard but Olean grabbed his hips and dragged him back, forcing his legs wide apart. His knees were pushed up, bent and hooked on Olean's unyielding thighs. The split of his cheeks was left open and appallingly exposed, and he could feel his sex pulled long and throbbing under him, trapped between his hard belly and the edge of the bed. Keeping him in place with one rough hand Olean massaged his buttocks with the other, then pressed his thumb against the tight, shuddering mouth of the anus. He rubbed it with small circles, grating on the wrinkled ring, scalding it. The Commander grabbed the sheets and squeezed, clenching his teeth while his sphincter convulsed and the heat rose through his loins and chest to his very throat. It came out of him in a strangled groan, and he felt the drenched head of Olean's cock touch him, gliding up and down the cleft, leaving him slick and causing his muscles to slacken involuntarily. Olean's hands tightened on his hips and the cock speared in. The Commander froze, astounded by its thickness and the excruciating bolt of pain. But even as he began to spasm he craved it, seduced by his own impotence, by the sensation of being, for once, totally and unstoppably vanquished. He crushed his face into the mattress, trying to withstand the jabs that grew deeper, more punishing. His rectum trembled, impossibly stuffed and aching. The hot leakings began to ease the entry, but this only made Olean stab harder. The Commander heard a loud, constant moaning and realized it was coming from himself. He surrendered to it, aware suddenly of how much he had truly wanted to submit, not caring that he was weeping with pain. His own cock rubbed frantically on the bed as he was jostled back and forth, his swollen testicles massaged in their sack by the steady rocking, tingling with sweat and the trickling drops of Olean's moisture. Suddenly he experienced an uncontrollable, crawling surge of heat and relaxation. His anus enlarged briefly, unexpectedly, allowing Olean to plunge even deeper and impale the full length of his shaft within. He felt a thick, burning 318

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cream gush against his stomach and spread without restraint, and realized with a shock that he had climaxed. The agony faded while his penis discharged, and the thumping of the cock inside him was overwhelmingly lush and welcome. But the instant he was spent his walls contracted and the ramming became unendurable. He thought Olean would rip him apart and writhed desperately, unable to force the cock out, on the edge of fainting. Olean howled, slamming against his parted buttocks, and exploded. The flood of semen jetted forth, startling him, such a rewarding, delicious sensation and one he could barely remember. Then, mercifully, Olean's cock softened. The come overflowed and soaked them both. Olean's weight settled gently onto his back and the cock slipped out, leaving his seared orifice wide and grasping. He swooned, turning his face to one side so that he could breathe. Olean licked the tears from his cheeks. He wanted to say something, but was too overcome to speak. Olean turned him over and kissed his mouth, forcing his tongue inside. He welcomed it dazedly, without bothering to open his eyes. Olean slipped a powerful arm around his back and dragged him further up the bed, then cradled his head to slide a pillow under it. The Commander reached up blindly to caress his face, and drew him near for another kiss. But Olean avoided his lips, mouthing his throat instead. "You have not had this done to you for some time, have you?" he growled softly. "So tight." He nuzzled the curve of the ear, rimmed it with his tongue, and he murmured again, "So tight." The Commander sighed and stroked his hair, the warm nape of his thick neck. Olean kept his face buried against him, kissing and tasting. "You will now," he said. "I will take you until you are ready for me every time, and all the time. You do like it, don't you?" He drew back a little and touched the Commander's lids, making him open his eyes. He smiled. "Yes. I can see how much you like it." They kissed again. Olean slid a hand down the Commander's body and between his legs, probing the wet anus gently with one finger. 319

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The Commander moaned, open-mouthed and so feeble it was almost a sigh. The juice was worked into his rectum and leaked out with the tender coring. There was no pain this time, only a sweet, dull ache and the slow but willing spreading of the knot. Olean lapped at his parted lips, dipped in to tease his tongue, sucked it. "Yes," he kept whispering between kisses. "Yes." He moved lower to stroke his cheek against the Commander's broad chest, against his tightly muscled stomach. He kissed the slick, flaccid sex and made him flinch. Then he withdrew his finger from the warm and pulsing rectum, pressing on the inside of the thigh. The Commander spread his legs without hesitation, raising them, arching his hips. He stared down at the bowed blond head in a pleased stupor as the silky hair tumbled forward to caress him. Olean licked at the ring of his anus. The wrinkled lips shuddered, and then they were parting, and the tongue was pushing in. The Commander groaned, letting his head fall back into the nest of the pillow, remembering how he had done this to Elora and how desperately he had wanted her to do it to him. But he had never asked because he had wanted her to demand it of him, just like this. He still believed that she would have, given enough time. There simply had not been enough time. His hand strayed down to massage his swelling cock and Olean slapped it away. "Don't you dare touch your cock," he said sharply, his green eyes forbidding and lovely. "Don't you dare." The Commander smiled and obligingly laced his hands behind his head. Olean kissed his heavy, moistened testicles once as a reward. "That's good. That's the way I want you. And be quiet. Absolutely quiet." The Commander nodded, though he knew that holding back his moans would only heat him faster and make the little tortures more difficult to endure. Olean returned to probing and tonguing him, leisurely caressing his buttocks all the while. The Commander clenched his hands into fists. His anus quaked, groping and yielding 320

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like another mouth as Olean had his way with him, and by the time the teasing stopped his sex was rising like a truncheon from his groin, throbbing and starting to spill. Olean knelt between his thighs, cradling them, raising his legs onto the broad, golden width of his shoulders. He ignored the Commander's bloated sex and kissed the inside of his calf playfully, then pressed the head of his own turgid penis into the slippery crease of his backside. The Commander relaxed as he was entered, too hungry for the touch to feel anything but tremendous release in being impaled at last. He suppressed a groan and stared at Olean. His wheat-blond hair was disheveled and a little damp on his brow, the strong and handsome face flushed with the effort of holding back. His large hands kneaded the Commander's thighs with a harshness that he would not yet allow himself anywhere else, and the muscles of his trunk rippled enchantingly as they tensed with the slow arching of his hips. His cock sank in smoothly, the thick coating of semen easing the penetration and the channel welcoming now, fully dilated. He withdrew slightly and began to rock with measured strokes. Spreading the Commander's legs, he let them fall from his shoulders and guided them around his waist, bowing between them, covering him, and finally kissing the tight line of his lips pressed together for silence. "Now I want to hear you," he whispered. "Let me hear you moan." The Commander exhaled heavily—a long, shuddering breath— and as Olean rode him harder he did moan, wrapping his arms about the massive torso and pulling Olean closer, writhing luxuriously as Olean bit his neck and sucked him like a starving man. For a while the reaming of his insides dulled every other sensation, but then he became aware of his cock rubbing against Olean's stomach. He arched beneath to increase the friction, feeling his orgasm coil. Olean heard the ecstasy in his groans and pulled away at once. He stabbed cruelly, making the Commander wince. Then he rested and glared down, stroking the Commander's belly, letting his cock pulse inside. 321

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"You are mine," he said sternly. "You do not come until I let you. Do you understand?" "Yes," answered the Commander, truly taken aback for the first time and not immediately sure he liked it. But Olean softened so quickly that he had no time to decide, pleasuring him ably and gently again until he thought he would burst simply from the feel of the cock. Olean was nearing climax himself. He quivered and withdrew to keep from losing control, bent over the Commander. They kissed, and then Olean wavered, panting and suddenly, endearingly vulnerable. "Come here," he said. The Commander rose to his knees and they embraced. Olean did not protest when the Commander pushed his rigid member into the joint of his thighs. Their mouths opened on each other. Olean stroked the thick beard lovingly, and the Commander kissed him deeply, cupping the back of his head. He caressed the tight buttocks and the small of Olean's back, and Olean kept his thighs together, sheathing the wet, jutting cock until its stabs became frantic. At this he drew back once more. The Commander assumed that he would be entered again, but Olean turned away instead. Crouching on the bed he offered his hips. His head sank into the pillows and he said softly, "Take what you will." The Commander laid one hand tenderly on the warm, raised cheeks. This was a role he knew well. He fondled the downy skin and palmed the dangling scrotum, massaging it. With his other hand he squeezed a drop of moisture from his cock and tapped it onto the anus, feeling it twitch and slacken under his thumb. When he slid inside he did it with care, knowing that Olean was no more used to being taken than he was. His girth was too powerful not to cause some pain, and Olean whimpered, but the flesh was hot and drenched and yielded quickly. He grasped the young man's cock and worked it in his fingers, keeping his thrusts kind. Eventually Olean arched against him, raising his hips even more, pushing onto the 322

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organ. The Commander jabbed harder now that he knew he could, and as Olean's semen spewed into his pumping hand he let his own break forth and fill the trembling channel. He pressed Olean down to the bed and lay on top of him, kissing his heaving back, listening to the whimpers that came softly now, stopping and starting at lengthening intervals, leaving his cock buried inside until it was fully drained. When their breathing had eased and Olean was still he withdrew and rolled over to lie beside him. Olean embraced him at once, pulling him masterfully and protectively into the curve of his chest and kissing his brow. It came so sudden and unforeseen, this shift in the balance of power, that the Commander stiffened slightly. He was completely unused to it and had no idea how to react. He had never possessed anyone who had turned around and claimed control back from him. But it was wonderful. He relaxed and let himself be held, and thanked providence for Olean, realizing he had never felt so warm. He went to sleep in the fold of that same proprietary embrace, and for once he did not dream. **** The cabin was completely dark when he woke. It would be dawn soon; he could tell by the chill in the air. Olean was slipping quietly from the bed, goose flesh rising on his arms as he left the cocoon of blankets. The Commander started to sit up as well but Olean stopped him. "Stay," he whispered, and kissed his mouth. "Sleep a while. It's early still." The Commander lay back drowsily. Olean drew the covers high about him and stroked his hair. He lit an oil-lamp and dressed himself quickly, shivering. He tucked the daggers into his belt and splashed a little water on his eyes. After putting out the flame he returned to the side of the bed. He kissed the Commander once more, blindly, breathing warmly, and held back an embrace for fear 323

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of waking him. Then he was gone and the Commander smiled. He had left Ayesha in this same way so many mornings, and Eidolon, with those same careful touches that told them to rest and not worry, he would keep the world safe for them. Possibly they had smiled too. He closed his eyes and thought of Elora sleeping in his bed, curled up like a baby. She could sleep through anything, and had never felt him go. He stayed in bed until well past sunrise, lazy and contented. So this is what it's like, he told himself in between dreams, how marvelous. When he finally wandered outside the day shift had long been at work and Olean was leaning against the rail of the poop deck, talking idly to the helmsman. He smiled as the Commander approached, and reaching out casually to grasp his waist drew him close for a lingering kiss. The sailors stole a few interested glances at them while Olean caressed the flank of his hip and his buttocks. "You're treating me like a slave," remarked the Commander, exceedingly amused. "Don't you like it?" The Commander laughed. "Yes, I like it," he admitted. He nuzzled Olean's neck and let his face rest in its curve. Olean stroked his hair for a while and then asked, "Have you ever helmed a ship?" The Commander moved back to look at him. "No," he lied, looking as innocuous as he possibly could. Olean motioned the pilot to step aside and guided him to the large wooden wheel, standing behind him to place his hands on the spokes and hold them steady. "You see that gray peak ahead?" "Yes...?" "Well, that's it. Keep her pointed." He kissed the Commander's hair and released his hands, holding him round the waist. "She’ll feel fat and wayward for a while. Don't worry. You'll get the feel of her soon." The Commander struggled against it, but could not help laughing 324

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again. "Why are you laughing?" "No reason," he said. "I'm happy." **** At midday they sought shelter from the sun beneath the large swell of the foremost sails. Olean sat against the mast and settled the Commander between his legs, wrapping an arm around him to caress his chest through the open collar of the shirt. The Commander rested his head back on Olean's shoulder and let the sea swells rock him into an agreeable stupor. He was almost dozing when Olean tugged on his beard. "This mad bush really is appalling, you know. You will injure someone with it." The Commander laughed. "Something needs to be done," insisted Olean, laughing as well. "Will you let me?" "Since when have you required my permission to do anything?" Olean turned his face and kissed him. "Will you?" "If it amuses you," said the Commander. Olean refused to wait another instant, and took him below. Apparently his interest in tidiness did not extend to his own quarters, for it was the most disorganized room the Commander had seen in his life. There were charts spread on the desk and the bed and rolling about on the floor. A trunk of clothes in one corner seemed to have exploded and spilled its contents everywhere, and navigation instruments shared space with half-empty bottles of rum. Eidolon would have had Olean flogged in the name of all good seamen. Olean dug a stool out from under a heap of blankets and sat the Commander on it. He combed the unruly beard and trimmed it close, and trimmed a few locks on his head as well. Ayesha had always cut his hair, and the Commander tried not to think about her. Olean was 325

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finished and starting to fondle him avidly when a sailor opened the door. "We've got ourselves a sick woman, Captain. Real sick, she looks. She's got the shakes and she's heaving up whatever you put in her." "Seasick?" asked Olean. "No. Something else." In the hold they found a young girl quaking on bare boards with her arms wrapped tightly about herself. Two sailors stood over her keeping a cautious distance, as if she were a rabid dog. Olean looked her over uncomfortably. "Do we have a woman here that knows about healing?" he asked without much hope. The sailors shook their heads. "It looks like the fever," said one of them thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "Might as well put her out of her misery while there's still time." The girl burst into tears and tried to crawl away, and the Commander glared at the sailor, stepping forward. The sailor gave a little jerk and backed away under his stare. The Commander knelt. When he gathered the girl into his arms, she winced and stared up at him fearfully. He touched her sweating forehead, her throat. He pressed lightly on her belly and she cried out. Then he slipped a hand under her dress and it came out stained with thick blood. The Commander looked up wearily at Olean. "It's not the fever. She's caught a bad chill, that's all. From the looks of her she hasn't been fed a full meal in a month." "What about the pain, then?" asked the sailor with a suspicious frown. The Commander stared at him in disbelief, then held up his bloody fingers. "Are you that ignorant, man?" The sailor sulked and Olean laughed, delighted. "She needs hot water with ginger root," said the Commander. "Warm blankets, some broth when she can stand it, some fruit if you have any. And she needs a rest from your men." 326

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"You want me to waste fruit on a slave?" asked Olean, perplexed. "She won't be worth anything as she is," repliedthe Commander. Olean wavered, then threw up his hands, resigned. "Very well," he said, "if it amuses you." He glared at the sailors. "What are you standing about for? Go get him what he wants and let the women tend to her." "I'll tend to her," said the Commander. The sailors shuffled off, shrugging. Olean squatted down before the Commander and studied him for a time. "You feel sorry for her," he said at last, amazed. The Commander did not comment and Olean laughed. "You are a strange man, Ranger." He straightened with a shake of the head and left the hold. The sailors returned eventually, and after setting down their bundle of goods beat a hasty retreat. The Commander wrapped the girl in fleece covers. He took a small vial from his pocket and drew from it a dried leaf. This he crumbled into the cup of ginger water, and made the girl drink. Almost at once she rested easier in his arms, but she still did not dare look at him. He stroked her hand with feigned distraction, lifting her little fingers onto his palm and caressing them one by one. "You are going to live in a beautiful palace, you know," he told her softly, without looking at her face. "A beautiful palace with bright, scented rooms and flower gardens, and a little serving-boy all your own. There will be grand feasts and all sorts of wonderful things to eat, and you will wear lovely gowns with jewels, and ribbons in your hair. You will sleep on beds of silk and goose down. When you take your nap in the afternoons, your little boy will be there with a fan of peacock feathers to keep you cool. And in the evenings there will be handsome young men to make love to, perfumed and wearing velvet cloaks." He risked a glance at her face. She was staring at him in complete fascination, and this time she did not look away. "It's true," he said. "On my word. I've seen places like that." 327

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She held onto his hand while he kept telling her of the wonders that awaited her, and finally she fell asleep. He noticed then that the other women were watching him, equally spellbound. "Turn away," he said to them. "Go on. Close your eyes." They hesitated, confused, lulled by his voice. He laid the sleeping girl down and crouched behind her, lifting her against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her head. "Turn away," he said again. This time the women understood. After the moment of shock had passed they hid their faces in their hands. The Commander cradled the girl securely in his arms, and broke her neck with one quick, efficient yank. The snapping of the bones was enormously loud. An awful silence settled over the hold. The Commander picked up the girl and carried her toward the stairs. He was already climbing when the women began to weep. It was mid afternoon outside, with a warm wind blowing and low waves rolling mildly by. The sailors lay about resting, trading cards and lies. As the Commander emerged Olean glanced over wearing a satisfied smirk. "Got tired of playing nurse in the dark, did we?" Then he realized the girl was dead, and his smile faded. The Commander walked past him without a word. Olean rose from his seat to follow, looking at the girl. Her head dangled at a crazy angle. One of her arms swung limply as the Commander moved, the flimsy skirt of her dress flapping in the breeze against his legs. The Commander stepped up to the portside rail, and without hesitation flung her into the deep. Olean flinched as if he'd been struck. Sailors scrambled to the rail to watch, agape, as the body floated away and was swallowed by the waves. "Your man was right," said the Commander. "It was the fever. She would have killed all the others." Olean only stared at him. The Commander sat on the rail and lit a cigar, gazing out over the silver sea. 328

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**** Supper in the galley that evening was an inordinately brief and quiet affair. The sailors were all in a foul, nervous mood and gave the Commander a wide berth. Even Olean kept his distance, and the Commander made no effort to talk to him. Deciding it was best to allow them some time he took himself off to the forward deck. It was already night when Olean finally approached. The Commander glanced up at the sound of footsteps on the planks. With only a weak, shrunken moon above he could barely make out Olean's features. They regarded each other for a while. "If it had been I that was sick, would you have done the same to me, and tossed me overboard like that?" asked Olean at last. "Yes," said the Commander without inflection. Olean did not seem surprised. Perhaps a little mournful. The Commander showed no change in expression, but he almost regretted the girl. Olean was not something he wanted to lose. A cloud passed over the moon and everything went black. The ship heaved over a large swell, timbers groaning. A spray of foam surged up the side and wet them lightly. The Commander licked the salty drops from his lips, and then Olean's voice came softly out of the darkness. "Come to bed," he said. "I want to make love to you." The Commander reached out uncertainly and his hand found Olean's chest. Olean pulled him into an embrace, teasing open his mouth for a deep kiss, filling it. The Commander sucked warmly on his tongue, arms wrapping about his waist, and Olean led him below, holding him close so that he would not stumble over unfamiliar ground. They did not make it to the cabin. Halfway down the narrow corridor Olean turned him around and pressed him to the wall, and after fumbling briefly and heatedly with his clothes, entered him. The Commander groaned at the hard, luscious stab of the organ and the spreading of his insides, and Olean bent his head back to silence him 329

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with a kiss. It lasted through drowned sighs and gasps and the churning of their bodies, and they climaxed together, the Commander spilling with frantic jerks into the sheath of Olean's hand. When the delirium of the orgasm finally broke the kiss the Commander bowed his head, panting. His rectum slowly tightened and forced out Olean's cock. Olean remained pressed to his back, nuzzling his hair and the curve of his ear. He massaged the wet member and the loose sack of the testicles until the Commander writhed and pushed his hand away, turning to stand face to face. They kissed again, tender with a momentary weariness. The Commander opened Olean's shirt and mouthed his smooth chest, sucking on each nipple, working his fingers into the damp hollows of his armpits, around his powerful back to feel the spine. Olean reached down to caress his cock once more. The Commander winced and tried to stop him, but Olean pinned his hands to the wood. He struggled ineffectively, without real desire to overcome, which only made the young man smile. He got down on his knees and licked at the twitching organ, tormenting it gently while the Commander moaned. The shaft began to swell, pushing between Olean's moist lips. The Commander turned his head to stare dazedly down the corridor. Lamps swung from bronze hooks like pendulums, their yellow flames burning low. A door creaked open and slapped close with the movement of the ship. He heard the muffled groans of the women and knew the sailors were coupling with them in the hold below. He imagined that it was Elora kneeling before him. Olean blew a cool stream of air onto his damp scrotum and made him shudder. He kissed the flushed penis. The Commander looked down at him and he smiled. "Turn me loose," asked the Commander. Olean stood up and released his hands, stroking the length of his arms. The Commander reached out to caress his hips, the thatch of blond curls at his groin. Olean pressed a palm to his chest, forcing him back against the wall. He held him there, and spanked his 330

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rapidly stiffening sex. The Commander gave a short, surprised gasp. Olean spanked him a few more times, pinched the broad, glistening tip. The Commander touched his face lovingly and said, "Well, kiss me at least." Later, when they had worn themselves out and lay in bed resting, Olean grew somber again. The Commander nestled in the crook of his arm and watched him glare at the wall. "It's not that you killed her," said Olean at last. "It's the way you did it. That kind of killing is not something the men are used to. It makes them nervous." The Commander shifted, irked. "But slitting her throat was all right?" "Be quiet!" snapped Olean. He fumed for a moment, refusing to so much as glance at the Commander. "You lied to me. I don't care if you lie to everyone else, but don't ever lie to me again. Is that clear?" "Yes," replied the Commander mildly. "Don't ever do anything like that again without my permission." "I understand," said the Commander, thinking of a picnic in the forest and a white mastiff with a knife in its heart. "And stop agreeing with me, it's infuriating!" The Commander bowed his head to hide a smile and kissed Olean's chest. "You're as confusing as a woman, you know that?" bristled Olean. The Commander could not keep from laughing. Olean smacked the back of his head, but not hard. "Go to sleep," he ordered, then began to laugh himself. He kissed the Commander's hair and reached across him to put out the light. **** The sailors asked the Commander no more questions about where he had been and what he had done there, but they grew used to his presence, ominous as they found it. Olean seemed to regard him as some sort of pet panther, keeping him on a tight leash and petting 331

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him proudly when he behaved, which was all of the time. In fact, the Commander could not remember such a happy voyage. He discovered that it took no effort on his part to surrender. On the contrary, it was enormously comforting to be mastered. He found owing himself only to a lover restful. There was nothing but pleasure to think about, and nothing but pleasure was demanded of him. It made his days uncomplicated, and he felt that he had escaped himself at last. When the crew finally dropped anchor they were glad to have him. There was no port waiting on this coastline, not even a settlement, only a stone marker on the beach, a few hastily dug graves and an abandoned hut where a sentry had once stood guard at the entrance to the kingdom. The wilderness performed that task well enough. An arid jungle of thorn bushes stretched ahead of them for miles, melting into rocky, sienna-colored hills peppered with desert palms and olive trees. They ferried a set of eight mules ashore. Four wagons were assembled. Olean left a skeleton crew on the round ship, and after a night of repose they set out, twenty men and forty slaves, following the Commander. There was no road to speak of; only a narrow path that seemed to fork at every turn. They had to hack their way through, and by the end of the first march half the men were cut by spines and the other half itching from the heat and the buzzing of insects. At sundown there was nowhere to camp but the path itself. The sailors crowded for shelter under the covered wagons and listened anxiously to the howl of the desert wind, the unidentifiable hoots and hisses and slithering noises coming from the wall of bushes and the call of jackals prowling far away. The women shivered inside the wagons, and Olean sat against a wooden wheel sharpening his daggers while the Commander stared guardedly into the dark. Eventually Olean put away the weapons and drew him back into a loose embrace. The Commander kissed the strong hand resting on his breast, warming with the heat of his body, and pressed it closer to feel the pulsing of his heart against the palm. 332

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Once they reached the hills the land opened up somewhat, but the mules had to work twice as hard to pull the wagons up the curving way, stumbling over loose stones. The water did not last, and when one of the mules collapsed the fourth wagon had to be abandoned, the women in it made to walk. The Commander rode ahead on the spare animal and returned with news of an underground spring spouting from the rocks thirty miles ahead. A dust storm followed with him and pinned them down until evening, but when it lifted Olean pushed them on through another night and made the waterwell by dawn. "Rest them," said the Commander as they stood watching the slaves drink. "Your men are sturdy but they are not; you will lose them if you move too fast. In five days we will reach the canyons, and in three more you will see the city. Be patient." Olean agreed without protest, determined to collect a full fee after such a world of trouble. He let the slaves recover for two days, and by that time even the Commander was impatient to move on. The land was as unsafe as it was disagreeable and they were in no condition to resist an ambush. They built a litter to drag behind the lone mule and sat the women on it by turns, two at a time. The Commander walked ahead leading the animal, and Olean beside him glancing back at the slaves that struggled along on foot. When one of the women stumbled he picked her up to carry on his back. The Commander watched him with pleasure, stubborn and indefatigable under the hot sun. "You would have made a fine soldier," he said sincerely. Olean was flattered, although he tried to conceal it. "I knew a man like you once. Almost as strong as you. They called him the Prince of War." Then he added with a smile, "Infinitely wiser than you, however." Olean glanced at him, and noticed that despite the jesting note in his voice his eyes had turned wistful. "Did you love him?" he asked. "I did," said the Commander. "He was a good friend." "But he was not your lover." 333

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The Commander shook his head. Olean considered this for a while. "Were you ever in love with a woman?" he asked. The Commander felt the tearing of a stab into his stomach, but because it was a memory the pain was dull. He felt the cold of the ice against his face and limbs and saw Elora walking away from him over the snow, her image lopsided. He could not move his head to right her, or call out to make her stop. She glanced back once, expressionless, and then she was gone into the pines. His insides churned with a wave of nausea. He kicked a rock out of the way to hide the falter in his step, and shrugged. "Hasn't everyone been in love with a woman, at one time or another?" "I have not," replied Olean. "I suppose I never had one around long enough." He reflected on this, and ended up looking puzzled. "Out of bed they seem rather dull creatures, don't you think?" The Commander laughed, reviving somewhat. "Well, that depends on the woman. Did you know that Biskra is ruled by a woman?" "It is not." Olean seemed positively appalled. "It is," assured the Commander, enjoying himself. "It is ruled by a king," insisted Olean. "His name is Tanthos; we made our bargain with his people." "True, but the King has a sister. A half-sister, got by his father out of another slave. The girl was raised in the harem and trained to serve, but then the King fell in love with her. So he took her from the harem and set her on the throne as his consort. They say he denies her nothing. She has slaves of her own, and lives almost as free as an Amazon." "Dammned foolish of him if you ask me," snorted Olean. "I agree," said the Commander. "But there it is. You wanted to know about love, didn't you?" The caravan stopped under the shade of an overhanging cliff for a brief rest and a noonday meal. Olean set down the woman he carried and sent her for a water skin. 334

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"Is the Queen beautiful?" he asked the Commander. "I never saw her." He looked up at the red-clay canyons and watched a flock of birds cross above, the beating of their wings echoing loudly in the stillness. "When I visited these parts I never went past the city walls." "Did you go to war here?" pressed Olean with boyish interest. The Commander smiled. He moved to stand before Olean and touched his hand. "Kiss me," he said. Olean drew away and folded his arms, though he was not exactly displeased. "Whenever you do not want to answer a question you ask me to kiss you." He reached out to touch the Commander's abdomen, letting his hand rest against the shirt, over the hidden scar. "I have never asked you about this." "And you should not," replied the Commander gently, firmly. Olean wavered, but could not resist. "Was it over a woman?" he asked teasingly. The Commander frowned, confused. "You have a terrible weakness for women," laughed Olean. "Anyone can see it." The Commander had to smile, which only encouraged Olean further. "Was it?" "No. It was over a dog." "What a liar you are," said Olean, charmed, and kissed him. **** Biskra was a green jewel dropped in the heart of the desert, built on terraces carved around the slopes of a wide, flat-topped hill. The great maze of canyons protected it from one direction and an unbridgeable plain of packed clay and rock from the other. Once the caravan entered its deceptively drab walls of brick-colored earth they found themselves in an oasis fed by underground streams, filled with 335

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palm groves and hanging gardens. The unexpected coolness of the air and the fragrance of lush plants improved the sailors' spirits at once. They climbed its winding streets with renewed vigor, passing crowds of men with dark hair and copper skin who paused to stare after their cargo. Sentries directed them to the slave tanks, and there an older man in a yellow robe who introduced himself as Krona, Chief Steward to the King, met them. He appeared delighted with the slaves, but the sight of Olean and the Commander seemed to give him even greater pleasure. Olean was paid generously and Krona informed him that the King waited to give him audience, expecting to hear from him news of the North Country. As a Ranger sure to be well informed, the Commander was invited to accompany them. The Court formed a sequence of heaped, sprawling buildings rising from one platform to another, studded with pale mosaics and connected by roofed bridges. In the surrounding gardens, women bathed at bubbling streams while sentinels watched over them, standing on filigreed balconies. Krona led Olean and the Commander through a maze of hedges blooming with fleshy, orange flowers. The maze opened onto wider ground and left them facing a building lined by massive stone pillars painted in rings of blue and red. Lords wearing richly embroidered garments hurried past in animated conversation. White peacocks preened under the trees, and leopards pacing within golden cages lined the path to a set of bronze doors that armed guards opened promptly, bowing deeply to the Steward. Olean looked about in awe as they progressed through vaulted corridors and archways fretted with an icing of white stucco, and exquisitely furnished halls, but the Commander began to feel uneasy. Krona glanced at them once too often, regarding them admiringly, his courtesy excessive and his interest too keen. The Commander held Olean back, slowing his pace. "Was this audience arranged beforehand?" he asked quietly. Olean shook his head, still distracted by the opulence of the 336

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rooms. The Commander tightened his grip and Olean finally looked at him, sensing alarm. "What's the matter?" The Commander glanced over his shoulder at a set of doors closing behind them. Another set opened ahead. They were in the throne room, and it was too late. He cursed himself for having allowed it to go so far. It was a mistake he would not have made a month ago. Fooling about with Olean had made him careless. He had come to believe in the role he was playing, and they were both about to pay for it. Tanthos was a man of medium build, with dark bronze skin, slender limbs and mellow black eyes. He was not immediately impressive, but he moved with the leisure of a king. Whatever force his appearance failed to convey was amply made up for by his demeanor and by the pomp that surrounded him. He sat on a very high dais, his golden throne inlaid with mother-of-pearl and padded in apricot silk. A dozen harem girls were gathered at his feet, sitting on damask cushions along the many steps of the high platform, and all around the gilded walls of the chamber stood soldiers in bright coats of mail, lances crossed before their chests. He wore a lime green caftan over a fine white shirt and loose breeches encrusted with precious stones. His silk slippers were also heavily jeweled. "What do you bring us?" he asked his Steward with subtle interest. "My Lord’s cargo of slaves has arrived. I am happy to report that the money is well spent. The women are handsome, and these are the traders. Magnificent. Does my Lord not agree? It is so rare to come by two such men at once." Olean was about to bow, but the Commander prevented it. Tanthos smiled at the gesture of disrespect, which evidenced quickness of mind, and descended slowly from his throne. "Yes," he said, looking up at the Commander and Olean as he came to stand before them. "Very tall, very strong. They should do very nicely." He turned to glance back toward the dais. 337

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"What do you think, my love?" On a chair as splendid as his own reclined a woman with fine, slanted eyebrows and luminous jet-black eyes. Her skin was a perfect, velvety brown, and her black hair was pulled back from a heart-shaped face, falling to her shoulders in a multitude of delicate braids trimmed with gold beads. They swirled and tinkled lightly whenever she moved her head. Her gown too was golden, vaporous and draped closely about her body. She wore emerald anklets, the flashing stones big as thumbnails, and her dainty feet were sheathed in little gold-embroidered slippers. "I think the dark one is clever," she noted with an amused smile. "He does not like you." Tanthos returned his attention to the Commander. "A Ranger, yes?" he asked pleasantly. "I like Rangers. They are resourceful creatures." "You are making a mistake," said the Commander, and before he had finished speaking Tanthos struck him brutally across the mouth, leaving blood on his lip. Olean started and reached for a dagger, but the Commander grabbed his hand. Every soldier in the room had advanced a step, lances pointed. Tanthos never showed any alarm. His mood was ruined, however, and he wasted no more time on games. "It is you who have made the mistake," he said evenly, "letting yourself be tricked so easily into my palace, looking the way you do and with such a companion. A Ranger should know better." The Commander did not attempt to wipe the spot of blood from his mouth. "Take them away," ordered the King. "I will have a look at them tomorrow." Olean struggled as the soldiers grabbed his arms, flinging three off his back before the rest beat him to the floor. The Commander stepped aside and watched impassively, making no move to help, or run. Tanthos applauded Olean when he was finally subdued, his ankles chained and hands tied at his back. 338

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"How wonderful!" he exclaimed with sincere appreciation, and turned a stern eye on the soldiers. "Be careful that you do not damage him." The soldiers bowed and lifted Olean, stunned by the pummeling but still enraged, to his feet. Two of them laid hands on the Commander's shoulders. He remained docile as they started to lead him away, and the King called out, "No, no. Cuff that one as well. That is the more dangerous of the two." They were taken from the palace to a stout, one-storied building that had once been a stable. A group of enormous men practiced hand-to-hand combat in its large interior courtyard, wrestling each other to the dirt. Their trainers held long whips tipped with a link of chain and guided them by blows as well as by words. The gladiators were almost naked, wearing only a snug leather cup that protected their genitals, harnessed around their hips, and thick leather bands around their necks and wrists. Their bodies were marked by years of battle in the pit. Some had lost fingers, or ears; one had even lost an eye. The fighting stopped as the new arrivals were escorted through and the duelists followed the two men with steady, measuring glares. Olean returned the looks furiously, but the Commander did not bother. When Olean glanced at him he appeared simply depressed. The soldiers walked them into a dark stall sealed by iron bars. A bucket of drinking water hung from a peg next to a wooden ladle, covered with linen to keep out the flies. Two grimy blankets had been tossed on the floor. The soldiers relieved them of their weapons, and after removing the cuffs and chains, locked them up. The moment the door had closed Olean hurled himself against it with a roar. The Commander retreated to a corner and settled himself on the straw bedding while Olean continued to storm about in a fury. "Would you stop that racket?" he said finally, when he knew Olean was tired enough to comply without turning the attack on him. "It’s 339

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pointless." Olean glared, panting, and refused to sit down. "You knew about this?" "I misjudged," answered the Commander guiltily, thinking of Jugger. "How long do we have to stay here?" asked Olean. "Until we win?" "Until we die." Olean stared at him in disbelief, and the Commander shrugged. "We are slaves now. It’s a sport like any other; like pitting lions or dogs. In Biskra they use men." He smiled a little. "If you weren’t so damned splendid we would have been safe." Olean sat down at last, shaken. He was silent for a while. "What is it like?" "I knew a man who survived it," replied the Commander. "He was one of their own. He escaped." "They enslave their own men?" "Naturally, if they are strong enough. I would." "How did he escape?" "We cannot do what he did. He found help on the outside." He tried to touch Olean comfortingly and was shoved away. The rejection did not surprise him, but his own lack of tolerance did. He wanted to beat Olean to a pulp, suddenly, which he knew was both foolish and unfair. He decided it was only fear, and a little loneliness, and that it would pass. Olean ignored him for the rest of the day and night. In the morning the trainers came to strip them. They were dressed in leather loincloths belted firmly at the waist. Two wide leather strips crossed over their chests and backs, studded at the shoulders with inch-long iron spikes. Sandals were laced up their calves to the knee and their forearms encased in leather sheaths with rows of steel teeth running down the front. Olean was handed a double-edged battle-axe and the Commander a heavy wooden club spiked with iron at the head. They were led from the stable through a low, narrow tunnel that opened at length into an arena shaped like a half-circle. At their back 340

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was a solid marble wall, and before them a curving theater stretching up the side of the hill. The King and his entourage, seated on thick cushions, watched from under a brocaded awning supported by golden poles on the central tiers. The rest of the theater was empty. The Commander crossed to the foot of the stands and looked up at Tanthos, who held the Queen's hand on his lap. "You are making a mistake," he said again. Tanthos did not acknowledge the address. "Bring out the gladiators," he told his Steward. Krona signaled the trainers with a wave. The gate swung open to release eight men harnessed in leather and spikes, armed with nets, short swords, battle maces and coiled chains. The Commander had no choice but to turn and face them. Olean stood ready by his side as the gladiators advanced slowly toward the center of the field. "Are you frightened?" asked Olean quietly. The Commander nodded. "Me too." The Commander glanced at him tenderly. "Stay behind." "I'm not that frightened," snapped Olean, taking a step forward. The Commander smiled but held him back. "Leave it to me. A gladiator is of no value if he does not make the fight entertaining." He moved ahead, his eyes bent on the leader of the group, and dropped his club to the sand. This was a terrible slight. The gladiator charged at once. The Commander waited for him, and as the battle mace rose to smite him down he punched a hand against the man's neck. The gladiator jerked to a halt and fell like a stone, and the Commander was left holding a bloody mess of organs in his fist. The rest of the pack froze while the man twitched briefly on the ground, blood spurting from his torn-out throat. The Commander looked at each of them in turn, staring until they lowered their eyes and he was sure they would not take another step. He walked back to the stands and held out his arm, opening his 341

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fist to show the King the tube of the windpipe. Then he turned his palm over and let it drop with a splatter to the hot sand. Tanthos had blanched, and now rose from his seat, livid. He stormed from the awning without a word, away up the marble stands. Trainers hurried into the arena and threw the Commander face down in the dust, tying his wrists behind him. Olean did not resist when his own arms were grabbed and bound. They were rushed back into the tunnel while the shocked gladiators watched, hardly noticing their collars or the leashes tugging on them. "How could you do that?" hissed Olean. "I will not live like this," answered the Commander. "I refuse." Olean had meant something else entirely. "Who are you?" "I am your Ranger," said the Commander. "I will always be that." **** The King waited for them in a palace courtyard that boasted a whipping post at its center. The Queen also was there, accompanied by her maidens, along with a bevy of soldiers and noblemen. Among the gathered slaves were several of the women Olean had delivered, wearing silk gowns embroidered with jewels and ribbons in their hair, and attended by lovely little boys carrying plumed fans. Tanthos yanked a rawhide whip from the hand of one soldier and strode toward the Commander without waiting for him to be fettered. The trainers fell back quickly, pulling Olean with them. The Commander tensed and turned away his face. And suddenly the new slaves rushed forward to encircle him. Tanthos balked, astonished. The fragile shield of colorful dresses and unmarred flesh solidified into a tight cluster, and the girls glanced fearfully at him, their naked arms and backs exposed, but they clung to the Commander and to each other all the same, determined to protect him. The Commander stood paralyzed in their midst, at once shaken and solaced by the warm press of their soft 342

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bodies. He had never been so feebly or so courageously defended in all his life. He tried to move when Tanthos raised the whip again, but the women did not break their huddle, wrapping their arms about his torso and his shoulders, hiding their faces against his chest and his back. "Wait," said the Queen. Tanthos stopped. All his anger seemed to recede when he looked at her. She stepped gracefully to the circle of slaves, her long gown training behind her, rustling against the paving stones. "Let me through," she told them. "I will not hurt him." The women bowed submissively and opened a narrow path. They did not relinquish their hold on the Commander, however, keeping close, clasping his bound arms. The Queen stopped directly before him. She appeared vaguely repelled by the sweat and dust on his body, but his face interested her, and she examined it with curiosity. "And what have you done," she asked, "to deserve such loyalty?" The Commander knew at once that she was nearly in his power. All he had to do was play the moment carefully to turn his luck. He kept his gaze soft and lowered, and waited until she reached out to touch his cheek, as he had guessed that she would. Then he knelt before her and bent over to kiss her slipper, affecting enough longing to flatter her and enough abject humility not to risk offending the King. He straightened, unbalanced by his tied arms and glad that the effort showed, and remained on his knees with his head bowed. "I like him," said the Queen, stroking his dirty hair. "I should like to keep him." She glanced briefly at Olean, who stared with undisguised amazement from the circle of trainers. "I should like to keep both of them." She turned her eyes on the King. "May I?" Tanthos wavered, smiled indulgently and tossed the whip aside. She returned to his side, cheered and attentive, and took his arm as they left the courtyard followed by his retinue. "And I should like a little room to keep them in," she told him gaily. "I do not want them loose around all your girls. I want them all to myself." "But of course you do," laughed the King. "Krona will see to it at 343

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once." Olean could not recover from his surprise, and yielded numbly as soldiers led him away along with the Commander. "This woman is everything to us," the Commander told him, seemingly unaware of their escorts. "She can make our lives very pleasant or cut them very short, so I expect you to behave with great delicacy and obedience, and be grateful to her and for her. Is that understood?" His tone was exceedingly sharp. It shook Olean from his stupor, and he hesitated, flung into yet another situation he knew nothing about and was not prepared to handle. This kind of enslavement was more disconcerting to him than the fighting pits, and more humiliating. The fact that his life had been saved did not lessen the sting. He nodded grudgingly. That the speech was aimed not only at checking him but also at mollifying the soldiers never occurred to him, or to them. They relaxed as they had been meant to, so much that when they reached the grooming chambers of the harem, they left their prisoners in the charge of unarmed boys without any misgivings. Fortunately for them the Commander had no intention of escaping. He was very safe and comfortable where he was, he found the Queen exquisite and looked forward to enjoying her, and furthermore, he believed the experience would benefit Olean immensely. He glanced around the grand apartment with satisfaction as the boys led him to a broad, marble tub. There were no women in sight and the room was in a state of slight disarray. He knew it had been cleared quickly and especially for them. The boys untied his hands and removed his filthy leather gear. He lowered himself into the cool water, smiling at Olean, and held out his arms to be bathed. Olean stared, watching the boys with puzzlement and a hint of contempt. They were bare-chested and still girlishly slender, their loose, ruby-red pantaloons tied at the waist with delicate, gauzy bands. He could have broken all their necks, and all this refinement seemed idiotic to him, offensive. 344

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The boys made a great, delighted fuss over cleaning the Commander's bloody hand. He was shampooed and patted dry, rewarded with many smiles and gentle words for his tameness. They sprinkled him with perfumed talc and dusted off the excess with mink brushes. He was dressed in flowing pantaloons of very fine linen, blue to match his eyes, and with a broad silver sash tied carefully at the waist to hide his unattractive scar. A long, many-stranded necklace of turquoise and lapis lazuli was clasped on to rest against his wide chest, and they pierced his ears with a quick little stab, fitting him with dangling turquoise earrings to suit the necklace. His hair was combed and dabbed with fragrance, and his eyes lined in kohl. Then they circled him, adjusting, arranging, regarding their creation proudly. One of them tapped his leg with a slender crop and indicated that he should sit. The Commander settled himself placidly on the divan he had been pointed to. Another boy approached and offered fresh dates from a ceramic bowl. The Commander ate one, and winked at the boy. The little groom blushed from head to toe and went away giggling. Olean was enticed by the Commander's new aspect, but submitted to his own grooming stiffly. He flinched furiously when his ears were pierced and the boys scattered nervously to a safe distance. The Commander cleared his throat, fixing him with a warning glare. Olean sulked, but allowed the boys to continue. "She’ll never make a pet out of me," he said, "no matter how many tassels they drape on. Let's get out of here. They are only boys." "And what happens when we meet the soldiers outside? And the desert after them? How far do you think we will get, half-naked and with nothing but jewels to eat?" Olean didn’t argue. He was not such a fool as to believe escape possible and spoke only out of injured pride, threatening because he could not act. The Commander understood that the rantings meant nothing; Olean was simply seeking comfort in the sound of his own voice. But in the presence of the Queen words like these could be dangerous, so he did not encourage them. 345

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"I know you desire her," he told Olean. "I saw how you looked at her. Why are you complaining when she is about to be yours?" "I do not want her like this." "Only because you think she will treat you the way you treated me. Perhaps it will be different." Olean was taken aback. He sounded wounded when he spoke. "I thought you enjoyed the way I treated you." "I did," said the Commander. "I do. But you are not me." Olean's shoulders sank a little with the weight of the statement. Then, briefly, he looked angry. In the end, however, he only smiled. The Commander felt a rush of fatherly pride mixed with sadness. He had broken the illusion, and he believed that nothing between them would be again as it had been on the ship. It was a painful loss for him, yet Olean showed a steadiness of temper in facing it that he had not expected, and that revealed to him more of a man than he had guessed at. The boys had finished their work, and Olean was ravishing sight. A pleated white kilt reached down to his ankles, his bare chest adorned with strands of gold beads and opals. His green eyes appeared especially brilliant within their black outline of kohl, and golden dust had been sprinkled over his shoulders and in his hair, making him glimmer like a temple statue. The Commander felt an irresistible longing to kiss him and the boys did not protest, allowing their mouths to meet but keeping their hands at their sides. Olean drew back first and kissed the Commander’s forehead. As he was taller it came easy, and the Commander opened his eyes, unbalanced by the gesture. The boys fetched two sets of solid-gold manacles, but they were made for women and would not fit around the large bones. So the boys made the men cross their wrists and wound two delicate pearl necklaces about them instead, fastened by a thin, jeweled brooch. "This is ridiculous," protested Olean. "This wouldn’t hold anybody." "That is precisely the point," said the Commander. "Be careful 346

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that you do not break it." Olean looked contained, and even curious as the boys led them through the palace halls, but when they crossed over that last bridge toward what was obviously the Queen's chamber he started to fidget irritably. "Are you frightened?" asked the Commander playfully. Olean managed to smile. "I think I will stay behind you this time." The young grooms sent them through the chamber doors alone, disappearing in a swift, quiet blur of red cloth. They found no other servants within. The room was comfortably shaded, cool in spite of the noonday sun burning up the sky outside its windows. The Queen lay in a tangle of fresh, white sheets strewn across a rose-colored divan. She was wearing only the gold beads in her hair and a bracelet with cut rubies curving delicately around one wrist. Olean faltered when he saw her and the Commander had to discreetly elbow him forward. They could tell she had just made love, but whoever the man had been, perhaps her brother, he was gone. The Commander stopped at a polite distance from her. Olean imitated him and stared, entranced. The Queen did not invite them closer with her eyes, but neither did she reprove them their enjoyment of her beauty. Her dark nipples were softly erect and her flawless brown skin still moist from her coupling. Her knees were a little flushed, as if she had knelt between her lover's legs, and her lips not quite parted in an infuriatingly enigmatic and lovely smile. One of her hands rested casually over her pubis, leaving only the soft shadow under her curving belly visible, reminding them subtly that she was out of their reach unless and until she chose to offer herself. She was propped up on one elbow, supported by a bank of pillows, and her black braids fell over her shoulder down into the crook of her arm, like ropes woven of raw and shining wool. The stones of her bracelet gleamed in spurts as she lazily turned her wrist this way and that. In her hand she held a small cluster of violets in full bloom. She was slowly stroking the underside of her breast with the tender petals, a flower or two having dropped 347

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from her grasp onto the rumpled white sheets. She turned her attention to the Commander, who was the more composed of the two, and, for the moment, the real object of her fancy. "What you did for that poor, sick girl was unusual," she told him. "Particularly for such a killer as you. Few men can kill like that, even Rangers. The King was very impressed." She paused, but he kept silent. "Could you teach him to do it?" "If he likes," replied the Commander. "Would he be strong enough?" she asked doubtfully. "You would be strong enough. It is not a question of force." He studied her, and added temptingly, "Would you like me to teach you?" The Queen hesitated, taken aback. "No," she said finally, carelessly. "I have no use for it. And a slave should know her place. Even if she is a Queen." She rose and came very near to him. She played with the jewels on his chest. The Commander understood her veiled warning, and realized he had strayed close to making a serious mistake. But he did not regret his offer. He knew something else about her now, and although the suggestion had frightened her it attracted her as well. She was even more interested than before. "You have not thanked me," she told him, aiming a provocative glance up at his eyes. "I apologize," he answered with a noble air of contrition. "I am enormously grateful for your having spared my life." "Oh no," she corrected him, giving a dismissive wave, "not for that." She gestured toward Olean. "Aren't you pleased that I have brought you your toy to play with? Wasn't that thoughtful of me?" Olean reddened, but to his credit he held his peace. "Actually," explained the Commander, perfectly sober, "I am his." The Queen wavered, astonished. Then she laughed. "I do not believe you," she told him merrily. Olean looked ready to tear the pearls off his wrists and strangle her, and the Commander was trying to figure out exactly how to handle that debacle when to his horror she left his side to approach 348

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Olean. The young pirate glared at her with fists clenched, and the Commander was about to intervene when she asked, "Was it difficult to make him yield?" Her attention was complete and genuine, and Olean weakened in purpose. The Commander was relieved to see his great shoulders relax, and wondered if this was his first conversation with a woman whom he was not giving orders to. "Very," answered Olean wearily, surprising the Commander. "He did not think so, of course." "How do you mean?" "Oh, he thinks he's a perfect lamb," continued Olean, calming further, "but he only gives what he chooses. The rest nobody can take from him." He raised his bound hands to the Queen. "You and I are like this necklace. He is very careful not to break it, but you can always feel him pressing on the strand." The Queen laid a familiar hand on his elbow and they regarded the Commander for a moment, standing side by side like a pair of old friends. "Yes," she said. "I am sure that you are right." The Commander could not have spoken to save his life. He stood there completely taken aback, excluded and on display and trying not to laugh at himself. "I do not like that beard," complained the Queen. "I did not like it, either," replied Olean. She pointed vaguely to a chair near the Commander. "Sit down." On a stand beside the chair was a silver tray holding a pitcher and washbasin, soap cakes and a dauntingly sharp bronze razor. The Commander took his place obligingly. The Queen lathered his face and Olean watched with pleasure, beginning to enjoy himself. "My brother is very kind to me," she said casually once she had the razor at his throat. "I love him very much. It would disappoint me if you were to displease him again." Olean tensed, his smile fading. The Commander watched her, placid, and did not attempt to move. He saw Olean shift his weight 349

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menacingly and signaled him to be still with a discreet movement of his tied hands. The Queen noticed it all, but she revealed nothing. She finished her work in silence, cleaned off the streaks of lather with a damp cloth, then knelt at the Commander's feet to admire him. The Commander glanced at Olean, who gazed back drowsily, distracted by the stern beauty of his face and having momentarily forgotten the Queen's threat. "There," she said. She turned to Olean. "What do you think?" "He looks like a king." "I think he is a king," she said dreamily. "A king in exile. Are we not fortunate that he came to us?" The Commander smiled. "You should have been a king, Ranger," she told him. "You must have served a very great one." When she tried to touch his cheek he reached out and stopped her. She gave a small jolt but let him lower her hand. He freed himself from the pearls, careful not to damage them. The Queen fell back to sit on her haunches as he stood up, and he lifted her by the elbows, placing her on the chair. He ran the pearls slowly and deliberately through his fingers, letting her look at them. She showed disbelief, but no opposition, as he took her wrists and guided them to her back, wrapping the necklace about them and leaving her tied to the chair. Standing behind her, he lifted the braids away from her neck to kiss it. She gave a little shudder. The Commander walked around her, running his hand over her shoulder and down the curve of her breast to her stomach, finally resting it on her thigh. He knelt before her and parted her legs, pressing gently until they were spread wide. Then he wet a cake of soap and caressed her sex with it, slipping it into the folds and over her pubic mound, lathering the black curls. When he picked up the razor, she stiffened. He stroked the inside of her thigh with the backs of his fingers. The silence in the room had become absolute, oppressive. He could hear her shallow breaths, and the uncertain shift of Olean's feet on 350

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the carpet. He kept stroking her lightly, looking into her ebony eyes until she surrendered her trust and calmed a little, and then he began to shave her. First he cleared the triangle of hair on her groin, dipping the razor in water every once in a while, his movements paused and his eyes on his hands. He noticed her thighs relax, and the almost imperceptible slackening of her stiff back. When the warm, fragile skin of her mound was bare he moved to her sex, opening the plumcolored lips with his fingers, working the razor carefully over them. And touching here there, having waited until she was defenseless, he spoke. "I will obey you in all things," he said softly. "But you must never make me fight again." She froze, and he ignored her, moving the blade slowly and evenly, letting her savor her fear for a moment, the way she had let him feel his. He did not want her to panic, however. The rise to that instant was a familiar path to him, he knew how to measure and exploit it, and just before she reached it he released her. He stopped to clean the razor and raised his eyes to her face. Her fright passed away and she smiled, conceding. He had established his boundaries, and she could live with them. He continued to shave her. She held very still for him, but as he progressed her sex ripened and filled under his fingers. Her sensuousness excited him and he had to remind himself not to hurry. When he finished he poured clean water from the pitcher over her, rinsing away the remaining suds. Then he bowed his head and lapped at the trickling water and the salty fluids seeping from her. The Queen moaned, arching her hips, and he pressed on her knees to keep her thighs wide. The flesh of her bare sex was impossibly soft, more delicate than any breast and more succulent than any mouth, and the flow of her juice quicker over the naked lips. He knew that she could feel him with twice the intensity, just as he could explore her with twice the closeness, having stripped her of her last shield. His tongue dipped into her opening, and when she pushed against him, he groaned. His cock began to stiffen. He sucked 351

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gently on her clitoris, trying to subdue his own heat. He heard the necklace break and the dull, confused taps of the pearls as they scattered over the rug. Then her hands closed on the back of his head and he drew back, for he knew that if she put her arms about him he would not be able to resist taking her. She opened her eyes. He had been too swift for her to hold on to, but now she leaned forward and tried to rise. He held her down to the chair. Her face was very close and her breath sweet and hot. He pressed his mouth to hers and her braids caressed his cheek. The sensation made him quiver, now that he too had no pelt left to protect him. He smelled the perfumed oils in her hair and tasted a bead of sweat on her lip. Gently he forced her from him, and knowing that it would surprise and delight her, crawled on all fours to Olean. What the young pirate felt was difficult to make out. He looked astonished, aroused, unsure and eager to master at the same time. The Commander knelt up and took hold of his large wrists. He kissed the pearls. With a soft push he moved the bound hands aside and nuzzled his erection through the thin covering of the kilt, then opened his jaws to mouth it. He bit delicately on the girth of the shaft and Olean flinched with pleasure. The Commander clasped his wrists again before he could tear the necklace. He got to his feet and maneuvered Olean slowly and deftly towards the bed, giving him brief kisses on the lips and chest, backing away as Olean followed without ever needing to be drawn forward by their intertwined hands. Soon the Commander had him sitting still, his long legs stretched out and his back to the carved headboard covered in bright, silken cushions. He remained temptingly crouched in front, stroking his groin and lulling him with a tranquil smile. When the white kilt was damp he opened it and mouthed the testicles, holding the moist, rigid cock pressed up against Olean's belly. Olean caressed his head. He made no further attempts to free himself. The Queen gazed at them, bewitched, still sitting on the chair with her legs carelessly spread apart. To watch the Commander yield was quite different from hearing about it, and at first she had been taken 352

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aback. She saw that Olean had been right, that despite his size and apparent power, and despite the Commander's docile attentions, nothing being given could have been compelled. It was altogether clear who was really in charge. But she saw something more important, something that both men failed to notice. The Commander was enchanted and bending of his own will, and did this not in fact make it a truer submission, and give Olean greater power than any amount of force? It amused her for a moment, but then it made her sad. That the magnificent Ranger should be so blind to his own need made him seem suddenly a lost soul: strong and audacious, to be sure, but still lost, painfully adrift in his odd innocence. She knew that he would never conquer what he could not define, and wondered who it was that he truly longed to be vanquished by. The Commander pulled away and for once Olean did not pursue. The Commander walked to the Queen and gathered her into his arms. He carried her to the bed, and cradling her before him, made her straddle Olean's lap. Roused from her tender, whirling thoughts she looked at the young man, so massive, so beautiful, staring ravenously at her but still unmoving. The Commander slipped his hands between her thighs, and parting the lips of her slick, naked sex, guided her onto Olean's cock. He felt the broad head slide in and the immediate pulsing of the organ, and then he said to Olean, "Be gentle, now." Olean quickened. His breaths became ragged as the Commander's fingers pressed on his shaft, massaging it, working it slowly into the Queen, but he did not attempt to thrust, and his hands remained crossed tightly over his chest. The Queen moaned, her walls kneading the organ as it sank deeper, firm and luxuriously hot. The Commander cupped her breasts and leaned against her back, urging her forward. Olean bowed his head to suck her nipples and rub his face into the swell of soft flesh. The Commander watched with a pleased detachment as the Queen finally reached out and grasped Olean's shoulders. Her body arched 353

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eagerly and her eyes closed. Olean rocked into her, groaning, mouthing her full breasts. The Commander took his wrists one last time, and pulled them apart, breaking the strand. Both Olean and the Queen started, trembling as the pearls cascaded over their loins, and the Commander guided Olean's hands to her thrusting hips. He governed their coupling for a while, until the first surge of furor had passed, and then he left them locked in a kiss, grinding easily against one another. He knew that Olean would behave with courtesy, and that there was nothing left to protect him from. There were small oranges on a table by the balcony doors and he took one outside with him. He leaned on the marble railing and peeled off the thick skin of the orange, enjoying the feel of its hot juice on his fingers. He gazed down the green hill at the red canyons beyond. Life promised to be very pleasant in Biskra. He told himself, in an idle way, that he might stay a while. One month perhaps, or two, dividing himself between the mistress who had chosen him and the master he had chosen, and giving himself a rest from remembrance. **** He stayed two years. Time got away from him, or rather, he let it go. There were no seasons to mark its passing in the desert and he pretended he was wading through the same, eternal spring. But he began to miss the sight of snow on the plains and the smell of thick woods, and other things he dared not name. He dreamed of cedar trees, of their perfume carried on the wind over white walls and through terrace curtains, of white sheets against his skin in the afternoon, of white roses in black hair, and of jagged blue mountains holding up the sky. One night he awoke to the sound of screaming. Olean was shaking him and drawing him close, his heart was thumping violently, and he was panting as though he had run miles. He could not recall the nightmare, but the horror lingered and was enough to make him never want to sleep again. He realized the screams had been his own 354

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and leaned into Olean's chest, shaking like an animal, his breaths erratic and too shallow to fill his lungs. "There," whispered Olean, stroking his hair. "It is gone. You are with me now." The Commander let himself be rocked, trying in vain to relax. "My poor Ranger. It has never been so bad before." The Commander hesitated, confused. "What do you mean, before?" "You have dreamed awful dreams for months now, more and more of them, tossing and sweating, and I had to soothe you in your sleep. But never like this." He kissed the Commander's damp forehead and waited for the trembling to subside. "Who is Elora?" he asked then, carefully. The Commander was too worn out to do anything but sigh. He withdrew from the embrace and gazed for a while at Olean, his eyes growing slowly accustomed to the dimness of the chamber. It was a lovely little room overlooking a garden and the rocky mouth of a spring. He could hear the mild, gurgling rush of the water now that the beat of his heart had stopped ringing in his ears. He had been happy in this bed, being made love to by Olean, and being held like a toy until morning when the boy-grooms would come. But he could not ignore any longer that he did not belong to this room or to this man, and that he would poison everything if he stayed. His only relief was that he knew Olean delighted in him, but did not depend on him. It was not love, and there would never be another Ayesha on his conscience. "I must go home," he said. "I must, or I will kill us all." "Go home?" asked Olean, bewildered. "How?" "Never mind how. I will leave tomorrow night." He hesitated for a moment. "I cannot take you with me, but I will return you to your freedom and your ship, if that is what you want." Olean smiled, realizing. "Which you could have done two years ago." "Perhaps," said the Commander evasively. "Yes," he admitted. 355

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Olean laughed softly. Then he shook his head. "No. I have found a woman who interests me at last. I will not divide myself from her. She is mine, in her own way, and I will always be grateful that you gave her to me." He caressed the Commander's cheek. "I will miss you, though. I will miss my Ranger." The Commander kissed his fingers and the palm of his hand. Olean allowed him to rest his face against its warmth, eyes closed. "She will be waiting for you," he said, "whoever she is. I cannot imagine someone who would not." The Commander felt enormous sadness at having to tear himself from these affections, crippled by that unreasonable and unconquerable need of moving on when in his heart he knew he was moving towards nothing. "Take me once more," he asked Olean. "Once more, just the two of us." They kissed and Olean obliged, drawing him to his feet. His hands slid around to the back of the Commander's thighs, parting his legs. The Commander squatted slightly to keep his mouth on Olean's and his tongue inside, and Olean startled him by grasping him firmly and lifting him up. He tensed and grabbed onto the straining shoulders. Olean laughed and planted a light, soothing kiss on the side of his neck. After a moment the Commander relaxed. Surely if anyone was strong enough it would be this man. He wound his legs about the wide, silken hips, let himself be carried across the room and held steady against a wall. Olean's fingers touched the sultry mouth of his anus and he quivered, and then he felt something harder, infinitely more paralyzing than a cock driving into him. It was cold and ridged, and he knew at once that it was a thick, rounded taper plucked from its holder. Olean nibbled on his lips but he pulled away, sighing with the delicious, debilitating shock of the entry. He tried to move but it was impossible. All he could do was cling to Olean and let himself be used. The candle shifted, grinding slowly as it was fitted into him, sending exquisite tremors crawling through his loins and his taut 356

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thighs. His cock pulsed against Olean's stomach and he could feel Olean's member rising, its thick, velvet head nudging his testicles like a tongue. "I am yours, too," he whispered, his voice shaking, "in my own way. No one has ever taken me like you have. You must believe me." "I believe you," said Olean, kissing him. "I believe you." **** The next night, he waited until Olean and the Queen were asleep. He disentangled himself from their loose embrace and crossed her chamber, and pushing open a leaf of the heavy doors he slipped outside. The two guards on duty glanced drowsily at him. One yawned. They had long ceased to consider him a threat. They were used to seeing him leave in this way, naked and quiet, and they only waited for Olean to follow. He broke their necks before they had risen fully from their chairs, and dressed himself in the garments of the larger, taking his sword and his visored helmet. He left the bodies propped up and concealed by the shadows so that from a distance they were only silhouettes, dozing at their post. He crossed the vast halls and the gardens to the palace gates, needing no more than a salute to get through. In the city he stole a horse and a water-skin, and with a nod and a wave to the wall sentries he went from Biskra into the dark. He moved all night and rested his mount in the morning, and following the path of hidden wells Jugger had shown him so long ago, he rode north. It was weeks to the nearest seaport. The wells grew fewer and farther between as he pushed on. He had to move guardedly and choose his ground with care in order not to leave tracks, which slowed him down even more. He arrived half-blind from exhaustion at the edge of the sea, but there in a town without name he sold the parched horse and the fine bronze armor to a blacksmith who did not ask questions, and cloaked again in the anonymous green of a Ranger, he disappeared. 357

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It took him two months to make his way back, buying passage in small ships that sailed only to the next port along the coast, and there seeking passage again. When his money was gone he sold himself out as a sailor. It was early summer when he finally reached the borders of his former domain. He entered it from the south, and riding on the wagon of a silk merchant who had offered him conveyance in exchange for his protection from thieves, saw the Mountains of the Moon appear to his right and the distant blur of the White City ahead, nestled under their shade. The merchant left him at a farming village whose inhabitants he found swept into a flurry of excitement. He saw them hanging flower garlands and swaths of black muslin along the main road crossing town. The men had left their fields early and the tavern had put forth its best ale in expectation of some holiday and a profitable night of merry drinking. He approached an old man sunning himself on a step facing the modest square, and nodding a greeting, sat down beside him. Together they watched the dirt road being swept, and slave-girls rushing past with more coiled garlands and dyed cloth to drape from balconies. "Is there a carnival coming?" asked the Commander. "It seems an awful lot of fuss for a band of players." "The Company of Nine rides through this evening," said the old man. "What is that?" "You are not from these parts, are you, Ranger?" "I have been away some years." "You must have gone very far, not to have heard of the Company. But surely you have heard of the Commander. There are none who have not heard of him." "I only heard that he was dead," said the Commander carelessly. "Ah yes," replied the old man. "Ambushed during a raid and killed by the Amazons. But there was a girl who loved him. She 358

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followed into the mountains where he had died, and dared even to enter the Stronghold. She pled herself a fugitive and tricked the Amazons into letting her join their ranks. Nobody knows where she came from, but she must have been a warrior of old, for she grew strong there, and won wars for them. They valued her so highly that they made her a member of The Council, which none but an Amazon raised in the forests is ever admitted to. She was even in the Queen's bed, they say. In that bed she killed Hipolita, and burnt her palace to cinders with all of its riches in it. The Stronghold has not recovered to this day. It sits quiet and sealed among the peaks." He gazed pensively across the square and stroked his long, unkempt beard, remembering better days perhaps, and smiling a bitter smile at the touch of his own decay. "Now his name will never be forgotten. Imagine the sort of man who could inspire such a love that it would bring a kingdom down with it." The Commander faltered. He spoke uncertainly, confusing the facts in his perturbation. "And the girl? The girl died?" The old man cackled, delighted by the magnificence of his tale, and shifted to a more comfortable position on the step. "That is the bite of it. She took his captured men with her and came down to the low country while the Stronghold was still in flames. Nine riders against an army of thousands, and they were not caught. These days she wanders through the land, on the very black horse that he used to ride, from kingdom to kingdom, fighting any war that needs winning, the only Amazon ever to roam free among men. It was she who stopped the southern hordes at the shores of the great lake, she who killed Megante and kept Balidor his crown. It was her sword that ended the battle of the Five Hundred and kept the eastern roads clear, settling the feud between the brothers. She has a way with soldiers, armies will follow her anywhere. They call her Lachesis, Disposer of Lots. The eight she rides with are White City Raiders, and three women, Amazons perhaps, who loved her so well they betrayed their own kind for her. One of them is a powerful witch." 359

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The Commander stared at the paving stones beneath his feet, numb. "Does she ride to the White City?" "No. They fear her there. The lords think she will take their army and their ruling power although, so far, she has not attempted it." The Commander wiped his sweating palms on his thighs. He had become pale and the old man laid a hand on his shoulder. "You look unwell, Ranger. Rest here from your journey. Take a room at the inn and watch the Company pass, and then you will see how beautiful she is. A young, shapely thing with hair black as her armor and silver eyes like a bird, and perfect, perfect skin. They say she has never been wounded. They say it cannot be done. The gods are with her, and she is protected by the spell of the witch." "Does she have a lover?" "I suppose she has many. She is an Amazon, after all. There are young princes so enchanted by her that they have offered her their hands in marriage. She will be a queen someday, mark my words. The land only waits for her to choose." The Commander had just enough coins for a room. It left him without any to buy food, but he could not have stomached anything after this, so it made no difference. He sat by the window with the drapes half-drawn and waited for the clatter of hooves on the street below. The sun was beginning to fail when he heard the crowds running to gather along the path. The throng of bodies pressed together and their murmurs faded, and then the sound of prancing horses drifted to him. He stood up, shielded from view by the drapes in case she happened to glance up. He knew that the chance was less than slight and his precautions absurd, but he needed some protection, even if was only the thin veil of a curtain. He felt oddly insensible and drained of reason, and feared the mere sight of her would somehow crush him. The cloth fluttered with the breeze as he held it near his face, and then in the orange evening light he saw the multitude shift and the nine chargers appear, moving in bulk up the little road. 360

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Elora rode with her helmet under her arm and the reins held short while the Hellchild tossed his head, his ears snapping fractiously. Her wavy, shining hair was loose, undulating down her back with the movement of the horse. She looked a miracle all in black, lovelier even than he remembered. Her face was girlish still, but her confidence had become palpable and she was a woman now, self-contained, and complete. Jugger and the princess Rowena flanked her. The princess rode The Elegant, her tall frame made more formidable by the wide iron shoulders of her armor, her blue eyes blazing with that same cold, calm fire. The witch, he guessed, for what else would the peasants call her? Eidolon followed on his chestnut stallion, proud and golden, and beside him was that slave girl from the picnic, the one Elora had tried to save, riding Ayesha's white mare. Flan, Tyke and Zurco came last, with Jugger's girl, but of course she was Jugger's girl no more. The villagers did not cheer or salute. They merely stared at Elora. She met their eyes with an aplomb surely come of having lived through many such scenes, so many that she did not notice the garlands or the swirls of muslin displayed in honor of her colors. She did take interest in the faces, however, and smiled with quiet satisfaction. Then the company was passing out of sight and the Commander let the curtains slip from his fingers, falling shut. He groped blindly for the chair behind him and slowly sat down. He felt none of the emotion he had expected, and he wondered where his feelings had gone. The spectacle on the street seemed remote to him; the riders strangers. Though he knew the old man's story must be true he could not take his place in it. It was as if all of it had happened to somebody else, as if Elora were a thing unknown and untouched and had avenged a man he had never met. He sat up late into the night sorting out the details of her dress. The texture of her gloves, the turn of her black cape, the sword with sapphires on the hilt that he knew he had never seen before, but whose description was somehow familiar to him, like some object 361

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imagined in a dream. He tried to link what he had been told to the girl he had loved, but failed. He snatched at random scenes in his memory, trying to discover how he could have gone so wrong in believing that she had not cared deeply for him, that her affections had been an illusion brought on by inexperience and an overly generous spirit. The idea that he might have erred brought him no happiness. On the contrary, it seemed an insupportable waste of love, and he could keep control of himself only by resisting it. He walked out of the village before dawn, tracking the nine horses over the plain and through scattered patches of woods to the pass between the White City and the mountains. He followed their trail with no clear purpose, certain only of having no choice in the matter. Some miles before the great river he hesitated, remembering his faithful nurse, and turning aside, climbed into the foothills. The woodcutter’s cottage stood as he had left it, with the pony grazing nearby and Uthra sitting on the wooden step mending an old skirt. She glanced up when he emerged from the trees, and smiled casually, as if he had wandered off for an afternoon stroll rather than two years of absence. "There you are, my Lord," she said. "Handsome as ever." He pulled her to her feet and kissed her brown hand, and when she embraced him he finally felt how much she had worried. She held him tightly for long moments, and then she knelt, though he tried to prevent it, and kissed his hands and his knees. She would not allow him to speak until she had given him water to drink and filled his empty purse with gold. He could not guess where she had obtained it, and he preferred not to ask. Even as an old slave she had her ways in and out of the most peculiar places. "You have stayed away too long, Commander," she told him finally. "Is it true?" "Then you have heard." "I have seen her," he confessed. "From a distance." Uthra rose from the table and went to a cupboard, taking from it a little box of polished tin. "I have something for you." 362

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She opened the box on the table and handed him a long, curling lock of black hair tied with thin silk ribbon. "I found it at the waterfall on the day the Stronghold burned." The Commander stared at the lock for a moment, trembling slightly in his open hands, and abruptly he burst into tears. Uthra had never seen him weep. It distressed her in the way children are distressed by any sign of weakness in a parent, and she withdrew from the room, embarrassed and helpless. She sat outside on the step and listened to him sobbing, trying to comfort herself with the hope that they might be tears of joy. But when he quieted at last and she returned within she saw that she had hoped in vain. He was absolutely devastated. He was himself again, however, and the grief was blanketed by a calm, purposeful expression, so that to the untrained eye he appeared simply deep in thought. He stared at an indistinct point on the floor, and once in a while he glanced at the lock of hair, which he had left lying on the table. "You will go to her, of course," ventured Uthra after she had run out of little tasks to keep her in the room. "I was unfair to Ayesha," he said in response. "I never loved her as well as she loved me and we both knew it. She was such a delicate creature, and I stripped her of all her defenses, until she could not survive without me. Elora was never that frail. I always knew she would pass from me, in one way or another. She has earned her adventure. I have had mine, and it is her turn. I will not let her bury herself under my wing, becoming little and obscure again. That is not what she wants. I saw it in her face." Uthra took up the lock of hair and shook it at him. "But here is proof of what she wants!" "That is only proof of what she resented," he answered with a detachment so marked Uthra knew it must be false. "Her reaction was not totally surprising, if one considers her character. She did not have a yielding nature. She took what she wanted from life when she wanted it, and she was not a forgiving person. Hipolita injured her, 363

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after all. She had a pleasant home, and a strange, devoted master whom she did not understand but who indulged her in everything. She was happy." He paused, and some feeling broke through his controlled front at last. "Of that at least, I am certain." He touched the lock of hair, idly, recovering his poise. "Her life has changed a great deal since she left this gift. It is not unreasonable to assume that her feelings have changed also. If she loves me I can do her no good at this moment. And if she does not, I would rather spare myself." "After what she has done for you, you cannot doubt her love. You cannot deny her." The Commander smiled. "Do I detect solidarity between sisters?" Uthra frowned, agitated, refusing to humor him. He sobered. "I am not denying her. I am only waiting. I have waited a long time; I am used to it. Perhaps one day she will give me a sign." "It is very difficult to leave signs for a dead man. Particularly if he ignores them." She stared pointedly at the black tresses tied with ribbon. The Commander hesitated suddenly, and gazed evenly at her. "You would not betray me to her, would you?" Uthra sighed and shook her head. "I think she loves you truly. I think she deserves better from you, and I am sorry for her. But I would never disobey you in anything." The Commander wove the long tresses into a braid and casually pocketed them. "I will shadow her until she stops next," he said, putting on his cloak. "She is careless as she ever was. You should have seen her, riding through unprotected territory, right on the borders of Amazon country with her helmet in her hand, as if going to a picnic. It’s a miracle she doesn't have an arrow in her throat by now." He strapped on his sword and smiled at Uthra, perfectly aware that he had given himself away and that she was laughing inwardly. "I will bring you back a new dress, and fat rabbits for a stew." He kissed her mouth. "And then we will have nothing but long, lazy days 364

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ahead of us, and you can give me all the advice you want." **** His mood was not as light as he pretended, but he managed to fool even himself into the notion that he was content until he reached the tracks of the company and set out to follow them once more. The lock of hair had done what neither the old man nor that distant sight of her had managed: it had made her actions real and inescapably meaningful for him. While he had held it he had felt the full force of her love, along with the full force of his folly. How exquisite their days at the White City would have been for him had he believed, and how terrible that they might have spent all the time since together. So he chose not to believe. The fact that there was an ingredient of truth in his self-deception made it easier to slip comfortably into. He knew that Elora had never looked upon him as a man, that she had conferred on him every power except immortality, and perhaps even that. How disappointed she must have been to discover him so frail at the last, and how betrayed and forsaken by him she must have felt. And once he was dead, how simple it must have been to keep him on that pedestal. There is nothing so flawless and dangerous as a martyr. The killing of Hipolita had been a perfect ritual sacrifice, complete with a purifying fire and the offering of her shorn hair. In the midst of all his agonies he had to stop and smile. The entire affair had been so appallingly dramatic it would have been humorous, had there not been so much blood involved. Elora had never had any sense of proportion. In the end everything in him kept returning to one essential point. Gods and martyrs were not loved. They could not be loved, they could only be worshiped. He found it ironic that fate had forced him to serve Elora better than he would have of his own will. He could not be glad of having lost her, but he was glad of her freedom. He wondered how long he could survive without her now that she was so near, and forgot that 365

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he had once been prepared to give her up altogether. The hope that someday, when she had traveled as far as he and seen as much, she might be ready to return to him and begin to know him at last, was terribly seductive. He comforted himself with the idea that if they had nothing else, they had time. At this point he discovered the tracks of two new horses, following in the steps of the nine. They had come from the west, and upon nearing the next stream they veered aside. They had not watered there with the company, but watched it from hiding, and followed on. He suffered an immediate pang of foreboding and hurried his pace. He wondered if the company always maintained formation. No rider could pass by them and ahead, even under cover of the woods, without being detected by Eidolon, and if the attackers could only charge from behind Elora would be safe. But what if she was in the habit of breaking ranks to prank about? It would be so like her, and so like the others not to check her. He heard battle chargers flying toward him and hid in the brush. They were the two, galloping side by side. Their riders wore the plain, green garb of Rangers, but they did not sit their mounts like Rangers, lacking both sufficient composure and stealth. One of them carried a bow and quiver. Rangers believed it was an act of cowardice to kill from afar. They would shoot an arrow only at an animal. He stepped from cover and tore the bowman off his horse, stunning him as they crashed to the damp ground. The second rider turned around to charge. The Commander drew his sword. The rider swung from the saddle and missed, and the Commander opened his midsection with one stroke. He watched the man tumble off the running horse, clutching at his organs as they spilled out. Then he walked to the unconscious bowman and took an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back. Its iron tip was stained blue. The Commander tasted it, then spit out the poison. The young man was coming awake. He shook his head and righted himself, and left staring up at the Commander, he froze. 366

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"I remember you," said the Commander softly. "You are Lord Hespen's son." The soldier faltered, so astonished he did not think to be afraid. "Commander," he whispered at last, reverently. "They say you are dead." "Did you shoot her?" asked the Commander. "The Lachesis. Did you shoot her?" The soldier hesitated, still confused, still unaware of his danger. "Yes," he said. The Commander brought a fist down on the young man's face, knocking him senseless. Taking a rope from one of the well-schooled horses standing quietly nearby, he tied his prisoner upright to a tree. By the time he picked up the bow and a poisoned arrow the soldier was recovering, blinking stupidly, struggling to catch up with what was happening to him. The Commander positioned himself at a comfortable distance, fit the arrow to the bow, and as the man opened his mouth to scream, let it fly. It pierced the soldier's stomach, nailing him to the trunk. He gave a strangled moan and began to weep. The Commander walked leisurely up to him. He examined the bleeding wound with a deep, cruel satisfaction. "It will take two days to kill you," he said. "You should have chosen a faster poison." "You were gone," stammered the young man, barely able to speak through the pain. "She is dangerous. The High Lords feared... they believed...for the sake of the city...” He still could not comprehend his crime. "She is a woman." "Speaking will only make the pain worse, you know," observed the Commander in a friendly tone. "But do not be too distraught. The animals will smell your blood soon. You might be eaten before the day is out, and be grateful for it." The wounded man blanched. "Commander. I beg you." "I only regret that I could not think of a more painful death for you," said the Commander. He mounted one of the chargers and cantered away. The young man screamed wildly behind him and the 367

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Commander listened with a flat and perverse pleasure until distance and the noise of striking hooves drowned out the voice. When he reached the site of the attack the company had vanished. The grass was crushed where she had fallen and there was blood on the ground. They had never given chase and this encouraged him, for it meant she was still alive. They were rushing her to medicine. He galloped away from their trail, into the mountains. **** It was nighttime when he returned to the plains, and tracking the path of the Nine approached the castle home of Usar, a vassal lord who had once served him at the White City. The company had entered his gates. There was scarcely an hour left before dawn. The Commander could not follow in without being recognized, and now more than ever he shrank from revealing himself. He had no desire to exist without her. He wondered if this made him weaker than her, or simply older and more desperately in love. He thought of Ayesha with fresh tenderness, and imagined her leap from the Stronghold walls. The ones before him were nowhere as tall or thick, but they were just as empty as hers must have been, when she jumped. He climbed, digging his fingers into the joints of stone blocks. His horse snorted in the dark below, then made no other sound. Dropping down over the rim of the parapet to the roof, he squatted in the shadows for a minute, listening. There were no guards at post. The confusion inside must be great to merit such lack of common caution. He stole into the familiar building through an abandoned tower cell, and with the hood of his green cloak pulled low over his face, slipped down the dim, twisting corridors. He kept out of sight whenever possible. The few servants he could not avoid were far too agitated to pay him any mind, but as he neared the guest quarters the congestion of people grew. He began to encounter soldiers and decided not to press his luck. An empty bedchamber led him back outside, onto a balcony. Clinging to the 368

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thick trunks of the vines that climbed the castle walls, he crossed from one darkened terrace to another until he saw a light ahead. The room was silent when he peered in, and she was completely alone. She lay on a great red bed surrounded by candelabras. Her face was deathly pale despite the warm firelight and her eyes closed, but she breathed still. They had folded the covers down at her waist and opened the black shirt to expose her wounded shoulder. The young lord had been a fine shot. His arrow had found the weak joint between her armor plates. It had not pierced deep, but of course, it did not have to. He approached her, hesitating, afraid to watch her die right there and then, between one step and the next. She looked so dreadfully young that he almost could not stand it. His sense did not abandon him completely, but he did weep, silently. They had cut open her flesh and covered it with cloths soaked in a cooked brew. He lifted a linen strip from her carefully, smelling the medicine. It was a wellchosen mixture, but not strong enough to heal, only to delay. They did not have the right herbs. He took the leaves he had spent all night searching for in the mountains and crushed them into his palm with a little oil, working them into paste. Then he spread the cool, rottinggreen substance thickly over her wound. She was burning up. He felt for her pulse and found it terrifyingly slow. Shakily, he set the small pouch that held the remaining leaves on a table among other remedies. Her arms were laid straight down at her sides. He touched her hand with the pads of his fingers, feeling the tiny ridges of the veins and the hills of the knuckles, the slimness of her bones. He bent to kiss her hot, sweating brow. He inhaled the scent of her hair and let the lustrous back strands caress his cheek. "Elora." Her breathing was so labored that he did not dare kiss her mouth for fear of taking the little air she had left. He ran his thumb along her parted lips instead. He waited for any sign of relief, but saw none. "Elora. Please try." Her lids fluttered slightly. "Please." Her eyes 369

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started to open but closed again. "You promised that you would not leave me. We made a bargain. Do you remember?" He waited again. That he had broken the very bargain he was asking her to keep did not enter his mind. She opened her eyes fully and stared at him, the pupils enormous and the thin gray of the iris bright and beautiful with fever. No expression came into her face, and he wondered if she could see him at all. "Do not leave me, Elora. I cannot endure it as you did. Do not leave me alone." Her eyes shifted without reason, searching for nothing in particular, moving only out of reflex. Then they closed. He folded her limp hands together over her stomach, felt them rise and fall with her shallow breaths. Impulsively he opened his shirt collar. Hidden underneath and worn about his throat was the slim braid of black hair. He tore it off and laced it through her fingers, so that she would find it if she woke, and know. He had no time to regret it, no time even to kiss her once more. There were voices in the hall and he fled the way he had come.

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Chapter Seven The Dragon in the Courtyard

S

he had come to realize that many things about their brief life together had been different from what she supposed. It was like running her memories through a veil and having them come out richer. She had finally begun to understand what she had seen. It had taken time, but the farther she went the closer her road aligned itself with his. She had walked in his steps and seen the world through his eyes, and one fatal, inevitable day she had looked back, and seen herself through his eyes. She had seen at last what he had longed to find in her, known without doubt that she had been the one, that he had been hers from the very beginning, and that she had let him down. All the effort had been his, and from all his lessons she had failed to glean the one thing he wanted her to learn. Like Eidolon and Ayesha she had abandoned him to his legend, never troubling to look for the man buried inside, pushing on the walls of his fame and telling anyone who would listen, "I don't want to be a god." She did not want to be a god either, and she was coming dangerously close to that place from which she could excite in others nothing but constant and remote adoration. Like the Commander she found herself patiently accepting it and the loneliness that came with it, having backed herself into a corner without ever planning for a way out, as he surely had, without ever guessing that she would need a way out. 371

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She had come so close to discovering his essence with that kiss she had forced on him in his stables as The Elegant was led forth. How passionately he had responded to it, how he had trembled when he made love to her that first night. All those years alone fighting his own enormous shadow and suddenly a little girl who was not afraid to claim him. But her understanding had failed them both. He had hoped for so much and she had delivered nothing. She had not been ready for a man like him, and despite her best intentions she recognized now that she had not made him happy. It seemed to her suddenly that every step in her life had been a wrong one, tricking her to this precipice, and she had the awful presentiment that she would die like him, in some corner of the wilderness, standing separate and undefended because it would occur to no one that she required protection until it was too late. **** After the battle of the Five Hundred, the company rested in the East. Elora, who like Eidolon and Larima could not sit still for two seconds put together, spent her days with them racing through the forests after tusked boar. Tyke and Flan had taken to horse breeding as a pastime now that they were men of wealth, and could be coaxed from the stables only by the prospect of a very beautiful slave-girl waiting in their beds. Zurco much preferred a book, or listening to Daria play her lute, which she did every afternoon in a corner of the garden while he lay near her, staring up at the trees with arms folded beneath his head. Jugger too preferred the quiet of the indoors. Despite the fact that he was Elora's lover, and her acknowledged companion, he found that most of his time was passed with Rowena in leisurely conversation. They were of one mind about everything, and never seemed to run out of things to say to each other. Fighting side by side had brought them together like nothing else could have, and though her lineage and poise still excited in him a polite reserve, she was no longer that distant, stone-hard being. He had discovered 372

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in her a subtle sweetness that she yielded only after long intimacy, as if her heart were an enormously fragile thing she was trying constantly to protect. She was not made of stone at all, but of glass, and this quality challenged all the gentleness in him. It drew him to her more strongly than even he knew. The broad terrace of Rowena's chamber overlooked the southern slope of the city. It was a small realm, and did not posses the gaudy splendor of the White City, or that unearthly air of mystery that had made the Stronghold so compelling. But there was a sedate elegance to its aged stone walls and live oak homes, and it was a pleasant place. Its ruler was one of the two reconciled brothers, a still-young king who in his gratitude had set aside an entire wing of his palace for the use of the company, furnishing it with servants and page boys and the very best of his slaves. A little garden of trellised vines and potted trees crowded Rowena's terrace, and she liked to sit in the shade with a loom before her, weaving as she had been taught in her father's house, making the loose and boldly colored garments she had grown up wearing and still favored in private moments. Jugger sat next to her with his elbows on his knees. They had fallen silent some time ago, and now he watched with indolent delight as her pale hands flew artfully about, like dancing things, joining the threads. He glanced at her face. She returned his gaze warmly, briefly, before resuming her work, and he was suddenly overcome with a mad and inexplicable desire to kiss her. He lowered his eyes, frightened by it, and stared at the gray stones of the floor. An insect crawled past his boot. The potted trees shook lightly in a warm breeze, throwing brief, undulating shadows over the terrace, changing the light patterns on the ground. He waited for the feeling to subside, but it didn’t. When he looked at her hands again she had slowed her progress, carefully pushing a thread into place on the weave. He reached out in a gesture that was not truly willed yet irrepressible, and laid his fingers over hers. The princess did not speak. She waited compliantly, letting the threads slip from her grasp while he wavered. Jugger took her hand, 373

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brought it forward slowly and pressed it to his lips. He kissed it, then kept it there against his mouth, breathing in its cool, indefinable scent. He did not dare look at her face, though she remained silent and gracious. Her tolerance was not enough encouragement and he felt the gulf between them more keenly than ever. She was the daughter of a king, he was a nobody. He had only his huge strength to recommend him and such a woman expected much more from a man. What had he ever done but kill and follow? That she had taken pleasure in him once made no difference. There were men that came and went, and then there were true lovers. Kissing her hand once more, he placed it respectfully on her lap. He could not bring himself to release it completely, however. He left his own resting across it, the meat of his palm touching her dress, tingling from the warmth of her skin beneath. When she still did not draw back he had to lift his gaze at last. There was no smile awaiting him, but he was surprised to find she looked radiant and eager, and as he leaned toward her, mastered again by some force stronger than his reason, she came forward gingerly, almost hesitating, and met him halfway, her blue eyes closing when his mouth touched hers. Her lips were silky and warm, and after he had kissed her once he could not stop. They were small, soft pressings, continuous. His hand shifted, kneading hers, and he felt her grip tighten on his fingers, returning the caress. His knuckles brushed against the joint of her thighs, slipping into the crease. Still kissing her, he released her hand and slowly gathered the folds of her dress into a fist. He kept drawing, seeking, until the hem rose past her knees and over her thighs, and then his palm was underneath, against her flesh. She parted her legs slightly and he faltered momentarily with a shot of gratitude and pleasure. His fingers moved along that yielding curve, humbled by the petal softness of the skin. The sensation became so consuming that arriving at her thick, curling little pelt was unexpected and almost startled him. He stroked it, sighing into her 374

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mouth, barely touching at first, grazing only the tangled surface of the hair. Then he pressed, feeling the shape of the sex. Rowena continued to part her lips delicately on his, the joining a little moist now. Jugger's fingers grew slick without ever having to tease open her folds. She was already so damp, swelling and spreading on her own, and with the hot, creamy drops leaking against him he could bear the wait no more. His hands moved to her hips, lifting the skirt away. He urged her from her seat onto his lap. She smiled a small smile at last as she straddled his thighs. Her hands sought his chest, his collarbones, massaging with a gentle lust. Jugger unbuttoned his trousers hurriedly. He clasped her waist and entered her immediately. But that one push was enough to send him over the brink. He came as his shaft sank in, his body tensing with the discharge, a sudden rush of blood reddening his face and a high, agonized wail breaking from him as his head bowed, shuddering, onto Rowena's shoulder. His grasp tightened and he pressed her to him while that single, interminable convulsion lasted. He could not even thrust. Then the torment of his body ended but another took its place. He felt humiliated by the pitch of his desire, and by having failed to pleasure her. His large arms loosened and dropped from her, and he sat there, eyes squeezed shut, face still hidden against her, struggling to be quiet and unable to hold back the small whimpers that rose in spasms with his breath. His member twitched, and was dead inside her. The semen crawled down to wet his trousers. And yet Rowena seemed anything but disappointed. She wound her arms about his head and kissed the soft side of his neck passionately, smothering him into her. His drained organ slipped from her sex. Her legs encircled him as he stood up, and she held on with sweet intensity while he carried her to the bed. Her body sank into the brocade covers. He regarded her for a moment, crouched above her. The tips of her fingers stroked his face and he undid the clasps of her gown, opening it to bare her 375

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completely. He slid his tongue, finally, into her mouth. She sucked on it ravenously, her face pushing against him as her fists clenched in his hair. Jugger let his loins press down on her, fueled by her eagerness. Her breasts flattened on his chest. She writhed, groping at his back, and he allowed himself to enjoy it briefly, grinding his mouth on hers, rubbing his limp cock into her thighs. Her appetite was like a prize. The air grew inebriating and heavy around him. The colors of the room blurred together and closed in, and he felt encased in a stroking, rippling mass, like a man swimming through warm water. He longed to fold his cock into her and rape her until it hardened, to throb endlessly without spilling, deep within. But he wanted to service her properly, and taking her wrists he pinned them down, drawing back from the kiss, curbing all of her small might. He mouthed her breasts, drawing in the prominent, peachcolored nipples, forcing them out with his tongue. He smelled her stomach, kissed it, dug into the hollow of the navel. Her legs were parted wide for him, and guiding her hands to the small of her back he held her fast, arching her towards him. Her distended sex was covered in his fluids. He lapped at it, enjoying the bitterness of the sperm yet seeking her lighter, more inviting juices beneath. Then something occurred to him and he let her go, rising from the bed. It did not take him long to locate the small, painted armoire where all tools of pleasure were kept. Every bedchamber had one. He undressed as he moved to it, leaving a messy trail of garments on the floor. Enhancing the experience by planning it, and separating it into its ingredients, always excited him. There was a special delight in giving the acts between lovers such intense consideration. They blossomed magically when heightened to a ritual, each toy becoming charged with meaning and each touch doubly felt, each caress rendered momentous, impossible to wade through carelessly. To lie with her like this would be exquisite. The armoire was decorated with a forest scene of maidens 376

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cavorting in a shallow brook, and he remembered Rowena bathing in that stream under the birches, her dress pushed down to her hips as she turned round and round in the water, he watching beside the others, thigh-deep in slow current, his hand on his sword hilt and his cock stirring vaguely between his legs with a pleasant, undemanding warmth. The array of objects within was magnificent. He selected a pair of tiny clamps lined with bits of emerald-colored velvet and joined by a silver chain. A blindfold made of black silk, leather manacles beaded with pearls. A jar of thick, pale green cream smelling of mint. He handled each of the phalluses without hurry, testing their girth in his fist, their smoothness. In the end he chose a not-too-large one, no larger than an average cock. It was padded in supple leather and fitted with a slim harness, and at its base was a bronze ring wide enough for his finger to coil through. Rowena had slipped out of her gown and knelt on the bed watching him, smiling expectantly, with a momentary and sweetly becoming shyness, her hands pressed to her pubis. She stared enraptured at the things he laid carefully beside her so that she could admire them. Wanting her to see it all come on he left the blindfold for last. He began with the little clamps, kissing each nipple before pinching it in the crushed velvet. Rowena arched into his lips. She flinched helplessly as the clamps were fastened, sending a shiver of hot pain radiating through her, but she did not move away. The slim chain rippled loosely against her body, and she stared down at herself while Jugger fondled her breasts. They exchanged a deep, sultry kiss, his hands still cupping and kneading her. Then Jugger picked up the leather bindings. He raised them to her lips and she kissed the pearls. She held her wrists out to him, pressed together, but he shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "Behind you." Rowena immediately crossed her wrists at her back. He bent forward to taste her breasts once more, unable to resist it, licking at 377

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the buds of flesh caught in the clamps. Then his arms slipped around her, and kissing her shoulder and her neck, he buckled on the restraints. Their fingers laced for a moment. He ran his hands up her tied arms, feeling the length and strain of the muscles, inhaling the fragrance of rose water in her hair. She wore it in a softly gathered twist at the nape of her neck, and he pulled out the ivory pin, letting the red tresses fall long and loose to her waist, covering the fetters and grazing the tops of her buttocks. She smiled and kissed his mouth again, probing his teeth, his writhing tongue, the palate. Jugger submitted in a haze, his cock growing, inundated with warmth. "Lie back," he whispered when she had released him. Her arms bound, she could not keep her balance and fell on her side. He righted her tenderly, easing her buttocks toward him and her thighs apart. Reaching for the phallus, he stroked her triangle of fiery-red hair with the tip. Rowena surged as he guided it to her sex. Her orifice enlarged, sucking on it when he pressed, swallowing the shaft. She jerked up to impale herself quickly and wholly, and he opened a broad hand on her belly. "Shhh..." Rowena moaned, but yielded to his weight. The clamps pulled on her nipples, the chain snapping taut when she heaved, then falling slack, caressing her lightly. Jugger worked the phallus into her with appalling leisure, reaming out her channel, wetting the leather. She stiffened all over as though her entire body would burst, her clitoris shuddering, unattended. She could not climax without his aid, and now he was happy to deny it. He withdrew the shaft from her and slipped it between her cheeks, chaffing her anus, heating it. The head of the phallus pushed in. Rowena caught her breath sharply, exhaling slowly, in strangled spurts, her face blushing with exertion. Her rectum quivered, groping at the hard rod, and Jugger leaned close to lick the spreading ring and the pole salty with her juices while he continued to penetrate her, inch by inch. 378

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She sighed when he had filled her, her insides trembling still, glorying in the unnatural, gorging pressure of the tool against her walls. Jugger kissed her palpitating sex, delighted, gentle. He adjusted the harness around her hips and buckled the slim straps to a snug fit. Giving her one last smile, he blindfolded her, and as she shifted uncertainly, her head moving from side to side, he gathered her in one arm and dragged her over the coverlet to the center of the bed. There he arranged her as he wanted her: shining hair spread out around her shoulders, spine slightly arched from the pull of her bound wrists, throat exposed. Her pale, supple thighs he urged to the sides until her knees bent. For several moments he merely knelt before her. She waited, alert, breathing shallowly through her mouth. With both hands between his legs he massaged his scrotum and his swollen shaft. He began to drip. Scooping it onto his fingers, he touched her parted lips, her white teeth. Rowena started a little. Then her tongue darted out to lap at the clear, heavy fluid. He smeared it down the corner of her mouth to her fine jaw, over the windpipe, worked it into the hollow at the base of her exquisitely long neck. He played with the nipple clamps and tugged lightly on the chain, making her groan. "You have no idea how beautiful you look," he told her. "Say something to me. Anything." "I feel beautiful," she murmured after a pause. "I can feel your heart." Jugger crouched below her, and without warning mouthed her sex. She gasped, pulsing against him. He slipped a finger into the bronze ring and pulled, rocking the phallus inside her. He ate out his spilled sperm and her trickling little flood, nuzzling her wet pelt, drunk on its scent, suckling the folds that were grown so thick and slippery he could barely capture them in his lips. His jaws opened wide on her as she exploded, absorbing the spasms, his tongue plunging deep and his teeth scraping her stiff, flushed clitoris. When she had spent he let her rest. Closing his eyes, he stroked the sides of her waist, learning its 379

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curves, letting its map settle into his brain so that he could call it forth always, even after she was gone from his bed. He kissed the hipbones, tracing them with open lips, and the flat, firm breadth of her belly. Its little strip of scant, blond down aroused him terribly for some reason. His cock throbbed beneath him, and impulsively he hooked her wrist fetters to the bronze ring. Then he abused her sex again, spanking and rubbing it while she squirmed. Each time her body jerked her arms pulled on the impaled phallus. Its grinding aroused her as violently as his urgings, and her sex distended until she was all slick and turgid flesh, he could not even see the mouth. He knew that now the coupling would be opulent, lasting. He reached for the jar of cream, and scooping out a handful, massaged it thickly onto his penis, his scrotum, even his pubic hair and the knot of his anus. The mint gave off a delicious smell. His sphincter trembled, and he pushed a finger in, working the cream deep. The penetration nearly disabled him, and the chill on his burning genitals was making him convulse, then stiffen even more. He rubbed his testicles against her brimming folds. Her warmth seared through, and pushing between, he stabbed his cock into her. "Yes," she cried, her eyes open against the blindfold and that dark, vertiginous void that amplified every sensation. She could not remember such lewd emotions in herself, such a pure burst of erotic feeling, and neither did she have memory of such complete, tender joy. She had longed for him forever, watching him go to others, never guessing how she wanted him, and that he should have surrendered to her like this, so shyly devoted at first, with such attention to every detail of their pleasure and then such urgency, made her want to cry. The coolness of the mint caught her completely by surprise. She flinched, her insides pouring heat, compensating, the flow of blood to her groin stunning her. She felt his fingers digging into her hips and the massive, splitting thrusts that no one in her experience could equal, just as no one could equal his softness when he chose to give it. The phallus rocked in her backside, seeming to swell as her 380

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muscles drew on it, its undulations reverberating through her belly. She wondered if he could feel them on his cock. The cream started to melt. Her vagina strengthened around the shaft and he groaned loudly. For a moment it was all she could hear. Then he bent over her, panting against her mouth, his solid hips circling, pushing her thighs up. His member twisted in her without rest, the pubic bone massaging her folds and her nodule stewing sweetly underneath, twitching when the cold mint slipped through. He tried to kiss her mouth but the heaving was too wild. She felt his bite on her throat instead, on her shoulder, the wetness of his lips spreading on her. Her walls went taut, feeling deceptively numb because they were no longer under her control, and she knew she was about to climax. She wanted badly to embrace him, but not being able to was at the same time the loveliest kind of torture. She threw her head back, pushing against the rough brocade covers. Sweat tickled her face, droplets being absorbed into the silken blindfold, running into her hair. The teasing chill of the cream had been erased from her insides by his heated cock, but she could still feel its tingle on her buttocks and the stuffed mouth of her anus. Then the orgasm surged and blotted out everything else. Jugger tensed when he felt her explode, his organ milked with that abrupt, unmatched force that came only in those final seconds, those final spasms, unmistakable and unendurably luscious. He thrust into her blindly, his scrotum contracting, semen flooding up its narrow passage, and he ejaculated copiously into her sheath, the plug of his cock so thick and unflagging that the spill stayed, all of it, inside. It would not leak from her until he pulled out. After the last spurt he collapsed onto her. I love this woman, I

have loved this woman all my life, even before I met her. He removed the blindfold and kissed her face while she blinked, disoriented and blind against the sunlight. He shifted a little to relieve her of his weight, but he did not withdraw. Though his testicles had emptied and shrunken his cock remained hard. He kissed her mouth and she whispered, "Let me hold you." 381

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He freed her hands, her arms went around him. She sucked on his lips and toyed slowly with his tongue. He reached down to remove the harness, and when his clumsy fingers could not find the buckles he simply tore it apart. Rowena gave a tiny, delighted start and laughed. He smiled in the middle of a kiss and gently drew the phallus out of her. His fingers rested on her slack anus, rimming it, making her flinch. He took off the silver clamps and kissed her aching nipples. Rowena touched the swollen root of his shaft and coaxed him to lie beside her, helping him, keeping him buried, one silky leg winding over his hip. He relaxed, his hand stroking her flank. Then, he became sad. "Why is it that I cannot find this with Elora?" he asked. "This peace." She touched his cheek and his eyes closed painfully. "She grows more alien to me every day. More astounding, but still a thing that I cannot..." He gave it up with a sigh and laid his head on her shoulder. His cock throbbed lazily inside her and she thought she would dissolve from its warmth. "He would have been so pleased with her. He would have known what to do with all that fire. I do not. I love her, and she excites me, but not like you. Never, never like you. Never have I felt about her the way I feel about you." It amazed Rowena, how docilely he admitted these feelings he believed unrequited. How he trusted to her mercy, when mercy was the one thing she had never shown him. She made him look at her. Jugger focused slowly on her eyes, and his astonishment at what he read there knew no bounds. He failed to respond at first. "Rowena," he stammered finally. "How long?" "Since I met you." She smiled. "No," she corrected herself. "Since I knew you. Since the Stronghold." "All that year?" "All that year that I barely saw you." Jugger faltered, trying to give the events some order in his mind. "I always thought that I was dirt under your feet." 382

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"I was too proud. I confused pride with greatness and I am ashamed of it." She touched her cool fingers to his cheek, brushed the black curls back from his temples. "You have taught me my gentleness. It is all for you." He pressed a long kiss to her mouth, overwhelmed, and then he spoke out of sheer impulse, weak with eagerness and the force of the realization. "I want to have a child with you, Rowena," he said. "Give me a son." "I will," she told him, smiling placidly. "I will give you many sons." Jugger warmed with a slow delight as it came to him that she had already dreamed it, she had already met their sons. "I am in love with you, Your Highness," he whispered. He kissed her, arching, his erect cock rocking inside her. She moaned and he was mounting her, sighing, loosing himself in her until he spilled again, devastating and final this time, assuring him that he was home. **** The hunting party had been back for some time and the sun was beginning to wane when he made his way to the large tower room he shared with Elora. She was sitting on a long, armless couch at the foot of the bed, still in her riding garb. Ayesha's sword lay across her knees, its sapphires glinting in the afternoon light. She was examining it with a strange, mild repulsion, turning it over in her hands. The opening of the door broke her reverie and she sheathed the sword casually but quickly, smiling, concealing. She need not have bothered. Jugger was so consumed by guilt that he could see nothing else. He knelt before her and kissed her hand. "I have done something terrible," he told her. Elora smiled and answered, "I doubt that." He hesitated a few moments with fear of hurting her, and yet knew he could not avoid speaking. It would have been cowardly to do 383

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anything else. "I have fallen in love with Rowena," he confessed, struggling not to trip over the words. Elora regarded him kindly. She never stopped smiling. "I am glad," she said, surprising him. "She is worthy of you." "You are not angry with me?" "Never." "Tell me that I will not lose you, sweet thing. You are my world. Like he was my world once. If you turned from me I do not know what I would do." "You will have me as long as I breathe." Jugger remained unable to raise his head. "Forgive me," he said. "There is nothing to forgive." When he looked up at her at last he wavered, confused by how serene and powerful she seemed and feeling almost foolish for having worried. He did not understand her anymore, and realized that perhaps he had never understood her, only deceiving himself into a convenient image of what she was. Now her aspect changed daily and he could no longer keep track of her feelings. Her mind had sealed to him completely, though her heart remained open as ever. "Go back to Rowena," she said. "It is as it should be." He smiled and caressed her fingers, and she was his little girl again. It was this part of her that charmed him most and that he wanted to hold on to. In that role she became familiar and manageable to him, and although he knew there was much more he did not really want to explore it. He preferred to release the things in her that he could not face or satisfy, and not delve into that whirlwind that he was finally convinced he could not quiet. He kissed her hand again, and returned to Rowena, where the ecstasy was calm and clean, charged with no agonies, and where the life he wanted in his heart of hearts to live was waiting for him. Elora waited until he had left to breathe her own sigh of relief. She loved Jugger with an acute and protective tenderness. He continued to embody for her everything that was noble and kind, and she 384

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trusted his affection like she trusted no other. But she had to admit that he did not challenge her. She longed for tempests and he could not give them. They frightened him, and he could not hold her. She watched the sun set. Later, while she sat in the great, marble tub being bathed by slave-women, staring distractedly at an array of colored candles flickering on the shelves, Eidolon appeared in the archway leading to her bedchamber. He leaned against it, arms folded across his chest, his dark eyes passing over her. "I hear that you are Jugger's no more," he told her quietly. Elora made no answer. She waved the slave-women away. They bowed and disappeared, and Eidolon ambled to a table. He opened several bottles of perfume, smelling them; he chose his favorite and poured some on a sponge. Elora smiled warmly as he came to kneel beside her. It was in this light that he seemed most beautiful to her: in dim fire, the way she had first beheld him, the way he had looked in the Commander's bed. He dipped the sponge into water and squeezed it over her shoulders and back, covering her in fragrant suds. Slowly he began to wash her. "Is it true?" he asked in her ear. "Yes." He stroked her upper arm with the sponge, her chest. Then he let the sponge drop from his hand and opened his palm on her breast. Elora turned her head to look at him, pleased. "Do you want to make love to me?" "I always want to make love to you," he told her. "We have a secret." "Yes, we have a secret." She smiled. "A tall secret with blue eyes." **** Elora lay prone on an ocher stone table that her naked body had already warmed. Candles burned in their gilded sconces against the walls, and a great fire crackled somewhere behind her. Tyke stood 385

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between her legs, thrusting languidly. Eidolon pinned down her arms, smiling, and Zurco teased her throat with the tip of his tongue. On the ceiling was a painting of a beautiful, dark-haired woman wrapped in a swath of clouds and vaporous crimson cloth. The tower chamber belonged to the King's favorite mistress, and Elora could not help but wonder if she too had been taken like this, staring up at her own image. Zurco pressed his face to her groin, lapping at her sex as Tyke slid in and out of her, and Eidolon bent close. His wavy locks covered her face, obliterating all sight of the painting, warming her. "I missed you," he whispered, and kissed her cheek. Elora whimpered, throbbing with the measured tease of the organ. She jolted with exquisite surprise as Zurco bit gently into the flesh of her stomach. Eidolon ran his tongue over her lips. She strained uselessly to kiss him as he shifted to one side, guiding her arms to his hard, downy thighs, around his hips. The skin was smooth and taut, and claw as she might she could not make his muscles yield. He was like marble. He held his reddened cock before her mouth and she took it, closing her eyes. They all became confused in her mind after that. It did not matter to her that she could not tell them apart. She kept her eyes shut as they took turns kissing her, entering her, stroking the rough stubble of their cheeks against her breasts. They turned her over on the table, placing her on all fours with her thighs spread wide, and while two of them licked her sex a third caressed her face with his genitals, opened her lips with tender fingers, pushed his cock inside. She grew drowsy on the taste, swallowing the light salt of his fluids. He withdrew before she could make him come and another took her this way. Her sex was entered again, the stabbing faster, more eager this time. Fingers on her clitoris, the scrape of a tongue. They were moaning. She loved to hear men moan. It was so powerful and deep, and such lovely proof of their surrender. The man in her mouth thrust harder, clasping the back of her 386

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neck. He whimpered suddenly, defenseless, and ejaculated. His penis softened, the bitter surge filling her mouth. He knelt to kiss it from her lips. It was Zurco. She knew it by the touch of his fine hair, and she licked the scar on his cheek. She remembered the raider ship. Sitting on Jugger's lap. That small cut on his face that had frightened her so much. Anthea. Anthea become dream-like and vague with absence, like an ancestor, vanished centuries ago. Zurco nuzzled her face and reached underneath to cup her swaying breasts. The pounding in her sex increased, her walls convulsing, tightening. She gasped, lurching forward. Zurco stood up and pressed her bowed head to his stomach, cushioning her against the blows, pushing on her shoulders to keep her steady. Her hair fell about her face and tangled on his flaccid cock bobbing with each jerk, slapping against her lips. She remembered Uthra. Eidolon begging with kisses, Uthra laughing at her. You have much to learn of men. Blinding white walls. Chestnuts in the forest. The man inside her howled, strong fingers clenching on her hips. He yanked her back onto one last, ferocious thrust. Then she knew he had broken, but she was so drenched she could not feel him come. He bent over to kiss her back, covering her, sighing. She rocked against his loins, squeezing him, but although he stayed inside, he was spent and could not satisfy her. She whimpered querulously. Zurco moved away. A broad, careful hand lifted her chin. "Look at me," said Tyke. "Look at me, my lovely." She opened her eyes. He was smiling, and kissed her deeply, his tongue pressing against the roof of her mouth. His hands slid under her, drawing her forward, away from Eidolon who was still panting and kissing her flank as his cock shrank from her groping sex. Tyke straightened and she clung to him, charmed by the irresistible sparkle in his brown eyes. She felt the rough caress of his chest, the staggering warmth coming off him, passing from his skin to hers. Eidolon and Zurco wound her legs around him, and then he slid hard 387

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and hot between her thighs. She was so near to orgasm that the pressure of her sex made him groan at once. He rocked his hips, breathing heavily. Eidolon and Zurco opened their hands on her buttocks to grind her against him. They kissed her shoulders and mouthed her neck, her long hair caught in their lips. Tyke grabbed at the insides of her thighs. She began to cry out, losing control as the sensation of his thrusts spread through her, the wiry curls of his chest stroking her swollen breasts. Finally she felt nothing except the delicious friction on the stretched rim of her vagina and the pulsing of the little nodule rubbed by her own turgid folds. She climaxed and his semen jetted into her, one disabling, simultaneous, endless quiver that left them both exhausted. Her head collapsed onto his shoulder. Eidolon and Zurco held her up against him, his cock fragile and pulpy now as it withdrew. They carried her to the opulent, canopied bed and laid themselves over her, everywhere on her in a confusion of warm limbs and adoring mouths that kept kissing her between breaths. She stretched her arms as far as she could, trying to encompass them all, to let them all feel her grasp in some way. Their loyalty stunned her to this day, and this indulgent, unflagging desire that she so treasured. Though it was no longer enough it was still something pure that shrouded her in comfort, and when they were all together like this she could almost feel Him, touching her through them. **** Eidolon stayed after the others had gone, rocking her to sleep. Finally she rested and he left her chamber, walking down the corridor to his own rooms. Larima waited naked in his bed, reading a book on falconry that she had temporarily pilfered from the palace library. She thought having a falcon would be very dashing, and he had promised her one for her birthday. She tossed the book aside and pulled him down next to her before he could remove his clothes. 388

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"Did you miss me?" he asked while she snuggled against his chest. "No," she said merrily. "I was too busy expecting you." Eidolon laughed. He kissed her hair, but after a moment he doubted, and frowned, concerned. "Does it bother you that I went to Elora?" "Never," she assured him, surprised that he had thought it necessary to ask. "I could not deny Elora anything, not even you. And I know that you still need her. I know that you look for Him in her. I would be cruel to deny you that." Eidolon was silent a while, looking slightly disconcerted. "Am I really so transparent?" he asked. They laughed together this time. But then it was Larima who faltered. "What about Jugger? Won’t he be hurt?" "Jugger and Rowena are lovers," said Eidolon. "What?" "I am glad of it. She is the woman for him, and I know she has loved him a long time." Larima stared, disbelieving. "You are not serious?" She had almost laughed in her astonishment. "You do not think him worthy?" asked Eidolon with a hint of resentment. "Of course I do," exclaimed Larima, injured. "I think him worthy of everything and anyone. But Rowena...is so cold." Eidolon smiled. "You forget that Rowena was mine once. I know her. I know what she responds to." He laughed a little. "It was certainly not me." Larima frowned, still bewildered. "Are you sure of this?" "They are together at this moment." He stroked her hair lovingly, staring absently at the wall. "I have expected it for a while. I knew it when we left the Stronghold." "How?" "I can't say. I just knew. I took Elora to the Commander, after all. I saw she was for him from the very first moment, and she will be for 389

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him always." His expression darkened. "It breaks my heart to see it." "But she seemed so happy with Jugger," objected Larima, taken aback. "She is not well. I feel it. I fear something terrible is about to happen. And yet Rowena says nothing. Surely Rowena would know." "Surely she would. You must be mistaken. Rowena would die before letting Elora be harmed." "I must be mistaken," repeated Eidolon, and fell into an anxious sleep. **** When the poisoned arrow struck her shoulder, Elora was not surprised. She had been waiting for it for months in a nervous, helpless haze, convinced that no matter what precautions she took she would not be able to avoid it. Though she could not feel the poison she sensed instinctively that this arrow was unlike any other, and as she toppled off the Hellchild onto the summer grass, she thought, yes, all is happening as it must, it could not have been otherwise. She lay quiet and resigned for a moment while the others shouted and drew swords, leaping off their horses. But then something else within betrayed her. She could not give herself to the wound. In spite of her disappointments, and of the bleakness with which she had secretly come to view her future, there remained in her a terrific, feral lust for life that the worst of circumstances could not extinguish. She was already struggling to her feet when Tyke and Rowena stopped her. They snapped the arrow in two and removed her armor. Jugger held her down while Rowena yanked out the point. She tasted the flowing blood, and paled. Then she cut the wound open wider with a dagger and sucked out the blood. The need for sleep did not overtake Elora right away. For a few hours she remained lucid, if weakened and in pain. It was not until they had reached the fortress of Usar and she was carried into a red room, surrounded by a throng of strangers and with her company 390

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yelling at them to get out, that a madness came into her along with tremendous rage. She was horribly afraid of death, and the thought that it would cheat her twice, first of the Commander and now of herself, made her furious. She was very hot and her breath was failing her. All at once she could not remember how she had got there. They pressed her down to the great bed, stifling her. Rowena bent over her to examine the bleeding wound, exploring it with her fingers. The pain was absolutely crippling. Elora looked at the princess and did not know her, and became convinced that this wild, red-haired creature was trying to kill her. She struck the side of Rowena's head so violently and unexpectedly that they all fell back in shock. She scrambled away from them and from the bed, staggering, grabbing onto the furniture for support. "Elora, be still," Eidolon implored her. "We do not have much time." The faces were again familiar. She remembered the attack. She tried to understand how she could have possibly hit Rowena, but every thought required enormous effort and she was unable to concentrate enough to complete one. The princess was holding her hands over her bruised temple while Flan and Larima helped her to stand, astonished. Daria was rushing in with an old woman carrying a basket of potions and Zurco was desperately emptying Rowena's medicine satchel on a table. Elora faltered guiltily and almost yielded. But when she looked at her company, at that undisguised and nearly irrational terror in them, even in Jugger, she thought, It is Lachesis they want to save, not me. Had her mind been clear she would have known herself mistaken, but with the pain and poison clouding her judgement she saw only a quaking little band afraid of straying without its shepherd. Eidolon held out his hand and she recoiled from him in disgust. Her eyes darted from one to the next, and abruptly something new occurred to her; something so terribly logical that she could not think how she had failed to notice it before. 391

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She glared at Rowena. "Are these your visions, you witch?" she asked in a hiss. "Is this that great road that you so longed for? You used me well, I will grant you that. I made you stronger than a queen." "I do not understand," stammered Rowena. "Ah, but you do. You understand all things, even before they come." "My sweet," said Jugger, reaching out his hand. "Please." Elora did not hear him. She kept glaring at Rowena. "You knew it. Like you know everything else. You knew that he would die that day, and still you let us go! You let us go and lead him to his death! How could you?" Rowena opened her mouth but could not manage sound. "I will kill you," said Elora, her voice gone dead with that chilling calm that flooded it only in her extreme moments, and which they had all learned to fear. It set Jugger and Eidolon in motion as one, and as Elora drew her dagger and hurtled forward they fell upon her. The sickness had taken away her terrific speed and agility. She managed only to slash Jugger's arm before they wrested her weapon away. She struggled, screaming at Rowena, and then she fainted in their grasp. Rowena tended her with lips pressed together and tears streaming down her face. The others stood about somberly, nobody speaking a word. When the soaked cloths had been applied and Elora lay resting, the brew seeping into her blood, Rowena rose from the side of the bed and took an uneven step back, wiping her hands with a bloody rag. She looked at the others. "I never saw his death," she told them imploringly. "I only saw that she would move on that day. But never his death. You must believe me. I would not have taken that from her." "I believe you," said Jugger, but sadly. Eidolon had doubted for an instant. Now he walked to her, however, and did what he had not done since the days when she had 392

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belonged to him. He took her face in both hands and kissed her mouth. "And I too," he whispered. "I believe you." Rowena began to cry in earnest. "I cannot understand why I did not see it! I cannot understand!" "Have you seen Elora's death?" asked Larima suddenly and seriously, making them all flinch. Every eye turned to Rowena. She calmed herself and wiped at her tears, unknowingly smearing blood on her cheeks. "No," she answered gloomily. "But there are things that I cannot see. The Commander proved it." **** In the hour before dawn Eidolon and Daria came up the shadowy corridor after the old slave nurse, and found Tyke standing outside Elora's door. "What are you doing?" Eidolon asked Tyke as the servant proceeded within. "Why have you left her alone?" Tyke met his eyes contritely. "I could not bear to look at her like that," he said. The slave-woman balked when she saw the green slop covering Elora's open wound and the black braid coiled through her hands. It seemed a thing of witchcraft to her, curling there like a snake, tool of some horrible curse. She snatched it away and flung it into the hearth fire. Then she screamed for help. Tyke and Eidolon burst in the door, and even before Daria had come through Eidolon was shouting, "Get Rowena! Get her, quick!" By the time Rowena and Jugger arrived the whole company was in the chamber. Zurco was desperately wiping the strange ointment off Elora, who remained mercifully unconscious. Tyke was in agonies. Larima ran to the balcony, peering out into the night. 393

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"Anyone could have crept through!" she wailed. "It’s completely undefended!" Rowena pushed Zurco aside and smelled the green paste. She faltered, saying nothing for a long while. Finally Eidolon could wait no more. "Is it venom?" Rowena turned to them slowly, confused. "It is the baccala leaf. A very rare plant; one must know where to seek it. It grows only high in the mountains." She paused, unbelieving. Her eyes wandered to the small table crowded with potions and she plucked the strange pouch from it, opening it, drawing a leaf from within. "This is an Amazon remedy." The company was shocked into a long, numb silence. "Callaris?" wondered Jugger at last. "It cannot be," said Flan. "Not after the Stronghold." Rowena wasted no more time on speculation. She began to grind the leaves in oil and reapply the mixture. "Will it save her?" asked Daria with a shiver. "It will help," answered Rowena without pausing in her work, "but she is very far gone. We must wait until tomorrow. If she lives through tomorrow we can hope." The chamber doors opened and Lord Usar strode in followed by a dozen knights. He had fought Amazons all his life, and he mistrusted women as a rule: they were temperamental creatures who cared too much for the little things. They did not speak plainly, and he saw in them a capacity for nursing hate beyond all reason and for all time. He had always disapproved of the Commander's too liberal admiration for that sex. A man hard and fine in all other respects, he had suffered this one weakness, and it had not surprised Usar that he had died at women's hands. It did surprise Usar, however, that a woman had avenged him. For this reason alone had he allowed the company to shelter within his walls. "I am thankful that she lives," he said, "and ashamed that she should be so unguarded in my home. I will post a score of men 394

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under her terrace and a score outside the door. You have my word no one else will break through to her." The company nodded their appreciation and did not trouble to oppose the plan, even though it was unnecessary. They crowded around her like priests, and not one of them stirred from her side again. **** Elora awoke two days later in the middle of the afternoon, unaware that any time had passed and asking how she had come there. After kissing her and stroking her hands they made her eat, and told her of the strange leaves that had saved her life. There was still an Amazon somewhere who loved her. Perhaps one she had saved in battle, or whose name she had thought to ask while the woman lay wounded and ignored. No one mentioned the things she had screamed at them in her delirium, and Jugger explained his cut as an accident suffered amid the panic and the rushing back and forth. They propped her up with pillows and sat beside her. They tried to make her smile, but she would not. It could be that she remembered more than she was admitting to. Rowena decided that she would do best in the company of the two who made her feel closest to her beloved. She discreetly motioned everyone except Eidolon and Jugger to withdraw. They had learned to trust in their island princess, and followed her willingly out to the hallway. Elora did not appear to mark their going. She stared at Jugger's hands holding hers, her gaze slowly losing focus. Eidolon was brushing out her hair. "I dreamt of him," she said blandly. "He asked me not to leave him. I tried to die, but I could not. I have failed him even in that." Jugger was so paralyzed with pity that he could make no answer. Eidolon froze with the brush in mid-stroke. Elora continued casually, as if what she had said were not shattering. "It is a sad business, growing up. I do not like it. I am tired, and I will kill no more. I want 395

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to go home." Jugger faltered, still reeling from the image of her lying there, trying to will herself into death. Eidolon found his tongue at last. "But where is home, darling?" Elora brightened a little. "It is a house in the north, somewhere. A house with a smiling dragon in the courtyard." **** The Company of Nine disappeared without a trace. The Commander waited anxiously for weeks, lodging in a village not too distant from the castle, for news of Elora. He heard from farmers who delivered their produce at the gates that she remained within its walls. She was recovering. She had been seen gazing out at the plains from her balcony, and later visiting the stables. It was known that she dined with Usar at his table. Then one morning the bits of information dried up. She had left in the middle of the night with her riders. Not even Usar knew where she was headed. By the time the Commander learned of her departure it was too late to track the horses. He sought for miles in every direction, but no one had seen her pass. Finally he returned to the village, heavy-hearted, wondering what she had done with her lock of hair. It did not matter, really. She had not looked for him, and neither had she waited for him to come to her. He had his proof at last, and discovered that despite the pride he had always taken in facing things squarely he would have preferred to remain ignorant of this one truth. He wondered why the others had not sought him out. At least Eidolon, surely. But perhaps she had concealed it from them. He could come to them on his own, after all, and she was not keeping them from him, only herself. After handing his horse to a young groom at the public stables, he made his way towards an inn where he could buy himself a warm bath. He should have gone immediately to Uthra, but he lacked the 396

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energy to face her. Moving through a narrow alley, he passed a group of slave women carrying full baskets home from the market. As he turned his gaze on them they quickly, respectfully, lowered their eyes. All save one. He recognized her immediately, and could see that she had recognized him as well. He hurried across to her, afraid that she would speak before he reached her. She dropped her basket and pressed her back to the wall, staring up at him in dread when he leaned close and clapped a hand over her mouth. She stood paralyzed as if she were fettered. The other women were hastening away, wanting no part of the assault, and the alley was left empty, dim and reeking under the overhanging shadow of the shingled roofs. He touched the woman's cheek to calm her and she flinched. "It cannot be," she whispered. "They say you died in the mountains." "Don't." She was silent right away. "You will tell no one who I am. Do you understand?" "Yes, my Lord," she assured him quickly, breathless. "I understand." He touched her cheek again, her long blond hair. "There's no need to be afraid. I will not strike you." She seemed to doubt him at first, but gradually some color returned to her face. It was a pretty face, but so different, he thought, so different from the other. "Do you ride with my sister?" she asked quietly and rather courageously, which surprised him. "No," he told her. "Your sister rides on without me." The woman lowered her eyes, queasy from the fright he had given her. She still did not relax against the wall, but at least she did not run, or tremble when he placed a hand on her shoulder. "What is your name?" he asked. "Anthea, my Lord." "Anthea," he repeated. He stroked her shoulder, entranced by the feel of her skin. She looked nothing like Elora, it was true, but they 397

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were the same flesh and blood and he could think of nothing else. "You must not call me that," he said absently, staring at the curve of her neck, fondling it. "Call me Sir." "Yes, Sir." She was terrified again, but he failed to hear it in her voice. He cupped her chin to study her face. "Anthea." He kissed her mouth and she froze, but he did not mark this either. He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids and her throat, holding her head clasped in both hands. Anthea clawed at the oak planks behind her, struggling not to panic, trying to blend into the wood and disappear. She saw a man turn into the alley, halt with surprise, and quickly withdraw in fear of the armed Ranger. He kept murmuring her name. His deep voice was almost impossibly charged with devotion and calmed her a little. He embraced her, burying his face against her shoulder and the curtain of her hair, and at last she realized that he posed no danger. His grasp was eager but unsteady, strangely delicate. He felt to her miraculously stripped of force and seeking shelter, and she became aware that it was in her power to deny it. But she could not help pitying him, even though she held him responsible for her misfortunes. He seemed so stranded now that her instincts betrayed her. She wrapped her arms around him to stroke his back soothingly, and when he sought her mouth again she returned his kiss. The Commander parted her lips with his own. He reached down to unfasten his trousers, freeing his rigid sex. When he raised her dress to caress her thighs and her naked pubis she did not refuse him. He began to speak her name continuously, like a magic charm. Anthea kissed his temples and his throat, and pulled aside the shirt to mouth his shoulder tenderly. His hands slid along her hips to cup her buttocks. She sighed, and he lifted her onto him, shuddering as her slender legs curled about his waist. He kissed her small breasts through the dress and licked at the exposed space between them, and when his cock touched the downy folds of her sex he moaned and 398

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whispered, "Elora." He made love to her calling her by her sister's name, and she welcomed him as if she understood. When it was over he held her to his breast, brushing his hand over her fine, golden hair and feeling like a wretch for having used her like this, denying her even her the illusion that it was she who was desired and not another. "I am sorry, Anthea," he told her. "No," she said. When she looked up at him he realized she was crying. "It was wonderful to be loved by you, even for a little while. My sister is very lucky. She was always very lucky." She knelt to retrieve the little items that had spilled from her basket. A ball of brown twine, a pouch of salt, some rosemary leaves gathered in a tiny net and a few indifferent pears. She picked them up carefully, fearful that they might be damaged, and tried to clean their soiled skins on her skirt. He could not make himself leave her there, in that dark and stinking lane, looking forward to nothing but a rough hand and grime-covered sheets for a bed. When she straightened, he took her hand and led her after him to the inn. She followed in confusion, not daring to resist him, her eyes submissively bent on the floor. Naturally it was not permitted to avail oneself of another man's property, but he was used to taking whatever he wanted, and who would dare challenge him? The innkeeper certainly did not, even though the Commander could tell he knew Anthea. All the same he overpaid, pressing a gold coin into the man's fat palm to insure they would not be disturbed. The innkeeper showed them to a bedchamber and withdrew with a servile grin. Anthea stood nervously clasping her basket while he filled the bathing tub with water. She gave up the basket obediently when he took it, but her arms reached out a little, following it, and her anxious eyes did not leave it until he turned back to her. She shivered as he undid the laces of her yellow bodice and removed it. His hands slipped under her dress and drew it off over her head. He looked at 399

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her for a moment to let her know she was beautiful, then touched his fingers to her breast. He took her hand to help her into the tub. At this she turned pale and resisted. "You mustn't," she said in a panicked whisper, as if she feared being overheard through the walls. "I am a slave; it is not done. I will be punished." "There are only the two of us here, Anthea. No one will know." She was not reassured, but to anger him frightened her more than a threat of punishment from any other. Whatever his attentions and however tender he might appear he remained the most dangerous man of her acquaintance and she was not about to forget it. She settled stiffly into the water, folding her hands on her lap. The Commander unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it aside. He squatted beside her, leaning on the edge of the tub. His hand came up to touch her cheek, and then he kissed her slowly on the mouth. He licked her lips until they parted, pressed carefully within. She did not draw back, and blinked, surprised, when he did. He soaked a washcloth in the tub and began to wipe the dust from her skin. She had a thinner body than he liked: angular, hardened by exercise and rendered too firm. Her feet and hands were coarse with going barefoot and hoeing in the fields, and the burning sun had left sharp marks on her neckline and arms, but at the stomach her flesh was soft, and the length of her thighs silky as he moved his hand between them. She had exquisite little breasts, and he washed them with his hands, thinking the cloth too rough to touch her there. Her fingers fluttered nervously under the water surface, clenching and loosening about each other on her lap. She was staring at his chest. The Commander knew what she wanted, and lifting her hand he pressed it to his breast, opening her palm, making her stroke the muscles and the soft, dark hair. He guided her to his nipple, let her roll it between her fingertips. Anthea began to caress him of her own will, and he continued to bathe her. When her fingers wandered to his lips he kissed them. 400

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She came to forget herself, astonished at being allowed such things; thinking of the boy she had left behind in her village, and of intimacies that were not coerced. She remembered that day in his slave tanks and felt a new kind of regret. He was not like the others, and she had been foolish. He might have let her stay had she been mild, and she might have lived in his palace along with her sister, perhaps even in his bed. She bowed her head modestly when he looked into her eyes again, and wondered what could have possibly tempted Elora to abandon him. The Commander handled her gingerly, watching her weaken as the seduction took. She had an expressive face and it was simple to read her thoughts. In that at least she was just like Elora. He helped her to her feet and patted her dry with a large, threadbare towel that lay folded across a chair. She held the cloth against her body and watched him walk away to open the window. He stood looking out with his back to her, the breeze gently ruffling his hair, then stretched himself out on the bed and folded his arms behind his head. Anthea waited uncertainly while he studied her. "Don't you want to come to me?" he asked peaceably, with sincere curiosity. She hesitated, somewhat taken aback. But she did want to, and when she discarded the towel her gesture was quick, impatient. The Commander smiled as she straddled his thighs and tugged loose the buckle of his belt. Her hands stroked his groin rather roughly, squeezing his testicles, the stiffening bulge of his penis. He winced a little as she yanked open the buttons, then gave a soft laugh. She smiled at him at last. Her fingers slipped carefully under his genitals and eased them forth. She leaned forward to mount him, and after she had taken him into her, brazenly, groaning with the slow, wet entry, she bent down briefly to kiss his lips. He laid his hands on her thighs as she straightened, and let them rest on her, feeling her muscles tense 401

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while she rocked above him. His passion came slower than hers. He was able to enjoy the pleasure in her face and the deepening of her moans, and that urgent press of her palms on his belly, which heated the whole of his loins. She rode him to her climax and drew him from her sheath still erect, massaging the slick shaft, tugging gently when his own groans came, until he spurted onto her stomach. It was magnificent to watch himself come on her, and more so because she craved it. When he had spent, she took his hand and made him rub the fluids over her trunk, onto her breasts. He sat up to kiss her nipples, her mouth. He caressed her crotch and she smiled again. Afterwards he rested. She remained sitting on him, studying him without nervousness now, as if he were some bizarre but nonetheless alluring beast. He took her moist hands in his, pensive. "If you were free," he wondered, "would you follow your sister, or would you go home?" Anthea sobered. Elora was a creature she did not comprehend any more than she did this man. And yet she loved her little sister. Perhaps it was only a remote kind of love, but it was still love. "I do not know her now," she answered. "I do not belong with her. I could not live like that, wanting those things." It broke her heart to have to think of freedom, and she struggled to keep her voice from shaking. "I would go back to my father. If I could." The Commander considered for a while, his expression drowsy and removed. "Then I will take you to the sea," he told her, "and buy your passage home." Anthea stared at him in disbelief, but he had closed his eyes. **** Elora asked everyone she met about the dragon. Once she had crossed the northern plains and begun to rise into the forests she stopped in every village and at every temple along her road. She asked merchants and carnival players, and priests on pilgrimage to 402

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the shrines of the northern gods. No one had heard of the house she was seeking. The company pushed on through the summer heat, sleeping in meadows. They had not resisted her odd quest, as they had not resisted her wanderings in the past, but this time there seemed no possible end in sight and their mood was dark with a lack of tangible direction. Eidolon would grumble after Elora was asleep, while they lay in total blackness with only their saddles for pillows and the horses grazing nearby. "This is madness, looking for houses with dragons in them. Who ever heard of such a thing? She has never even been to the North." "What does it matter?" snapped Larima. "She’s looking healthier. It gives her something to do." "I have seen this dragon," mused Rowena. "I dream of a white room. She is lying on the bed. The dragon comes to her and breathes on her while she sleeps. It is his breath that keeps her alive." "And what precisely does that mean?" retorted Eidolon irritably. Rowena shrugged, diverted. "I don't know." Tyke was the first to laugh. After the rest joined him they could not stop, not even when Elora came awake, rubbing her eyes. The weather had not cooled one bit and they were well into the wilderness on the day they marched past an ancient, dilapidated shrine perched on high rocks, overlooking the spread of a little winemaking town. They stopped to water at its well. Elora was dismounting from the Hellchild when an old priest opened the doors of the small temple. Hearing travelers he had come to meet them with a smile, but when he saw the armed woman he paled. Elora raised her hand in salute before he could run away and lock the doors against her. "Do not be afraid, old father. I travel with men. You see?" The priest's eyes darted to the Raiders. The sight of Rowena in full armor astride The Elegant paralyzed him, and of Larima leaning casually against the well with a hand on her dagger. Daria lifted a palm to her forehead and bowed gracefully, but the strange greeting 403

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only discomposed him further. He looked at Elora again, wary of her strange black garb, of that opulent sword and her intent, steel gray eyes. "There has never been an Amazon in these parts," he said falteringly. "There is now," replied Elora, impassive. The old man became altogether mute. Flan covered his mouth to stifle a chuckle. "I am looking for a house," Elora continued. "A house with a smiling dragon in the courtyard. Do you know of a place like that?" The priest frowned. He regarded them with new interest. "How strange," he said, "that it should be warriors who come in search of it. All in the village know that house, but it has been abandoned many years." The company was dumbfounded. Rowena smiled, delighted. Elora struggled to keep her voice even. "Who did it belong to?" "It was where the Old Kings lived, the Old Line. Their power faded centuries ago. Their descendants languished there, generation after generation, emptying their treasure rooms of wealth until there was none left. There was one last heir, a boy, but he disappeared. After that the family died out and the estate fell to ruin. I have not been in that valley for twenty years. I do remember the statue, however. I daresay it still stands." "Are we far from it?" asked Elora, taut with expectation. "Half a day's march over the hills, or a little less." They galloped in long spurts for the rest of the afternoon, Eidolon and Rowena riding hard to keep up with the Hellchild thundering ahead, Jugger holding back with the others to tug the braying packmules forward. The priest came along on his own pony, curious to the point that he had offered to guide what he had so decidedly dreaded only a few hours before. Soon he lagged behind as well, his pony huffing and puffing beside Zurco's charger, appalled at the sudden onslaught of exercise. The Hellchild would not slacken his pace until he collapsed, so 404

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eventually Elora reined him in, prancing down a hill thick with fir and pine and breaking from the trees into a rounded valley. Yellow grass covered the broad circle of flat ground ringed by dark green woods, and random patches of red poppies burst up here and there, besieged by clouds of white butterflies. In the center of the valley stood a large, raw stone edifice, magnificent once, now encased almost wholly in vines grown wild. Tall columns held up an enormous terrace at the front of the house. A wide marble stairway led up to it, splintered and sprouting grass. The balcony railings of the second-story chambers were beginning to crumble, but the main structure remained solid and relatively intact. Elora crossed the valley slowly, not wanting to waste a single view. It was not a warrior's home. It sat open and undefended in its little corner of the land, such a tranquil place, built with full confidence in lasting peace. He had grown up just like her, without walls. She imagined him frolicking in this field, running with pet dogs and scattering his father's sheep. At the bottom of the stairway she set the Hellchild loose, and while he cantered off to graze, bucking at his unexpected freedom, she climbed the broken steps. Several great wooden doors lined the terrace, open, half-rotten, falling off hinges caked with rust. She stepped into the front halls. Only bits and pieces of furniture remained. The draperies had been burned for fuel and were turned to dark heaps in the fireplaces, cobwebs threading over them. Vines had crept in here as well and formed a wall of their own over archways leading to sunlight. She drew her sword and hacked her way through, pushing into a square courtyard that looked up at the second story. Stairways led to a wide hall ringing the enclosure. She could see the mangled doors of family chambers beyond. The courtyard was paved in blue tiles. A wagonload of hay had been left piled in one corner and daring green saplings had taken root in its soggy mass. Standing in the middle of the yard, almost completely buried in a weave of wild flowers, was a playful stone 405

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dragon sitting on its hind legs, a thick, scaly tail curling behind him towards the sky. It was not very big at all, no taller than she was, and its jaws were split open in a grin that made it seem toy-like and benevolent rather than that familiar symbol of awesome might. She dropped her sword and ran to tear off the flowers with her hands. By the time the others arrived she had cleaned them off almost completely, laughing and crying and kissing the dragon's snout. "He played with it!" she exclaimed in hysterical delight. "He told me! And look! Here it is!" The company gazed around in amazement. Eidolon had to sit down on a step, for he too was beginning to cry. "He was a king, after all," he said with a dazed smile. "He really was." The old priest watched them spread out to run their hands over the stone ruin as if it were alive. Daria and Tyke headed upstairs to explore. Larima stroked Eidolon's back and returned his smiles while he wept happily. Zurco kept turning round and round in astonishment, and Jugger and Flan were helping Elora with her dragon, sweetly pretending that her frantic attentions to it were normal. The priest turned to Rowena, who remained serene and smiling next to him. "Why does she wear the mourning color?" "She knew the boy," said Rowena gently. "He was her husband." **** The Commander stood at the edge of the wooden pier watching a merchant galley make ready to sail, loaded with bales of cotton. He wrapped a gray cloak around Anthea. "I have spoken to the captain. He will not dare cross me, you will be treated fairly." She tried to speak but could not. He pressed his coin pouch into her palm. "What is left in here will get you to your village once you land." Anthea fell to her knees and kissed his hand. The satisfaction he derived from it surprised him. He had forgotten how much he liked 406

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it. "Tell your father..." he began, but changed his mind. The old fisherman would probably remain perplexed by Elora to the end of his days, just like her sister. "Hurry, now. They’re about to pull the gangway." Anthea scurried to the ship, and as it rowed away she leaned over the stern rail to raise her hand in a hesitant wave. The Commander nodded once, but the parting meant little to him. He turned his back and walked from the dock onto land. Setting her free had seemed an appropriate gesture. That both sisters should go their ways from his power closed the circle of his experience with them with a restful finality. It did strike him, however, that the gesture had also been foolishly romantic, and he wondered at what point exactly he had become such a sentimental man. He was without money again and this was beginning to annoy him. He was too old, he told himself, to be gallivanting about, pretending that man could survive on passion alone. He missed his throne and his grand halls, and the din of his army. He missed the thrill of leading, of making plans and settling disputes, and maneuvering ahead of the rest in that endless, exacting game of strategy that had kept him at the top. He missed the talk of men and their need to conquer, and the delights of power lured him, for in the end he had to admit they were worth its weight. He was bored out of his mind. "What an ambitious bastard you are," he muttered quietly, laughingly, to himself as he mounted his horse. "It will be your downfall every time." He reached the Mountains of the Moon in fairly good spirits. He would regret her always, and seek her in his dreams, but as long as he knew she lived and lived contented he could go on. The sight of the cottage saddened him a little. Uthra seemed disheartened and nervous and this did not help. Refusing to let melancholy take a hold of him he rubbed down his weary horse, then sat by the fire to drink a bottle of wine. "You went out after her and never came back," said Uthra while 407

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she stirred his dinner in a pot. "I thought you had gone away with her." "And left you behind?" he asked her with a smile. "Is that what you think of me?" Uthra blushed and started to apologize. He silenced her with a mild wave. "I think it is time," he told her, "to return to the White City. If I wait much longer there will be nothing left to return to. The Amazons will not stay in mourning forever." "And your girl?" she asked. "She is not my girl. I wish you would get that through your head. Anyhow, she has disappeared." "She is in the North," said Uthra, looking puzzled. "It is very strange. They say that she will retire." The Commander raised his eyebrows skeptically. "At twenty-two years of age and with the world caught by the tail? I doubt it." "They say she’s found an old estate, a ruin nobody would want, and she is rebuilding it. All of her wealth has begun to flow there. The caravans have not stopped, from the east and from the south. All the booty she was owed, she is collecting." The Commander had paused with the wine cup halfway to his lips. "An estate where? Where in the north?" "Beyond the mountain passes, I think. Somewhere near the Nine Hills where they say the gods were born." The Commander set down his cup. He left his hand around it, fingers curling loosely on the worked pewter, his eyes darting about in some desperate calculation. Uthra watched from her stool before the hearth, nonplussed. "My Lord, are you well?" That one tiny detail, the only thing he had ever told her, and she had remembered. The moment was so unbearably sweet that he almost could not feel it. Yet he was not surprised. Nothing about Elora could surprise him anymore. She might seem a walking contradiction to the rest of the world, unwieldy because she was not definable, because she refused to take form and wanted to be all 408

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things, even things she could not find names for, but to him she was clear as glass. He was Elora. He felt tired suddenly, exhausted with joy. "She found it. She dragged them all that way and actually found it." Uthra smiled uneasily, if politely, struggling for a bit of clarity. He didn’t notice. "Saddle your pony," he told her. "We are going home." **** The largest bedchamber in the house faced east and was the first to warm in the mornings. There was a fountain in one corner, and three archways led out to a garden terrace. Elora planted white roses and dahlias, and filled the trees with baskets of seed so the birds would come. She let a wisteria vine with white blossoms crawl over the archways so that its flowers hung down in coils, perfuming the room. The blue stone dolphin in the fountain was polished to a subtle gleam, and water was again made to run from its snout, spilling into a pool of gray tiles that shone silver under the rippling surface. The walls she had painted white, and on the vaulted ceiling she allowed only sky. An enormous four-poster bed was placed in the center of the room. She draped vaporous white curtains from its frame and covered it with white sheets of the finest lawn. He had liked white cotton in the afternoons. Balidor sent her an exquisite little cabinet worked with ivory. On its doors was an Amazon warrior riding a fine horse, and a dragon moved beside her, one great wing stretched above her to shield her from the elements. Elora could smile at the old King's shrewdness now, and she filled the cabinet with every object of delight she could think of, arranging them on royal blue silk, never to be used. She would only look at them, handling the leather bindings, the smooth, rounded paddles, the beautifully molded phalluses fitted with harnesses of red ribbons. She ordered a desk brought in for him, and a chair padded in green velvet, and she had the South scoured for books, for that was where the chroniclers 409

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lived. Zurco gave her a jeweled music box that played the Commander's favorite melody. She did not spend her nights in this room, but she came to it for a few hours every day and laid herself out on the white bed, hands folded over her heart, to rest. She took lovers now and then, and learned new things about love. She discovered that one overwhelming passion was not the only kind, that she could love in innumerable ways and enjoy moments of intimacy that were no less real than an absolute devotion, even if they were temporary. Eidolon came often to her, and there was a steady stream of builders and artisans passing through the house. Even Jugger came to her some nights, driven by old longings he could not fully ignore. Slave girls came and Tyke would bring them to her, and Daria liked to sleep in her arms. While the rebuilding of the estate lasted she was kept busy and contented. She became familiar to the farmers and the traders of the nearby town, drinking ale with them in their taverns and settling their petty arguments, and they called her simply the girl. She helped Flan train the new mastiffs and went hunting with Rowena. During one of those outings she clasped Rowena’s hand and kissed it, and was told she need not ask for forgiveness. Once the restoration was completed, however, and the company settled into a peaceful domesticity, she again had too much time on her hands. She was resigned to living without him, yet she could not deny that she had created that ridiculous, wonderful room, that she always breathed easier in it, and that some days her poisoned-arrow wound ached still, as if his ghost had imbedded a tiny shard of iron in her core when it had visited her that terrible night. She liked to sit on the terrace at the front of the house and stare across the valley, down the beaten path that finally cut into the trees and disappeared. The company would slowly gather around her, coming each from their own day's work. It became a tradition in the afternoons, to eat strawberries and hazelnuts, listen to Larima play her harp, and amuse Elora while she watched her road. Tyke could 410

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always make her laugh, and Jugger told stories about a strange land called Biskra where the snakes were taught to dance. She knew that she troubled them by gazing so long down that grassy avenue, that they believed she was in pain, waiting for something that would never walk it. But it was not true, she expected nothing. She looked at the road because she saw in it all her others, all the adventures that had led her here, and she liked to meander through them. It seemed ironic to her that her great adventure had been her first, that it had been him and she had not recognized it. Now that she could she relived it in pieces day by day, savoring it at last. It comforted her to know that apart from their concern over her little oddities they were happy. She had finally brought them to a good place. It was during one of these restful meetings on the terrace, while Flan dozed with his head on Elora's lap and she stroked his hair, and while Larima regaled the company with her always gripping and everaltering tale of the duel against Megante, that a man appeared from the pines and came walking across the valley. Tyke had gone to the village and Elora thought at first that it must be him returning, but the man was too tall, his stride too long and easy. He wore a green cloak with the hood drawn up. It was autumn already. Though he was still far and his features remained a blur, Elora could not turn away. The broad curve of his shoulder mesmerized her, the relaxed swing of his arms and the loose hands that never strayed toward his sword hilt. The way he never looked down. Certain the ground would rise to meet him. There could not be two men who walked that way, and impossible as it was she did not doubt it for a second. She wanted to shout his name in greeting and realized with a shock that she did not know it. All she could utter was a choked cry, and she was bolting from her chair, almost knocking Flan to the ground, racing down the marble stairs. The company started, caught off guard. Eidolon got to his feet and peered curiously at the small 411

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figure of the stranger, shielding his eyes from the light. "What is she doing?" A fat gray pony emerged lazily from the trees, and riding on it the unmistakable shape of Uthra, reins laid across her lap and her silver hair bright under the sun. Eidolon looked at the man in green again, and blanched. The hand at his brow fell slowly, haltingly, to his side. Jugger failed to move at all, managing only to whisper, "It cannot be." The rest were mute. Rowena struggled numbly from her seat. "But of course," she said, astonished by the simple logic of it and how foolish she had been. "This is why I could not see his death." Elora was still some distance away when he stopped and drew back the hood, smiling at her. She had time to see that the lines around his eyes had deepened a little, and that in contrast his mouth had softened somehow. He seemed more dazzling than the man she remembered. Her memories, vivid as they were, had been unable to hold the full power of his beauty in the flesh. She had forgotten its details: the brilliance of the sun-kissed skin, the way his hair moved, the contour of the hands and the precise blue of his eyes. She was out of breath when she reached him, and she saw no more. Without slackening her pace she flung herself onto him and wrapped him in a savage hold, burying her face against his neck, breathing in his smell, and started to cry. He staggered back a step from the force of the impact, then held her, heaving and hot from her run, her ankles locking around his waist. "Oh, Elora. My beautiful girl. I have waited so long for you to grow up, and look at you, what a perfect little terror." He squeezed her tight, kissed her disheveled hair. Elora cried and gulped in air, hiccuping violently. "I take it that you still love me," he teased her after a moment. Elora could not answer. She hit the back of his shoulder mindlessly, furiously, with a clenched fist. The blow made him wince and laugh. With his cheek resting against her bowed head he carried her towards the house. 412

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He had the unfair advantage of having been prepared for their meeting. Even though his desire mounted and nothing could have persuaded him to let her go he could withstand it peaceably. He had envisioned the moment all through his slow journey with Uthra, so many times over so many nights that it could no longer shake him. He gazed at the familiar valley, still sleepy and serene, unchanged after all these years; at the building brought to a state of splendor it had never enjoyed in his childhood, though naturally Elora could not know it. She had overplayed in this as she did in everything else, and made it so beautiful that it almost seemed new to him. Elora did not raise her head from his shoulder once. No questions came to her yet, not even clear thoughts. His presence took up all of her faculties and left no room for consideration. Explanations were uncalled for, insignificant. She felt him climb the steps to the terrace, felt the heat of bodies closing about them. She felt him shift her weight to one of his arms, the other leaving her to touch them in some way, but she held to him fiercely and selfishly and did not care. She saw Eidolon out the corner of her eye and heard the soft, intimate sound of their kiss, felt the press of his body as he was drawn into an embrace. Eidolon's arm went around her. His face touched her elbow as he rested his head on the Commander's shoulder. She had a first inkling of guilt, but she was afraid to let go, as if that one act would betray her and make him vanish. The Commander held Eidolon near, kissing his mouth again when he drew back. "I have missed you, my love." Eidolon nodded tearfully, his excitement so powerful that he could not speak. He stroked Elora's head clumsily and proudly, looking from her to the Commander, offering her as the perfect expression of his own feelings. The Commander reached out to clasp the shoulder of his steady lieutenant. "Thank you, Jugger." He smiled, nodding towards Eidolon and Elora. "You have cared so well for them. I knew you would. I am in 413

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your debt." He kissed Rowena's hand and called her Your Highness, and she bent on one knee before him. He continued to greet them, letting them bow and press their foreheads to the back of his hand, giving them time to regain their composure, giving Elora time to calm. Finally Eidolon led him away, into the house. He walked slowly backwards, squeezing the Commander's fingers, his eyes bright with a tremulous, impatient delight. The Commander followed without really noticing the rooms they crossed. The place was dear to him only for what it held now, and looking at Eidolon was all that mattered. They passed through the front halls into the sunlit courtyard, and there the Commander glanced briefly at his dragon. Eidolon drew him up the stairs, around the open corridor to the chamber where his father had slept. The perfume of wisteria blossoms spilled out as Eidolon opened a new set of doors made from worked redwood and jade. The Commander heard the rush of the fountain, and then Eidolon urged him inside. It must be her room. He had never seen anything so delicately sensual. The very sight of it made him want to make love. Eidolon surprised him by turning to withdraw. He tightened his grip on the hand before it could slip from his. "I can wait," said Eidolon generously, and left. The Commander carried Elora to the white bed and sat down. She had stopped sobbing and breathed a little easier against him. He nuzzled her hair, pressing into its silken mass, kissed it. He wanted to kiss her mouth but she seemed unready to let go. He stroked her back and the curve of her hips under the fitted black trousers. His organ hardened, a sweet ache spreading outward from between his legs. He brushed her abundant locks aside and opened his lips on her neck. She made some tiny sound. Her arms began to loosen, hands flexing, taking off his cloak. She sighed heavily. He pushed against her face and she kissed him at last. How he had missed her mouth, the taste of her. Elora fed on him drowsily, still stunned, wanting to kiss him once 414

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for every day she had mourned him. She began to wonder finally how he could possibly be alive, and why he had abandoned her all of two years and more, but she did not want to pause and ask. Eventually he forced her from him, her face held in both hands, to look at her. She wanted to say something very nice to him but not a thing came to mind. "I built this room for you," she offered dazedly, thinking it was not what she wanted to tell him at all, it was not enough. "Do you like it?" He did not turn from her eyes. "I brought lots of books for you," she continued helplessly. She tried to make him glance at them. "You see?" "What did you do with your lock of hair?" he asked, still looking only at her. "I want it back." Elora faltered, confused. "What lock of hair?" "The one you left for me at the waterfall." She stared at him vacantly. "I laced it through your fingers," he said, surprised, becoming agitated. "I was the one who came to you that night. In Usar's fortress." "I never saw it," she replied in a little voice, as if she did not really understand what he was telling her and were apologizing for losing some favorite trinket of his she should not have touched. "None of us ever saw it. I thought I had dreamed you." "You didn’t know that I was alive?" She shook her head. The Commander wavered. He looked around at the room with a new awareness. "Do you like it?" she asked him again in that same, hopeful way. He kissed her hungrily, shaken, turning her over onto the bed, climbing on her. His hands clutched at her arms, pulling them around his neck, at her breasts. "Wait," she said, tearing herself from the kiss, pushing against him when he tried to persist. Her urgency was such that he obeyed. "I want to know your name." 415

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The Commander was so affected he could not answer. He merely stared at her, his smile pained. "You will not tell me?" She seemed devastated. "I have wanted so much for you to ask me. I thought that you never would." He bowed his head against her face, whispering. "It is Ciaran, Elora." She felt one soft kiss on her cheek, and then he was looking at her again. "My name is Ciaran. You are the only one who knows it." "Ciaran," she repeated with the same wonder she had felt the first time she had seen roses, or touched velvet. The power of the word was enormous. It made him palpable and inevitably human, and she felt she had learned a whole new language and not just a name. He came from somewhere, just like she did. The pieces of his life made sense to her. He had promised he would seem simple once she learned how to look and she was beginning to unravel him at last. She already knew him better than anyone else did, and although he was anything but simple, although she had so far to go, he was a thrilling and thoroughly welcoming maze. His eyes became merry, and she knew she had lifted some final, terrible weight from him. She pulled him close and kissed him avidly, the burden of fulfilling his wishes turning into a sudden surge of liberation. With their mouths locked together they tore at each other's belts and trousers, wresting them off half way, until his sex was free against her and her thighs could part, and he thrust, groaning, into her. They held the kiss for as long as they could stand it, but finally he buried his face in her neck, enraptured by the friction and the shock of being inside her. She grabbed at his hips and the hot slope of his back, digging her nails in the hard flesh, pushing his shirt up to his shoulders. The cool cotton sheets warmed with the rubbing of her naked backside, and her head fell back onto fresh-smelling pillows as his arms went around her, hands pressing on her spine, arching her toward him. They came quickly to that mindless frenzy before the peak, but once reached there was no end to it. The delight prolonged itself 416

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interminably and Elora was astonished at how there was no weariness, no limit to their greed. When her climax burst she could not make herself stop grinding against him, her insides ripe and hungry still despite the punishment, despite convulsions that she thought would break her apart. She felt shattered and beautiful and sublimely obliterated under him, under that comforting, terrifying strength that had nothing to do with his body. It was not his limbs and cock and mouth that turned her inside out and tore her to shreds only to put her back together again, but the spectacular force of his soul. He cried out and jetted into her, his thrusts frantic to the last surge and even after. He remained within, clutching her tightly, refusing to accept that it could not go on, his member throbbing languidly. She tried to press her hand between them to touch it but he resisted. "No. Let me stay with you." She caressed his face and he breathed against her palm, eyes closed. "I love you," he said without even realizing it, fluid and thoughtless like any other caress. "I love you." He had never told her before, and though she already knew it was true it was a lovely shock to hear it. She unbuttoned his shirt. His eyes opened drowsily and he arched to let her take it off, his cock shifting inside, tempting her. She touched the great, dark scar on his trunk, running her fingers over the whole of its length, exploring it tenderly. It gave her no pain to see it. She thought it was beautiful and suited him perfectly, and looking at it was like having him say "I love you" again. She told him how magnificent it was and it made him laugh. He let his sex slip from her at last to remove her black shirt and gaze at her full breasts, to mouth them quickly and greedily, stiffening the nipples between his lips and then stroking his cheek against them. They rolled across the bed, undressing each other, tossing aside boots, tangled clothes, his sheathed sword. She wrapped him in white lawn and kissed his lips and his body through the sheets. He drew her 417

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beneath him to mouth her belly and her damp pubic curls, and when he began to lick open the folds of her sex she raised her head to watch him, running her hand over his soft hair. She felt a great, woeful longing and coaxed him back up to her for a lingering kiss. "Why did you leave me?" she whispered. "It is good that I left," he said after a moment, with a tiny wince but no real regret. "You know it is." Elora took his hand and made him grasp his cock, massaging it, shifting it down along her sex to the delicate mouth of her anus. "Take me there," she asked him, her lips touching his. "No one else ever has. It is for you only, just like you wanted. Do it to me. I want to know what it feels like." The Commander hesitated, but only because he was savoring her gift. The idea that she had kept faith all this time with what must have seemed no more than a whim to her, and that she would be a virgin again in his arms, galvanized him. He had always wanted one detail that would separate him in her mind from all the rest, and that he did not need it any longer made the moment no less arousing. He slipped a moist finger between her folds to caress the little knob of her clitoris, traced the line of her cheekbone with his tongue, covered it in tiny kisses. Urging the slick head of his cock against her, he pressed with supreme care, heating her only, knowing that the muscle would yield when she was ready. Elora lifted her thighs around him, her response nearly immediate, and curious because she could recognize the rise of her passion, mostly in the fluids that seeped out of her to coat his fingers. She would not have felt them if he had not been there to touch her, to spread them. She found it wonderful that her body would trick and surprise her so pleasantly. Her tender opening began to dilate, the feel of his leaking intense, making her crave his entry with a desire more concentrated than any other and an expectation more charged, because of course, she was afraid of his girth. She wanted at every moment to cry out Stop, be careful, and that apprehension, too, fed her excitement. The Commander sighed against her mouth. His organ was almost 418

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unbearably hard now. The kneading of her anus on the sensitive, dripping tip sent shocks of intense warmth through his loins to the base of his spine and the testicles flooding within their soft sack, expanding in slow spurts, to the loosening walls of his own rectum. He could already feel the inside of her rim when he pressed, the suckling, tautly smooth flesh. Drawing back, he straightened to his knees, though he did not stop masturbating her. "What’s wrong?" she asked, jolted from her happy daze and impatient, her legs losing their hold on him. He had to smile. "Nothing. I'm too excited." He kept teasing her sex, reached out to caress her breasts and squeeze them a little. She seemed pleased, but then abruptly sat up and climbed off the bed. He watched, slightly taken aback, as she walked to an ivory cabinet against the wall. He had failed to notice it before, and when he saw the Amazon and her fiercely protective monster, haunting and guarding her at the same time, he could not quite suppress a laugh. Elora glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "Balidor gave it to me. What a frustratingly clever old man." "Isn't he, though?" agreed the Commander, amused, but also enchanted at the knowledge that they could speak of Balidor with such easy understanding, looking at him with the same eyes. "He likes you," she said seductively, and he knew she was speaking for herself also, teasing him with her lust even as she flattered him. She slipped one hand inside the cabinet without parting the doors fully and returned to the bed with something hidden in her fist. Kneeling before him she held out her arm, slowly uncurling the fingers. On her palm was a beautiful golden ring, large enough to gird his shaft. The Commander looked up at her eyes. She did not say a word, but was absolutely demanding that he wear it. This delighted him, and he leaned forward to kiss her lips before spreading his hands to his sides and offering himself to her. She snapped open a tiny clasp and worked the ring over his cock, 419

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lodging it firmly against the base. With a small flick of her wrist she tightened it, fastening the clasp. He groaned involuntarily as the gold dug into his swollen flesh, but the diffuse pain lasted only a moment. Then it was swallowed by his arousal, becoming part of it, seeming as natural as the pulsing of his shaft. Elora fondled the insides of his thighs with both hands, his scrotum. He wanted to devour her suddenly. To tear off the annoying little ring and plunge into her hot sweet sex again, gorging himself on her delicious flesh and that impetuous, untamed heart that drew him to her so wildly. But she was so excited and tenderly nervous, though she tried to conceal it, that he could not deny her his patience. She turned away and crouched on all fours, lifting her rounded buttocks toward him, and carefully he brushed his lips over the velvet skin, kissing it. He lapped at the knot of her anus and the salty pulp of her parted sex. His hand went around her waist to stroke her belly, moving leisurely down, his fingers closing her folds and working them in small circles, massaging the nodule underneath. Elora moaned and rocked a little, and guiding his penis to the cleft of her backside, he pushed onto her anus with a measured, continuous force, letting it penetrate slowly. Elora could not help a long, plaintive moan. The entry froze all thought and she was aware only of the awesome hardness of the flesh, of the veined texture of his cock, which she could never feel so acutely within her sex. She buried her reddened face in the pillows. She felt him scoop the cream from between her drenched folds and smear it gently around his shaft, oiling the gorged opening. When she thought he could not possibly sink deeper he pressed deeper still, the violation so thorough that it seemed deliciously permanent, as if he had fused with her. Then the gold ring touched her, his testicles caressing the pelt of her sex. He bent forward and kissed her shoulder between ragged breaths. There was some pain, but only some, and he did not thrust at all, waiting for her to ask him. He turned her face and kissed her hot 420

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cheek, strands of her hair tangling in his lips. She had never felt so intimately, passionately joined to anyone. "I am so happy," she whispered when she could speak. "I am so happy that it was you. I love you." He rocked kindly into her, and soon she was undulating her hips to receive him, her groans louder as she became more pliable and the pleasure increased. His fingers slipped into her sex, the meat of his palm rubbing steadily against her folds, exposing the hot, tiny kernel of flesh in between. The orgasm came upon her swiftly, an explosion less violent but more luxurious, more lasting than the first. His fingers pumped the juices out of her with strong thrusts, and she shuddered with his powerful shaft turgid and unmoving inside her. When she quieted he eased away from her, pressing her down to the bed, bowing to kiss the small of her back. They lay without moving for a time, the Commander embracing her hips, his face resting on her warm buttocks. Elora listened to the gurgling of the fountain and stared at the thick coils of white flowers dropping from the archways, swaying gently, intermittently, in the breeze. She stared at the sun on the terrace tiles and the sea of rumpled sheets around her, and safely anchored by his relaxed grasp and his weight on her legs she suddenly felt the gift of her youth, looking ahead with calm pleasure at the coming of the years. She was not ending up in this room after all, but starting out. She twisted onto her back and sat up to bend over him, hugging his head to her stomach and kissing it, pressing her fingers down the length of his spine. Slowly she coaxed him to the center of the bed and made him lie flat, looking up at her. She straddled his thighs and enjoyed his tranquil smile. His cock remained turgid, bloating slightly over the unyielding ring of gold. She licked the crown to quicken him, sucked it in and let her teeth scrape over the soft, wet tip. "I want to tie you down," she told him. The Commander smiled indulgently, and nodded. He had absolutely no wish to be tied down at this moment, but it pleased him that she would ask, that she had grown so bold. He wondered how 421

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many men she had tied down and mastered at the Stronghold, and prepared himself to be surprised. She returned to the ivory cabinet and selected some little items he could not quite make out from the bed. When she brought them to him wrapped in a large blue scarf, he tried to open it and she slapped his hand away. Her fingers slipped into the package, producing a pair of leather cuffs. She fettered his wrists, kissing the wide bones before encasing them in the bindings. She leaned over him to buckle his hands onto the carved headboard and he kissed her stomach, and she stayed there a little, lulled by his touch. What she did next astounded him, and had she asked he would have never permitted it. She took a leather gag from the blue cloth and forced it, gently but quickly, into his mouth. It surprised him so much that he never recovered in time to protest. He tensed, but she had already secured it at the back of his head. He bit down on the leather, his tongue pushed back. He could not close his lips. It unsettled him terribly because he had never endured it. Left truly helpless, his first impulse was to be angry. He shook his head and strained against the bonds, and Elora pressed a soothing hand to his forehead, urging him down, onto the pillows. "Rest easy, my love. I will not hurt you." The words paralyzed him. He had uttered them so many times, but never heard them from another, and it was as if she were stealing away some shield he had not even known he was wearing. He felt split open and suddenly, utterly naked, defenseless as he had never been rendered by anyone, not even Olean. She smoothed back his hair and gave him a kiss he could not return with that thick, awful bar in his mouth. Then she folded open the scarf, revealing a good-sized phallus, presenting it to him held in both palms. She poured a trickle of scented oil over it and coated it thoroughly, massaging it, letting the tip brush against his cock. He flinched, profoundly excited in spite of himself, and she parted his thighs wide, pushing against the backs of his knees. The phallus slid 422

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into the crease of his buttocks and rubbed his anus teasingly, her free hand cupping his testicles, shifting them out of the way. He moaned, anticipating the entry, watching her serious face and wondering if she would rape him, after all. It occurred to him briefly, amid all the rage that his impotence brought on, that he might like it. But she withdrew and touched the phallus to her sex instead, sitting back on her haunches, masturbating herself. Her fingers slipped down to part the rosy folds, displaying her core for him. The slick mouth enlarged as she probed it with the hard leather tip, and he tried to close his eyes and shut her out but he could not. To watch her pleasure herself and be unable to move was excruciating. Her charms were suddenly doubled. Her seduction having shed all its innocence and gained all her force, he coveted her like never before. She had learned how to harness her desire and his, to use passion on him and against him, and deep down he could not be angry: both the torture and the sweet cruelty of it were welcome. But the lust still maddened him. He wanted to break loose his wrists and spit out the gag, and ravish her until she was broken and breathless and thoroughly his. She had known it, the fetters were enormously strong. He writhed uselessly, arching his hips toward her, his organ throbbing and unable to spill. She smiled, an enchantingly wicked little smile, then drove the oiled phallus full into herself, undulating slowly against it. It glistened with a coating of her fluids when she removed it, and touched it, inexpressibly hot, to his scrotum. "Turn over," she told him. "I want to take you from behind." The Commander blushed furiously but he did not hesitate. He twisted gracelessly onto his stomach and pulled his knees under him, lifting his hips. Elora leaned forward and slipped her tongue into the part of his cheeks, curling it about the soft black hairs, dampening their nest. He moaned behind the gag, tremulous and loud. His anus opened against her lips. She probed it a little, bewitched by its subtly sour taste, by the delicacy of the wrinkled skin. She tapped it lightly with 423

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her thumb. When she pressed in he cried out like a woman, bucking against her, his engorged cock slapping against his belly. Quickly she withdrew, delighted, amazed at the violence with which she could make him feel. He kept moaning, moaning even more desperately than he needed to so she would hear, moaning solely for her. He thought he would die and he thought yes, she is wiser than me, I have no choice and this is what I want, this is heavenly. Elora slid her legs under his belly and pushed him down to lie stretched across her lap. His cock jerked violently, remorselessly beneath him, and grasping it firmly she pulled it between her thighs, squeezing it into a firm sheath. He began to thrust at once, grinding his hips onto her. She tried to make him stop, but he was too strong and too aroused to control himself. So she caressed his clenching buttocks instead, her touch roughening as the sight excited her; she dug her nails into the flesh and left white tracks on him. She loved the way he blushed pink as the blood-flow returned, and slapped him hard with the flat of her palm. He gasped behind the leather gag. His body went taut, then slackened with shock. She kissed the base of his spine and he whimpered. He liked this from her, she could tell. She slapped him again. He started to thrust faster, jerking with each blow, his backside rising willingly against them. His moans were ceaseless and deep, choked as he fought the gag, and the muscles of his shoulders and arms bulged as he tugged reflexively on the fetters. Her palm began to burn with the sting of the slaps. Thinking of that boy in Balidor's camp so long ago she wished she were stronger, to please him better, drive him farther. But she sensed this was enough. It was not her strength that mattered to him. The joint of her thighs grew hot with the ramming, and when she knew he could stand no more she reached underneath and loosened the gold ring, ending his agony. The bloated cock stilled, almost ready to burst. She kissed his scalded buttocks and reached for the phallus at her side. 424

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The knot of his anus yielded so readily that although she had intended to penetrate him with caution the large shaft sank through at once. She eased back, startled, but he arched, begging her to continue. Tentatively she worked it inside, twisting the hilt, coring the channel timidly at first, then with harsher motions while he howled and rubbed himself wildly between her thighs. She felt the sheath flood as he ejaculated in long, burning spurts, his anus clenching on the rod, milking it as she released it, still afraid to injure him. His convulsions almost expelled it. His bucking died down, and she took it from him, squeezing his buttocks together to help him tighten again. He shuddered violently, gratefully, and then was still, his member flaccid in the prison of her thighs, slippery and warm with semen. Elora rolled him onto his back. He stared at her with glazed eyes as she bent close to lick his lips, and lifted his head eagerly to let her remove the gag. The moment it was gone he began to kiss her avidly, her breasts and her stomach, the mound of her sex as she moved to free his hands. He yanked loose as soon as she had undone the first buckle, upsetting her balance, and with the leather bonds still on each wrist he pulled her under him and pressed a brutal kiss to her mouth, the force of his jaws crushing her. He took her breath from her and then mouthed her throat and her breasts, biting the nipples, his large hands clawing at her waist and the slope of her hips. Suddenly he began to lick her, calming, wetting her nipples quickly and carefully, giving them small, sucking kisses. The roving of his hands mellowed too, his fingers running lightly over her skin. She wound her arms about his head. "Are you happy?" she asked. "Yes." He kissed her mouth repeatedly, smiled at her, returned to nuzzling her breasts. Finally he rested there, holding her close. Elora stroked the back of his neck, curling her fingers in the silky, minkbrown hair. "You belong to me," she told him with quiet, profound 425

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satisfaction. "Yes," he said again, and fell asleep in her arms. **** They did not leave the room for four days, making love almost continuously, almost exclusively, on the perfumed terrace and in the bath, on the very floor, beneath their painted sky. They slept a great deal, a heavy, exhausted sleep, as if neither of them had truly rested since that winter morning when they had left the walls of the White City. Meals appeared once in a while, slipped discreetly through the door on a silver cart, and they played with the food as much as they ate it. They were not really hungry for food. He introduced her to new pleasures, and she came to master him without doubts, learning to take him whenever and however she wanted, discovering that he would yield tamely even after having made her succumb over and again, always pleased to let her take control. A new fascination and respect for what he needed as well as what he could give replaced her girlish adoration. She felt tremendous pride in him, suddenly. It thrilled her how bold and sure of himself he was, how he could give himself to her like a slave, without holding anything back. No other man had ever been able to give her this gift. And yet her pride was entirely different from that blind awe she had felt for him at the White City, when she had thought him to exist somewhere beyond fear or pain. That he was vulnerable was precisely what made him so superb. And she owned him, she did. All this was hers. They explored one another's bodies with fresh wonder, sometimes doing nothing but lying together and stroking slowly, lingeringly, their eyes following the passage of their hands. She found old battle scars on him that she had never noticed before, and he told her the stories that went with them. She called him by his name. He told her about Olean, which never failed to arouse her, the anecdotes always ending abruptly as she gave herself up to him to do with what he liked. He dressed her just to have the pleasure of undressing her 426

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again, and she brought baskets of rose petals in from the garden, sprinkling them over him, and rubbing herself into their perfume and into his while he took her. The desire for making love to her violently came upon him always suddenly, always unexpected. At first she tried resisting his advances to excite him even more, but the pretense invariably made him laugh and she had to stop. She loved the little bruises he unintentionally left on her, the imprints of his fingers and his mouth, and she tried to mark him as well, his throat and his chest and the fair, smooth skin over his ribcage. Sometimes she bit him too harshly and he would pull away, laughing. She had to make all sorts of promises before he would let her begin the game anew, promises that she immediately proceeded to break, and this delighted him most of all. She told him she loved him, told him every other minute, and he did not mind hearing it now. Straddled on his lap she chided him sweetly for not believing her before, and it entertained him so much that he would ask her to continue even after she had run out of ideas. She had fallen asleep next to him, lying on her stomach with her face resting on folded arms, and he was playing with her hair, separating the tresses with his fingers and pushing them into wavy shapes on her naked back, when the chamber door opened fully at last and Eidolon glanced cautiously in. The Commander sat up, holding out his hand. Eidolon shut the door and came to the edge of the bed, and there the Commander met him with a kiss, folding him in both arms and pulling him onto the sheets. Eidolon sighed and held on without speaking, drawing heavy breaths. The Commander nibbled on his lips and pushed playfully at his tongue. He kissed Eidolon's closed lids and mouthed the golden throat, and Eidolon grew hard under him, his erection pressing against the cloth of his trousers until they were taut over his crotch. The Commander spread a hand on it, fondling the genitals, and Eidolon gazed up at him, immobilized with love. "Do you want to come in my mouth?" asked the Commander, 427

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smiling a little. Eidolon faltered, taken aback, then quickly shook his head. "No. I..." "Be quiet," said the Commander, and stopped all protests with a kiss. Eidolon lay frozen with astonishment as the Commander unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them off, and pressing open his thighs, bent down to suck on his reddened cock. His shock was so great that he did not move to caress the Commander's head, let alone to urge him on. The Commander withdrew to mouth his testicles, rubbed his face into them, kissed the delicate sack. Eidolon fought back a moan and began to spill. The Commander, amused, licked off the clear droplets one by one, scooping them onto the tip of his tongue as they appeared, and when the flow thickened to a trickle he pushed his lips open over the crown and sucked again. Eidolon began to arch into his mouth, finally unable to control the impulse, and clenched his fists on the cotton sheets. The Commander grasped one of Eidolon's hands and pressed it to the back of his own head, encouraging Eidolon to guide him. He felt the hand tremble, and then, abruptly, pull hard on him. Eidolon groaned. His cock throbbed with fresh intensity, banging against the roof of the Commander's mouth, seeking the tight fit of the throat. The Commander opened his jaws wide and drove his caress to the root of the shaft, his lips sealing against the blond pubic hair and its musky scent strong in his nostrils. The taut head speared into his throat and Eidolon crested, a bitter stream gushing forth, sloshing back onto his tongue. He drank it in, holding his breath, letting the very last of it overflow onto Eidolon's hot groin. Eidolon released him numbly, and he climbed on top to kiss Eidolon's open mouth, letting him taste the discharge. "Tell me you liked it," he said. Eidolon nodded weakly and kissed him again. The Commander pressed his stiff member between Eidolon's legs, against the slick swell of the buttocks, raising the downy, muscular thighs about his 428

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hips. Eidolon grabbed at his shoulders eagerly, mouthing his neck, spreading wide for him. His face flushed dark with agony and delight as he was entered, and the Commander sighed, his cock engulfed at once and the strong, kneading tube working him to a slow frenzy. They had just begun to couple when Elora stirred, gazing sleepily at them. She smiled and stretched her limbs, then moved to a corner of the bed to give them more room, watching with her arms curled around her drawn-up knees. They had noticed her but paid no attention, and she knew they did not mind her being there, or looking. She remembered that first astounding night she had watched them make love in the White City, how much finer their friendship had made it seem than anything she could have with a man, how envious she had been. The Commander made Eidolon spend again, thrusting into the sheath of his hand. Immediately afterwards he climaxed, his lips open in a moan, brushing against Eidolon's writhing back. He held on for a minute, kissing the spine and the smooth shoulders, nuzzling the long, yellow locks. Then he withdrew, and with Eidolon nestled contentedly against his chest, sat back to stroke him tenderly, smiling at Elora. Eidolon dozed for a while. When he opened his eyes at last he looked at her. "Are you jealous?" he asked somewhat guiltily, completely forgetting that she was a lover come after him and that the right to be jealous was his. She shook her head and blew him a little kiss. "Would you like to take him?" she asked temptingly after a pause, excited to share her discoveries. "He'd let you, you know. He likes it." Eidolon hesitated, unbalanced by the suggestion. He thought about it, glanced up at the Commander. But the Commander smiled placidly and would not interfere. Eidolon rested against his chest once more, stroking it. Finally he answered, "No. I could not...I am happy this way." 429

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Elora gave a small shrug and looked at the Commander. He smiled at her over Eidolon's head, then gave the young captain a reassuring kiss, letting him see that he, too, was happy. Eidolon could not be Elora, and the Commander did not want him to be. Every love was unique in its qualities; no two people ever felt devotion or lust in the same way. It was their differences that allowed Eidolon and Elora to feed the many parts of him and make him feel complete. **** They had supper together, sitting on the floor like gypsies and feeding each other bits of fruit and roasted meats. Elora thought she should give them at least a little while alone, but when she tried to go Eidolon grasped her hand, saying to the Commander, "Don't make her leave." The Commander shrugged his shoulders, protesting his innocence. Elora hugged Eidolon and kissed his mouth, and without warning he picked her up, heaving her over his shoulder. Squealing and writhing happily she was carried across the room and dumped unceremoniously onto the bed. The Commander watched them wrestle like children, wreaking havoc with the covers and knocking pillows to the floor. "Do you two always act like this?" They stopped, panting, Elora pinned under Eidolon, and exchanged a thoughtful look. "No," she answered lightly. "We're giddy with having you back. That's all." Eidolon pushed off and stretched himself out comfortably, propped against a bank of brocade cushions. "You should see her fight," he said with a wicked grin. "What is she like?" "She's a show-off," replied Eidolon immediately. The Commander laughed, popped a grape into his mouth. "What is Larima like?" Eidolon gave Elora a sharp but playful glance. 430

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"You told." She giggled. Eidolon thought for a moment, smiled at the Commander. "She laughs at me. She laughs at everything. She's wonderful." "Do you love her?" "Oh yes." "I'm glad," said the Commander. Eidolon soured, his smile replaced by something anxious, but the Commander was picking at morsels of fowl and failed to notice. "I will always be yours first," said Eidolon hopefully. "I know." "Do you still want me to be yours?" The Commander glanced up, surprised, and realized what was happening. "Of course." He went to the bed. "Whatever made you ask such a thing?" "I wanted to be sure. I know it has been...some time..." "Not for me," interrupted the Commander firmly, putting an end to the discussion. Eidolon kissed him, relieved, and somewhere in the middle of that touch he became freshly aroused. "Can I stay the night with you?" "I would be upset if you left," said the Commander sincerely. Eidolon pulled him down and curved over him, stroking his hair. "Make love to me again." The Commander laughed softly, wearily, as Eidolon settled into the curve of his arm. Elora laid herself against him as well. "You're going to kill me, between the both of you." "I doubt it," said Elora, happily petting his scar. "We've already tried." **** Uthra took immediate control of the run of the house, terrorizing the servants and the slave-girls and dramatically improving their habits. 431

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She went about peeking into every room and every cooking pot, laying down the law, and giving all in the company the comforting sensation that life was returning to its old rhythms. That Rowena, Daria and Larima were no longer her charges but masters of the estate was a difficult concept for her. She ordered them around still, telling them to comb their hair and mind their manners and stop leaving mud everywhere with those awful boots. They smiled and let her get away with everything, even obliging her sometimes, and the Raiders started making bets on how Elora would respond to this treatment. By the time the Commander emerged they had grown comfortable with the idea of his presence, and when he came down to breakfast flanked by Elora and Eidolon it was Elora they stared at. She was wearing tan breeches and a little white blouse. He had braided rosebuds into her hair. "Oh," said Flan at last, rather helplessly. "And I was so used to the black." Elora took her seat and shrugged, pretending to make light of it. "If I should ever have to be Lachesis again...” She gave the Commander as innocent a sidelong glance as she could contrive. "If anyone should ever need her for anything...then I would wear it." The Commander smiled knowingly and offered no comment. Elora reached out for a piece of bread. Everyone else had been respectfully waiting for the Commander to serve himself first, and Uthra, who was hovering about at his shoulder, tried to give Elora stern spank on the arm. Elora grabbed her wrist in mid-air without ever glancing back, helped herself to the bread, then turned to smile sweetly at her. "What is it, darling?" Uthra was nonplussed. Elora kissed her hand and released it. She took a healthy bite off her bread. Jugger looked down and scratched his head in an attempt to hide a smile, and Tyke grinned openly at Zurco. "You owe me," he said. 432

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Uthra turned to the Commander, still at a loss. She could not remember ever seeing him so pleased, and she went off to the kitchen shaking her head. They were all to go hunting that morning, and while they waited for the horses to be brought the Commander sat on the front steps and watched Elora collar the pack of white mastiffs with Flan. She noticed his eyes on her and came up to kiss him, but he leaned away, nodding at her sword. "Show me," he said. "What," she answered incredulously, "With you?" "Certainly not. I value my life too highly." He took a casual glance about. "Eidolon!" he said brightly, vaguely, as if in simple greeting. The Raider captain laughed, and obligingly drew his sword, stepping out onto the lawn to face Elora. They had not traded strokes long when Rowena took it upon herself to join the fight. Elora backed away from them through the mass of barking dogs as they charged her together. Jugger sat down next to the Commander, who watched the uneven match with a faintly amused expression. "That is nothing," said Jugger quietly, an undercurrent of horror in his voice. "She is playing with them." "I can tell," answered the Commander pleasantly, his eyes bright with pride as he followed Elora's movements. "You should have seen her at the Stronghold," continued Jugger soberly. He almost shivered. "That was a terrible night." "Yes," said the Commander warmly, eagerly. "I would have given anything to see her that night." Eidolon retreated from the duel and threw his hands up in frustration. "This is ridiculous!" he complained. "She will not fight straight!" Elora gave him the most charmingly outraged look, and the Commander said, "Come here." She sheathed her sword and hurried to him immediately. He sat with legs crossed and a hand resting on his knee, and she knelt 433

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before him to kiss it, then rested there with her soft cheek pressed against his knuckles. "Did you watch me?" she asked. Flash of a forest drenched in sunlight, autumn leaves, a perfect, red apple thrown into a clearing. "I watched you, darling. You are wonderful." She did not move, and he stared down at her, baffled almost by his happiness, by the miracle of this incredible woman, the knowledge that he possessed her, that she was his slave, truly his slave, at last. He could reach into her without moving, reach right into her very core and hold her heart in his hand, the connection was that powerful. He thought of touching her hair, he wanted to, but he knew that if he let himself go that far he would not stop. Forget the hunt and forget all the world, he would carry her upstairs and tear that little slip of a blouse off her, and those tempting leather breeches that were so tight she must feel them digging into her sex, and nobody would see them for weeks. A little control, please, Ciaran.

After all, there is plenty of time for that. The Hellchild appeared, giving the two unfortunate grooms that led him a terrible time. Elora rose and presented him to the Commander at once. "No," he said. "I prefer to watch you ride him. He is yours." She smiled and said nothing, but after they returned from their outing she led him away from the others, through the stable and out to the paddocks beyond. "I have a present for you," she told him. "You like presents, don't you?" "I like your presents." "What a little flatterer you are." The Commander laughed, and she pointed at a large, steel-gray colt grazing in a small field. It raised its head sharply as they leaned on the fence, snorted contentiously and galloped away from them. "The first foal of the Hellchild," said Elora. "Out of Ayesha's mare. He got his father's strength. Most conveniently for you, he also got his 434

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father's temper." The colt stopped in the middle of its paddock and shook the long, silver mane from its eyes, watching them. The Commander put an arm around Elora's shoulders. "He is magnificent. I will ride him into the White City when we return." Elora looked up at him quickly. "You will take it back, then?" "It seems I must," he said, diverted. "You so obviously want me to." Elora leaned sweetly, hopefully, into him. "I could help you." "I bet you would," he told her teasingly. "And what a pair we will make." His eyes went to the colt again, and past it to the quiet valley, the great house sitting in the sun, peeking from behind an avenue of trees. "But not yet," he said. "Next year. After the winter." "You like your white room," smiled Elora. "I do," he admitted readily. He caressed her hip. She moved away and he followed her along the fence, onto the path. They walked side by side under the shade of the oaks, their boots crunching on yellow grass to the same rhythm, and he noticed that she was watching him move, her expression lit with a strange delight. "What is it?" he asked. "I can match your stride now." "Yes," he said, and took her hand. "Yes, you can."

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