The Mistress

I lived for a time in horrid dreams. I believe this was the wake of Zaqhat the Enchanter's foul spell, for magic has an inertia of its own. Once reality is reshaped, it will conform to its new contours and those caught within it are swept along its empyrean rivers. I was aware that I faced illusion, but that did not mean I could escape its hold. I was left to wander with no way out. I recall an endless subterranean labyrinth of stone and fungus, a land filled with ghouls and rotkin. Symbols, the ones I now recognize as the marks of the Rising Shadow, adorned the wall sketched in blood and filth. I knew now the enemy existed, and even its name, but I did not know how to strike.

I awoke slumped against bars, my body jostling back and forth. Other men in varying states of nudity, filthy and exhausted, sat around me. We were in a caged wagon, rattling over the Red Wastes. The heat was oppressive, my lips were cracked and dried, my head pounding.

I noted that I still wore my boots and loincloth. Diotenah's ring still clung to my finger. I assumed the dryad's seed and the sweetwater goblet was still hidden in the folds of my garment, but I didn't want to check. I longed for water, but there was none to be had, none for the magic cup to purify. I would learn that the slavers never bothered with our meager possessions. So long as we carried no weapons, they had little concern. I was not the only one with a piece of jewelry either, though such baubles caught the attention of other prisoners.

That was when I noted that Ur-Anu was missing. Raw panic hit me. I sat up straight and instantly regretted it, a blade of agony between my eyes. I cast about, hunting for the spear, but saw nothing. The only spears were the ones tipped in bone carried by the caravan's guards. Perhaps it was back at Zaqhat's castle. I had the vague notion that the structure had crumbled around us, but it could have been part of my dreams. I could only hope my weapon was safe.

For those who are familiar with the traditional histories of my life, this event occurred some five years earlier. When I was washing up on the shores of Storm's Rest, they believe I was captured on the waves by Kharsoomian corsairs and taken to Deszu to be sold in the great market. They do not know of the misery of that overland trek across the wastes, north and east from Udath Swamp. Months of travel in the slavers' caravan, subsisting on scraps of bread and drops of water, the misery of my injuries grinding my will. I do not like thinking of his time very much.

The caravan was a series of caged wagons, pulled by uroks. These brutes were Kharsoomian beasts of burden, and occasional meals. They were six legged reptiles, beasts infamous for their oafish natures. They could pull a wagon, go without food for a year, and were reasonably edible, and so they would always have a place in the Red Wastes. It was not until the Red Wastes were no more that the last urok died.

"You are from Chassudor," said a man across from me. He spoke in passable Eomet, a language I had not used in some time. His once pale skin was baked to leather by the punishing sun. His blond hair was wispy, and scars covered his body. He wore little more than sandals and a loincloth.

"I am."

He broke into a gaptoothed grin. "I am Esmian."

"Rhandonian."

He got up, moving over to my side. The other men gave him space, not caring to protest. "What is a Rhandonian doing this far from home?"

"Getting captured by slavers."

He chuckled. "I suppose that is true. I am a freeblade. Or I was a freeblade. My company was serving on the Edda. We were captured."

"I was... a boldisar?"

"Oh, well then. Should fetch a fine price at the market." He stuck his hand out. "Nordegar."

I took it. "Ashuz."

"Strange name for a Rhandonian," he reflected.

"I am a strange Rhandonian."

He laughed and I suppose after that we were friends.

Nordegar was good enough company. I suspect he looked at me as a familiar face. Though the guards kept we prisoners from preying too much on one another, they seemed to tacitly support a pecking order among us. The largest faction were the Kharsoomians, and they were certain to take their turns at the cistern first, the take largest shares of food, and so on.

Recovery from the battle at Zaqhat's took time, as I was not getting any kind of care. Though the slavers wanted us in saleable shape, they were not overly concerned with our comfort. As such, it was the duty of we slaves to stave off predation. We split into groups based on our lands of origin, and I would soon learn that those from Chassudor were rare.

Nordegar had not entirely been alone until my arrival. He had become somewhat friendly with the group from Aucor. Two of them were Heacharids, though thankfully from conquered populations. That fact alone saved them from my wrath. Still, I could not even pretend to friendship with them, speaking only to Nordegar.

I spent the days searching the sky, waiting to glimpse Quiyahui. I knew she would find me. She had done it before, and something linked us. Even then, there was some ineffable link. I believe Ocoxochi had forged it. The will of a demigod is a powerful thing, and even a passing whim can be more solid than steel.

We were attacked only twice, the first by a party of Kharsoomians and the second by a pack of xerxyss. The guards drove both raids off. The xerxyss took their toll, dragging several slavers off into the wastes. The creatures were beautiful in their way, but moved in an uncanny fashion that made them hard to predict and even harder to battle.

"Are they slavers?" I asked Nordegar.

"The bugs? Everyone's a slaver out here. Offends me sensibilities as a freeman of Esmia, but we're far from a godly place, aren't we? Anyrate, the bugs will take whatever they can, same as everyone out here. Work us to death then eat our bones, if the rumors are to be believed."

I looked at the corpse of one of the iridescent purple beings. I felt no loathing for the creature. I could feel only a sense of tragedy and loss for such an unearthly beautiful thing laid low. Watching the slavers then crack the thing apart and throw it into the cooking pot didn't help the situation either. I would like to say that I stood on principle and refused to eat, I could not.

Deszu sat on the biggest bay of Kharsoom's west coast, at the point where every great road converges.. As with most Kharsoomian cities, it was built around a castle that had been constructed before the cataclysm that had transformed this land of abundance into the Red Wastes. Concentric walls in varying states of decay surrounded every stage of settlement. Dezsu was bigger than most Kharsoomian settlements, as it was a center of Kharsoom's only truly thriving industry: slavery.

The great market was not far from the wharf where slave ships from a hundred different lands made port. A collection of slave pens, pits, and jails took up one side of the plaza, while the other was comprised of auction blocks and houses. Cages hung at every avenue into the market, where defiant slaves were starved to death as warnings to others. It was always bustling with people, the smell of sweat and human waste overpowering any stink from the port. For me, having spent so much time in relative solitude, it was overwhelming.

It is here that I believe I should explain the Kharsoomian people. As an ethnic group, they are mostly extinct, with perhaps only a handful still extant. Perhaps the most Kharsoomian blood still upon Thür are the many descendants from my union with the Princess Tanyth. The culture, the people, so distinct and wondrous and horrible, has vanished.

Kharsoomians were a strain of human, and many believe that they were the first of us. These scholars say that all other tribes came from Kharsoomians migrating from this ancestral homeland and spreading over the world. Perhaps this is true. I can only say with some authority that I believe they rose at the end of the 4th Stata, settling the area that would become the Red Wastes.

Their most famous trait was their red skin. Ranging from burgundy to scarlet, they were hues not found in any other human group. Their hair was commonly black, thick and glossy, often tending to the greasy, and generally worn long. Their bodies were entirely hairless below the neck. Some men could grow mustaches and sometimes even small beards, but these were exceptions rather than the rule.

They went about nude, wearing simple sandals on their feet, and leather harnesses about their chests, waists, and backs to carry weapons and equipment. Jewelry was common as well, but this was confined to the aristocracy. Collars were a common adornment as well, for the bulk of the population was held in some form of bondage. They often wore heavy washes of perfume, fighting the punishing climate of their homes.

They were a beautiful people, generally considered to be the loveliest of us all. Their features were noble, their eyes mysterious and sporting hues not seen anywhere else. My bride Tanyth is certainly a legendary beauty and judging by the number of songs devoted to her, this is not merely the opinion of an infatuated bridegroom.

I had encountered Kharsoomians from time to time in my travels. They tended to be rare outside the Red Wastes, for to a Kharsoomian, the world outside their home is a place of unimaginable barbarity. For one such as me, used to the quiet lawless order of Rhandonia, such an opinion seems like madness. Kharsoom is a violent land, but they had convinced themselves that the rest of the world was even worse to justify their insularity.

I would learn these things over the next year of my life, during my time as slave to Clan Sesamhat. For the moment, I could only stare in breathless wonder at the crush of people. The slavers unloaded us to vendors, and the last I saw of Nordegar he was being ushered to an auction block. I, along with the biggest and strongest who had been captured, was taken to one of the shops, where a paunchy Kharsoomian man purchased us in a lot. He was covered in gold and jewels, and his body spoke of a life of indolence. In the Red Wastes, if one could afford to be indolent, they were truly dangerous.

"You scum understand Kharish?" he demanded.

We nodded, knowing that speaking was discouraged. He spoke simply enough that my meager lessons could keep up.

"Good. Line up here. Stand quiet, do not speak. Several aristocrats have appointments today and they love new stock. Keep your mouths shut and you'll all get cushy jobs as house guards."

The first of the aristocrats came in, a lean woman with a predatory gaze. The slave seller manhandled us, as he sang our praises as guards.

"And here we have a barbarian from far Chassudor," he said as he fondled my muscles. "Strong and savage people. He'll fight like a loyal jagkru."

The woman pointed to the big, eye-shaped scar on the right side of my abdomen, just above the loincloth. "What is that?"

"Got it in battle he did. Survived, shows he's tough."

"We don't want damaged merchandise."

The scar chased off the next buyer, and the one after that. The others from the caravan were bought in short order. It was late in the day when I first set eyes on Jezreal of Clan Sesamhat. She came in with a trio of guards, a massive half-orc I would come to know was named Grud, and a Kharsoomian called Kuri. The third was a Kharsoomian woman named Sahdina, who served in a position called warmaid, something I would come to understand in greater detail when I met Tanyth's own Shaluvia. That was years off.

Jezreal was middle-aged, but still beautiful. Her skin was closer to scarlet than crimson, her body soft and curved. Her breasts were heavy, the nipples pierced with gold and joined by a thin chain. Her hips and thighs were fat, her buttocks round and shapely. Her hair, touched with only the lightest frost of gray, was braided and set with golden rings. A silk half skirt flared from her waist, concealing not a bit of her nudity.

"Princess! You are water on a parched throat."

"You are a charmer, Utuaa."

"You are looking for a new guard, are you not?"

Jezreal's eyes went to me. "What of that one? The barbarian." She approached, her perfume filling my nose. I was happy that I still wore my loincloth, for my manhood had begun to stir.

"You have an excellent eye," said Utuaa, no doubt pleased that he would move the one piece of stock that had stubbornly remained behind. "From the savage land of Chassudor, a fierce warrior only freshly arrived from the caravans today."

She ran her finger about the hem of my loincloth. "I love the way the barbarians wear these. So much mystery."

"He is intact, I assure you."

She lifted up the loincloth and beheld me. "I love their hair, don't you?"

"It's quite alluring, yes. We have other barbarians available. If you would like to sample different colors. It ranges from black to copper to a sensual blond."

Ignoring the offer, she put the cloth back into place, then inspected the scar. "And this?"

"An old wound, long healed. It troubles him not."

"I see. A hundred caira."

"A hundred fifty. He is young and blooded. Has manners too. For a barbarian."

"A hundred twenty five," Jezreal said.

"Done." And that was how I knew exactly how much my life was worth.

At Princess Jezreal's command, the vendor fitted me with a collar gilded with Clan Sesamhat's heraldry. It was a relatively simple collar, and I loathed it. It would remain there for some time, until my friend Kushan-Hegal finally removed it. That is a tale that will come later.

Jezreal's retinue escorted me from the market and put me in the princess's caravan. A series of connected wagons pulled by a team of uroks, it was not dissimilar from the caravan that brought me. It was in far better shape, and Jezreal's wagon boasted windows draped in silk. I was chained to the supply wagon and made to walk, never far from the watchful eyes of the guards. Far more than the three that accompanied her, Jezreal traveled with a full complement of warriors. She was a minor princess of Kharsoom, but still a princess.

I was one of three new slaves. Along with me was a shapely young Kharsoomian woman I assumed would be a bedslave and an older woman with Lixhan tattoos on her chin who I imagined would join the house staff. The first night, as we huddled in our furs far from the fire, the old woman whispered to me. "You are a warrior?"

"I have been to war."

She looked about. "We need to get out of these chains."

"And go where?" I asked. "Back to the city? We are not Kharsoomian. We will be recognized as outsiders."

"She is Kharsoomian."

"We are all wearing slave collars."

"We can find a way to get them off."

The young woman shook her head. "I will not run. They have not done anything to us."

"They will!" The old woman turned to me. "The whore is a coward. You're a warrior, you're brave."

"You never answered me. Where would we go?"

"To the Edda. We can make our way across."

"Do you know how far it is to the Edda from here?"

She looked east and shook her head. "No."

"Neither do I, and you're looking in the wrong direction. They will notice our absence swiftly and they know this land better than we."

"You can fight them."

"Unarmed? They will make quick work of me. No, I plan to keep my head down and see where this goes. I am not against the idea of escape, but not without a plan, not without supplies."

I did not tell her that I was waiting for two things. While escape now was foolish, Quiyahui and Ur-Anu would change that calculus. I would not tell her or anyone else about the spear or the serpent. I would watch the sky and wait for my coatl to find me. When that happened, I had little doubt I could carve my way through these slavers.

The journey was several weeks inland. For all of its faults, Kharsoom had excellent roads, remnants of the days when the land was truly an empire. That was the most common misconception, incidentally, that Kharsoom was unified. It had an emperor, of course, and he had some authority, but the lands were a mass of feuding clans, all fighting to put the next emperor on that vestigial throne. I had been impressed with Jezreal's title of princess, but the truth was, Kharsoom had more princesses than a pine tree had needles.

Clan Sesamhat's estate was on a mesa outside of the city of Felokolyun. A long pathway led up the steep slope, making their ancestral castle nearly impossible to assault. Guards in the castle itself were largely ceremonial, and oftentimes we reinforced city guards when such force was needed.

We crested the mesa and made our way inside the wall that encircled the settlement. The main courtyard welcomed us, with the castle's tower at the back, surrounded by a connected series of ziggurats that formed the bulk of the castle. A barracks and stable stood at the east end of the compound, while other outbuildings and servants' quarters took up the east. Shaded breezeways connected everything, a necessity to shield pedestrians in the harsh heat of the Kharsoomian day. Pennons, decorated with a stylized urok, flapped sluggishly in the sporadic wind.

We came to a stop in the courtyard. Jezreal stepped form the wagon into one of these breezeways. "Grud, fetch Happanu. Have him tend to the new slaves."

The half-orc jogged into the central ziggurat. He returned not long after with a fat Kharsoomian man, his nipples and staff pierced and connected with thin chains. He wore a small crown and a silken half-skirt. His slave collar looked to be pure gold. He approached lightly, then bowed, and in a high-pitched voice said, "Welcome home, Your Highness. What can your most humble servant offer you?"

"Three new slaves," she said. "They will need quarters. I want them fed and rested, and on the morrow, begin their training."

Happanu looked us over. "A guard, I imagine," he said of me. "Not much other use for a barbarian."

"Yes. Double ration of meat until he's recovered. I want him strong."

Happanu nodded, turning his attention to the young woman. "A bedslave, I should guess. The Prince will love her."

"Yes, she is exactly his taste, isn't she? I want her bathed and perfumed and ready for his use tonight."

"And the elder?"

"I trust you to find her talents."

"Whether it be cooking, cleaning, or something more esoteric. I will find it."

"And if she's not good for anything, I did not pay very much for her."

Happanu smiled. "I will ensure your investment is wise."

Jezreal made her way to into the castle, flanked by her guards. The others saw to the dissolution of the caravan. Happanu unlocked us from the wagon, and without thinking, held our chains in hand, gently leading us into the castle. The heat pounded me and I wanted only water.

"You, big one. Do you speak Kharish?"

"Some."

"You will need to learn more. What is your name?"

"Ashuz."

"You Chassudorians and your names. Very well, Ashuz. You are property of Prince Zahudmammu and Princess Jezreal of Clan Sesamhat. Your life belongs to them."

"You are a slave too."

"Indeed I am and happy for it. You can be happy too if you obey." I could see him using simple words for my benefit. He took me across the courtyard to a barracks. "This will be your home, Ashuz."

He led me inside, and I saw a collection of other men like me, muscled and scarred, we were all warriors. Around half were Kharsoomian, the other half a range of other kinds of human, with a single dwarf and a half-elf amongst them. Kharsoomian beds, mere daises with a single fur each, were spaced about the room. Two other rooms opened here, one a simple bath stocked with cheap oils and rough strigili, and the other filled with racks of spears and scraps of armor.

A scarred Kharsoomian man approached, his hair showing copious gray. His slave collar was a bit more ornate than mine. "What do we have here?"

"Your new man. Name's Ashuz. Speaks some Kharish. Princess Jezreal wants his meat ration doubled until he's recovered from captivity and wants him run through his paces tomorrow."

"It will be done." Happanu led the other two slaves out and the man turned to me. "Ashuz, hmm? Almost sounds like a Kharsoomian name. I'm Behnan, captain of the guard. I will unlock you now. Run or fight, you'll regret it." When I didn't respond, he unlocked me and waited to see if I would respond with flight or violence. When I did neither, he nodded. "Very good."

They fed me soon after. The meat was good, heavily spiced on a bed of rice. It was more than I'd had in quite some time. The other guards watched me warily, but not unkindly. When it came time to sleep, I curled up under the fur, and soon, to the music of the snoring of my fellow guards, fell asleep.

In the morning, after breakfast, Behnan took the lot of us out to the practice yard, a place between barracks and castle, bordered by breezeways. He tossed me a wooden practice spear.

"You can use a spear, Ashuz?"

I nodded, testing the weapon's weight and moving it through the air.

"Good, in the middle there. Let's see... Uitzin."

A small man who could have come from anywhere in the Ocaital stepped forward, selecting a spear from the rack. He stopped in front of me and assumed what I would come to recognize as a traditional Kharsoomian stance.

"Ashuz, you're not here to kill anyone. A touch finishes the fight, you understand?" He tapped the head of the practice spear then tapped the bare chest of my opponent.

I nodded.

"Not a talker. Very well you two, begin."

Uitzin gave me a salute and attacked. He was quick, attacking in swift, precise thrusts. I found myself moving sluggishly. The threads that should have connected me to him, shown me his fate, were nowhere. I held a shaft of wood, not a weapon forged to kill gods. It was nearly enough to finish me.

But I was not a helpless combatant. I had learned to fight from amazons, the greatest spearfighters in Thür. I recovered from my initial bafflement and kept him at bay with my reach. We fought in the dusty circle for a time before I ended things with a hit to the chest. Uitzin stopped, touching the place where the wood had hit. He breathed heavily, then saluted me.

"You fought well," I said in Huyu.

He grinned, and responded in the same tongue. "You talk like a Lixhan farmer."

"There's a good reason for that."

"Kharish or you'll get the lash," said Behnan, though he was more tired than angry. "Water yourselves."

Uitzin and I went to the cistern while two of the others paired off to fight. He dipped, and offered to me. I took it and handed it back. The water was not the equal of my sweetwater goblet, but I would not bring my treasure out. That, as with everything else, would remain a secret. "Where did you learn to fight?" Uitzin asked in careful Kharish.

"Axichis."

"I do not know it."

"I don't think it still exists."

Uitzin nodded over my shoulder. "There they are. Never miss a chance to watch us."

I turned. Three beautiful women stood in the breezeway outside the castle. Two were Kharsoomian and though beautiful, I barely looked at them. It was the third that captivated me. She was fair and blonde, and could have been Rhandonian. She was slender, her breasts modest, but her hips wide. She wore a golden slave collar, bracelets and anklets, a golden belt, and a half-skirt of silk that did nothing to hide her honey-blonde sex. My need for her was a physical force.

"Who are they?"

"The Princess's handmaids." The way he said it was like I should know what that meant.

"Who is the... sunhair?" I realized I didn't know the Kharish word for blonde.

"Like her, do you? She's Hulda."

"Suppose you'll tell me to stay away."

"She might want you. Perform well enough and you might get an invitation."

"They do that?"

He looked at me like I was stupid. "They are handmaids."

"I don't know what that means."

He laughed. "New to Kharsoom, hmm? You'll find your way. Fight well you might find yourself alone with the sweet Hulda."

"Ashuz!" barked Behnan. "You've had rest enough. I have your next partner."

I stepped into the ring. This time I would fight Tarmati, a Kharsoomian man. He was bigger than Uitzin, his moves stronger and filled with ill intent. I found him an easier opponent than the little Ocaitalian, although perhaps some of that was growing used to a mundane weapon. It was like losing a sense, but this practice was leading me to compensate. I was a step slow, but it was enough and I stopped Tarmati with a hit to his belly.

"Water, the two of you," barked Behnan.

As I drank from the dipper, Happanu emerged from the building, rolling his eyes at the three handmaids. "Behnan, how is our new acquisition?"

"He can fight. What did he cost?"

"A hundred twenty five."

"That's a bargain." The way the captain looked at me, I believe he was calculating what horrors I might have committed in the past that would drive my price so low. "Ashuz, come here. Got a final opponent for you." He picked a spear off the rack and went to the circle, then gestured to the other side. "Last one. Me."

I glanced at the handmaids. My eyes found Hulda's green ones, almost the same shade as mine. Recognition passed between us. I gave her a tiny nod, and she returned it. I believe we were acknowledging what I assumed was a shared origin. Her face felt familiar. She could have stepped from Burley Shoal.

Behnan attacked without warning and I gave him ground, the clack of wood heralding the commencement of our battle. "Staring at handmaids when you should be fighting," he sneered.

"And you still could not hit me," I observed.

"Cocky, hmm? Let's see how well you really fight."

Behnan and I traded blows for what felt like forever. He was not my equal physically, but he had a preternatural sense of what I would do next. It felt like fighting one who had the threads of Ur-Anu in his mind, perpetually ready to find an opening in my defense. Activity around the courtyard stilled as the two of us battled. Finally, I took a wrong step. I saw it the instant I did it, and instantly felt the hard tap of the practice spear over my heart.

Behnan leaned on his spear, sucking in breath. "You move your foot when you feint," he said. "We will work on that. You are a good fighter, Ashuz. Why were you so inexpensive? Did you kill your last master?"

"No," I said. "Just his captain of the guard."

Behnan stared at me, then broke into a guffaw. "Well done, well done. I need water. The rest of you slugs, get to work."

My life was uneventful over the next months. I ate, I slept, I drilled, I guarded. I watched the skies for my coatl, but she never came. Uitzin became a friend, and Behnan noticed, usually pairing us off for our duties. We spoke in Huyu whenever we were out of earshot of the others, and he helped me with my Kharish.

On one of our first shifts, he asked me, "The harness you wear. What is it?"

"It was a sheath for my spear."

"And your spear?"

"Lost."

"You have a new one now. They forge them of urok bone. Strong as iron."

I could only grunt at that.

I saw the Prince and Princess only rarely. My owners, and such a thought was a strange one to have. Jezreal was fetching, and I had started having dreams about her. On her knees, on all fours. The Red Wastes have a way of entering the mind and conquering the will. I did my best not to stare even as I nurtured my fantasy.

The Prince was older than she, a stocky man with graying hair. He didn't have much of a paunch, and his limbs were still heavy with muscle. He wore heavy gold jewelry on his wrists, neck, and ankles. His crown was gold with a deep red ruby at his forehead.

I think, perhaps, my memories of this time would be better had he been crueler. I understand that this is a strange statement, but it is true. That was not to say there was not some brutality. He gave those duties to Iriman, a thug I thought of as his Happanu. Unlike the soft and round eunuch, Iriman was not a slave. He was some cousin of Zahudmammu's, given a prize position in the household. He lorded such authority over us, and he always gave the impression of seeking an excuse to punish.

The old woman who had been purchased with me did try to escape. She made it to the bottom of the plateau before she was dragged into the castle's central courtyard. The Prince assembled the entire household as she was fixed into the stocks. Iriman was instructed to put thirty stripes on her back.

I watched Iriman flay her back open. I listened as her screams grew weaker. I smelled the blood that soaked her back and turned the dust at her feet into mud. I would learn that she died of those injuries. Iriman's face was alight the entire time. I suppose it was that expression that would make me kill him, but that was still a year or so away.

I was shaken by the old woman's murder. Wanton cruelty still had the capacity to disturb me, and I suppose that should be celebrated. As Happanu oversaw to the ultimately futile care of the old woman, Prince Zahudmammu gave us a bland smile.

"No one else of my household would consider such treason," he said. My Kharish was improving by then, and I could understand even the bigger words. "Tonight, double your rations. Tomorrow, back to work."

I went to the edge of the courtyard, staring at the spot where the old woman's blood had beaded in the dust. Rubies now, swiftly drying into brown crumbs.

"We don't have such sights in Rhandonia, do we?" the voice murmured in Rhandic, a tongue I had not heard in many years. It took me a moment to understand, even though it was the first language I had spoken.

Hulda stood by me. Normally I would not have been able to stop staring at the honey blonde fleece that grew wild between her legs. Now, I could not think of anything but the horror I had seen.

"Pardon?"

"Keep your voice down. They would not like to hear us speaking our mother tongue. Even a handmaid won't break that rule."

"Then why do it?"

"Because I have not spoken it in many years and I wanted to. You are Ashuz?"

"You are Hulda."

"That is not a Rhandonian name I've ever heard."

"It wasn't the one I was born with."

"I see. Where are you from?"

"Burley Shoal."

"Is that a town? I've never heard of it."

"No one has."

"I come from Auberfelt."

"I have heard of that."

"I should hope so." It was a bit of a joke. The man who fancied himself king of Rhandonia kept a castle there, and we all allowed him to hold his delusion. "I wanted to meet you. Rhandonians are rarer than diamonds in the Red Wastes."

"How did you go from the greatest city of our homeland to a slave across the world?"

She chuckled. "It is funny to think of Auberfelt as the greatest anything anywhere. Have you seen Xoc-Nehar?"

"I have. And Castellandria."

"Oh, Castellandria. I have never seen it, but it would seem that it is stranger for you to be here than me."

"Perhaps. What is a handmaid?" I didn't know the word in Rhandic, for there wasn't one. I used the Kharish.

"Personal slaves to a princess. We do whatever she needs."

"Such as?"

She grinned. "I think perhaps you will learn. I am glad to meet you, Ashuz. I would like to see your hair cut and your beard braided."

"You would not want that cut as well?"

"I have long been in Kharsoom. I like to see a healthy beard for a change. Have it braided."

She did not tell me what I would get, but I detected her meaning. Later that day I would listen, cutting the hair nearly to my scalp, then oiling and braiding my beard.

Behnan saw me afterwards and nodded. "That barbarian nonsense was well and good for the markets, but you're representing Clan Sesamhat now."

Raids were infrequent here, as the city of Felokolyun was large enough to repel the various tribes that hunted the wasteland. The fear was that some warlord would unite the disparate groups and sweep across Kharsoom in a mad crusade, something that happened every couple years, but thankfully that never happened during my tenure there.

A month or so after the old woman was flayed, Behnan came to Uitzin and me out on the courtyard. "Prince Zahudmammu and Princess Jezreal are traveling across the Tolak Erg, and that place is crawling with bugs. They want more guards, and I'm sending the two of you. You'll be under the command of Grud and Sahdina. Obey them as you'd obey me. Dawn tomorrow, you take your kit to the main courtyard."

We exchanged looks and Uitzin waggled his eyebrows. "Special duty means special rewards, Farmer." His nickname for me, thanks to my rustic accent.

"Only one reward I want," I said, casting a baleful glance at the empty sky.

The next morning we did as we were bade and found the royal caravan. Uroks pulled the main cart, with the luxurious carriage of Prince and Princess at its center. Guards flanked it on foot, reinforced with a few outriders on qobads. Sahdina, in her magnificence, sat atop the royal carriage in a silken tent. Grud approached us, a gruff expression on his misshapen face.

"I ask for Behnan's best and he sends me the barbarian and the runt," he sighed. "Can't beg a feast, can I? This is how it's gonna be. I give you an order, you follow it without question, understand?"

"Behnan said we were to obey you and Sahdina," Uitzin said.

Grud snorted. "The next time Sahdina deigns to talk to a lowly guard like you will be the first. No, out here, I'm your lord and master."

"Yes, my lord," Uitzin said.

"And you, barbarian? You listening?"

I gave him a nod. Uitzin glared at me, and then quickly, "He doesn't talk much. His people think they only have so many words before they die."

Grud snorted. "Barbarians. All right, runt. You two will be a pair up by the uroks. Mind yourself around Big Gaka there. He can be ornery." The half-orc chuckled as he went to his post.

"Pretending you're not a slave won't make you not a slave," Uitzin griped.

"What does that mean?"

"Refusing to say my lord and such."

"He's a petty tyrant."

"They all are. Trust me, as masters go, Prince Zahudmammu is as good as it gets. Won't beat you for no reason, ample rations, even days with no trouble. Why, after the last raid, he gave us all a trip to the brothel in the city." Uitzin sighed. "Fucked myself blue that day."

"What of the handmaids?"

"Still thinking of your sweet Hulda? Well, that's not off the table either, but they reward who the Princess wants them to, if you understand my meaning."

"I think I do."

The caravan left shortly thereafter, going down the plateau and then out through the eastern gates of Felokolyun. The wastes stretched out before us, mesas retreating in the distance in favor of the cracked wastes. We watched the horizon for telltale signs of raiders, though most had ways of masking their dust clouds. I also hunted the skies, thinking that this would be the time Quiyahui found me, but those were as bare as the horizons.

We journeyed with the Prince and Princess and their personal retinue, including the Prince's second wife, one of his concubines, and a bedslave. The Princess traveled with two of her handmaids, one of whom was Hulda. She was never far from Sahdina, her warmaid, and her two bodyguards, Grud and Kuri.

Travel took a week, and we moved swiftly along the Kharsoomian roads. We were never off our guard, but it was for nothing as the journey to the castle was uneventful. Located on the shore of a small salt lake, the castle and village were far smaller than the settlement we left. The pennons flapping on the breeze showed a pair of spears crossed over a helmet, which I would learn was the sigil of Clan Eshmubaal.

As we approached, the guards recognized the uroks on our flags and we were waved in through the village's main gate, and from there to the castle. The lord and lady of the castle, along with their household, was waiting in the courtyard for us.

As soon as Prince Zahudmammu stepped from the carriage, the lady of the castle, a gorgeous young Kharsoomian exclaimed, "Father!" and ran to him.

They embraced. "Oh, little one, you are more beautiful by the day. Has your husband put a child in you?"

She flushed, touching her belly. "Not yet."

The lord approached, bowing. "Welcome, my prince."

"Stand, my son. The next time I am here, I expect a grandchild."

"As you command."

"It will have to wait. I brought a lovely bedslave you're sure to enjoy." Zahudmammu rubbed his hands together. "And Hesychia, is she here?"

The lord laughed. "She is already waiting for you in your bedchamber. She was most pleased to learn you were visiting."

The prince clapped his daughter's husband on the shoulder. "I will not disappoint her."

"Mother," said the lady of the castle as Jezreal came from the litter. I did not know what lay between them, but their relationship was more strained than that between the girl and her father.

The visit lasted for another week. We, the retinue, spent that time socializing with the slaves of the castle. There was dancing and drinking, and it was an easy time of service. When we departed, it was along the same road. This was where out luck ran out. We were attacked on the fourth day.

They came out of the setting sun, a gambit that masked their approach and put the sun in our eyes. They were xerxyss, driving their ravenous attack beasts before them. These things, called cthithks, were great beetles the size of horses, with three-fingered pincers and churning mouthparts. Their initial attack overran a pair of outriders, and soon they were amongst us.

I fought the xerxyss for the first time, finding them as fearsome opponents as I expected. The beasts were heavily armored, their bodies only vulnerable in few spots. The xerxyss used them expertly, tying us down and picking us apart.

I believe the only reason we survived was that we outnumbered them. I suspect they were starving and desperate, prompting the attack to begin with. Even outmatched, they were magnificent. The passing of the xerxyss is one of the tragedies of the changing strata, but I suppose inevitable. I beheld them, and they can live on in my memories.

Our defense nearly came to disaster when one of our flanks collapsed. The Xerxyss swarmed over the caravan. My attention turned as the creature atop the royals' own carriage threw Kuri's lifeless body into the dust. Grud been distracted on the other flank. Sahdina was barely holding a cthithk at bay.

There was nothing between the xerxyss who had just killed Kuri and the royals. I leapt up onto the carriage. It brandished two toothed swords at me. I readied myself to fight. Then two more arms unfolded from its carapace, drawing a pair of smaller blades.

I cursed softly, an old Rhandic phrase Rhadoviel had been fond of.

Then the creature and I joined in combat and I found one of the strongest opponents I had ever faced. Every time I put a wound on it, it returned one to me. We fell from the wagons, fighting across the soil, my red blood falling, its blue ichor doing the same. There was something tragic about this. I wished the two of us could walk away from this struggle. But if we had done that, we would have dishonored the connection between us, one that would last only for the duel to the death. When I finally found my opening and drove the spear through the creature's chest, I was seized with an overwhelming sadness.

I collapsed into the dust. Exhaustion took me. The raiding party had been killed or driven off by then, their bodies being picked apart for food. In this, we were the insects, but in the Red Wastes, nothing can ever be thrown away. Jezreal called from her carriage. "Healer. Tend to that guard there."

The healer helped over to the shadow of the wagon, where soothing unguents salved the cuts on my skin. Uitzin found me, his hair wet against his skull, his spear dripping blue ichor. "Trying to be a hero, huh?" he said.

"I'm a guard. I was guarding."

"You were impressing fair Hulda."

I glanced to her without meaning to, and found her watching me. I looked away just as quickly, and that was enough to make Uitzin laugh, vindicated in his observation.

The wounded, myself included, were allowed to ride in the supply wagon. The dead were given to the wastes, burned in a pyre. We returned home, and I was forced to reckon with the idea that the castle had become that. Since that black day when I had found Oddrin's little corpse and my magic had fled, I dwelled often with the queasy musings of whether home was an idea that had any resonance for me. If Sarakiel and especially Zhahllaia would or even could accept me in my diminished state. Now I was enslaved, my weapon and my companion gone. I was further diminished and the home of my captor was mine.

Behnan greeted us at the gate. "You didn't break any of my men did you?"

"They fought well," Grud said. "Not sure how long they'll be your men."

"Knew the barbarian would be a temporary when he bested everyone but me." He looked over at me. "You look worse for wear."

"I'm fine."

"So you are."

It was easy duty for the next few days as the cuts closed and the bruises faded. One evening on the cusp of resuming my regular duties, I took my supper on my bed. Motion at the door of the barracks drew my eye. Hulda was there, leaning on the jamb. Her green eyes met mine and she beckoned to me, turning away. I glanced over at Uitzin and he shrugged, then waggled his eyebrows.

I put the last of my meal aside and went out. In the dark of the night, the courtyard was chilling, only warm near the burning braziers that dotted the area. Hulda stood near one, her body partly behind a column. I joined her. The scent of her body beneath the perfume was like flowers floating in wine.

"You were quite valiant, Ashuz," she said.

"Was I?"

"I was instructed to reward you."

I glanced about. I saw only a few shadows far on the outer wall, the night guards. They might watch, but I did not mind. I lusted for Hulda for so long that I would have taken her in the courtyard at noon.

"Good," I said, my hands on her hips, bringing her closer to me. Her muscles writhed under my touch. I leaned in, almost kissing her. Her soft lips parted. Then, roughly, I flipped her about and pushed her against the column. My mouth was at her neck then, kissing the pale flesh. The salt of her sweat was intoxicating. I reached between her legs, where I found her fragrant heat. My staff strained for her.

She chuckled. "Not quite, Ashuz."

I gripped her buttocks, spreading them. "No?"

"No," she said firmly, turning about. Then she leaned in, nibbling my lower lip. "Perhaps later. I've been given rather specific instructions for tonight, and I don't disobey my lady." She dropped to her knees before me, lifting up my loincloth. My staff rose into view, nectar beading the tip. She grinned, her eyes bright. "So this is what you've been hiding."

Conversation was over. Her eyes stayed on mine, her gaze strong. She took me in her mouth eagerly, polishing my spear with skill. I will not call her the equal of Ujaala, but she stoked me well. She pumped me with her hand, swallowing as much of me as she could manage, her tongue busy. I watched the tears spring up at the corners of eyes that never left mine. I watched the saliva collect at the corners of her mouth. I closed my own eyes only when the pleasure became too much and I flooded her. It had been a long while since I had experienced any release, and left Hulda gulping. She was game, swallowing every last strand, her tongue hunting for any missed scraps.

Finally, she stood, wiping her lips. "That is a beautiful weapon," she said.

"I would have you feel it."

She grinned. "Hold those thoughts close, love." She touched my cheek. "Sleep well."

That had been more than a mere reward. It was the second half of an audition. I did not know that until two days later when Grud approached Behnan in the main courtyard during daily drills. I noted the two of them speaking in low voices while I sparred with the other guards.

"Ashuz," Behnan called, beckoning me over. "You're joining the Princess's personal guard."

"You're under my command," Grud said, "you understand?"

I nodded.

"Good. Your quarters are moving from the barracks to the castle itself."

I had the impression Grud didn't like me very much, but I didn't care enough to find out why. At that time, I was still convinced Quiyahui would be descending from the cloudless Kharsoomian sky at any day, bearing Ur-Anu in her jaws. When that happened, I could leave, killing any who stood in my way. Whether I served on the walls or in the castle mattered little.

I followed Grud inside. He had adopted Kharsoomian fashion, wearing sandals, harness, and bits of armor. His staff flopped free like a fat worm. He wore his black hair long in Kharsoomian style, and his skin had a decided brown tinge. His thick muscles were covered in old scars.

"You are part Kharsoomian," I blurted.

"My grandfather," he grunted. I heard pride in his voice.

I didn't press him further. I didn't want to start to like him, as I knew that when I inevitably broke from this place, he would stand in my way. He took me to a the eastern end of the castle. He nodded to the door at the end of the hall. "The Princess's rooms. Her handmaids as well." He gestured to another door. "Sahdina is there." Then he opened a door by us. "We are here."

He revealed a suite of three rooms, one central area with racks of weapons and armor, along with a single couch and a few chairs. He gestured to the door on the east end. "My room. Kuri's room is the west. Yours now."

The chamber was private, already better than the barracks. The only snoring likely to bother me was my own. At mealtime, Grud showed me down to the dining hall for the castle's servants. I made my way back to my room, preparing to settle. A bell rang.

Grud appeared in my doorway. "That is a summons from the Princess. Hear it, you go to her chambers immediately."

I shrugged and followed the half-orc. At our knock, Hulda opened the door, waving us in without a word. The bedchamber was expansive, hung with silks, and filled with the kinds of small treasures that would be unknown anywhere else in the Red Wastes. The air was perfumed, not only with the exotic Kharsoomian scents undercut with the unmistakable musky aroma of arousal.

Hulda returned to the other two handmaids, all gathered on a dais on the other side of the room. The two Kharsoomians, whose names I learned later were Pari and Ninsunu, were already at the beginnings of loveplay, lips playing over glistening crimson flesh.

Jezreal sat on the big dais at the center of the room, furs piled around her, silks hanging about it in a luxurious canopy. Her legs were spread, her shining fingers slipping in and out of her folds as she watched her handmaids cavorting on their own bed. The golden chain hanging from her fat nipples jingled with every movement.

"Wonderful," Jezreal said. "Tonlght, Ashu, z, you will learn more of your duties. First, take your loincloth off."

I obeyed. She broke into a smile, her eyes alight. She scooted across the furs, beckoning to me. I went to her, my staff jutting obscenely. "Hulda told me you had a lovely spear. But what I find most alluring..." she trailed off, gently running her fingers through the fleece between my legs. "I love the way you barbarians grow this lovely mane. Oh, Grud. If only you could grow such, you would be the perfect man."

He grunted. "Do you want him to stop hiding himself in that ridiculous kilt?"

"No, I like to think of it... if I need to see beauty, Hulda is never far."

Hulda smiled, spreading her legs. I bit of pink peeked from the honey blonde curls, wetness dripping from her. Pari slipped her hand between Hulda's legs, exploring.

I expected to feel Jezreal's hands or even her mouth on my length, but she seemed content to run her fingers through my hair. "Ashuz. Get on your knees."

"What?"

Grud's hand fell on my shoulder. "When Princess Jezreal gives an order, you do it."

"Grud," Jezreal chided. "Ashuz is new, and unused to our ways. Ashuz, I want you to get on your knees. You know how to shuck an oyster, do you not?"

"We call it the knight's kiss in my lands. And yes."

"The knight's kiss! A lovely term. Get on your knees and give me the knight's kiss."

Grud let go and stepped away. I knelt. As much as I was unsure, I was still me. A beautiful woman who wanted a knight's kiss would get it. Her thighs spread, her juices liberally smeared over her plump lips, I beheld a Kharsoomian's sex closely for the first time. Like every other part of them, it was intoxicating. Her outer lips were a deeper red than her scarlet skin, her innerfolds brighter and tinged with purple. Her scent was like spiced musk.

I kissed along her thighs, nibbling along her pulse. I tormented and teased, watching her begin to rock her hips, the moisture dripping from her bare cleft. "Oh, he is a cruel one," she purred.

"Would you like me to take over?" Grud asked.

"I would like you to stand there and be silent," she snapped.

At the end of that word, I placed a gentle kiss on her lips and she thrust her hips forward with a hiss of pleasure. I backed off, returning to my teasing. I felt her hands on the back of my head pushing me to her orchid.

"Your tongue," she gasped.

I ran my tongue up her slit, base to apex. She purred again, thrusting against me. I spread her open, teasing and nibbling at her innerfolds. Her taste was heavy now, her nectar flowing freely. I pushed my tongue into her, collecting more of her taste.

She moaned as I eased fingers into her. "Cold!" she gasped.

I let myself chuckle, my breath hot against her pearl. I had used the finger of my left hand, rendered cold by the magic of Diotenah's ring. I pushed in and out of her, beckoning at the top of my stroke, taking her pearl between my lips and sucking hard. She cried out, her hips bucking. Her bliss was close. I pursued it like a hound. I no longer thought of her as a mistress, merely a partner I wanted to please.

And yet, at the moment, I lost myself, became not a slave but a lover, she pushed me away. Her breasts heaved, her flesh glistening. I stood, ready to sheath myself in her.

"Grud," she gasped.

"Move, barbarian," the half-orc said, pushing me aside.

I could not react before he was between her legs, hooking his arms beneath her knees and jamming his staff into her sopping sex. She cried out, her fingers curling against his muscular back. I took another step back, my staff pulsing, revulsion and desire warring in my mind. Over on the other dais, the three handmaids were deep in their loveplay. Pari's head was between Hulda's legs, while Hulda slid her fingers in and out of Ninsunu. I approached, ready to join them. Hulda's eyes met mine and she shook her head slightly before I moan took her.

I looked about, completely at a loss. Jezreal uttered a shriek, her body quaking. A moment later, Grud pulled from her, painting her chest and belly with his seed.

Jezreal lay back, breathing heavily. "You two may go," she said.

I picked up my loincloth, and confused, returned to my quarters. "I don't understand," I said. Grud would not be a sympathetic ear, but he was the only one I had.

"I should think it was obvious," he said.

"I thought noble ladies were forbidden from laying with any but their husbands."

"Just because something is forbidden does not mean it never happens. Now go to sleep." He went to his room, then stopped. "Friendly advice. Do not spill yourself here. The servants will know and they will tell Jezreal. Five lashes in the courtyard will be your reward."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Hope she lets you finish her." He chuckled. "She's grown to crave my spear, so good luck on that."

I returned to my room, annoyed and frustrated. Finally, unsatisfying sleep threw a fitful cloak over me.

Over the following months, such encounters followed the similar pattern. I prepared Jezreal and Grud finished her off. She occasionally had mercy upon me and directed Hulda to swallow my spear, but this was not every time. I walked around as a twitchy mass of desire. It was those times I came closest to fleeing. The madness of need would have driven me into the wasteland before my time.

I was unused to this kind of frustration. Desire yes, but to be thwarted, and consistently was a new experience. I did not like it, however, when Hulda finally took care of me, the results were explosive. We were not allowed to do more, and now all I could think of was that honey blonde-furred sex.

Drilling in the central courtyard was the only release, and Behnan chided me for hitting his men too hard. "Just because you're guard to the lady doesn't mean you're free to put bruises on us," he said, tapping my collar. "This says you're the same as everyone."

"Give me a match then, old man," I said.

Behnan was only too happy to oblige. In some ways, I was being retrained. Relearning the movements of the spear first taught to me by Xeiliope, Einoë, and Kallea. Ur-Anu's abilities had not atrophied my skills precisely, but they had unlocked avenues of battle invisible to most opponents. And most simply, where it could cleave armor and bone in twain, the bone spears of Kharsoom could not. Learning to fight without these advantages had the effect of making me a far more dangerous combatant, especially when I once again had them.

Behnan delighted in our sparring sessions. I believe he looked at them as a way to beat the arrogance from me. Perhaps he was right about that. I know only that I grew as a warrior in that courtyard. Soon, I was defeating him. Then he had me spar two opponents at once. Then three. He took it as a lesson for his other men, learn to use teamwork to bring down dangerous enemies.

The handmaids often watched us, and I would be lying if I said that impressing Hulda was not one of my goals. I longed for her mouth on my spear, and those moments when she swallowed me were too few and far between. Her perpetual nudity only made her proximity more maddening. Every moment I saw her was a fight not to throw her against a wall and plunder her body for its bliss.

Though I spent years in Kharsoom and even married one of her daughters, I never truly understood the manners of the place. I would be told that something was forbidden only to find it practiced nearly out in the open. I would be assured something was a breach of etiquette only to find that it was responsible for a rise in status.

Take the day Grud offended our mistress. We were in the feasting hall, Princess Jezreal dining next to her husband, while he chatted amiably with his favorite concubine, a lovely Kharsoomian woman several years his junior. Jezreal gestured, and Grud came to her side. When he moved away, he caressed her arm. The barest brush, almost invisible.

I don't believe anyone else noticed it, but Jezreal's head turned and she fixed him with a cold gaze. The half-orc looked chagrined, a strange expression on his savage features. He was silent while the two of us ate in our quarters later, and when the bell rang to summon us for our nightly games, he sighed.

"Enjoy yourself," he grumbled.

"I can only hope she'll be merciful and let me have Hulda."

"You wait," he said.

We entered the perfumed chamber. This time the three handmaids were seated on their bed, their hands folded in their laps, mischief dancing in their eyes. Jezreal at on her own dais, breaking into a smile.

"Grud..."

"Mistress--"

She held up a hand. "You forget yourself. You are a slave here. If you shame my husband, he will be forced to have you drawn in the courtyard and how do you think that would make me feel?"

"I beg your forgiveness."

"To lose my favorite toy. You will remember what you are tonight, Grud." She climbed up, settling on all fours. The expansive globes of her buttocks glowed in the firelight. Deliberately, she spread the cheeks, exposing her puckered rosebud. Below, her sex glistened. "Eat, Grud. Eat deeply and you may yet find forgiveness."

Grud sighed, getting on his knees. The half-orc was tentative in his attentions, as though this act was unusual in their loveplay. It was certainly the first time I had seen her demand it of either of us.

"Ashuz, this is a good lesson for you to learn. Sit with my handmaids. Hulda, prepare him."

I went to the dais and sat, enfolded in the warmth of the three of them. Without hesitation, Hulda leaned over and pressed her lips to mine. She threw a leg over me, taking my staff in hand, and running it through the fur between her legs. In her movements, she was as eager as I. She guided me to her slick lips, running me up and down, preparing herself. A glint of silver reached my eyes. As her flesh parted, I saw that the hood of her pearl was pierced, a tiny ring peeking at me.

"You saw my secret," she purred. "I suppose that means you get your reward."

She lowered herself onto my staff, her sex gripping mine. She sighed happily, poised with me half buried in her. The muscles of her abdomen stood out against her taut flesh. I put my hands on her waist, pulling her down, needing to take her completely.

"Careful," she said. "Her Highness won't want you to spill." She gyrated her hips once, and I sucked in breath as her sex touched some sensitive spot on me.

"Then she might be disappointed," I murmured, pulling Hulda's mouth to mine. Her kiss was filled with passion so long denied. Next to us on the dais, the two Kharsoomian handmaids went from watching us to the other couple, grins quirking their lips.

Hulda raised herself up, then with another swirl sat down on me again. She let out a groan as I hit the back wall of her insides.

"How is his spear?" called Jezreal. Under that, I heard the wet sounds of Grud performing the cleric's kiss.

"Wonderful," moaned Hulda.

"You are not to finish him."

"Please, Your Highness? I will have him ready again."

"You're a naughty one," Jezreal scolded. "No, and just for asking, you are not to finish either."

Hulda sat down hard again, the swirl of her hips setting fire to my loins. I held myself steady, holding onto the bliss, to keep it from growing past the point where flooding her would be inevitable.

"You're cruel," Hulda pouted, pulling herself up.

"I am your mistress," Jezreal said. Then she cried out as the half-orc found some wondrous new spot with his inquisitive tongue. "I am neither cruel nor kind. I am your entire world."

"Yes, Your Highness," Hulda sighed, sliding down me again. At the base of her stroke, she brushed her lips over mine, her green eyes alight with pleasure. "Hold yourself, my lovely Ashuz."

"How long?" I asked, resisting the urge to thrust deep into her.

"As long as I wish it," Jezreal said.

Hulda smiled, her breath now ragged, her body glistening with a fresh sheen of sweat. "You're mine until the instant Her Highness no longer wishes it."

I ran my hand up her flat belly and over her nipples, hard as pebbles. My fingers found her mouth, and she sucked them with relish.

On the dais across the room, Jezreal was shuddering, Grud continuing his assault on her rosebud. Both of his rough hands were on her wide buttocks, spreading her. I could not see for certain, but it looked as though he were sliding his tongue in and out of her.

"Ashuz," she commanded. "Come here."

Hulda pouted, kissing me softly before pulling herself off me. My staff was shiny with her nectar, pulsing with need. She had brought me to the very edge of bliss, and it had been willpower alone that kept me from falling.

"Go to our mistress," she purred.

I didn't want to leave her, but she lay back, and Ninsunu's head went between her legs. Hulda gave me one last look before Pari settled over her face. In a single moment, I was no longer part of this loveplay. I rose on unsteady feet, already missing the feel of Hulda on me, and made my way to the bed of the Princess. "Lay down," Jezreal commanded.

I lay on the dais as she asked. Jezreal climbed over me, guiding my staff to her waiting sex. I felt her nectar, hot and thick, dripping over me. She did not waste her time teasing, sliding me into her warm body. She groaned, "Oh, this is lovely. Grud, I did not say stop."

The half-orc leaned forward, and as Jezreal began to ride me, I had the strange sensation of Grud industriously eating at her other opening. She continued to slide me in and out. The golden chain that connected the two rings in her nipples jingled, running over my chest.

"Fetch the oil," she called over her shoulder.

"With pleasure." Grud got up, glancing over to the three handmaids cavorting on the other dais. He picked up a pitcher sitting on a corner table. He did not appear to require further instruction, pouring it over his hands, and coating his erect staff. Then he made his way over to us. Jezreal purred as she rode me. I felt a strange sensation and Jezreal let out a ragged moan. She pushed back against an intrusion that was not mine.

"Stop your cursed teasing, greenskin," she barked.

"As you wish."

Grud got up behind her, gripping her haunches, and while I was still buried inside, pushed himself into her rosebud. She cried out, shuddering with is blissful intrusion. "Oh, it has been too long."

She pushed up and down on me while Grud thrust in and out of her. As she came down, my staff hit the far wall of her sex, and she yelped, a sound between pleasure and pain. Soon, she was pushing back against the half-orc harder than she was sliding on me.

"No," she finally said. "Your shapes are wrong." She pushed Grud from her, and got off of me. I lay there, confused. "Get up, Ashuz. You are longer than Grud, but he is so wonderfully fat."

That was, from what I could tell, an understatement.

The half-orc grinned. "I understand, Your Highness." He lay in my spot.

Jezreal kissed the fat head of his staff, although calling it a staff was not right. It was more like a scrollcase, and a stubby one at that. Still, it was what she craved. She got onto him, taking him into her sex, and sighing. "Yes, there it is. You touch every good part of me, you beast."

His hands found her hips. "I live to please you, mistress."

She looked over her shoulder. "Ashuz. Oil yourself and take me."

Her rosebud was already loosened by the thick member of the half-orc, winking and glistening with oil. I would not need much finesse. I oiled myself, though coated in the nectar of two women, it hardly seemed necessary. I pushed into her, and her moan was loud. She was not as tight as I was used to, but I was so close it didn't matter.

I rode her, my bliss imminent. Hers was not far off either. It was a strange experience, taking a woman at the same time as another man. I had done it before, and with an enemy, but this time our positions were far closer. I lost myself in the decadence of the act, though more of the taking of my mistress in this way. She owned me, was the reason I wore a slave collar, but in this moment I was taking her in a way that would shame a whore. I gripped her haunches, slamming stroke after brutal stroke, and she loved every second.

With each thrust, she pushed onto Grud. We filled her in a delirious balance. One cry, then another, growing louder and louder, joining into them. She broke into quakes, but her body never stopped moving, the pleasure crashing into her again and again. I shut my eyes, finding my own bliss, ready to spill.

At that moment, I felt soft hands on me. I opened my eyes and found Hulda. She put her finger to her lips, and guided me out of Jezreal. Then her hand went to my oil-soaked staff, and with a few strokes, my bliss pulsed from me in pearly stripes all over the gaping rosebud. I looked to Hulda, and she nodded at me, wordlessly asking if I understood.

I did. This was what would be required of me. I nodded back, kissing her quickly, and she scampered back to the dais, rejoining the other handmaids to finish their revelry.

A moment later, Grud pulled himself from Jezreal, and she rocked back. I caught her reflexively, and watched as more pearly ropes splashed from the half-orc to land on her belly and chest. She sighed, catching her breath.

"Leave me," she said, as soon as she was able to stand on her own two feet.

I picked up my loincloth on the way out. Grud laughed as we entered our quarters. "Even after all that, I still got her flower," he said.

"Congratulations."

"She loves me best. Never you forget it."

"She doesn't love either of us."

Grud whirled on me, rage contorting his rough features. "You keep that kind of talk to yourself. I don't care what you think you are. She fucks you now, but I can just as easily get you sold. You do what she says and you don't poison anyone with your barbarian stupidity!"

I looked at the poor besotted half-orc with pity. He had already died somewhere inside himself, only he did not yet know it.

For now, I did not disrupt the cart. I did as I was told. I was far less frustrated these days, as Princess Jezreal nor more often granted me use of her rosebud. I still longed for Hulda, but I could watch the handmaid while punishing the Princess with brutal thrusts. It was, in its way, satisfying. Perhaps things would have continued in the same way if not for the visit of the boldisar.

Aihiram arrived unannounced one afternoon as his kind often did. I heard about it when Princess Jezreal summoned Grud and me to attend her. The three of us, along with Sahdina the warmaid, made our way down to the castle's main hall. There we saw the boldisar. A Kharsoomian man with a broad, scarred chest and a handsome square jaw, he ate lustily at the table, talking with Prince Zahudmammu.

"A hundred xerxyss if there was one," Aihiram was saying, "and my spear had chosen that moment to break."

"Hold your story. My love, please, meet Aihiram, a boldisar that has been traveling our lands."

He stood and bowed to her, taking her hand and brushing a kiss across the back. "Your Highness. You are even more beautiful than the Prince described."

"Charming this one."

"We will have a feast in his honor tonight," Zahudmammu said.

Jezreal called Happanu over, and sent him to instruct the kitchen slaves to prepare. That night, we all gathered in the central hall while the boldisar spun his tales. Soon, I found myself drinking with Uitzin.

"Can you believe these stories?" he said.

"No. Because one of them was me."

"What?"

"The story of the defense of the village. That was me. And he got everything wrong."

"You should call him a liar. Challenge him!"

"No. I don't want to call any more attention to myself than I have to."

"In a fight with that lout, I would wager on you, Ashuz."

"You are a fool," I said. "Let me get you another." I took our mugs to the barrels. Liquor would dull our senses. Kharsoomian wine was foul, but in sufficient quantity it would dull the senses.

Later, as fatigue came upon us, Aihiram stretched and yawned theatrically. "It is time for me to go to my quarters."

"Brave boldisar, do me the honor of using my bedslave." Zahudmammu, surrounded by his wives, concubines, and bedslaves, nodded to the girl he had purchased at the same time as me. "This is Marka. Young and sweet, she will serve you well."

"You're a kind host," Aihiram said. "I wish I had one to offer you. The next time I travel through here, I shall be certain to bring two!"

Zahudmammu laughed. "Go, brave boldisar."

This is, perhaps, where it should have stayed. With a different boldisar, perhaps it would have. I woke in the middle of the night to raised voices, and the clash of bone on bone. I rose quickly, sleep slipping off me like water, and grabbed my spear. As I came to the door, Grud emerged from his room. Our eyes met, and he nodded, a sense of approval in my own quick action. We never liked one another, but we were united in purpose.

I ran down the hall, Grud following. The source of the commotion was in the west wing, in the central hall where the Prince would often receive guests. Aihiram stood at one end of the hall, carrying a bloody spear. A corpse lay at his feet, and after a moment I recognized the ruined face of Tarmati, the Kharsoomian guard I fought on my first day. Behind Aihiram was Marka, bloody and sobbing. We joined a group of guards with Prince Zahudmammu and Happanu at the other end of the hall.

"This is a misunderstanding," Aihiram said, trying to placate the group of us.

"What have you done to my bedslave?"

"Nothing! I used her, as you bade!" This provoked a fresh, wracking sob from Marka. Anger stirred in my breast. I readied myself to charge. Perhaps Uitzin would get his wish and see the two of us clash.

"You have damaged my property! Look at her! She will need a healer!"

"Your Highness, that's foolish! She's delicate, easily breakable. Such a bedslave should never have been given to a guest!"

"You have committed a dishonor upon my castle, boldisar."

"You do not wish a fight, Prince."

"Don't I?"

"You would send these boldisats against me," he sneered. I didn't know the word yet, but I knew an insult when I heard one. "I would kill the lot of them. Stand aside and I will return to the wastes. Send them against me, and I will do more than merely damage a bedslave."

As they spoke, more of us gathered. I glanced behind me and found Princess Jezreal and her entourage crowded behind us. Hulda's eyes filled me with mad courage.

"You insult me again," Zahudmammu said.

"Don't be a fool!" Aihiram looked from face to face and fell on mine. I watched his maroon eyes widen as he saw something in my eyes. He bolted.

"Bring him back! " the Prince barked.

Aihiram was a liar, but he was not an unskilled warrior. The running battle that took place through the castle corridors and spilled out into the courtyard was fierce. He would stop, only for an instant, killing or disabling the next man to attack in quick, efficient moves. As he reached the courtyard, he saw escape. The gates stood open, as they always did, as we were essentially invulnerable. Making it out would be no guarantee, for he would still have to make his way down the mesa and through the city below, but it would be an excellent first step.

He might have, had not a guard charged him from the gate house. That guard was killed with a single stroke, but it kept Aihiram in one place long enough for Grud to catch him.

With a roar, the half-orc lunged into battle. Aihiram, no doubt tired from his flight and sporting a single stripe from the one lucky blow that had thus far landed, was vulnerable. I made to assist Grud, but he took a false step, and before I could react, Aihiram had speared him through the chest. The half-orc fell, a massive wound spilling his blood into the dust. I felt no special concern for the man, idly noting that there was an excellent chance he would not make it through the night.

"Well, boldisat?" sneered Aihiram. "Care to try your luck?"

I was curious if I could defeat this man. If the skills I had built would be the equal of a man who made his living battling through the Red Wastes. Our eyes met, and I noted a shadow pass through his. He saw something within me that chilled him to the very bone.

I do not remember every thrust and parry of this battle, for in the scheme of my long life, it is not a significant one. He was one of the more dangerous opponents I had battled to that time, though I do not believe the equal of that first xerxyss. I believe that others I encountered in Uazica might have been his superior, but I was carrying Ur-Anu then. With Fate in hand, I could have merely sliced his weapon in two and executed the path laid out for me. In this, I was able to truly test what I had been forged into.

And what was that? I was a veteran of war. Though I had my magic then, I did battle with staff and sword. I trained with the amazons themselves. Then forced into the wilds of Uazica, I became a warrior. Kharsoom had taken that creature, honed of tigerish instincts and powerful form, and had sharpened me, stripped my enchanted weapon and forced me to fight with a crude spear.

Aihiram was a fierce opponent. He fought without form, and that I believe was his greatest skill as a combatant. My style was a melding of my teachers. The seed planted in the fertile soil of amazon tutelage, watered by war, then blooming among the necessities of survival. He was impossible to predict, I was merely difficult. Eliminating this flaw in my fighting became my obsession.

The battle ended when I snapped his spear in half and drove the point into his neck. I let him choke and die in the dust. Whatever he had done to the bedslave had destroyed any sympathy I might have had for the man. His life meant less than nothing to me.

Exhaustion caught up to me, and I staggered to the nearest breezeway, slumping down against a column.

"Fetch him water," ordered Jezreal.

"Healer!" called Zahudmammu. He approached, clapping me on the shoulder. "Well done. Such valor is the stuff of legends. I would grant you a favor."

I merely sat and breathed.

"Guard. You will respond to your Prince."

"My love," said Jezreal. "I have come to know Ashuz. His barbarian mind is his own. Allow him to recover and we will reward him well."

Zahudmammu sighed. "As you wish."

Pari, one of the Princess's handmaids, came to her. "Grud is with the healer now."

"Will he survive?"

Pari nodded. "Most likely, but he will be bedbound for a month at least."

Jezreal shook her head. "Why must such things happen to me?" She glanced at me, then raised her voice. "Hulda! See to Ashuz. Get him food, water, wine. Whatever he desires."

I crouched in the courtyard, staring at the fallen body of the boldisar. The servants dragged him away to the urok pen, where he would be fed to the great creatures. Hulda joined me as the brutes began to crack his bones.

"Ashuz, I witnessed your triumph. What would you will of me?"

"What is a boldisat?" I asked finally.

"Why would you want to know that?"

"Answer me, Hulda."

"It means 'dirt man,' or 'man of dirt.' It is a slave who has been broken to the collar."

"Am I a boldisat?"

She stared at me, then whispered. "No." She squatted down next to me, speaking in quiet Rhandic. "I wake up every day thinking that you will have escaped. I fear it, Ashuz."

"Why?"

"Because you are kind to me. Because I like giving you the knight's kiss. Because when I feel your eyes on me I forget I wear the collar."

"Bring me food and wine," I said.

"And the healer?"

"If you must."

She was as good as her word, bringing all of them to my quarters. While I drank bad Kharsoomian wine, the healer spread unguent on my wounds, and left shortly thereafter. I persuaded Hulda to rub my shoulders while I ate. The combination of fatigue and wine frayed my will, giving voice to questions that had long been in my heart.

"Hulda? If I were to escape, would you come with me?"

"Come with you where?"

"Away from here."

"But where?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"South, across the Edda. To the Copatloc maybe. Highlands in the Ocaital, far away from law but peaceful and beautiful."

"No."

"Rhandonia then. Home."

"Rhandonia is no longer home for me. I barely remember it. I'd thought I'd forgotten our language, but seeing you put it back in my mind."

"Then you choose. Where do you want to go?"

"I don't."

"We're slaves, Hulda."

"We're fed, we're safe. As safe as anyone in Kharsoom. If you run, you have to make it across the wasteland. It is a place that eats people alive. There is always the chance of being caught, of being enslaved again. And then, the masters might well be far crueler than Clan Sesamhat has ever been."

"I'll protect you."

"Against the Red Wastes? An impossible promise. No one can. Don't run away, Ashuz. You will die. Stay with me."

It was at that moment I knew that I would escape. Whatever it took. I would await Quiyahui no longer. I would not be rash. I would plan. I would wait for my time, but when it came, I would take it, and take it alone.

"As you wish," I lied. "Now give me a reason to stay."

She smiled, though the sadness that touched her eyes made me think she knew my heart. "Such is ever your reward."

My loincloth was shortly across the room, and she was reaching for my staff with her hungry mouth. The bell rang. I cursed in frustration. "I did not think she would call tonight," I growled.

"Come. I suspect she will be in a generous mood."

My lust was a coiling serpent in my belly, and I wished only to take Hulda in the privacy of my room, but she was going to Jezreal's chambers. Had she stayed would I have disobeyed? I do not know. It is difficult to understand or explain my thoughts then, especially in light of what I would become. There was a part that saw this as an elaborate game, and that part wanted to play.

We entered, finding Jezreal abed with Pari and Ninsunu. Ninsunu's head was between her mistress's legs, While Pari gently pulled at the chain between Jezreal's fat nipples, running her tongue about the mistress's swollen areola.

Jezreal brightened. "You two were abed! I interrupted."

"It is of no concern, Your Highness," Hulda said quickly, silencing the response on my lips. "What do you wish of us?"

"I want my brave guard to comfort his mistress, so badly frightened by that mad fool today."

I looked about the room, bathing in the scent of female arousal, and inspiration hit me. I stepped forward, brushing my fingers over Ninsusu's folds, running them up between her buttocks. She hissed in pleasure, and a ripple went over Jezreal.

"What would you have me do?" I asked.

"You plunged your spear into that boldisar. Now use it on me."

Ninsunu stood up without hesitation, her face shiny with Jezreal's juices. I caught her, the air electric between us. I pulled her to me, kissing her deeply, my tongue finding the mistress's flavor. This was not precisely what the Princess had ordered, but I was going to test these boundaries. We parted, and the handmaid's eyes were on mine. I did not quite have her yet, but I was close. I forcefully directed her to Jezreal's other side. I would need her help if I was to accomplish what was going to.

A frown rippled over Jezreal's lovely features. Perhaps she saw the edge of my game. But her thick thighs were spread, her sex glistening, her eyes smoky. Her handmaid had brought her close to the precipice. She could not know this was a tactical error that I would exploit. I guided my staff to her, running it down her lips. She thrust forward, and I pushed myself up, away from penetration, circling her pearl. She moaned. She was close indeed.

"Ashuz, I am ready," she breathed.

"I am not," I said with a grin. I pushed Ninsunu down to the other side of Jezreal and nodded. After a moment, the handmaid's tongue was busy.

"Why would that--" Her protest was gone, my teasing more insistent. I kept her in my eyes, the force between us a physical thing. She barely seemed to acknowledge Pari and Ninsunu, though their attentions at her nipples threw little ripples through her. The soft jingling of the chain was a counterpoint to the heavy, wet sounds spreading through the room.

The serpent in my belly hungered. It demanded I take her, impale her to the hilt. But I held off, continuing to tease, giving her nothing more. Her hips reached for me, desperately trying to get my length inside her. I thought of the way we served her so easily last time, the way Grud gave her what she wanted in an instant. This could be the only pathway to getting what I wanted. In truth, it was a far deadlier duel than the one I fought in the courtyard.

I thought of Phaeliope, the ageless wizard who had been my lover for a time during the Turquoise Conquest. She had taught me more of delaying my own bliss than any. It was her lessons I held close to me. I gently slid into Jezreal, the sensation sparking fire along my length. She cried out, arching her back, desperate to take more, but I was gone, teasing over her lips, brushing her pearl.

I did this to her in a trance state. A strange thing uncoiled in my belly as I moved against her. I realized then that what I took to be a serpent was in fact a storm. Echoed within me, outside. I felt the dancing of a coatl through clouds pregnant with rain. I was with her too, holding back my own pleasure, chaining my desire. Each thrust inside Jezreal demanded another, a brutal sheathing of myself, but I held off.

Jezreal writhed beneath me, her soft body covered in sweat and the saliva of her handmaids. Her eyes had closed, and she was far away, now a slave to what the three of us were doing to her. I do not believe she noticed the transfer of power, but it had happened, and now we were bound to it.

I pulled away, turning Jezreal over, pulling her up onto all fours. I wanted to take her that way, as an animal, to humble her. The handmaids made surprised sounds, but they adjusted quickly, resuming their licking and caressing. Hulda joined them, kissing Pari before turning to her own exploration of the now lust-maddened Princess. I felt hands between Jezreal's legs, over her overheated flesh.

I slapped her buttocks, delighting in the jiggle of her soft noble's flesh. Jezreal moaned. I slid inside her then, and she cried out. As the apex of my stroke, another slap. I took her like this, a thrust, a slap. Pleasure, pain, pleasure, pain. She began to shudder, on the razor's edge. If she fell over it, found her release, she would take charge here. I could only master her by playing her lust like a lyre.

I removed myself, then pulled Pari and Ninsunu from their explorations. They saw what I was after, their maroon eyes alight. They instantly attacked rose and orchid, their tongues preserving Jezreal's place. Pari slapped her mistress, mischief in her eyes. Then Ninsunu did the same. Now they were playing the same game as I. Our wills were united, turning the accepted order on its head.

I took Pari then. She was warm and wet and exactly what I needed. She was on all fours now, pushing back into me as I gripped her haunches. Our rhythm joined one another, our hearts beathing in time. I gave in to what I had been fighting, and my staff pulsed inside her. The first of the spurts broke her, and she shuddered in bliss. Our control returned then.

Hulda was there now, on her knees before me. Her tongue cleaned my staff, her expert touch bringing me back to hardness.

"Ashuz," gasped Jezreal. "I require your--"

I slapped her buttocks hard, and the two handmaids yelped, before going back to their mad teasing. "You will get it when I wish it," I said.

"You are my slave," she whined.

I slapped her again. "Tonight, you are the slave."

The ragged moan torn from her throat said all that needed to about what she thought of that arrangement. I had been right. She had been so used to getting what she wanted that it was no longer what she needed.

Hulda released me, and this time I took Ninsunu. I was more gentle with her. Pari had taken the first, easy bliss. Now I was stoking my second. She was as shapely as her companion, a bit slimmer where Pari was round. She found her bliss at the end of my staff, though I believe the air in the room as much responsible as my skills. She shivered on the end of me, and the slap I gave her was a soft one, followed with a caress.

Now, glistening, I gently moved them aside, once again plunging into Jezreal. She shuddered, another ragged moan spilling from her. "Oh, Ashuz, take me. Harder, take me harder."

I slapped her, as hard as she begged for my stroke. "You will ask," I told her firmly.

"Please," she stuttered, the word unfamiliar on her tongue. In fact, the word for please was traditionally never uttered by the aristocracy. It was possible this was the first time she had spoken it.

I gave her what she wanted, pushing myself to the limit, hitting the far wall of her sex. I gave her a few more, letting her find our rhythm. The three handmaids returned to her. The game was nearing its climax as the four of us transformed the Princess into a shuddering, mewling, begging lump.

We took her in waves. One of us was always between her legs, a tongue, a staff, fingers, anything to keep her at the edge of her bliss, never allowing her to fall into an abyss that yawned ever wider. We were with her for hours, plundering every part of her. Pari rode her face, the mingled remnants of our coupling dripping onto Jezreal's waiting tongue. I took orchid and rosebud in turn. The others stretched and tormented her.

"Ashuz, please!" she whined.

"A vow," I said, plowing into her. "You will make a vow."

"Anything!"

"Hulda. I may use her however I wish."

"Yes! She is yours!"

Hulda looked up, her eyes flashing.

"One more thing," I said. "Beg me. I am your lord."

"Please, my lord, finish me!"

I nodded to the others. The four of us descended on her. I took her with long, brutal thrusts. Pari perched over her back, her tongue pushing into the Princess's overheated rosebud. Ninsunu and Hulda were below, working pearl, nipple, and neck.

Jezreal's cry was shattering. Her body quaked uncontrollably. I spilled within her, pushing myself to the absolute hilt. She shuddered so violently and for so long, at first I thought it would never end. Then, at least, she came down, collapsing on the dais. Her eyes fluttered, her mouth open, drool falling from her lips. The four of us had broken her.

I sighed, sitting back, nearly as exhausted as she, the stripe Aihiram cut into me burning. I must have sweated through the healing unguent.

"Yours, hmm?" Hulda teased, coming to my side.

I kissed her gently. "You did not complain."

"We should be insulted," Pari said, cuddling with Ninsunu.

"You will not go unappreciated," I said, kissing both in turn, but it was Hulda who pulled me back into a soft embrace. She returned with me to my quarters and though we did not lay together, we slept, cuddled in the warmth of far Rhandonia.

While Grud recovered, our loveplay often reversed the roles of master and servant. Jezreal found a new delight in supplication. Despoiling her in that bedchamber was almost enough to make me forget my own bondage. Jezreal was as good as her word, and though Hulda and I made happy memories, I was under no delusions. I was not the boldisat. She was.

I began my preparations for escape.