For the first time since his family past, Simon feels a righteous peace and contentment. He suspects part of this is the calm before the storm. Also, he believes his family is shining their benevolent spirit upon him. His eyes begin to moisten with warm thoughts of a happier time.
He is embarrassed that he is so inclined to such an emotional moment. But it cannot be helped. He wipes away tears as subtly as he can, lest his rescue recipients sense any weakness in their newly appointed guardian.
Simon turns towards the girls. They are in shock from the events that occurred. They are riding an emotional roller-coaster of fear, hope, outrage, despondency, despair and now ambivalence. The girls can’t help but to pity the soldier who met such a violent end; yet he was impeding their goals of freedom.
They can hardly believe their good luck as it were this stranger committed himself to their cause. Yet, they are equally as shocked he would resort to such lengths to rescue them. At least temporarily, he restored their faith in the general benevolence of men. Not all of them were like the King.
“What is done is done, so it is. We need to get moving. The soldiers are distracted, but eventually this poor wretch will be found. “
Adele feels compelled to aid in some way. “Perhaps if we moved him to the side in the thicket, it might allow us to gain sufficient distance from foe.”
Simon considers it. “Ai. I’ll see it done, so I will.” Adele is prepared to help him, but it is unnecessary. The soldier is as big as Simon. He manages to move him almost effortlessly. It is a small comfort knowing such a strong and skilled brute is on their side. But Adele knows the man cannot possibly fight off the soldiers.
Once the soldier was moved into the dense thicket, Simon feels around for valuable contraband. As luck would have it, he found a compass, which could prove vital under their circumstances. He could navigate by the stars. But since the fog is obscuring the forest, they could possibly traverse in circles, never venturing farther than a few square hectares.
This would increase their chances by tenfold of being caught. He confiscates a sharp paring knife and a sharpening stone. He seizes the two speed-shooters the pat had. Like most of the Bana-Gauls, Simon is well-schooled in the art of gun play. He excels at it. Firing the piece is as natural to him as swinging his sword.
And, if given the choice and enough time, he would opt for the revolver. The present set of circumstances demands quiet and so he must use his sword. Having plundered a prosperous town, the soldier has several gold pence. Simon takes them too. They will require purchases when ultimate freedom is attained-if it can be, that is.
Simon confiscates one last item from the dead soldier, which may prove to be the most valuable item of all. It is a filament rod lantern, a very rare find, especially for such a lowly soldier. The encased filament rod is in a glass chamber. When a tightly wound, the crank is turned creating friction and a light is ignited.
The friction produces a good amount of heat which creates a combustible mixture when it mixes with the small amount of kerosene inside the lamp. A small amount of kerosene can power the lamp for hundreds of hours. The filament rod itself can last for several thousand hours. It is an amazing invention and they are lucky to have it.
“And let there be light,” Simon remarks positively. The girls smile hopefully. “We need to get moving.”
The group make their way out of the thicket and onto the forest floor with great haste. Simon says a quick prayer to Jesus and to his family, hoping for intervention from them on his behalf. His sins are grave, but he is trying to atone. Perhaps God will at least show mercy to them. If he must die, then so be it.
Chapter 20: Adding Insult to Injury
Porsia sits huddled on the edge of Jason’s bed, shivering uncontrollably and whimpering softly. Jason had taken pains to avoid inflicting wounds on her face. He wanted his prize to remain flawless when he presented her to his soldiers.
When it came to the rest of her body, he showed no mercy. In a frenetic fit of hyper-arousal, he aggressively beaten her entire body, enjoying her vehement protests. She had dozens of purple contusions and small lacerations in several places.
And as difficult as it was to behold, her injuries were not limited to the exterior of her body. Many abundant abrasions were present in her vagina and in her rectum. Sensing she was not in sufficient pain, Jason grew tired of fucking her vaginally and resorted to fucking her in the ass.
Naturally, his ploy worked and she cried out piercingly as he thrust his manhood deep into her rectum, not allowing her any time to prepare herself for the massive member. Luckily, the sodomy was short lived as he found himself coming almost immediately. After he came inside her, he tossed her aside, where she scampered away like some small, abused animal finally free from the throngs of a ruthless and sadistic child.
But, at least the animal could go back to his home in the woods. Porsia had no such home. Jason laid down and slept like a baby. Porsia considers brandishing a knife on his utility belt and cutting his throat, but she knows it would be a futile attempt.
Jason’s deep slumber is unexpectedly cut short when Commander Marcus Attilus walks into his chamber, after failing to receive an answer when he announces himself on the other side of the tent.
“Your Grace -.” Jason does not respond.
“Your Grace -” the Commander says louder. Still, Jason does not respond.
“Your Grace-.” This time, the Commander is nearly yelling. Jason finally stirs at the sound of his booming voice and looks around with a dazed expression. When he sees that it is Marcus, he sighs with frustration.
“What concerns you now that you would interrupt me in bedchamber? Can’t you see that I am predisposed with my wench?” Marcus glances briefly in the direction of Porsia, who continues to whimper softly.
“I do cry your pardon, my Grace, but a matter which concerns us is of some expediency.”
“Release yourself of the burden and speak it.”
“General Battius Gaius Erraticius is here to make an offer for the slaves we have procured.”
Jason looks at Marcus incredulously. If he had been the slightest bit dazed a moment before, he was now fully cognizant and alert. “The Orachain? He is here?”
“As you know, your Grace, the Orachai do not like to be kept waiting. They would take it as an insult.”
Jason finds it difficult to swallow. The mere thought of one of the Orachain in his camp makes him uneasy. The Orachain are massively, oggerish creatures with hard, bristly fur that is rumored to contain toxins. Their nails, which actually resemble claws, are razor sharp and also contain the venomous mixture that permeates their oily coat.
They stand between seven and ten feet tall and some of the larger ones weigh well over a thousand pounds. Their hands are like humans with the ability to grasp and an opposing thumb, which make them dexterous as well. Their overdeveloped limbs are like tree trunks, capable of easily crushing a man’s skull.
Much like humans, they vary in temperament, disposition, skill with the sword, strength, and intelligence.
In spite of their massive size, the Orachai are not slow. They can reach speeds up to thirty-five knots, so no human can outrun them. Although the Orachai’s ability with the sword is on a par with humans, their long, dense, razor-sharp claws make it cumbersome for them to handle a shooter and thank God for that.
For the most part, the Orachai are proficient in the art of warfare and do not easily defer to anyone. The truce they have with the humans is tenuous at best and great care must be taken when negotiating with them.
For countless centuries, the area was extremely fertile, able to produce almost any crop, had abundant wild life and was rife with iron ore, one of the most coveted minerals in the world. Iron ore was as valuable as gold, if not more. For centuries, the Orachai prospered in these lands. But as of late, the wild life migrated to more fertile lands and most of the iron ore reserves had been depleted.
At one time, the iron ore was in such abun
dance it could be scooped off the rocky floor in th0e foothills. Now, the Orachai need to mine the ore deep under the surface, a venture that is time consuming and expensive.
In order to save on expenses, the Orachai routinely trade in slave labor-human slaves, especially children. Human children can easily make their way in the mines’ narrow tunnels.
The work is extremely dangerous. Many children die due to lack of proper ventilation and suffocation. Unexpected tunnels would collapse, killing anyone inside them. No one under the rule of the Gilleon Empire could trade in slaves. It is forbidden. But, Jason is not under the rule of the Gilleon Empire and this ban did not affect him.
Slowly, the Orachai are beginning to venture out of their territory into more prosperous ventures. They naturally expect humans to defer to them. So far, peace had been maintained-somewhat tenuously. There are always incidences, skirmishes, minor confrontations, but nothing that could potentially ignite a full scuffle between the humans and Orachai. Underneath the peaceful façade, is a feeling of trepidation among the humans, who remain fearful; especially never having ascertained the Orachai’s full numbers.
Some feel a powder keg is waiting to ignite from the pent-up frustrations and hostilities between the opposing species. The matter is a difficult one to be treaded on gingerly. No one in the human faction wants a full-scale war with the Orachai. They were too big of a threat. Many feel it is inevitable.
Jason is aware of this situation. It certainly makes him uneasy and tempers his arrogant disposition. The powder keg coupled with the Orachai’s physically intimidating appearance puts everyone on edge. Jason knows he will need to keep his sharp tongue hidden. He once witnessed the brutal and devastating aftermath of an officer who tried to rebuke one of the Orachai. The Orachai who had been insulted launched a devastating blow to the man’s head with his fist, shattering his skull and instantly killing him.
Commander Attilus and the King make their way to the formal tent where Battius and his entourage await. The news that the Orachai are present is more disconcerting. The tentative plan is to sell the slaves to the Sandonistas in the Welshen Province. They are also known as the Bird People, since their beasts of burden are predatory Vikens.
In fact, the Sandonistas are due to arrive at any time. Jason knows it is no coincidence. The Orachai ascertained they were on their way to make offer for women and children and came here in their place, probably after slaughtering everyone in their party.
As they walk into the tent, a large group of Orachai and officers are waiting for the negotiations to begin. The officers are clearly uneasy in the presence of the beasts. Moments before, the soldiers were in the full swing of their inebriated revelry and lascivious conduct. And now, their countenances appear dead-pan, their obeisant postures indicating a deference to the Orachai General. As Jason looks around the tent, he observes General Battius.
The Orachain is a massive brute, even by Orachain standards and he was said to be an unusually fierce and sadistic General with little regard for life, whether human or Orachai. Almost forgetting himself, Jason opens his mouth to verbally reprimand the General. The beast sits in Jason’s throne, an amber-wood and mahogany wood masterpiece crafted down to the most minuscule detail, a piece handed down from his Great grandad Sylvan, the Terrible.
A seething, boiling hatred begins to fester underneath Jason’s nonchalant exterior. He nearly yells out at the brazen intruder but manages to hold himself in check with considerable self-control. He tries to control his shaking and forcibly pushes his hands to his sides, away from his tempting speed shooter.
Rather than lashing out uncontrollably, he humbles himself and bows in deference. “General Battius. This is an unexpected honor. We are humbled by your presence. To what do we owe this honor?”
“We have received word of your campaign. You have plundered several towns as of late- Missalia, Carthen and yet, you have not bothered to send us word. We would have paid handsomely if given ample opportunity to bid on such valuable merchandise. You have many children in your presence, do you not?”
“Ai. That we do, General. That we do. About sixty.”
“Tis a good number. I’d say such would fit our bill for the time being.”
Jason continues to keep his anger in check. To do otherwise would only invite death. Still, he gave the Sandonistas the benefit of the doubt of being alive. “With all due respect, General. We had a tentative arrangement with the Sandonistas. It would be disrespectful to deny them an opportunity to bid on merchandise they have traveled far to procure, do you ken?”
General Battius smiles devilishly. Despite their beastly appearance, the Orachai are capable of very human-like facial expressions. But instead of making it easier for Jason and his officers to relate to, it has the opposite effect. It unsettles them even more. “You needn’t worry ‘bout the Sandonistas. Their attempt to outbid us met with some unexpected complications, shall we say?” The General laughs raucously and his fellow soldiers join in. It is creepy. Not wanting to be rude, Jason and his crew laugh, but it is nervous and forced.
Jason continues. “General Crixus of the Sandonistas promised us five gold pence for the women and six for the children, provided they are in proper shape, physically and emotionally. Our merchandise is top of the-”
General Battius rudely and abruptly cut Jason off. “We will offer you one gold pence for each of the slaves, no more and no less. If you have any virgins in your steed that are at the cusp of womanhood, we will consider two gold pence, provided they are attractive. We Orachai consider all humans to look alike and have no basis for standards of beauty among your race, so we must trust your judgment.”
Jason’s boiling anger was threatening to spill over in a wild and uncontrollable outburst. It is all he can do to hold it in check. “General, with all due respect, that is not a fair price. It is insulting.”
The General is indignant. His booming voice instantly quiets the nervous murmuring that ensues at the insulting offer. Jason’s anger is now held in check by fear. In order to emphasize his point, the General emerges from the chair. Regardless of his massive size, he is as light as a swan dancer.
“Consider this young King, and I do use that word lightly, for you have done nothing to warrant that title. Your father was a King, but you are merely masquerading as one.” Jason is livid. His face turns blotched red at the insult. He fights back the desire to pull out his speed shooter and kill the loathsome brute. Jason is a capricious King, but such an act would be a death sentence for all. The repercussions would reverberate throughout his land for some time.
The General purposely pauses after the insult, letting it sink in and perhaps daring the King to lash out from the slight. Clearly, he is a brute who loves to instigate a confrontation. He knows how to ignite his enemies. And, he chooses his words carefully. “Perhaps one day you will become a worthy King. You are young and there is still time.” Jason softens somewhat at the tempering of the insult. “Know this, young King. You should consider it a kindness we are willing to offer you anything for your merchandise, since you did not permit us first chance to make proper offer. Do you ken?”
Jason takes a deep breath and tries to quell the maelstrom brewing inside him. He is beyond livid. The Orachain had the audacity to sit in his throne, forcing Jason to defer to him. And he insults Jason; one would have earned a death sentence had it been anyone else. It appears Jason will subjugate himself further and apologize to the Orachain. It is beyond preposterous.
Jason bows. “I cry your pardon General. We would be happy to sell you the goods for three pence a head, a sacrifice to be sure, but one which should be mutually beneficial to us both.”
“Perhaps you did not understand the meaning of the words ‘no more, no less’. Perhaps I should relieve you of them altogether.” Jason does not respond. Instead, he stares straight ahead, resolute, and determined. He resists an obsequious urge to give in to the General’s demands. It is deadly quiet in the hall and the silence is maddening
, all officers on each side tensing up at the imminent dissolution of the negotiations.
The General finally breaks the silence by walking around, contemplating the matter. At last, he speaks. Jason holds his breath. This could be good or certain death for all. “In honor of your late Father, who had honored a truce between our people and would never have reneged on it, I will show you some generosity, which you are undeserving of. “He looks at Jason scornfully when he says this. “I will offer you two gold pence a head for each of your humans, three for any teenage virgins, on the condition they are in good shape physically. “
Jason had been unable to swallow during the silence. He swallows and lets out a long sigh building along with the tumult. He could not expect more and would not chance it. “Agreed General. Your offer is most generous.”
The General smiles the least bit, satisfied with the negotiation. To reconfirm his dominance over the proceedings, he returns to Jason’s throne. As is customary when trade is being conducted, two intermediaries involved in the offer for goods are chosen amongst each faction.
An Orachain and a Visi-Gaul are chosen through a system of broken sticks. The officer from each faction that holds the longest stick is the intermediary. There is always some apprehension to be chosen as an intermediary because if the offer is suddenly rescinded at the last minute, the intermediaries’ lives are forfeit.
They are both immediately killed and the offer placed in their care is buried along with them. This rarely happens. No one wants to forfeit that money. It is a reminder how important an official offer is between two factions.
The locked box holds the offer for goods. Its hole has a chain through it in which the two intermediaries are chained to the box.
General Marcus Attilus retrieves the coins that would be put in the box. As he takes possession, he studies the coins and scowls. Not wanting to incite the Orachain, he remains quiet, but the look he gives his King unnerves him. He returns to the King and voices his concerns. They speak in hushed tones. “What concerns you, Marcus?”
The Brotherhood of Merlin Page 12