by Tony Roberts
She also asked at the hall about a particular type of dress. She’d seen an illustration in the book and had been struck by it. She gave the seamstress precise details and her proportions and size. She was told it would be ready in twenty days. Faer thanked her.
Dinner went agonisingly slowly. Limkel moved places, going the other side of Grange who then moved into Limkel’s old one, smiling as he sat next to Faer. Faer laid a hand on his leg and he shook in excitement. Faer smothered a smile. If she’d asked him to bark like a dog he would have.
Limkel and Filamina now sat next to one another, two seats away. New arrivals were filtering in; the new class were people who had begun to drift to the school now the war in Gorradan had ended. Not many came from that kingdom but the roads and routes were reopened and people were at last travelling freely once more.
Quen took Faer back to her room. Pappis made himself scarce; not even looking at the half-elf could compel him to sit through a session of hairdressing. It was simply too much girlie stuff. Besides, there was a fascinating array of new young girls to drool over in the hall so he volunteered to show them round.
Faer sat nervously in Quen’s chair in her room. The redhead picked up some blades and combs and began to sever the longer locks of the dark skinned girl. Faer looked at the hair dropping to the floor and her heart sank momentarily. What if too much was cut off? There seemed to be an awful lot coming off! She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She had to trust her friend.
“Mmm,” Quen said. “You just have beautiful hair. So silky. It’ll look gorgeous.” She concentrated, her tongue through her teeth. More comb and brushwork now, and the pieces of cut hair drifted to the floor.
It felt lighter to Faer. The sudden absence of so much hair made it feel as if she had no hair. Quen went slowly round her neck, layering her hair. When she brushed hair round her ears it sent shivers through her. Yes, her ears were really sensitive.
Finally Quen ceased, looked critically at her model, then snipped a tiny piece of hair and looked again. “Yes, that’s good.”
She had a small hand mirror and passed it to Faer. “What do you think?”
Faer looked. She gasped. “Oh Quen! You’re a magician! That’s – incredible!”
Quen beamed. “First time I’ve done that, Blade. That drawing though was so good it was easy to follow.” They both looked at the final result. Yes, Faer looked almost identical to the illustration. Two long locks hung from the side of her head down in front of her ears to almost the jawline. They seemed to ripple and writhe as she moved.
Behind her ears her hair hung down to the neck, and was layered from the nape outwards. It left her with a thick, full hair style, a mass of midnight black. There was plenty on the floor too. They both swept it up. Faer kissed Quen and went back to her room. Grange stood up in surprise. “Mistress – your hair!”
“Is different. I know. Dark elf style.”
“Wonderful.”
“You’d say the same if I were bald!” She smiled at her slave. “Come here.”
“Came up to her obediently. “I hear you’re making good progress with the blade. I am pleased with you.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“So, a reward.” She kissed him long and deep and he emitted muffled sighs of pleasure, trembling as she delivered another explosion of nerve-tingling sensation that flowed and ran through his veins. When she broke the hold he was breathless and sank to his knees, head bowed, groaning in his personal heaven.
Faer filled a bowl with water and began to wash her hair, washing out the bits that had not fallen in Quen’s room. When it dried it would be tidier. Good. She combed it, noting how much easier it was to do that now. The only downside so far was that her neck was colder, but that would fade as she got used to it.
Seltonas though was not impressed the next morning.
FIFTEEN
He took one look at her as she entered the hall and scowled. “I presume you’re trying to impress me with that new style, Initiate?”
Faer shook her head and looked defiantly at him. “Swordmaster, you are the one person I definitely am not interested in impressing with my looks and style. Just my bladework.”
“Any reason known to sanity why you would change your style now?”
“I wanted a change – and I got fed up with my hair flying about the place when I’m working on my moves. This is neater, tidier and less inclined to get in the way. It’s also me.”
Seltonas shook his head in bafflement. “In what way? You’ve never appeared like that before so how, girl, can it possibly be you?”
“Trust me, Swordmaster, I feel far more comfortable with my hair like this.” She picked up one of the wooden swords from a stand. “What are we working on today?”
“Facing more than one opponent. Today I’m going to pit you against two of your contemporaries; its time you joined their class; you’re almost capable of facing them. I want to see how you do against them. Follow me – we are going to join Master Huddesar’s group. You know most of them so you should not be overawed. Just don’t let me down.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing something as foolish as that, Master.”
Seltonas made a non-committal grunt and led her from the hall along the corridor to a bigger chamber, a wooden floored space three times the size of the previous room. Here, in winter, the others including Pappis, Limkel and Grange, trained.
Seltonas introduced her and they all bowed to her and she bowed back. Master Huddesar waved her to join the group in the middle of the room and called out three to remain there; the rest were to sit down along the edge and observe.
Three? Faer stood uncertainly in the middle of the others. One was Grange. The other two a couple of boys she knew by sight but had never got around to speaking to. Tearl and Roose were their names. All were fairly big so she guessed they had been deliberately selected for that reason. Grange stepped up to her while the two masters were discussing the demonstration. “Blade,” he murmured, concern on his face. “What shall I do?”
“Fight hard, Grange. Do not disappoint me; I want to see how good you are.”
Grange bowed again and she bowed back. The other two edged up to her. “Hey, Blade,” Tearl said. “Go easy on us; I hear you’re something of a wonder with the blade.” He chuckled, a confident look on his face. Roose looked a little more thoughtful but shrugged as if to say I’m not going to pull out just because you’re a girl and smaller than me. Along the sidelines Faer could see Limkel looking at her, nodding in encouragement and that made her feel better.
Huddesar came up to the group. “Combat will begin on my command and stop when I say. Demonstrate your martial skills. Good luck, students.”
Faer watched as the three scattered and took up stances, ready for the test. Faer sucked in her breath and waited, not moving at all. Her eyes took in two of them; the third was behind her – that was where she would attack first.
The command came and the two before her came at her, sticks high. A whisper of sound heralded the closing of the one behind her, Roose. She waited another heartbeat before spinning, dropping low and swinging her stick in a diagonal strike from low to the right to high on the left.
Roose’s downward blow missed her by a hand’s breadth. Faer’s strike caught him in the ribs and he cried out in pain, doubling up. Faer was already turning, facing Tearl who had come at her fast, intending to end the test as soon as possible. Grange was circling, hanging back, knowing Faer’s prowess. The half-elf sent one strike into Tearl’s stick, then a second even before Tearl had managed to complete his back swing to his arm, numbing it. Tearl dropped his stick and bent over howling, clutching his arm.
She stepped clear. Grange. He came at her, stick descending from a shorter backswing. The sticks slapped as they met, then came a series of strikes as they struck, parried, countered and turned.
Grange used his superior strength to force her back. She saw what he was doing and feinted one way then span the other, sw
inging up from low. Grange stepped back and she had gained a couple of feet. This went on for a few minutes, neither managing to force an opening. Then Roose picked up his stick and came in from the rear.
Faer saw Grange’s warning look and dodged aside just in time. She whirled, her stick hitting Roose in the same spot as before. He yelled and dropped his stick, hopping in agony. But this had opened up an attack from Grange and he slammed a blow down on Faer’s shoulder, sending shards of pain shooting through her. She sank to her knees and dropped her stick.
“Finish!” Huddesar commanded. Grange withdrew, a stricken look on his face.
“Ooh, hurt his girlfriend,” Pappis said loudly. “You’re in for it now, ugly.”
“Silence!” Huddesar snapped. Seltonas looked thoughtful.
All four were commanded to stand in a circle and bow to one another. Three of them looked worse for wear. Faer hissed in pain as she walked over to the side, Grange alongside her. “Blade – I’m sorry! Please understand I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Alright,” she gasped. “You can tend my injury later. Do not worry.”
He peeled away while the other two made their way much more slowly to the side. Seltonas took Faer back to their smaller room. “Why did you not use your abilities? I was waiting for you to do something. You could have beaten all three.”
Faer sat down, biting her lower lip. The stick really had hurt her. Seltonas sighed and came over to her. He placed his hand above her injury and a glow suffused it, spreading from his hand to the shoulder of the girl. Faer gasped and watched as the wound faded, and the pain receded.
“How did you do that?”
“It should not come as a surprise to know we elves are more than mere warriors,” Seltonas said. “Just as the dark elves use abilities, so do we white elves. Never think yourself superior. You lost today when you should have won. Why?”
Faer grimaced one last time, flexed her shoulder, then looked relieved. “I thought I could defeat them without doing so. If those swords had been real the two I hit would not have been there to recover.”
“But they weren’t and you should have adjusted your tactics accordingly. Huddesar will have crowing rights over me now for the next week. I am disappointed in you, Junior.”
“Junior, did you say?” she said in surprise.
“Yes; much as it grieves me, you have reached the requisite level for a junior. Just don’t be so damned arrogant again!”
Faer grinned. “I won’t; thank you, Master.”
Seltonas grumbled. “From now on the mornings will be ours, then you will join Master Huddesar and work with the rest of them.”
So that set the pattern for the rest of the winter and the spring. Grange was extremely apologetic but Faer insisted all was well and she did not hold it against him. She did withdraw the pleasure from him for two days as a ‘punishment’ which he took in his stride, but she relented the third and subjected him to one so long it left him lying on the floor mumbling in a stupor.
Faer watched him as he slowly recovered his faculties. She felt responsible for him, and also felt guilt and pity in equal measures. It had been his doing in the first place but she so wished he could recover and regain his own free will, but it was not going to happen. She resolved to care for him for the rest of his life. He would be her faithful retainer, and that might not be a bad thing. A protector was good.
Twenty days later the dress was ready and she carried it from the launderette and placed it on her bed. She looked at it for a while before spreading it out and examining it closely. It was red, a deep red, a perfect colour for her to wear.
Slipping off her day clothes she put the dress on. It was a one-piece outfit, low cut at the chest, falling sheer in a steep ‘V’ to the bottom of her ribs, exposing the inside third of her breasts. The sleeves were full length, and the collar was raised behind her neck up at a height of a hand.
The dress was tied about the waist, and the bottom was a flowing drop to just above the ankles, and two slits from the upper thigh to the bottom allowing her long legs to be on show when she walked.
She twirled, wishing she had a full length mirror to see. What she could see pleased her immensely. Then she sat in her chair and propped her hand mirror up, using it to look into while she applied the eye liner, a thin, solid unbroken line of black around each eye. Finally the red. Pouting, she rubbed the berry extract onto her lips, pressed her lips together and looked. Yes, that was what she wanted.
She stood and held her hand mirror as far away as possible, peering into it. Not bad if I say so myself. She emerged from her room and knocked on Grange’s door. Grange appeared and his eyes almost shot out of his head. “M-Mistress!”
“Let me in before I freeze to death out here,” she commanded.
He stepped aside and she breezed in, thankful of the warmer air in the room. Grange shut the door and came up to her, his eyes roving over her. She turned a full circle, slowly. “Well, Grange?”
“Oh, Mistress, you are – perfect. No woman has ever existed to match your beauty.”
Faer smiled wryly. One problem with a slave bound to someone was that they never said anything that was not complimentary. Dark elf binding clearly removed any thought of criticism. Trouble was if she swept into a training hall full of her colleagues they would all fall over themselves. It would need an appraisal from another woman to give her a better idea. Quen? Filamina? Maybe. She smiled as the thought struck her of Seltonas seeing her like this. The end of tutoring year dance was coming up, and it was a perfect time to show it off.
In the meantime it would be best to keep this hidden away, like her sword. She would wrap her sword in the dress and secrete it behind her cupboard. She swept round in a circle again, enjoying the way the lower part of the dress billowed out. Grange’s eyes devoured her legs. It made Faer fell good; she decided to indulge her dark elf side. After all, she was wearing a genuine dark elf style dress, if that book was to be believed.
She let the feeling of enjoyment bubble up, carefully guiding it as it reached her brain. She felt the darker side of her rise up and send thoughts to her mouth. “Kneel, slave,” she hissed.
Grange fell to his knees before her.
“Worship me.”
Grange prostrated himself, crying out he was dedicated to her, to her beauty, to her wisdom, to her entire being. She loomed before him, one hand on her hip, making a show of assessing his words.
“Is that so?” she took hold of his head and tilted it back. Her eyes bored into his. “Would you die for me?”
“Yes, Mistress! Willingly!”
Faer put a hold on the dark elf speech. She felt resistance but it fell away. She knelt too and smiled. “Then receive your reward, Grange.” She kissed him long and full. The man fed on her, his hunger for her evident; he needed her so badly, it was an addiction. Once more she left him weak and deliriously happy. She stood up. “Grange, hear me. I have decided that once I leave here you will come with me and serve me for the rest of your life.”
“Mistress,” he gasped. “I am the happiest and luckiest man in all the world.”
She allowed one last response from her other self. “Yes you are.” She then banished it back from whence it had come. She had felt the thrill through her body at Grange’s words. To so completely control another was heady, but she was not a full dark elf. Her human side objected to this degree of enslavement. It was only because she recognised he could never live an independent life again that she had decided to keep him. Otherwise she would have let him go.
The dress was stored in her room, and then a few weeks later they moved rooms, going up a level to the middle set. They were no longer at the bottom of the pecking order. The new arrivals, who finally numbered forty-one, took up the bottom rooms. The juniors became seniors and took up the top row, and the seniors all passed, their badges sewn to their clothes. The dance was coming.
Faer had one last thing to do before then. As the top rooms were being cleared out
by their occupants, she reached that level and walked along the flat walkway outside the entrances. At the one she wanted she stopped and pushed the door in gently. It had been slightly ajar. She slipped in, closing the door silently, and moved towards the figure packing his belongings.
He was crouched, but became aware of someone behind him and turned his head. He saw who it was and stood up, reaching for his sword. “What do you want?” he demanded.
“As you were leaving today, I thought we should sort out this problem between us.”
“And what may that be?”
“You calling my mother a whore. I want an apology from you.”
“Go away. I’m not interested.” He looked her over. “No sword? That’s bit stupid isn’t it? So you can’t do anything about it. Your mother’s still a whore. Now get out.”
Faer smiled chillingly. “Very well.” She clenched her abdominal muscles and the hot wall of power flowed through her veins. Her hand twisted into a half claw and a small ball of fire shot out and impacted on the boy’s groin. He screamed and rolled onto the floor, clutching his injury. “Enjoy the rest of your life,” she said conversationally and left.
It wasn’t long before two seniors and a prefect came for her. She was ordered to report to the Blademaster at once, and was escorted at the double march to his office. There, flanking the seated Blademaster, were Seltonas and another of the swordmasters, a man called Filik, a thick, square man with incredibly strong looking legs. He had been the senior class main tutor.
“Blade, Blade, Blade,” Territus said, his voice heavy with sadness and regret. “This time you have gone too far.”
She stood there and looked at Territus’ desk. There was really nothing to say. No point in denying it; there weren’t exactly a fortress full of people with the ability to incinerate men’s sensitive areas with a blast of fire.