Sisters of the Storm_Triad

by Guy Estes

  "Anyone who can snap iron links with her bare hands is a supremely dangerous person, but that actually works to my advantage. With the profit I will make off of you, I will live like a god!"

  How could he profit from the threat I pose, she wondered. Aleena could find no answers to her question. All she found were more questions. They entered the complex attached to the largest building and she was led down below ground level, down to the dungeons. Aleena was surprised, though, as they led her past the dungeons to an even lower level to deposit her in this hole. And here she stayed, with nothing more than the centipedes and her questions to keep her company.

  Why were they doing this? Obviously, they were not trying to kill her. They could have done that days ago. No, she had seen this pattern many times during her stay with the slave traders. They were doing this to demonstrate to her that her life no longer belonged to her, that they could do with her as they pleased and no one would know or care, and that she was not even worthy of the dungeons.

  Which brings me back to my original question: why? Why can they not take no for an answer? Why can they not let the issue drop? Why must they hound me so? Dear Tamura, why must I go through this?

  Then tears came back, hard, but Aleena still denied them freedom, just as her freedom was denied. She wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Forcing her tears back with these assurances, Aleena, immersed in filth and at her captor's mercy, held her head up with the immovable pride that she possessed in such vast quantities, her eyes gleaming with it.

  * * *

  By the end of day five, her tears finally had their way. Thankfully, it was night. Aleena's hole was even darker than it normally was, and the guards were not watchful. She hung her head and let the tears come, but she did not sob. She would keep her promise to herself. She wept, but they would never have the satisfaction of knowing it. Still, pride was no substitute for water, which she desperately needed. The only thing that kept her from drinking what she sat in was the fact that she'd been constantly reminded of what went into it. She'd been forced to contribute a few ingredients herself.

  The bars overhead lifted away, but Aleena was too thirsty to give a damn about what might be coming for her. A guard was lowered down, and after he'd secured her, they were pulled upward.

  "I would think," one guard said to her, "that you are curious where we are taking you."

  Aleena's tongue was too swollen to reply. They hauled her up the stairs she'd traveled five days before, up past the dungeons and two levels above ground and they did not stop until they stood before a door. They knocked and a voice granted them entrance. Aleena found herself in a small but well-furnished room. Marcus sat behind an ornate desk and smiled at her.

  "Well, my dear," he said. "I see you found your accommodations stimulating. I assume you are prepared to discuss business now, yes?"

  Aleena's tongue, parched and spongy, did not allow her to respond. Marcus saw this and had a guard give her some water. After her mouth and throat had been properly lubricated, Aleena croaked, "And what is your business?"

  He grinned. "Entertainment. On a scale your provincial little mind could not possibly grasp."

  "If you expect to use me as a whore, I'll save us both a lot of trouble. You'll have to kill me first."

  "My dear lady, I would never even think such a thing! No, my dear, I think the activity I have in mind for you is one you will take to as a fish takes to water."

  "Speaking of which, I could use some."

  "That you could," he nodded, while holding a scented handkerchief to his nose. "Fear not, my dear. You will soon have more water than you shall ever want."

  The guards took her away on Marcus' command. Aleena was led to another building. They stopped in a large room that had a pipe two feet wide yawning from the ceiling.

  “Take off your clothes,” one ordered her.

  “This should be a sight!” chortled another as he nudged his grinning colleague.

  In the time since she'd slain the dragon, Aleena's burgeoning comeliness had advanced exponentially. One of the Chosen's benefits was making itself dizzyingly obvious. Her bodice had gotten quite snug, despite the fact that she’d let the top laces out as far as they would go. Taut calves, strong thighs and a muscular backside now filled leggings that had fit her once-coltish limbs quite casually. As she removed her clothes, they whistled and called, as men of such low character are wont to do, although when she was completely naked, they became silent. They had seen lots of naked women, many of them quite beautiful, but Aleena was something else entirely. She was a spectacular dichotomy the guards had never seen before.

  Her breasts, the guards noticed, were a bit more than a handful, but right below their soft roundness were the finely wrought muscles sheathing her ribs and a flat stomach that looked arrowproof. Her arms were long and graceful, her hands equally well suited for the harp or the hilt. Each guard longed for her to wrap those arms around him and caress him with those hands, yet they also looked strong enough to snap their necks. Her shoulders were slim and her back smooth, yet they had the unmistakable strength of a swordswoman. Her hips bore just the proper curvature for a pair of hands to rest upon and her backside was as round and firm as an apple. Each guard thought they’d make an unforgettable ride, yet each guard also knew he’d never make it past her impenetrable will. Her legs were long and sleek, and the guards yearned to get between them, yet they also looked like they had power enough to crush a man. All in all, her form was one of perfect synchronicity and balance. She was hard yet soft, beautiful yet frightening. She had perfect feminine curves yet a perfect warrior’s might. She was a flawless blend of a woman’s beauty and a predator’s power, a veritable goddess of war.

  Tamura, she thought as she closed her eyes with a sigh, out of all the times to grant me beauty, you must do so now, when I am surrounded by savages.

  Aleena summoned courage and faced her spectators, standing tall and proud, despite her nakedness. The guards could only stare back. They were unaccustomed to having their captives regard them as if they were mere servant boys. Then one of them grinned and pulled a chain that was dangling near him. Gallons of water fell from the pipe overhead and pounded Aleena to the stone floor. He held the chain down, keeping Aleena pinned to the floor by the white torrent. Then he let go and stopped the flood. The water gurgled down a drain in the floor and Aleena stood, her shoulders hunched against the chill and the shame. Then, slow and inexorable as the turning of the world, she straightened and looked the guards in their eyes. The water hit her again. Before she knew it, Aleena was again pressed to the rough stone floor by the irresistible force of the driving water. It stopped and she was allowed to stand again. Then it slammed her back down again.

  In some part of Aleena's strained mind she understood why they were doing this. They had made her desperately crave water, then they had given it to her. Aleena decided to turn this to her advantage and was able to drink her fill. Her thirst satisfied, Aleena was able to determine the bigger reason for this treatment. As she stood there, they would beat her back down. They were continuing their attempts to erode her pride. After nearly a week of being denied food and water, just beyond her reach, then being exposed before these animals, Aleena was sorely tempted to let them win. As the water held her down again, she decided that she liked lying down. When the torrent stopped and her excuse for lying down was gone, Aleena slowly rolled onto her hands and knees and gathered her strength. Then her legs straightened and she once more rose to her full height and looked into their faces.

  This cycle was repeated over and over again, but the results were always the same: Aleena standing tall and looking right at them. Deciding that further dunking would be a waste of time and water, the guards tossed her her clothes, which had also been subjected to the shower. The dirt had been pounded from them with sheer force. Aleena struggled back into them. She was constantly pulling the soaked material from her skin, but it continued to stick
to her body.

  They led her from that room, grinning, and traversed echoing stone corridors that were well lit from the outside light. Aleena continued to wring out her hair and pull at her shirt. Their destination was a circular room about fifty feet in diameter. The walls were high and sheer, illumination coming from the lack of a ceiling perhaps thirty feet above. Within the room stood more people, along with an array of weapons, all made entirely of wood. Aleena instantly recognized it as a training ground. She had been taken by slave traders who were led by a man who was in the business of entertainment on a large scale, and now she had been led to facilities for training warriors. There could be only one reason for this.

  "You animals are completely out of your minds if you think I will shed blood for your amusement," she informed them, one and all. The men in the training room looked at her. There were a few trainers and a few gladiators. None of them looked surprised.

  "But of course you will," a trainer said jovially, walking towards her with open arms.

  "I will not. I would rather die than have an innocent man's death on my soul."

  "In the arena, there are no such things as guilty men and innocent men. There are only the victorious and the dead. Now, enough of the foolishness, girl. Let us get to work."

  He grabbed her hand and led her into the training ground and tossed her a wooden sword, then picked one up for himself.

  "Have you any experience with one of these?" he asked.

  "Some."

  "Good. Forget any treachery you may have in mind. Four archers have taken aim on you. You will be dead before you can get anywhere near me. Now try and defend against me."

  Aleena saw no archers, but she did see four slits in the walls about eight feet up, one at each compass point.

  He thrust the tip of his practice sword at her. Aleena easily batted it away and slashed at his exposed neck, resisting the urge to strike him with full force.

  "Ah, I see you spoke the truth. You do have experience. Now-"

  They brought out a man armed with a real sword, then tossed one to Aleena.

  "I want you to fight this man. You may kill him. He may kill you. "

  "No," Aleena said. "Your archers may release whenever they choose."

  One of the things Aleena had done to pass the time in her sewer was to once again prepare for her death. By now she was quite ready. The trainer was at his wit's end. The worst threat he could think of was death, and yet this wench had no fear of that. Indeed, she seemed to welcome it. He was about to have her lashed when the head trainer came onto the scene. He was a broad man with a nose and small dark eyes. His black curly hair was oiled.

  "Hold, underling," he told the trainer. "I'll take over."

  He walked over to Aleena and placed his face inches away from hers. Though he was well within range of her weapon, he did not seem disturbed. Aleena could smell garlic on his breath.

  "I am Sternius," he told her. "I am the master trainer here, and I see that you do not approve of our games."

  "I do not."

  "That is too bad, because you would have made the best contestant we've had in years if Marcus spoke the truth."

  "I would appreciate it if you would cease your posturing and get on with my execution."

  "Nervous, are you? Perhaps your lack of fear is not so solid."

  "Or perhaps death is preferable to your company."

  Sternius looked her in the eye for several moments, then nodded slightly. "Your lack of fear concerning death seems genuine, but you must fear something. Everyone does," he said. He stopped to study her some more. His face brightened and he turned and walked away, talking over his shoulder. "Everyone is afraid of something," he repeated. "Perhaps we will throw you to the rats. Or we might rape you. Or perhaps we will break your arms and legs and set them so they won't heal properly and you'll never be able to hold a sword again." He retrieved something from a smoldering pit, then turned to face her. He held a pair of tongs which gripped an iron bar. It was glowing orange. Three guards held her in place.

  "You possess a truly magnificent beauty. It would indeed be a tragedy if you ever lost it."

  He was in her face again, the glowing bar held up between them, its light casting a pale radiance over his huge, sloppy grin, giving him the appearance of a demonic clown. He pressed the bar into her face. Hard.

  CHAPTER 15

  “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” – Ernest Hemingway

  The pain woke her up. Aleena was once again chained and in the sewer. Her face, from her brow, down across her nose, to her right cheek, was screaming at her. The last thing she remembered was the incredible agony. She would never forget that. All she'd had left was her beauty, and they'd taken that from her, too. She felt the tears building but, as she mulled things over, they were cut short.

  When they came for her a few days later, Aleena's matted hair fell across her face. Her guards could not see the horrific damage that had been done to her once-flawless features, nor did they care to. Even they were conscious of a slight pang of tragedy. Beauty of such magnitude as hers had been should never be destroyed. They kept their eyes rigidly forward as they led her to Marcus' office.

  "Well, my dear," he greeted. "How are you today? I regret the destruction of your beauty, but you forced it, I'm afraid. You've no one to blame but yourself."

  "Blame for what?"

  One can imagine the surprise when she flung her hair back to reveal a stunning, uncorrupted face, her goddess status fully restored. One of the guards fainted dead away. She gave Marcus a smile.

  "How did you do that?" He could not restrain himself from asking. Aleena shrugged and smiled, thoroughly gratified to see his smug self-assurance drop away to reveal wonder, and fear.

  "I'm a swift healer."

  "You're a sorceress."

  "If that were the case, do you think I would stay here?"

  "Ah. True." He regained his composure. "Why will you not cooperate?"

  "I have made my reasons clear."

  "You force me to resort to ugly alternatives."

  "I am most curious. You cannot disfigure me, and if you kill me you will set me free. What else is there?"

  "As I said, some rather ugly alternatives."

  "Why do I have difficulty believing you would find anything ugly?"

  "I never said I did. But, I assure you, you will."

  The guards took her away. She was treated to another shower before being led to a different section of the complex, a corridor untouched by the outside light. It was illuminated only by the coppery glow of torches on the walls. They stopped before a door and knocked. The guards were clearly nervous, shifting from one foot to the other, constantly glancing about, occasionally muttering to each other. Their anxiety was beginning to infect Aleena. Ugly alternatives, Marcus had said, but what could that possibly be? She couldn't be disfigured, and death would be a sweet release. What else was there? Aleena had always been terrified of crippling, but if that is what they had in store for her they would defeat their own purpose. The fact that Aleena could not anticipate exactly what these "ugly alternatives" were was probably the most disturbing thing about them, but that knowledge brought no comfort.

  The door finally opened, and in so doing brought some measure of relief. At least Aleena could now focus her mind on learning about her surroundings. The room they entered was rectangular and very long. A number of people were in the room, all clad in dark hooded robes. They were led to a man Aleena felt to be not nearly as old as he looked. His appearance was that of an ancient cursed oak that had been struck by lightning several times. He was working on something at a table when they approached him.

  "Marcus sent this one for you," a guard told him.

  He looked up at them with a face that looked as if it were made of oatmeal, nodded, and returned to his tinkering. The guards left. Aleena stood silently. She looked around the room, studying her surrou
ndings. The room was low and dark. Tables were set at regular intervals around it. The men in it all scuttled about in dark robes. Beakers, flasks, firepots and cabinets were all about. Evidently some sort of magic was done here, but she could determine no more a specific purpose in their design than that. The devices she could understand were the cages lining the two longest walls. Most of them were empty now, but two were occupied by men. The torches' light failed to penetrate the interiors of the cages to any great depth. As Aleena approached one to inquire about this place, the man looked up from his bowl.

  His gaze stopped her in her tracks, for though his face was in shadow, Aleena could see two white points that she knew were eyes. He threw himself against the bars, bellowing and clawing, desperately trying to reach Aleena even though she stood well out of his grasp. Still, she recoiled, for tufts of hair stood out on his face and on his pointed ears. His nose was black and upturned, and his jaws stood well out from his face. Filthy claws crowned each finger. Her horrified fascination kept her eyes on the wretch as he continued to rage and roar, bouncing around in his cage in a berserk frenzy to get at her. Aleena backed up until she bumped into something. Turning, she beheld the wizened man whose care she'd been left in. He smiled, which did ugly things to his already hideous face, and he threw a purple powder in her face, scuttling back immediately afterwards.

  Aleena’s perceptions swam and swirled. She lost all sense of perspective and corkscrewed into the floor. Two men took her limp form and dumped it in a cage.

  * * *

  Aleena had never been seriously ill in her life. Consequently, the nauseous lethargy, the dizziness even while she lay on her back, the sensation of flushed skin radiating from her were all completely new to her. She could only lie there, limp as a sack of laundry. She had to marshal all of her power just to pry her eyes open for a moment. Then their weight overcame her and they crashed shut. It required no effort to listen, though.