Mistress of the Gods (The Making of Suzanne Book 2)

by Rex Sumner

  She noticed some of the troopers cajole their mount into lying down, where the horse would act as a pillow, while others picketed their horse and slept further away. Sergeant Russell dropped her bedroll from the saddle, along with her bags, and led the horses away. Without saying a word, she unrolled her bed, took off her boots and slid in, munching on a now stale slice of bread with meat inside. She fell asleep before the sergeant returned.

  When she awoke, the camp bustled with men preparing. The dew soaked her bed and she felt cold, accepting a hot mug of tea from Sergeant Russell as she sat up. She drank the brew, wondering what he had found this time, and chewed the remaining meat on a hard biscuit. Her eyes roved the camp, missing many faces.

  “Where’s the colonel?”

  “At the forward observation point, overlooking the battle field. Armies are appearing already.”

  “Let’s go.”

  They walked, moving through a camp preparing for war; men sharpening lances and sabres, their stones moving with slow, sure strokes, making just a quiet buzz. Asmara found herself impressed with the professionalism; ordinary levies would make far more noise; these boys were up there with the Pathfinders. She knew life on the plains of Fearaigh could be harsh, especially on the Coillearnacha border. She found a strong suspicion growing deep inside her that these boys honed their skills raiding into the Elven Kingdom. It just wasn’t possible for them to be so good without active service.

  Singularly lacking the proper guilt a princess of the realm should feel in the company of raiders and renegades, Asmara strode through the forest, down the hill, her eyes bright with excitement and taking in the sights, from the red squirrel, his ear tufts twitching in outrage at their presence, to the axe blaze on a tree where a Spakka had marked a trail. She knew Andy would test her later to ensure her observation skills kept improving.

  They turned down a spur of hillside, thickly forested with pine, heading towards a brighter spot which foretold a gap in the canopy. Nearing the point, Matt’s face appeared as he winked at her and indicated a route. Bending down, she made her way through some shrub to find Sir Lionel, Jeremy and a couple of others on the edge of a cliff, hidden back in some bushes, which gave them a panoramic view over the Harden Plain below.

  Off to the left, the massive black bulk of the Hardenwall brooded at the entrance to the plain, somehow emanating a feeling of being nettled at the Spakka bypassing its walls, and its malevolence thick in the air.

  The Spakka army camped at the head of the plain, perhaps three leagues from the city, and filled the plain with a hive of tents, and soldiers exercising. A steady stream of men followed a route for the hills, which she pointed out to Andy.

  “That’s their resupply chain,” he said, “porters going back for more. They are landing supplies on the beaches to the north.”

  She nodded, realising that these men must have over-nighted with the army for security, and wondered why the Pathfinders were not picking them off. Her attention moved to the arrival of the Harrhein army, processions of men marching up the plain towards the Spakka. All the regiments marched together, their different coloured uniforms catching in the early morning light while their banners and flags flew above them. The sound of martial music wafted on the breeze and the Spakka camp began to unfurl in slow motion.

  Recovery

  Early afternoon brought the wagon party to a small river, swinging gently through a wide valley, free of the great forest and meadowed with wildflowers. Susan galloped her palfrey down the hill, off the path and through the long grasses to splash into the river. The gentle bank fell away to a deep run on the far side, mysterious in its depths with dark shadows from the overhanging bushes. Trout rose steadily at a fall of winged insects, spinning on the surface.

  By the time Oengus pulled the carthorse to a standstill, her saddle stood high on the bank, decorated with the bridle and her clothes, while both she and the palfrey swam in the depths. Susan laughing at the horse as it tried to rescue her from drowning. She swung onto the mare’s back, whereupon she struck out for the shore and Susan called to Oengus.

  “We’ll spend the night here. I know it is early, but it is too beautiful to leave alone. Unharness the carthorse, let him come in too.” Indeed, he was straining in his straps, puckering his lips at Susan. Which was a fairly good description of Oengus as well, unable to take his eyes from Susan’s nudity. Naomi left him to it, stripping off her clothes as she ran to the water, jumping in and squealing at the cold. Oengus found himself torn, not knowing where to look as he unharnessed the carthorse. His inattention nearly cost him as the carthorse trod on his boot, just missing the toes as he curled them up.

  The picture of innocence, the carthorse pulled out of the last of the harness and lumbered into the water, splashing over to Susan demanding treats. She retreated to the far side of the stream, dog-paddling through the faster, deeper water to sit on a rock in the sunshine. Naomi swam with a strong breast stroke through the water to pull herself up beside her and the girls watched Oengus come down to the water, his erection surviving the cold water.

  “Do you want me to take him for you, Mistress?” Naomi took Susan’s hand. “I don’t mind, but he needs sorting, he does, he can’t think of nothing else. Can’t do his work proper.”

  “You mustn’t even think of it, Naomi, you are injured and torn.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Naomi shrugged. “You get used to it quick, like. The traders always bring girls with them, makes the Border Patrol happy. It’s fun too, the big Elves are hot. Don’t often get renegades, but you do, and they’re a bad lot for taking girls without asking nice. More upset about losing my Joe, to be honest.”

  Oengus swam with sure, strong strokes across the current, splashing the girls as he arrived, holding Naomi’s leg to stop the current sweeping him away. Susan checked to see his erection had not survived the crossing, to her slight annoyance.

  “Make room for a little one,” said Oengus in Elvish. He spoke no Harrhein, and Naomi spoke Elvish quite well as she now showed.

  “Little one, hah! This is a girl’s rock, no room for ugly great louts like you.”

  Oengus pulled her leg and she flopped into the water with a scream. He started to take her place, but Susan pushed him back and Naomi pulled, then they were all in the water while the girls did their best to push his head under and the horses neighed in excitement. The river pulled them downstream and slowed. Oengus stood in water too deep for the girls, resisting their attempts to move him and captured one in each arm, pulling them tight.

  Exhausted and not a strong swimmer, Susan gave up, wrapping her legs around his waist and relaxing in his arm. Naomi followed suit, her legs going round both of them and Susan saw his hand held her breast. She raised an eyebrow, ready to comment, when she felt his other hand adjust and encompass hers.

  “Sorry, Mistress, just getting my feet.” He grinned, his engagement infectious and she laughed, laying her head on his shoulder and enjoying the feel of his body. He might be young, but he was still an Elf and still gorgeous. Naomi also enjoyed his body, her hands caressing him, the water caressing them all.

  A fish jumped in the tail of the pool.

  “Trout,” said Susan, “I love trout. How do we catch one? Do we need a line and a gorger?”

  “I could make one,” said Naomi, “if I can find some worms. But we will catch a lot of eels more than trout. Do you like eels?” Her hands continued to roam Oengus’ chest, tweaking his nipples.

  “I will teach you how an Elf catches trout,” said Oengus, walking towards the tail of the pool and the fast, shallow water of the rapids. As he waded, the girls slipped down until he staggered and dropped them both, falling over in the process. He quelled the battle light in their eyes by catching their hands and pulling them up, calling to them to follow.

  “You must understand animals,” he said. “The trout, he has no eyelids, so he doesn�
��t like the sun. He won’t lie in the sun but seek the darkest spots. The biggest and best fish lie where they can have their eyes in shadows but still see the food float down the river before coming out to catch it.”

  “Food?” Susan’s eyes scanned the river, looking for bread and worms.

  “Insects, they eat the insects, both those you can see at the top and the many down below. See, there is a nice one, he is scared of us above him.” Indeed, a dark shape arrowed away upstream to the deep dark water. “Where we can see them, they can see us. So we must seek places they cannot see us.” Dropping the girls’ hands, he waded out of the river and moved downstream to an overhang. Lying on the bank, he eased a hand into the water, before flipping a trout the length of his forearm onto the bank in a spray of water, the fish flapping madly as it tried to return. Both girls screamed and came rushing out of the water to pounce on the great trout, while the horses shied away and ran into the meadow.

  Two fish later and he climbed back from the river bank smiling at their compliments, refusing to go back.

  “Never take more than you need right now. The Mother provides to us, and we must not worry about tomorrow because she will replace these fish for the morning. But if we take them now, there will be none here tomorrow and in the night we will lose them to bears, or ants, or birds.”

  Naomi dispatched the trout with a rock and they each carried one back to the wagon where Oengus taught Susan how to clean them. A stick threaded through the mouth and gills allowed the body to crisp over the embers and within the hour they feasted, along with some crisp roots Naomi pulled out of the slow water.

  Replete, Susan lay back and watched Oengus finish his fish, strong white teeth delicately holding the bones while his tongue flicked tiny flakes from between them. Her mouth dried as she imagined teaching him where to do that on her body. She remembered her promise, knew she must fulfil it that night and anticipated the evening.

  She stood, stretching and frowned when she saw Naomi lying back with her eyes closed, one hand resting on Oengus’ thigh. Susan had pulled on her shirt once she dried, mainly to encourage Naomi to do the same. She didn’t like the way Oengus looked at her bosom. Her machinations back fired when Naomi did not follow suit and her irritation increased when she saw Oengus contemplating the blasted bosoms again.

  “Shall we wash and make our bed for the night?”

  “Not here,” said Oengus wiping his fingers on his thighs and looking with regret at the empty platter. “This close to the river, it will become very cold in the night and there will be mosquitoes. We need to move back away from the river, at least two hundred paces, more is better. There is a little hollow back there, it should be warm and full of soft grasses.”

  *

  Susan slipped into the new bed, still with her shirt on, her emotions confusing her. On the one hand, her body cried out for Oengus, after four days of continual sex it objected strongly to abstinence. On the other, her mind kept giving her flashbacks to the rape of just a few nights previous. She couldn’t make up her mind on Caomh. Her captor, rapist and enslaver, yet he brought her body to rapture. She missed him dreadfully, distraught at his easy passage to death, indeed not sure when she had seen anyone die so close. Yet he forced her, forced her in many ways. Ways that increased her education, gave her Elvish and a wonderful root for learning.

  Something tickled at her brain and she worried at it. Death, something to do with that. Bodies, dead bodies, dying, oh my grace! She sat bolt upright in the bed, throwing the blanket down, her eyes wide and staring. Beorsach. She had killed him. Her first kill and she hadn’t even registered it.

  Abruptly, she heaved, and she shot out of the bed, running into the darkness before the retching overtook her and she fell to her knees, throwing up trout, leaves and dark bitter bile.

  On all fours, dry heaves racking her body, and hands clasped her, comforting her, rubbing her shoulders and massaging her head. The heaves faded away, replaced by tears and Oengus lifted her as if she weighed nothing, carrying her back to camp.

  Naomi lifted a cup to her mouth and she swilled her mouth clean before drinking. Seeing the question in their eyes, she answered.

  “Beorsach. I killed him.”

  “The big one? You certainly did, good job too. Smacked him in the balls first, where he needed it, right in the brains.”

  “My first. First ever.”

  For a moment, nobody understood, then Naomi leaned forward and hugged her hard. “You did a right good job, honey. Nasty piece of work, liked to hurt girls that one. The world is a better place now. Hush, now.” Susan sobbed into her shoulder and between them she and Oengus gentled her back into bed.

  Naomi stayed with her while Oengus finished cleaning the camp and Susan slept fitfully. When he replaced Naomi so she could make her toilet, she rolled into his arms, coming awake and her need was fierce inside her, pushing all thoughts of decorum and propriety away.

  *

  They spent four days by the river, feasting on trout and summer berries already appearing on the banks. Four days in which Susan healed and taught Oengus how to please a woman. Naomi helped, refusing to be left on the side if unable to participate fully. She kept Susan laughing as she told Oengus off and explained what to do, what Susan wanted, particularly instructive as Susan hadn’t known what she wanted.

  They slept at night in a big pile, and Susan woke on the fourth day, with Oengus entwined between her legs and Naomi hugging her spasmodically to her bosom as she slept. She smiled to herself, wondering when she had been so happy, hugging Naomi back. She knew she must end their sojourn and any moment a trade caravan could come through. She worried news of her whereabouts could come back to the king and in her heart she knew he would pursue her, through anger perhaps rather than love.

  Her disguise was failing, as Naomi delighted in pointing out. Her hair sported a bright yellow stripe down the centre parting, while lying in a dull, grey, lank mass as constant swimming washed the dye out.

  Sighing, Susan eased herself out to empty her bladder and start the fire for tea. She made three cups, flipping hot stones into the bowl and, using sticks, fishing out the cool ones till the water boiled before steeping the herbs. The others joined her quietly and they sipped while the dawn grew and the larks started their paean to the sky.

  “It is time,” she said.

  The others nodded, melancholy settling over them till Oengus stood to gather the horses. Both regarded him with baleful eyes, backing away tossing their heads. The palfrey turned and trotted away with the carthorse lumbering after her. Susan smiled, relieving her tension, as he stood in frustration.

  “Leave them, Oengus, I’ll do the horses. Pack the wagon.”

  Rummaging in her saddlebags, she found her store of treats intact and pulled out two dried apples. The ground thundered as she stood up, the horses racing each other to get to her first. The palfrey, a student of the behaviour of Susans, knew exactly her intentions, and won by a short head, but was caromed out of place by the carthorse who tried to steal both apples. The palfrey bit him and he kicked at her, while Susan smacked him on the nose. She took his long mane and led him to the wagon, backing him into position with no trouble at all.

  She handed over the harnessing to Oengus, who watched her bottom revolve as she stalked the palfrey, instead on concentrating on his job. He yelled and the carthorse shook his mane in triumph as he trapped the boy’s foot under his huge front hoof.

  Susan led off on the palfrey, cantering up the hill as the wagon laboured. She savoured the solitary moment, alone with her thoughts. These thoughts were not comfortable companions, for Susan’s mother raised her with a strict moral compass, one that did not include sleeping with men out of wedlock.

  While Ricky was understandable, as he intended to marry her, and the king gave her no choice, although she expected him to marry her, the Elves had tripled her partners in as many days
. Timmy she put to one side, unsure how to categorise that bargain. While three, no, all of the Elves were rapists, she still felt guilty about the whole affair, feeling in her gut she had somehow tempted them. She had carried on with first Caorm and now Oengus in a most unseemly manner which she could not excuse as rape.

  The trouble was, the thing that really drove her guilt, was the knowledge that she did not just enjoy the sex, she absolutely loved it, revelling in it in a way not engendered by the king or even Ricky. Sitting on her horse high on the hill, looking down over the meadow to the river, a small stream from here, she could feel the warmth in her groin from just the breathing of the palfrey and the thought of Oengus in the wagon.

  The Archbishop would show his disapproval with a gentle frown, she thought, picturing his concerned face, while the Venerable Reinand, well, he would be delighted. She smiled, the dirty old man. Probably he would want to try himself and, she realised, the new Susan, bad, naughty Susan, would let him, she would encourage the old man and probably give him heart failure.

  “What have I become?” Her voice rang from the hills as she screamed her frustration and she set the palfrey running, galloping along the hillside, away from their path. She returned within the hour, the game little mare lathered with sweat and foam around her muzzle. Susan swung from the horse onto the wagon, letting the palfrey rest by walking alongside with no weight. She sat on the box beside Oengus, pushing him with her bottom to make room, and wrapped his arm round her while she snuggled into his side. Her eyes on the horizon, she spoke not a word.

  “Pooh, you stink of horse,” said Oengus and Naomi murmured her agreement. But he kept his arm round her, tight as she wanted.

  *

  That night they pulled up at a campsite and Naomi sent Oengus off foraging but borrowed his knife. She turned to Susan and sat her on a log.