She saw him looking at her, and dropped the basin; it struck the stone floor with an echoing clatter. Her face lit up with a wide smile growing across her face, and she advanced toward him slowly.
The girl had probably seen barely more than twenty summers. She had an elegantly upturned nose and full lips. Her eyes were small and sad, delicately framed by prominent cheeks, long dark hair, and a straight, serious brow line. She was wearing a sleeveless smock open on both sides; her exposed skin was the yellow bronze of Somria.
“Ya wake,” she said as reached his side and placed a hand lightly on his arm. Her dialect was heavy. Her hand was very warm, as if the basin had held hot water.
Gallord-Smit didn’t answer. He frowned at her, trying to decipher the situation. Shouldn’t he be in prison, or dead?
“Ah must admit ta be pleased,” the girl went on. “When they brought ya from the hospice they said ya might neva wake. I’ve been keeping ya best I can, but it’ll be betta now.”
Gallord-Smit opened his mouth to speak, but only a dry crackle made it out. He coughed and swallowed, trying again, to the same effect.
The girl turned to a nearby table and took a metal cup, handing it to him. He drank—surprised to discover it contained watered wine, and superb at that—and the dryness in his throat eased.
“Who are you?” he asked when he could, though his voice came out hoarse.
The girl smiled and shook her head, as if he had made a joke. “Call me Rena,” she replied with a brief nod.
“Rena,” he repeated, nodding as well. “I am Front-Captain Pilaeos Gallord-Smit, of the Lordsguard. I wonder, if you’d be so kind—”
“I know who ya are, Pilaeos,” she interrupted, her voice soft. “But ya best understand now—ya na longer a Front-Captain of the Lordsguard. And,” she continued, pulling the ties from her smock so that it separated and slid off her body to the floor, leaving her standing before him nude, “I been waiting a long time for ya to wake. Ya body does na act properly in sleep.”
She pulled the white sheet from him then, and took him in her hands, then her mouth. Gallord-Smit had never encountered such directness in a woman, not even in Somria, and was taken aback. For a moment he just watched, stunned; then, as his body reacted, he rested his head and closed his eyes. Perhaps it was his weakened state, or the many years he had been alone, or the anguish of the dream he just awoken from . . . or perhaps he simply felt he deserved some small pleasure, after all his pain. Gallord-Smit decided not to resist.
When he was ready, Rena climbed onto the sleeping platform, and over him. Her black hair teased his chest while she used a hand to position him correctly, then she raised her face to his and slid down, taking him into her, until her hips pressed against his upper thighs. She placed her hands on his chest—gripping his heavy muscles—and began to grind against him.
She was almost as beautiful as—
Was it wrong to think of Daeyella? Over ten years now since he’d lost her, but still he could feel her hot breath in his ear; her breasts brushing his chest.
He felt himself deep inside her—in Rena, not Daeyella—and she gripped him tightly from within as she rocked. Gallord-Smit allowed his head to roll back, his mouth to open. His hands explored her body: long, firm stomach; small, round breasts with large nipples; lean, smooth neck muscles. When his hands reached the last, she took them in hers and squeezed them tightly around her throat, displaying a wide-eyed grin. He gripped her, tightly enough to restrict but not to choke, and she moaned in pleasure, her pace increasing.
Daeyella had done that, asked him to dominate her; she loved to feel the power of his youthful body in its prime, tossing her about as if she were a doll. Then, she would mount him and play her own dominance game, teasing him until he begged her to fuck him.
Her fingers—Rena’s fingers, not Daeyella’s—gripped his chest tighter then, fingernails digging in, making him grunt. His hands slipped down to her hips, and he began thrusting up, raising her off the platform as his back arched. She gyrated her hips in reply, and he drove ever deeper.
Rena screamed then, her entire body elevated above his, and they exploded together.
In this dream, he did cry out. Later, he hoped it had been the right name.
・
“What?” Gallord-Smit asked, in shock. The sun had crept up from behind the distant hills, so that the white sheets of the sleeping platform glowed. It made for a stunning sight, with lush fields ripe for harvest stretching out beyond the window. Rena had added to the tranquility by having a platter of light foods brought in, mostly fruit, and more of the watered wine. The servant who brought it was a young woman, probably about Rena’s age, and they seemed to have a relaxed, friendly rapport; apparently his benefactor was a fair and generous employer—or owner. He couldn’t tell which.
Rena had even massaged his shoulders after their lovemaking; she was quite talented with her hands, in that manner as well. Nevertheless, her last words, uttered so casually, had completely caught him off balance.
“What did you say?” he asked again.
“Ya ma slave; I ya mistress,” Rena repeated, tracing a circle around his nipple with her fingertip. “I paid well for ya. Ya may leave my estate, but only at ma orders. Otherwise, ya free to do as ya please within these grounds of ma home.” As she spoke the last words, she pressed his nipple down into his chest.
“Young lady, I am a military officer. Even as a prisoner of war, I may not be sold into slavery,” Gallord-Smit told her firmly. Or, at least as firmly as he could, lying naked beside her with her fingers toying with his nipples.
“Those ya rules, it may be. But this is Somria.” Rena flicked at his nipple now, which forced him to take her hand. She made to lean over and bite it; he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“No, Rena, those are international rules agreed upon,” he said. “The Lords’ Council will not stand for their violation.”
She smiled and sighed, then lowered her head into his chest, gazing contentedly at him. “Violation? We at war, Front-Captain Pilaeos. Ya rules have na sway here anymore. Ya mine,” she declared pointedly, tapping his chest with her palm.
“It is my duty as an officer to attempt escape at all costs,” he replied quietly, though just as pointedly.
She propped herself up on her elbows, frowning at him, her petite breasts hanging in clear view and bathed in golden morning sunlight. He couldn’t help but wonder; how would he feel if he wasn’t an officer responsible for the safety of his lord and land? She was, after all, quite beautiful, and had been equally delicious in their morning exercise. And he had been alone so very long . . .
“I hope this will na be a problem,” she said, pouting slightly.
“Rena,” he started, but she interrupted him.
“Ya mine, and I will na give ya up,” she stated petulantly. “I many guards on ma estate, and I hate ta see ya hurt. After so long recovering,” she added, her hand sliding beneath the sheets again. Despite himself, he immediately became aroused. “Part of ya wants ta stay.”
Gallord-Smit sighed. He took her by the shoulders, rolled on top of her, and kissed her in the morning light. “More than part of me wants to stay,” he said, drawing long black hairs from across her face. “You are a stunning woman, kind and charming, and you cared for me when I might have been left dead. For that,” he concluded, kissing her cheek, “I shall be always grateful.”
She continued to frown at him, the pout returning.
“If it is the coin that concerns you, I shall see you reimbursed,” he offered. “But why do you say we are at war? Sherzi’s actions were radical and dangerous, but I would hardly expect the Lords’ Council to respond with an all out war. I’m sure he merely means to achieve a ransom, which the council will pay, though they may seek means to punish him for it.”
Now Rena was shaking her head sadly. “Much has changed in last moon, ma Pilaeos.”
“Moon?” he bellowed, rising to a seated position, causing her to f
all away. “I was out for a moon?”
He saw fright shadow her face, then, and realized he had shouted at her as he would have a subordinate. Immediately, he quieted his voice and stroked her shoulder gently to reassure her. “It’s all right Rena, I’m not angry at you. I’m just shocked. Was I unable to wake? Sometimes it happens with such injuries.”
“No,” she answered slowly. Then, her confidence returning, “The chiurgeon recommended keep ya asleep with na maiden’s blood for at least two tendays so ya would na stress the wound healing. I went a tenday longer for good measure, then ya slept another tenday. I guess ya needed it.”
Gallord-Smit gritted his teeth, but didn’t allow the anger to reach the surface. She had kept him asleep longer than needed, while a war . . ?
“Tell me about this war,” he commanded.
She didn’t hesitate; obviously she already didn’t see him as merely a slave. Silently he noted that with approval.
“As I heard, Lord Perrile of ya Lords’ Lands was arrested for crimes against na Overlord,” she began. “He invaded an island in na south sea belonging to Somria. Commander-General Sherzi captured him, but was too late; Perrile already wiped out na base. Sherzi demanded Lords’ Council take responsibility for na incident and call back ships, but they denied, so Sherzi attacked them. Now it’s war.”
Gallord-Smit nodded slowly. All that talk of Perrile and Sherzi in a stand-off. All wrong; Sherzi had had a plan all along to involve Somria’s entire army. In a worst case scenario, the Commander-General expected the Overlord to ignore his skirmishes, so long as the losses remained within reason. But that was only the worst case; his true ambition was far greater.
Gallord-Smit had imagined that all Sherzi wanted was the southern islands—how wrong he had been. Sherzi had his sights set on the Lords’ Lands! Inviting Perrile here had been for the sole purpose of capturing the lord to invoke a confession. A man could be made to say anything with enough torture—especially a noble with no military training, and accustomed to an easy life. Lord Perrile would confess that the Lords’ Lands had intended to seize Somrian territory. And Sherzi would convince the Overlord to endorse a full-scale war.
“What a fool,” he muttered. Himself or Perrile; he wasn’t sure which. Maybe both.
Rena was eyeing him, no doubt wondering if he meant her, but she didn’t interrupt the obvious intensity of his thoughts.
He needed a plan. To catch Sherzi off guard, and call his plans into question in the Overlord’s view. To free Lord Perrile—if he yet lived, which Gallord-Smit thought likely—and return him home.
But first, to get free of Rena. Or convince her to allow him to leave.
・ ・
The estate was a large one; evidently Rena came from a fabulously wealthy family, one of the more powerful in Somria. That instilled Gallord-Smit with a blaze of hope that he might speak with the clanhead regarding Perrile’s wrongful arrest, and see the lord freed. Then he learned that Rena’s great uncle—the clanhead he hoped to influence—was an ex-military man who had taken to the family plantations upon retirement, and was a major proponent for a hard line against the Lords’ Lands. Apparently Rena—he eventually learned that her full name was Allisondrei Renallie Baccala—had been granted first option to buy Gallord-Smit at “market value” before he was out on auction—one in which he would likely not have been sold, since wealthy Somrians would not wish to appear as sympathizing with the enemy. As she explained it, she had felt a soft spot for him, remembering when her uncle had been badly injured in the Horde Wars ten years before and had been bedridden for tendays in recovery. Thus, he had the enemy to thank for his being alive, or at least for not being tied to the deck of a slave ship, rowing until he collapsed and was thrown overboard.
“Rena” was the only child of her father, her mother having died in childbirth; her father had been quite sickly for more than a decade. That had left Rena to her own affairs since her youthful summer years, free to do as she pleased with the family fortune—at least as much as her great uncle saw fit to leave her, after claiming the rest for investment in family affairs. She traveled extensively, spoke several languages, and had a detailed understanding of world politics. She was an independent and open-minded young woman.
All in all, Gallord-Smit had been spectacularly lucky.
In the two tendays after his awakening, she showed him around the grounds—a sprawling private estate surrounded by seemingly endless plantations— and he was duly impressed. The main house wasn’t particularly large, adequate only for Rena’s own simple yet lavish lifestyle, but connected by winding paths among endless lush gardens were several other buildings, including a servants’ quarter (larger than Rena’s house and housing dozens of servants), a massive barn, an entertainment complex (complete with swimming pool and amphitheatre), a library, two guest houses, and a glass indoor arboretum (containing trees from various climates). All were made of the same mud bricks popular throughout Somria, excepting the arboretum and the library, which was entirely stone.
When the tour was complete—lasting several days—Rena abruptly left, announcing that she had social obligations and would return after a tenday. Gallord-Smit of course immediately thought of escape, but he decided to take some time in physical recovery first; he was, after all, severely weakened from four tendays in a semi-coma. He was aware that there might be other motivations to stay a bit longer—he admitted to himself that he didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Rena, despite the complications that could represent. Regardless, it would best if he was at full strength when he left, as he would be attempting to escape not only Rena’s estate, but the entire country before he could attempt any sort of recovery of Lord Perrile.
Thus, he spent his days engaged in physical training, and nights running strategic scenarios through his head and pondering his political options, if any.
One idea involved the stables. He walked past the large structure several times on what were first long walks, and later became long runs, around the grounds, and noticed that a single man seemed responsible for all of the animals there. Thinking him potentially useful as a friend, Gallord-Smit had introduced himself; the man was named Sarbsa, and he was a short, burly fellow with red hair who hailed from somewhere far to the west called Irid, and was quite friendly, even talkative.
Sarbsa told him that there were several animals stabled there; a few horses of superb quality that belonged to Rena and her relations, a few long-horned cattle that were used for pulling ploughs and other such heavy work, and a sizeable number of the most common local equines, which were shorter and stockier than a horse, with longer ears. He had heard the latter called orey, and understood them to be a strange horse from a far-off land. Sarbsa corrected that impression, telling him that the orey was actually a hybrid produced by impregnating a female horse with a male gardaba. Since orey were so prolific in Somria, Gallord-Smit wondered aloud why he had seen no gardaba, which were apparently smaller and, implausibly, even longer-eared than orey. Sarbsa’s reply was a bit cryptic, which Gallord-Smit interpreted as reflecting ignorance. Someone was producing hordes of orey, though; he suspected it was a family secret that secured a monopoly; perhaps even belonging to the Overlord’s family.
He decided thereafter to visit the stables regularly, and cultivated friendly relations with Sarbsa. If and when he was to effect an escape, a steed might come in handy, and only the stablemaster would miss one of the many orey in his care.
Rena returned as promised after a tenday. She was eager to see him, and he ended up on his back in the sleeping room shortly, and at least twice each day thereafter. Despite her initial claims of possession over him, Rena seemed more interested in him as a companion than as a slave. She didn’t expect him to perform any duties for her other than in the sleeping room; in fact, she seemed to please herself with acts of service and generosity for him. She dilapidated and massaged his scalp, selected his outfit for the day, and even cooked lunch for him, to the great dismay of her cooki
ng staff.
In the evenings, they would sit on overstuffed lounges in the library, a massive stone structure filled with far more books than Gallord-Smit had seen in Lord Perrile’s, which was modest by comparison. While he sipped watered wine, Rena would read to him from her favourite classics, most of which she was stunned to learn he had never heard of. In turn, he regaled her with stories of the battles he had seen; she was fascinated, had studied military strategy, and was quite insightful in her understanding of the tactical scenarios.
All in all, she was a superb companion, and he had no desire whatsoever to leave her. Nevertheless, duty was an endless voice he heard whispering over his shoulder, and he could not, would not, ignore it.
Somria lay closer to the tropics than Benn’s Harbour, and subject to warm winds from the sea besides, but Gallord-Smit was beginning to notice the days become shorter and the nights cooler when he finally felt that it was time. Rena had left the estate several more times, but he had already decided not to leave when she was away; not because he would have felt guilt doing so—though truthfully, he would have—but because of the extra guard he saw wandering the outer perimeter of the grounds when she was gone. Perhaps they were present to make sure he didn’t flee, but he suspected not—somehow, from the political conversations that occasionally came up over evening meals, he had the impression that Rena felt the need to protect her estate from her cousins. The subtlety of Somrian politics eluded him, but he felt for her, with such insecurities towards her own family.
Thus he had formulated a plan to leave in the night. He didn’t know if Sarbsa would give him the orey he hoped for, but if he didn’t, Gallord-Smit was prepared to hogtie the stablemaster adequately to keep him quiet until morning. Either way, with a departure well into the night, he expected to make far enough from the estate by sunrise to be impossible to catch. For good measure he planned to move in an unpredictable fashion once free, rather than directly for a coastal city, as would be expected. Having been granted permission to access Rena’s library while she was away, he had found an atlas and copied a map from it, and knew exactly where he would go—a small coastal fishing town called Gheprica—and the elusive path he would take to get there.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 23