‘How so?’ Talithea demanded.
‘Through the use of your exquisite hair,’ Bormontal replied.
‘My hair?’ Talithea asked, tugging worriedly at a strand of her ghost-pale locks.
‘Well principally yours,’ Bormontal answered. ‘I had best explain, as then you will the better understand what you must do and why.’
‘I will never serve you,’ Talithea answered.
‘Oh but you will, my precious,’ Bormontal answered, ‘and with pleasure. The scheme is this. As you know, I am a merchant and my principal trade is in nymphs. Together with a group of my fellow merchants we have for years been pursuing a quest - the breeding of pale skinned nymphs with yellow or red hair. Several times we have discussed a raid into Mund or Aegmund to secure tow haired maidens to be bred into the stock, but have always been discouraged by the size and ferocity of the native barbarians, which is to say, your kin.’
He paused, chuckling as all three of the girls’ faces set in anger.
‘Then,’ he continued, ‘you three arrive at Port Ergan as if sent by the Gods. Not only do I get magnificent specimens of gold and copper haired maidens but also one whose hair is so white that she might be mistaken for an elf - were she not twice the height, pink skinned and rather too fully endowed. After years of trying my colleagues and I have succeeded in breeding nymph stock with hair of a pale tawny and skin not wholly unlike yours. With your plasms added to the stock, I hope that in ten or at most twenty years I will be able to offer for sale nymphs that resemble elves in all outwards appearances. Can you imagine what the grandees of Vendjome, Oretes and Zihai would pay for such a creature?’
‘A great deal, I have no doubt,’ Elethrine replied haughtily, ‘but you must exclude us from your sordid program. Be assured that we will never submit ourselves to your bull-nymphs and that our strength is easily sufficient to resist them.’
‘You had best abandon your depraved plan,’ Talithea put in.
‘Curious,’ Bormontal remarked, ‘that a girl who will encourage a troll to enter her objects to coition with a male nymph.’
‘You do not understand,’ Talithea replied, ‘that was of my own choice, and served our purpose. You have taken us against our will and seek to enslave us. Yet I shall never surrender myself to your base intentions.’
Bormontal laughed and dipped a hand into his pouch to draw out a glass phial set in a web of ironwork.
‘Where I to break this under your nose,’ he said with great delight, ‘you would be tearing at one another’s clothes in your eagerness to enjoy one another’s sex. As you did so you would be begging me to use you, and not just me, but every man available on the barge, from Grathail the boatswain to Hombles, the imbecile who cleans the bilges and latrine shoot - not to mention Simooth. It is goblin musk, distilled ten-fold.’
Elethrine gasped in horror, her reaction drawing a long peel of laughter from Bormontal.
‘Be cheerful,’ the fat merchant called as he turned away, ‘as you are earmarked for the breeding program you will be spared the attentions of Hombles, at least as long as you are good.’
The girls were left staring aghast as Bormontal retired below decks.
For days the barge drifted on the oil smooth waters of the Lais-Elain. Unable to escape their cage, the three girls maintained a haughty detachment, refusing to rise to the taunts of the crew. Around them the landscape became gradually more arid, until the river formed an aisle of green in what was otherwise near desert.
At last they reached the confluence of the Lais-Elain with a yet larger river. On the isthmus of land between the two stood a city, really no more than a huddle of red mud brick hovels clustered around a fortress of the same sun-baked clay. Consulting the map when no attention was on them, the girls decided that the larger river could only be the Ephraxis and the city Dry Ulan, most southerly of the cities of Ythan. With a sinking feeling Elethrine realised that this placed them no more than four hundred leagues to the north of Gora-Jome.
The barge turned north up the Ephraxis and after another half day’s sailing docked at a dry gully filled with olives and feather-tree. Their cage was carried from the barge and through a screen of trees. Beyond stood a fine mansion, constructed of the same red mud-bricks as Dry Ulan, but heavily decorated and shaded beneath tall feather trees. Elethrine felt a shiver in her belly as she realised that the frieze depicted naked nymphs, some dancing, some striking lewd poses, but most engaged in frenzied copulation and other, more contrived, sexual acts.
‘My domain - Gorangrove,’ Bormontal declared proudly as he strolled over to their cage. ‘Fine is it not? Now, here you have two choices. First, you may remain caged and be treated in the same fashion as the rest of my stock. That is to say, not cruelly, but neither with any greater comfort than a nymph might expect. Secondly, should you wish, you may behave as my guests, the sole stipulation being that you behave with decorum and do not attempt escape. Before you make your choice I should point out that here we are barely north of the Eigora Khum. The surrounding lands are parched and hard to cross, while the people of Ythan will recognise you as my property by your anklets and simply return you here - after they have amused themselves with you that is.’
Elethrine glanced at Talithea, receiving a resigned shrug in return. Clearly remaining caged was the poorer option, and, she reasoned, Bormontal had not actually demanded their oaths as highborn Mundics not to escape.
‘We will behave,’ she replied sullenly.
‘A wise choice,’ Bormontal replied.
The girls were released from the cage and taken into the mansion. Within a side room they were helped to bathe by maids. These were small, black hair women, by no means uncomely but meek and with none of the spirit that marked Mundic women. When washed, the girls were given short kirtles in place of their ragged clothing. These were in cloth of a mustard yellow and consisted of a simple length of cloth with a hole for the head. Strips of black cloth allowed the garments to the fastened at waist height, pulling the material firmly against breasts that might otherwise have been at risk of exposure but causing the hems to rise and provide glimpses of the lower curves of bare bottoms. Given that her once beautiful drawers were now little more than a soiled rag that risked both buttocks and tuppenny showing, Elethrine decided to abandon modesty in favour of neatness. The map was also a concern, better concealed beneath the kirtle than in the ruins of her drawers. The others followed her example, leaving their bottoms peeping out from beneath the hems of their kirtles. They shared blushes and wry smiles and then walked into the hall.
Bormontal sat at the head of a great table of highly polished wood. Others ranked down the sides, short, burly men and petite women who Elethrine assumed to be the more senior of Bormontal’s staff. To the merchant’s right - in what was presumably the place of honour - sat a tall, saturnine man in a black robe. On the girl’s entrance he turned to them, his dark eyes glittering with what Elethrine hoped was only carnal lust. Elethrine returned a polite nod and made for one of the empty places, allowing Talithea the one closest to the head.
She ate with absolute formality, replying to those questions directed to her with as much brevity as politeness allowed. Determined to make it quite clear that she considered their behaviour unacceptable, she initiated no conversations of her own and quelled Aisla with a glance when the maid responded too warmly to the attentions of one the more handsome among the guards. Talithea, if anything, remained more frosty still, and Elethrine thought to recognise the same unnatural calm that the Princess had shown during the slave auction.
Bormontal accepted their cold behaviour with his normal indifference and spent the meal quaffing a strong red wine, gorging himself on spiced goat meat and talking merrily with his fellows. His remarks included his intentions for the girls, on which he expanded without the slightest consideration for their modesty or opinion.
When the spread of meats and savouries had been finished and a new one of sweets and fruit was being laid out, a servant
appeared to announce the arrival of a late guest. The proved to be Ayapan, the nymph merchant who the girls had last seen in Vendjome. He greeted Bormontal with the hearty openness of old friends, then caught sight of the girls and stopped, his mouth breaking into a wide grin.
‘So we meet again!’ he boomed. ‘I see my old friend Bormontal has succeeded where I failed.’
Elethrine, Talithea and Aisla greeted him with the formal nods appropriate for an old adversary.
‘You know them?’ Bormontal asked, his voice showing a trace of disappointment.
‘So I do,’ Ayapan replied, ‘we first met at Fujome, where I fear I was sufficiently slow witted not to attempt to take them into my custody. A little later I saw them at the Pelucidome in Vendjome, where the copper haired glory sold for over a thousand Imperials!’
‘A thousand Imperials!’ Bormontal echoed.
‘So it was,’ Ayapan confirmed, ‘and the others for only a little less. When I heard that you had captured three fine northland barbars I hoped it might be them, and indeed it is. Beware the pale haired one, she is what the northlanders call a berserk and tends to leave tooth and claw marks on any who oppose her.’
‘The same was true when I took them in Port Ergan,’ Bormontal replied and then held up the vial of goblin musk, ‘Still, she will be placid enough tonight, although placid is perhaps the wrong word, besides, I have pointed out to them that escape is an impossibility. After all, we are not in Vendjome with its vast population and myriad roads.’
‘True,’ Ayapan conceded, ‘yet take care, the women of their race are no less ferocious than the males. Talking of Vendjome, how girls, did you escape the Panjandrum’s seraglio? After all, it is not as if you could blend with the crowds.’
‘The Princess Talithea struck down two of their nobles,’ Elethrine replied, unable to keep the pride from her voice, ‘we then escaped from a high window at dusk and left the city concealed in jars of honey.’
‘You see Bormontal,’ Ayapan stated, ‘no girl of Ythan would have attempted such a feat, nor yet of Vendjome.’
‘Perhaps,’ Bormontal admitted, ‘yet do not worry, we have many guards and also the revered D’jannith.’
Ayapan nodded to the man in black, who returned a thin, cruel smile. Evidently this was D’jannith, who had contributed little to the conversation during the meal but was evidently a warlock or sorcerer of some kind. Ayapan took a seat and began to help himself to a dish of pastries soaked in honey. Elethrine accepted a beaker of sweet orange wine, thinking to soothe herself and calm her fluttering nerves.
Finally the meal was over, and Elethrine felt her pulse rising in speed. Bormontal had made it very clear what was going to happen. They would be taken out to the nymph pens and given a treatment by D’jannith the details of which she was uncertain. The result would be to ensure that the three of them bore male children after they had been dosed with distilled goblin musk and mated with Bormontal’s prize bull-nymph.
Rare essences were served when the last plate had been cleared, the company sipping and sniffing at their tiny glasses for what seem to Elethrine an interminable period. Finally the last drop had been drained and Bormontal rose to his feet.
‘To work then,’ he declared. ‘There is light enough, the scent of thyme will be strong in the air and the evening, truly, is the best time for erotic encounters.’
Elethrine said nothing, but rose to her feet, determined to maintain the attitude of aloof pride appropriate to her station. The situation appeared hopeless, with barren and hostile lands on every side and no apparent means of escape. After her experience with the dwarves she knew that once she had scented goblin musk she would have no control over her body and would allow the bull-nymph to mate her with every bit as much wanton lust as she had shown in the arms of her friends.
Outside, they walked to the pens, the two merchants, the warlock and two burly men-at-arms with their crossbows cocked and ready. Bormontal stopped by one of the largest cages and rattled the bars with an ornate cane he had collected at the door. Immediately the bull-nymph emerged from his hut, a manthing no more than half Elethrine’s height yet beautiful, exquisitely formed and undoubtedly masculine. A cock that would have done credit to a goblin hung between his legs, twitching in response to the girls.
‘Golden Glory,’ Bormontal announced with immense pride.
Elethrine swallowed, aware of an involuntary lust swelling within her. There was a scent to the bull-nymph, a musk not unlike that of dwarves but sharper, spicier and too weak to take much resisting. While she knew that in Apraya nymphs were considered erotic playthings for those who could afford them, in Mund the situation was very different. Nymphs were wild - fey, solitary manthings living in the depths of the great forests and high among mountains. For a girl to submit herself to a bull-nymph - which were small and easily resisted - was a disgrace worse even than allowing herself to be caught by goblins. After all, if a girl was surrounded by goblins she had little choice in the matter of her surrender, but bull-nymphs were solitary, and beautiful. The sight and scent of Golden Glory filled her with longing, yet it was a longing that rebelled against every dictum of her upbringing.
Beside her Talithea was quiet and appeared absolutely calm. Knowing the strength of both the Princess’s lust and her ferocity, Elethrine wondered which would win. Talithea had surrendered her precious maidenhead to Kaulak with indecent eagerness, and indulged herself with the corsairs like a nymph in rut. Yet when her pride had been threatened she had taken a very different course.
As Bormontal drew the iron-bound vial from his robes Elethrine realised that there was going to be no choice. With a head full of ten fold distilled goblin musk, Talithea was likely to ravish Golden Glory rather than the other way around.
‘First the preparation,’ Bormontal announced. ‘Elethrine, Aisla, kindly step into the cage to your side, I wish no unseemly disturbances.’
Two cross-bows moved to cover Elethrine and her maid and they obeyed with as much dignity as possible. The cage indicated contains several female nymphs, pretty creatures with skins the colour of pale honey that chittered excitedly as the girls came into their cage. A guard snapped the catch into place and both moved to cover Talithea, with their back to the cage but clear of Elethrine’s reach..
‘D’jannith, if you would be so good…’ Bormontal continued.
Talithea tilted her chin up in arrogant pride as the warlock bent to the small black case he had been carrying. From it he produced a vial of murky orange liquid and a curious device consisting of a glass tube with a long needle at one end and what appeared to be a plunger at the other. With great care he drew the fluid into the tube, then held it up to the pale evening sky and depressed the plunger, exuding air and a single drop of fluid from the needle’s tip. Talithea stood immobile as D’jannith approached her, went to her rear and lifted the hem of her kirtle. Elethrine felt a tingle of shock and sensuality at the casual exposure of the Princess’s bottom but Talithea remained immobile. Even at the warlock stabbed the needle suddenly into one full buttock she gave no more than an involuntary twitch of muscle. The warlock depressed the plunger, forcing whatever the tube held into Talithea’s blood.
‘We must wait a while for the emulsion to circulated,’ D’jannith remarked, ‘after which it may be guaranteed that the next child she produces will be male.’
‘Splendid,’ Bormontal answered, ‘we proceed.’
All eyes were on Talithea, Elethrine’s included. Evidently the warlock had implanted Talithea with some sort of potion to ensure the sex of her firstborn. The practise was not unknown in Mund, although few witches would do it and even then could not be relied upon to follow instructions. Whether they used needles to insert the fluid, she doubted. As she watched she felt a soft touch on the bare skin of her thigh. Looking down in sudden shock, she found that the female nymphs in the cage had crowded close. The boldest had reached out to stroke her thigh and was looking up with huge, beautiful eyes full of curiosity and longing.
Elethrine patted the nymph’s hand gently away, not wishing to hurt the fragile creature but also not wishing to be fondled and explored. The nymph moved back quickly, then turned to investigate the contents of her food trough as if embarrassed by the rejection. Elethrine immediately felt sorry and then noticed the trough.
‘Very well, we are ready,’ D’jannith announced.
Talithea stepped into Golden Glory’s cage with the same calm disdain she had shown throughout. The bull-nymph immediately became excited, seizing its cock and beginning to jerk it frantically to erection. Bormontal popped the stopper on the vial of musk and shook a little into the cage. Elethrine and Aisla pushed close to the bars of their own cage, unable to resist watching. As she pressed up to the bars, Elethrine noticed the lock, a simple twist mechanism ample to restrain nymphs but far from sufficient for humans. Yet is was too late, had any resistance been practical in the first place.
Talithea had lowered herself into a squat and raised her kirtle, exposing her tuppenny to the now stiff penis of the bull-nymph. Elethrine swallowed hard, wondering if she herself would manage to submit with such dignity or whether she would grovel on her knees and present Golden Glory with her upturned bottom. The bull-nymph approached, flourishing his cock in delight at the Princess’s proffered hole. Talithea took the cock in her hand and guided it towards her vagina. Briefly she rubbed the tip against her tuppenny to stimulate her clitoris. Every eye was on her as she guided the immense cock lower to find her vagina.
Only then did Elethrine realise that Talithea was holding her breath. With a sudden jerk the Princess swung the bull-nymph around by his cock, hurling it across the cage. Bormontal cried out in rage, stepping forward to intervene, the guards following. Seizing her chance, Elethrine twisted the lock of the cage. Bormontal was pulling furiously at the door held shut by a now purple faced Talithea as Elethrine grabbed the long metal feeding trough from the ground. Kicking the door open, she swung the trough at the head of the nearest guard, catching him hard on the temple. His crossbow dropped from his hands and an instant later was in Elethrine’s.
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