Encircled

by Robin Roseau

  Encircled

  Robin Roseau

  Table of Contents

  Author Notes

  Encircled

  Ultimatum

  Capitulation

  Unwanted Attention

  Transition

  Birthday

  Recovery

  Convict Challenge

  Negotiation

  Practice

  Sisters

  A Single Night

  Captain Bess

  A Real Chance

  Sister and Staffing

  Release

  Family’s Time

  Jessla

  Mother

  Dinner Party

  Purple

  Mistake

  Group

  Event

  Time

  Sister Challenge

  The Visit

  Royal Slave

  Decision

  Five Years

  Seduction

  Integrated

  Author Notes

  If you haven’t already, don’t buy this book. There. I’ve said it.

  I didn’t want to write this book. And even as I write these notes, I’m not sure I want to publish it. I’ll explain.

  A couple of months ago, I read a short story of about 10,000 words. It was basically a story of good versus sociopathic evil. I kept reading because I expected good to win.

  Instead, the sociopathic evil queen walked away, chortling. I was left wondering if the author is a sociopath. Maybe it’s just a story, but stories are rarely just stories. But it made me angry a more than a little disgusted, both with the author but also with me, for reading it.

  And I responded how I have a few times in the past; in my head, I rewrote it. That’s how Selected came about, and it’s how this book came about. And like I’ve struggled in the past, when a story gets embedded in my head, I find it difficult to think about other things until I sit down and write it. So I wrote Encircled largely to get it out of my head. Now that it’s written, I have to decide if I’m going to let anyone read it.

  Of course, leave it to me to take a 10,000 words short and produce my own that’s 175,000 words instead. No one has ever accused me of being concise.

  But now that it’s written, I can think about other things again.

  This story includes many of the elements from that story I read some two months ago. There’s an evil queen. There is an invasion. There are innocent people, caught up in the games of others, and those innocent people pay a price.

  Along the way there’s sex, some of it more consensual than others, and some of it perhaps on the edge of twisted. There are aspects to this story that will offend some people, that probably should offend people.

  This story absolutely isn’t for everyone.

  On the other hand, if I’ve done my job correctly, you’ll end up thinking. You’ll raise questions in your head – and I’m not necessarily volunteering to help answer them.

  Maybe, to you, this will just be a story. That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself.

  Robin Roseau

  February, 2018

  Credits

  I want to thank my beta readers for reading this book. Martha and Lori both told me, “The ending sucks”. I added another 25,000 words. I believe it was Martha who called it, “A non-ending”.

  And always, I want to thank you, my loyal readers, who continue to read my books, who continue to support me so I can write more books. Even when the books are weird – and this one most definitely qualifies – you stick by me. Thank you.

  Encircled

  The first that most of the common citizens knew of the invasion, Charth was already tightly encircled, blockaded by the invading army of warriors from Ressaline, the city-state to Charthan’s immediate north.

  I suppose I should explain a few things. Charth was the capital of the small but relatively powerful nation of Charthan. We kept good relationships with our immediate neighbors, and our position at a trading crossroads coupled with good farmland meant we had enjoyed decades of peace and prosperity.

  As I said, Charthan was a nation, a country. On the other hand, Ressaline was only a city-state. The city of Ressaline sat at the foot of the Northern Mountains. The border between our domains was the Ressa River, which emptied a portion of the Northern Mountains before traveling first south and then turning to the east, where it joined the East Ressa River, defining Ressaline’s border with Gandeet, the country to our mutual east.

  Charthan was a nation, and Ressaline was only a city-state. The thought they could send their militia into Charthan was ridiculous. The Charthan army would drive them back to their borders, and then we would demand compensation besides.

  There was so much I didn’t know.

  * * * *

  Life at the Baby Blanket Inn began early. Don’t blame me for the name: my grandmother named it when her parents first opened the inn. According to family lore, my grandmother’s little sister used her baby blanket as a security blanket, and grandmother thought the inn should be a safe, secure place for people to come for a meal. My great-grandparents seemed to agree with her, and so it had been the Baby Blanket Inn ever since.

  We rose early, as we served breakfast at first light. When I woke that morning, I didn't know Charth was already encircled. It wasn’t for two hours, after breakfast was half over before the town bells began ringing. Moments later, several people burst into the inn.

  “Charthan has been invaded! The town is surrounded.”

  “By whom?” Old Man Gravis yelled.

  “Ressaline! We’re surrounded by the armies of Ressaline!”

  There was stunned silence for a moment, and then laughter. Everyone laughed. I certainly laughed. Ressaline didn’t have an army. They had a militia at most, a city guard. Ressaline? The entire population of Ressaline wasn’t big enough to surround Charth, much less form a trained army capable of doing so. And so we laughed.

  We wouldn’t be laughing for long.

  * * * *

  We didn’t close the inn that day. We became one of several hubs around town. People came in, searching for the news. Others came in to share gossip. The general consensus was the town guards would round up the miscreants, and life would go on.

  But news arrived as well. And more news. And more news.

  The council met. Charthan was ruled by a council of nine members. Three were from outlying areas of Charthan. Three were elected by areas surrounding Charth. The last three came from within Charth itself. Together, they elected a council leader. The council met. And the only word from them was this: remain calm. Leave this little problem to them.

  Yes, they were calling it a little problem.

  But there were places in Charth that were high enough to see over the walls, or at least a portion of them. The Inn wasn’t one such place, but there were others. People climbed those places, and they looked out over the walls, and they brought news.

  Ressaline appeared to have a larger army than anyone would have expected.

  But then the town guards commandeered these high places, and for a while, no more news arrived.

  * * * *

  But then there was more news, and it did not come from within. The Ressalines erected several trebuchets, setting them on high points around Charth. A trebuchet is a type of machine of war, a little like a catapult, although far more effective. A large trebuchet can send a heavy stone three hundred paces. Others are built for lighter weights, but they can throw a longer distance. Oh, they aren’t necessarily that accurate, but when tossing a stone that weighs as much as I do, how accurate do you need to be?

  The Ressalines erected their trebuchets, and then they began to use them. But they didn’t throw stones or flaming balls of pitch.

  They threw bags of paper.<
br />
  Notes, written to the citizens of Charth.

  Somehow, the bags burst apart when they were over the city, and the paper rained down, blowing every which way. Some blew back outside the walls. Others blew hither and yon. But there were so many papers, and many, many of them found themselves held in someone’s hands.

  And that person might even be able to read, or if not, might hand the paper to someone who could.

  It was late afternoon when this started, and it wasn’t much later when a girl ran into the inn, clutching one of the papers. There were others following after her, yelling that we were being attacked, but the girl held up her hand. “They’re attacking us with paper! It’s only paper!”

  “What does it say?”

  “I can’t read.”

  Someone snatched the note from her, and then someone snatched it from him, and a third, and the note threatened to tear before I said, “Enough! Give it to me.” I strode forward, and I used my most commanding tone, the same tone I might use when the louts became too rowdy on a Friday evening. “I said: Give it to me! I will read it.”

  And so the note was passed twice more before it made it to my hands. I turned it around and looked at it.

  It had been printed by a press, the letters clear and even, and it wasn’t long. I read it once to myself then a second time aloud for all to hear.

  Residents of Charth,

  Please remain calm.

  The city is surrounded, and our armies have closed the borders of Charthan. Do not attempt to flee the city, lest you be Captured and Questioned.

  We will hold council before your main gates precisely at noon, two days hence. Your ruling council will attend, in full. In addition, exactly 32 of the town’s eldest daughters, age 16 to 25, will attend. The number must be exactly 32, and they must represent the common people of Charth, the daughters of the smith, the innkeepers, the cobblers. If you cannot find 32, we will accept them as young as 14 or as old as necessary. They must be eldest daughters, and there must be exactly 32.

  We will completely honor a white flag of truce and guarantee safety for all who come peacefully.

  If you fail to attend, we will destroy the town walls. We will invade the city. We will find and capture your council. We will enslave them and sell them in open market. We will find their families, their husbands and wives. We will find their children and grandchildren. And they will be enslaved and sold in open market.

  Do not attack our armies. Your attack will be repulsed. The attackers will be Captured, Questioned, Enslaved, and Sold in open market.

  Noon, two days hence.

  “It is signed quite simply, Olivia of Ressaline,” I said.

  The room broke out in an uproar. Other people wanted to read the note, but I marched to the sign board near the door and tacked it up. “Leave it for all to read,” I said in a full voice. “I imagine there are more out there, if you want your own.”

  And then I returned to serving our patrons.

  * * * *

  People talked. Of course they talked. They talked about fighting. They wondered where our army was. Why weren’t they already engaging the enemy? How dare the Ressalines make such demands?

  Some wondered if we would meet them for their council.

  A few people asked me my age, as if they didn’t already know my twenty-first birthday was this summer.

  I paid attention to the general tone. A few times I knocked a few heads and told them, “If you want to fight, do it outside.”

  Some talked about trying to escape in the dark of night. I thought they were fools. If the Ressalines were thinly spread, then our army would see to them. If they were not, if there were enough to erect a full blockade, then the risk of capture was far too high. I didn’t know what sort of techniques might be used to force someone to answer to questioning, but I didn’t want to experience them.

  But as long as people kept the peace in the inn, I focused on my job.

  The council issued a proclamation, calling for calm, calling for peace, and setting a curfew. They forbid attempts to flee the city. And they assured us the army would deal with the ruffians at our doorstep.

  That was the same message the next day.

  * * * *

  The day of the deadline arrived. I didn’t worry about that. I had a job to do. Hell, I had ten jobs to do, and I couldn’t worry about what I didn’t control.

  I didn’t see when they arrived. It was Grist Hawk and Fennie Marsh, two members of the council. Two members of the council were in our inn.

  They were noticed, slowly at first. There was talk, and then it grew quiet. Everyone looked at them.

  And then, and this was when I realized what was going on, everyone turned to look at me.

  I set down the platters I was carrying, brushed my hands off, and then turned to the council members.

  “Claary Rosebush,” called out Grist Hawk.

  I stepped forward. “I am Claary. You know that, Mr. Hawk. What can I do for you?”

  “Claary,” said Fennie Marsh, “You are your mother’s eldest daughter.”

  “I am, which you also know.”

  “And you are 21.”

  “Almost,” I said. “So we’re going to meet with them, are we?”

  “Please come with us.”

  “Come back in an hour,” I replied.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Come back in an hour. I’d promise to be at the gates by noon, but we all know what this place is going to be like, and I’d be late. Come get me in an hour.”

  “We have better things to do than wait on a serving girl,” said Grist Hawk.

  “Perhaps you have noticed we’re a little busy as well,” I said.

  I heard a chair scrape, and then I felt a presence at my side. I glanced over. It was Shalie Bluebird. “I’ll take over for you, Claary,” she said. “I’m not as fast as you, and I don’t yell as loudly as you do, but these folks won’t give me any trouble.” She raised her voice. “Will you?”

  “No, Shalie,” a few yelled.

  I looked around. I didn’t want anything to do with any of this. I was just a barmaid, barely an adult.

  I sighed. “Fine.” I withdrew my apron. “But I’m not dolling up. I’ll attend like this.”

  “No,” Shalie said, taking the apron. “Give her five minutes to clean up, Mr. Hawk, Ms. Marsh. She represents us, and she should look presentable. Go on, Claary.” She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “You represent us. Make us proud.”

  I nodded. No one said a word as I hurried upstairs.

  * * * *

  It took more like ten minutes. Ms. Marsh and Mr. Hawk waited outside, and they looked annoyed about it, but I didn’t particularly care. “No questions,” Ms. Marsh said. “You will attend this meeting. You will hold your tongue. And when you get back you won’t gossip.”

  I didn’t say a word. She’d told me to hold my tongue, after all. And I wasn’t a gossip, either.

  The council collected us, a few arriving at a time. Some of the women talked. Some stared into space. Two were crying. I wasn’t sure I blamed them.

  But soon we had our collection of eldest daughters and nine members of the council. We received a second version of, “Hold your tongues,” and then we followed the council to the main gates.

  It was precisely noon by the town bells that the main gates began to open. It took another minute before they were fully open. From my position in back, I couldn’t see much, but we followed the council through the gates of the town.

  And then I could look around, as could the other women beside me. “There are so many of them!” Someone said. “Why are they all women?”

  “Ressaline is all women,” someone explained.

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what they are.”

  “They’re women. They can’t fight men! Where is our army?”

  No one knew.

  We strode forth, but it wasn’t v
ery far. The Ressalines had set up tables, although no chairs, and they were waiting. There were six of them. Four were clearly soldiers, but it was the fifth who drew my attention.

  She was tall, with long, blond hair bound into a braid, and she was fully dressed in the most dashing set of leathers I had ever seen, including a hat perched upon her head. Without even knowing her, I thought, “This is someone who could keep the ruffians in line, and probably better than I do.” I wondered if this was Olivia, who had written the notes thrown over our walls.

  And to the side, one more woman of less note, and I immediately decided she was some sort of assistant.

  We came to a stop, the council in a row across the road, and we women clustered in back. I’d been towards the middle, but I moved sideways, right to the edge of the road, and I got a good look at the people who had summoned us.

  And looking around, I saw that there were far more soldiers surrounding Charth than there should have been if all of Ressaline had put on a soldier’s uniform.

  “You’re late,” said the woman, folding her arms. “By your own bells, you are several minutes late. We called for this meeting precisely at noon, and the bells were ringing before you even began to open your gate. You have kept us waiting.”

  “And you have invaded our lands,” said Tarith Blackbird, “circled our city, threatened our people, and done who knows what to those living outside the walls.”

  “Most of the residents of Charthan are unharmed,” said the woman. “Those who fought were subdued. Those who surrendered peacefully have been kept safe.”

  “By what right have you invaded our lands?”

  “Ah, now, that is an interesting question. We’ll come to that.” She gazed at him. “You were late, but you were not egregiously late. You are here. We will overlook your late arrival this time, but in the future, when we say we will meet at noon, we will meet at noon, not five minutes after. Am I clear?”

  “You hold no authority to make such demands,” Mr. Blackbird said.