by Faith Eden
'Oh no, master!' she squealed. 'I would not do that. But you could come with me, to watch that I do not.'
'I could,' Pecon agreed, 'but I shall not, I think.' He rolled onto his side, reaching for his breeches, and produced a small key, which he offered up to her. 'You may unlock the collar and remove the mask yourself,' he said, 'and after you have washed your face and rinsed the dust from your hair, you will replace the mask and secure the lock, before returning here. If you do try to escape, be sure I shall hunt you down, as I did before and, when we reach the next village, I'll have the tanner sew the damned mask to you permanently, understand?'
Smiling, but shaking at the same time, Demila took the key from his grasp and rose gracefully to her feet.
'I understand, master,' she whispered, 'but it will not be necessary. I am your obedient and dutiful slave, now and for as long as you wish it to be so.'
Jekka spurred her horse gently, urging it to increase its gait to a faster walk, and drew alongside Alanna, leaving Melina, still part asleep in the saddle, to follow on a length and a half behind them.
'We're being followed.' Jekka did not turn her head and spoke from the corner of her mouth, her lips barely moving. She did not need to warn Alanna against the instinctive reaction of looking back.
'How many are they?' Alanna continued to study the snow covered track immediately ahead of them. Jekka grinned, wryly.
'Just the one,' she replied, 'and, lest I'm very mistaken, 'tis the young oaf you wouldn't let me kill back there in the mountain. He's about two hundred paces to our rear and trying to make best use of what pitiful cover these scrawny trees and bushes offer.'
'He's probably seeking to retrieve his little hotpot from us,' Alanna smiled, the laughter evident in her voice. 'I doubt his male pride reacts well to a couple of women stealing his bed fodder from under his nose. I thought I detected something in his eyes back then and it seems I was not mistaken.'
'Probably his first decent fuck,' Jekka snarled. 'Well, let me deal with him now and have done with it. I can swing round and by the time he realises, I can ride him down close enough to put a bolt through his filthy neck.'
'I'm sure you could,' Alanna agreed, 'but why kill him for what's in his head.'
'In his bollocks, more like,' Jekka retorted. 'All men are the same, in my experience, though I wouldn't expect you to understand.'
'Except your experience isn't that great, my redheaded friend,' Alanna said. 'Our little refugee back there would be more to your taste, wouldn't she?'
'I can't say I've really taken much notice of her,' Jekka replied sullenly, 'but even if she were sow ugly, she'd be preferable to any man, though I wouldn't expect you to understand that, of course.'
'Of course,' Alanna said evenly. 'But men do have their uses, though I wouldn't expect you to understand that. Besides, he could be valuable to us.'
'Valuable?' Jekka snorted derisively.
'What say we maybe educate our simple young oaf?' Alanna said. 'Maybe teach him a view of life from the other side of the river, as it were? In the packs on the other horse there are several slave hoods and harnesses - I didn't want to leave them behind, as any trader worth his salt would pay a couple of krones for that little haul.
'Most are intended for females,' she continued, 'but I saw a couple of larger sizes there and I'm sure we could find something to fit our shadow, wouldn't you agree? A little bit of basic training and I'm sure he'd fetch a decent price at one of the markets we're bound to encounter on our journey back.'
Jekka's eyes lit up and her lips curled into a voracious grin. 'You knew he'd try to follow us,' she accused.
Alanna shrugged, affecting innocence. 'Who can predict human nature?'
'You, usually,' Jekka chuckled.
Swinging gently to and fro, Agana looked down helplessly as the awful spectacle continued below her. The metal bands that held her captive were tight, but not yet excruciatingly so - even the deadly metal phallus inside her was only mildly uncomfortable. But she knew, only too well, that soon Fulgrim would order his men to begin the process of adjusting the reducing screws and she could only imagine the agonies that would ensue from that.
For the moment, however, her biggest pain was in having to watch her mistress's ordeal and in her total inability to intervene.
Dorothea had managed to endure the first two lashes in stoic silence, her features contorted as she fought against the desire to cry out, but the third lash wrenched a high-pitched screech from her lips and from then on, as the second man, and then a third, stepped up to take their turns with the deadly rawhide whip, she writhed and screamed continuously.
It seemed to Agana that the soldiers were intent on killing her mistress then and there, but just when she was convinced that the entire group would join in the torture, the officer leading them called a halt. For several minutes they stood about, taunting the hanging figure at the post, until one of their number passed back through the postern and re-emerged, carrying a bucket of water, which he threw over Dorothea with malicious glee.
Even so high above her, Agana could hear her mistress spluttering and choking back to something approximating consciousness, and her instincts told her what was coming next. She was not wrong.
Another of the guards stepped forward and cut Dorothea down, catching her as she slumped to the grass and hauling her back to her feet. Others eagerly took her by the arms, but she did not remain upright for very long.
Yet another man crouched down on all fours and she was thrown along his back, her bound arms over his head and about his neck, where he seized them, preventing her from rising again, though in truth it was evident that she could not possibly have stood unaided.
Clearly unconcerned at their victim's lack of animation, the men proceeded to take it in turns to violate her, their officer apparently exercising the privilege of rank, unfastening his breeches and dropping them about his ankles to reveal a ferocious erection. Unceremoniously, he dropped to his knees behind Dorothea and pressed the swollen head of his shaft against her unresisting nether lips, entering her with an ease that was in part belied by his grunt of satisfaction.
Agana wanted to close her eyes, to blot out the awful scene, but found she was totally unable to wrench her gaze away from Dorothea's suffering. In her mind, there was no doubt at all that she herself was going to die, and die most horribly, yet her concern was entirely for her mistress, as the first man pistoned himself to a convulsive climax and another was already shucking off his breeches to take his place.
Corinna hung limply from the whipping post, her back, shoulders and buttocks burning, tears misting her eyes, yet she knew that Melik's whip had not broken the skin, despite the agony it had inflicted. Savatch, she thought, would be very approving of that, for it required consummate skill with the lash in order not to draw blood.
Their most savage lusts sated, the villagers began to disperse, leaving the victim to her own thoughts and to the ebbing tide of pulsating shocks that were the final aftermath of her ordeal. Through the slowly abating haze of pain, Corinna could feel the warmth of her juices as they seeped around either side of the broad strap which still held the leather phallus deep within her, but she neither knew, nor cared, whether that evidence of her body's treachery was visible to anyone below the dais.
Despite the mind-numbing orgasms that the flailing braid and her own helplessness had triggered, Corinna knew still that she craved something even more. Desperately, she prayed for Savatch to return, release her and take her away from the danger of prying eyes, but Savatch had seemingly wandered away with the crowd and the only person now remaining to show any interest in her plight was the girl, Erin.
The plain village girl stood a few paces from the base of the dais, immediately in front of Corinna, who peered down at her around one side of the post from which she hung. The wench's face was impassive, but there was a deep trouble reflected in her eyes and she continued in her statue-like pose for several minutes, the only movement the occasional blinking of thos
e haunted orbs.
At last, and without any warning, the spell was broken. With a shake of her head Erin spun on her heel and strode off, her crumpled peasant skirt billowing out behind her as she almost ran back across the green. Corinna watched her go, trying to imagine what thoughts kaleidoscoped inside that simple peasant skull...
Agana grimaced as Fulgrim continued tightening the various screws, compressing her body still further within the grip of the humanoid iron cage. Twice he had ordered the cage lowered from the makeshift derrick jutting from the battlements, each time adjusting the bands just enough to increase the pressure on her body, though still it was a long way from inflicting any permanent damage.
He was in no great hurry to kill her, as he had made plain enough, but thirst was beginning to play its part in her continued suffering, for her naked body had been exposed to the sun for several hours now. Grimly, she determined not to give away any sign that the lack of water was affecting her; with luck, dehydration might snatch her from his clutches and deprive him of much of his intended game.
Through half closed eyes she looked beyond Fulgrim and the two guards that flanked him, to where the whipping post now stood empty. How long, she wondered, before they would once again drag Dorothea out? How many more times would she have to endure the vicious kiss of the lash and the defilement at the hands of yet another crowd of these coarse soldiers?
Perhaps only until she, Agana, was finally dead, for part of Fulgrim's spiteful ploy was that each of the women should be witness to the degradation and torture of the other. Once Agana was dead there would be nothing to keep Fulgrim and his men at Varragol and they would surely be on their way without further delay. Once on the road, there would be less time for them to worry about Dorothea, whatever the ultimate fate Fulgrim had in store for her.
Whatever that was, Agana reasoned, it surely could be no worse than what they were doing to her here?
She grunted, gritting her teeth as the broad band about her waist closed in another inch, bending her lower ribs almost to breaking point. And as the rope and pulley creaked and the cage once again began its slow, swaying journey aloft, Agana closed her eyes and tried to will herself to die.
The wagon was primitive, but Savatch had piled several furs into the back, onto which he lifted Corinna. Still wearing her slave hood, her wrists once again cuffed at either side of the wide waist belt, she lay on her side, not daring to let her raw back come into contact, even with the soft pelts.
'I can ride... master,' she whispered defiantly.
'I dare say,' Savatch said, 'but a slave does as she is told and I am telling you that you will ride in this wagon - for now.' He crouched in the space between Corinna and the seat, studying her. 'Unless,' he said at last, 'you would prefer to end this now?' Corinna drew a deep breath and shook her head.
'No,' she replied. 'No, not until it is finished properly. We made a bargain and I shall honour my part. I expect you to do the same... master.'
'That I shall do, if it's still your wish,' he said. 'Meantime, I'll leave you securely plugged and trust you enjoy this next part of the journey.'
'I'd rather be plugged by something warmer,' Corinna retorted, smiling despite the pain from her burning flesh.
Savatch coughed and shook his head. 'Later, slave,' he said, 'unless you'd rather I took you back out there and invited the men of the village to take their turns with you? I reckon they'd pay a few copper coins each for the pleasure.'
Wriggling backwards on her stomach, Moxie made sure she was well into the cover of the woods before she finally stood up. Satisfied that the screen of thick bushes now hid her completely from any eyes looking out from the castle, she turned and trotted back to where she had left the bemused Pester holding their horses.
'They've got the mistress, as well,' she said, in answer to his unspoken question. 'I don't know whether they intend to kill her, but what they're doing to her is horrible enough.' The expression on her face was enough to warn Pester against pressing for further details.
She turned her back on him, trying to disguise the fear she knew would be showing in her eyes.
'I expect they will kill Agana,' she said, after a pause, 'whatever they decide to do with the mistress. Our lady may provide a good bargaining tool, so that could save her life yet, but Agana would have no value and Fulgrim is bound to want to repay her for the ways she's made him suffer these months.'
'What about the guards?' Pester demanded. 'Why have they turned traitor?'
'Because, you stupid boy,' Moxie retorted, 'all the real guards are most surely dead now! Those men, the ones who arrived as the last relief detachment, they're all out there now and all wearing what must be Vorsan livery. Fulgrim must have got his message out and his people have sent that company of men, disguised as Illeans.'
'And no one suspected a thing?' Pester said, incredulously.
'Why should they have?' Moxie stormed. 'No one expected any sort of rescue attempt, because someone didn't think it important enough to report that Fulgrim was trying to bribe someone to get help to him, did they?' She stood, hands on hips, glaring at the page, who cringed before her scorn.
'I'm sorry,' he whimpered, 'but I just didn't think.'
'No,' Moxie said sourly, 'you didn't think. But then you're a man, even if you don't have any balls, so why should anyone expect better of you? Now, shut up and let me think for a moment. We have to work out what to do... I have to work out what to do,' she corrected herself.
For several minutes she paced to and fro, her brow furrowed, muttering to herself under her breath. Eventually she stopped pacing and walked back to where Pester remained motionless between the two horses.
'We need to get help,' she told him, 'but it won't be that easy. There is only one road west towards Illeum City. And even to reach Garassotta, where the Lady Corinna now is, I believe, we would have to follow that road before turning northwards.
'Obviously, Fulgrim does not care who among the local people sees what he is up to, otherwise they would not have hung Agana up there for all to see, so he must have men watching the west route, and we don't know how many they are.
'Of course, we could try to go around them, but I don't know the countryside that well and I doubt you know it any better, so we could end up lost.'
'Then what are we to do?' Pester whined. 'Maybe we should just stay hidden until these swine leave, which they surely must do. There cannot be enough of them to hope to hold the castle for long.'
'No,' Moxie agreed, 'there aren't enough of them for that, though they could have more men on the way, for all we know.' She fell silent again, chewing her bottom lip. 'No,' she said at length, 'they don't intend to remain. The purpose of this plan was to free Fulgrim, I'm sure, and he will be eager to scuttle off back to the Vorsan territories.
'The trouble is,' she continued, 'if he doesn't kill Lady Dorothea, then he'll doubtless take her with him as hostage. He could easily disguise her as a slave girl and his men once again as Illean troopers, so no one would take much notice.
'I'm no expert on these things, but I have seen the large map in Lady Dorothea's private study, so I do know that they could make it back to their own country long before we could summon help from either Garassotta or Illeum. And once there, Illeum would be powerless to touch them.'
'Then our lady is surely lost?' Pester cried, tears moistening his large rounded eyes.
'Maybe so,' Moxie said pensively, 'but it all depends. If Fulgrim believes himself safe here for a few days at least, they may not set off immediately. In that case, we might get to Garassotta and Lord Savatch could perhaps ride south again and cut the swine off, even if he has to follow them across the border. I know he's no great respecter of such niceties, for I have heard her ladyship speak of him many times.'
'But you said we would not be able to reach this Garassotta,' Pester pointed out. 'You said they would be watching the road.'
'The road west, yes,' Moxie agreed, 'but probably not the way east.'
'Because,' Moxie explained patiently, 'that way lies the Vaal plains. There is a broad pass through the mountains, which are not that wide hereabouts, and then we could turn north. The land is mainly flat and easily travelled, with or without roads, and we may be able to hire a guide. If we go far enough north, we should then be able to head back west and find the way to Garassotta from that direction.'
'But how will we hire a guide?' Pester protested. 'We have no money and if we sell one of the horses, how will we travel?'
'Leave that to me,' Moxie said grimly. 'There is coinage other than gold and, if the worst comes to the worst, I can always sell you.'
Jorkan laid his ale flagon carefully on the uneven tabletop and sank slowly onto the bench. Paulis, sitting opposite, raised his eyebrows, questioningly. His uncle looked about him, ensuring that none of the tavern's other patrons were within earshot, but the table they had chosen, set outside the door, was well away from the few drinkers that were using the inn at this time of the afternoon.
'It seems we could be in luck, lad,' Jorkan said. He took a swig of the warm brew and wiped froth from his beard with the back of his hand. 'Our friend passed this way around dawn today.'
'It was definitely him?' Paulis asked.
Jorkan nodded his shaggy head. 'Oh yes, most definitely. His face is well known in these parts, obviously, and the soldier I spoke to has just finished a week's duty up at the castle itself.'
'Was he alone?' Paulis demanded. 'Or does he ride with an escort?'
'An escort, no,' Jorkan replied carefully, 'but neither was he alone. It seems he had with him a slave wench, one apparently that the Lady Corinna found unfavourable and had ordered him to return from whence she was purchased.'
'Either too plain, or maybe too pretty,' Paulis suggested. 'Maybe her ladyship was growing a bit jealous.'