The Bridle Path

by Faith Eden

  'By which time,' Corinna said, 'I may well be many more miles away. Slaves are bought, sold and transported regularly, and I could well end up on the far side of the continent.'

  'That is quite possible,' Pecon agreed, 'but if you are as important as you seem to think you are, then your friends will no doubt trail you to the ends of the earth. Are you that important?' he added. 'You haven't even told me your name.'

  'And you, my pigheaded master,' Corinna replied coolly, 'have never asked it.' Once more, her pulse began to hasten. Perhaps, after all, now was the time to come out with the whole truth; the fellow was motivated by greed and, if he realised the value of his prize, perhaps he would be tempted to try to capitalise on it. Even if he still sold her on, surely whoever bought her would consider the prospect of a ransom or reward as more rewarding than whatever she might fetch in a slave market.'

  'My name is Corinna,' she said, when he made no further comment. 'Perhaps you have heard it before?'

  'The name is familiar,' Pecon agreed, 'but then no name is the property of a single person.'

  'Lady Corinna Oleanna,' she said, watching his eyes. They narrowed slightly and she could almost hear his brain working.

  'That name certainly means something,' he said. 'Oleanna, you say. So your house is part of the ruling dynasty in Illeum. Lundt is Protector there, is he not?'

  'Not only Protector of Illeum,' Corinna said, 'but probably the single most powerful man in the civilised world.'

  'So I believe,' Pecon nodded, 'though I care little for politics. So, this Lundt, this Protector, he is related to you, or should I say, you to him?'

  It was Corinna's turn to nod. 'My father,' she said, simply.

  'The old man says you are not fit to ride,' Alanna said firmly. Savatch was sitting propped up in the bed, but his features looked skeletal and his pallor grey.

  'The wagon you brought with you,' he said, 'that will serve for a few days, and my strength is beginning to return at last. I cannot just lie here, not when I don't know what's happening to her.'

  'I understand,' Alanna said, 'but you will serve her no good purpose if you try to do too much too soon. That wound was deep, and many men would have died from it. You were very lucky.'

  'So that damned old sorcerer keeps telling me,' Savatch grated, 'but I didn't die, luck or no, and now Corinna is gone, probably with the same man who tried to kill me.'

  'That I doubt,' Alanna said. 'Whomever shot at you was not the man who took her. From the story I heard, he found Corinna wandering on the road, bound and quite helpless, yet he then took her, found you and came to this village for aid, paying the physician to care for you and even signing a deed of sale to say that he had taken Corinna in return.

  'What was there to have stopped him just taking her in the first place and simply leaving you to die in the river? That doesn't sound to me like the actions of a bandit.'

  'You're assuming he was a simple bandit,' Savatch said. 'What if he was a hired assassin?'

  'The same would apply,' Alanna said. 'Why bring you here? Why not just take Corinna, instead of paying good money for your care? No, whoever fired that arrow was not the man who took Corinna.'

  'Yes, you're right,' Savatch agreed, morosely. 'I've had these same thoughts while I've been lying here, but I needed to hear someone else voice them. All the same, Corinna has been taken by a man who believes her a slave. I cannot believe she did not say something to him.'

  'She probably did,' Alanna sighed, 'but, being a man, he probably didn't believe her, or if he did, he's probably taken her off somewhere while he works out how to get the best price for her. Anyone with any sense would realise that ransom, or even reward money for returning her unharmed would be the most profitable, but then, as I say, he's a man.'

  'Who's a man?' The door creaked open and Jekka glided in. She stood for a moment, studying Savatch. 'By the gods,' she said, 'you've certainly looked better, Master Savatch!'

  'Thank you, Jekka.' Savatch smiled, despite his anxiety. 'And you've never looked lovelier, my sweet assassin. The red hair certainly becomes you and I'm glad to see you've kept the colour.'

  'It goes with her temper,' Alanna grinned.

  'And my wonderful pale complexion,' Jekka quipped, but suddenly her expression became serious once more. 'However,' she said, 'while you two old friends have been sitting here holding hands, I've been using what's underneath this red hair and inside this pale complexion. I've spoken further with the old physician and with two of the villagers who saw this traveller fellow. They described him - and the slave girl who was originally travelling with him, though the old man's eyesight isn't that reliable.'

  'One man and his slave girl, what's to describe?' Savatch demanded. 'I've asked the same questions myself. Tall, dark, riding a black, or maybe brown horse, the girl smaller - there's a surprise - and riding a pony.'

  'Yes,' Jekka said. 'One man, dark, probably from very far south he was that dark, and the girl smaller, as one would expect. But how small? Young village men tend to see what they want to see, so it was the girl who took most of their attention.

  'I hear she was very small, and very slight of build, much smaller than Corinna, for instance. And the pony, there was just the one, so when they left here Corinna was walking. The fellow tried to buy an extra mount for her, but there were none available in the village.' She looked meaningfully across at Alanna, who had already caught on to what she was saying.

  'The fellow we sold our little prize to!' she exclaimed. 'He wanted to buy an extra horse!'

  'And he was travelling with two slave girls,' Jekka confirmed. 'One of average size and build, the other much smaller, except, Master Savatch, neither were fair-haired. We did not approach them closely enough to tell anything further, except that the bigger female was definitely gagged.'

  'Corinna dyed her hair to avoid recognition,' Savatch murmured. 'Don't ask.'

  'I didn't intend to,' Jekka said. 'But nevertheless, it all fits. One dark male, probably Colrasian. Two female slaves, one pony between them, one gagged, probably to make sure she couldn't try to tell her story when his back was turned.'

  'Damnation!' Alanna exclaimed. 'To think we were that close.'

  'You weren't to know,' Savatch sighed. 'And it's as I feared. Corinna taken by an itinerant trader. He could sell her anywhere.'

  'He could,' Jekka agreed, 'but I don't think he will. Something he mentioned to one of the village lads who helped bring you here. Apparently, the first girl had made mention of a particular slaving establishment in the Vaal - South Erisvaal, he thought - and the fellow asked if anyone here would have known of it. Of course, no one had; few of these people travel more than a day's ride from their homes.'

  'It definitely fits,' Alanna mused. 'The easiest route into the Vaal from here, particularly the south, would be between the mountains, just north of Varragol.' Her eyes darkened at the mention of the name, for she had not told Savatch anything of Moxie's story as yet. 'Where we met with him would be on the route he would have taken from here.'

  'Then please, prepare that wagon!' Savatch exclaimed. 'We must get after them.'

  'That we must,' Alanna said, 'but all in good time. They are already several days ahead of us, so a few more hours will make little difference. Meantime, there is something else I think you should know of, though what any of us can do about this particular problem, I have no idea.'

  Pecon was still taking his time. He stripped slowly and slipped into the icy stream, splashing the water over his face and shoulders and dipping his hair into the current several times, though never did he take his eye off Corinna for more than a few seconds at a time.

  Eventually he pulled himself back up onto the grass and, despite the fact that the evening air was beginning to cool decidedly, sat naked, allowing the breeze to dry his wet skin.

  'So,' he said at last, 'you say you're a princess?'

  'No,' Corinna replied levelly, 'not a princess. A princess is the daughter of a king and Illeum has had no ki
ng as such for several centuries. My title is simply Lady.'

  'Except here you have no title.' Pecon turned his head towards her and grinned. 'Here,' he said, 'you're just another slave and, to use your own words, you're about to be fucked.'

  'Yes,' she said, 'I'm a slave, and you, my current master, are about to fuck me.' She turned to look away from him, pretending to study the flowing water. 'The problem is,' she said, after a few seconds, 'that I really don't have a problem with any of this.'

  Pecon chuckled and leaned across, drawing her closer to him. Corinna made no attempt to resist, sliding her buttocks along the grass until their shoulders and upper arms were pressing together.

  'You see,' she whispered. 'You have no need to tie me down.'

  'I have no need, certainly. But what of your need?'

  'I didn't think the needs of a slave were of any interest to her master,' Corinna countered.

  Pecon chuckled again. 'Perhaps not.' Slowly he bent his head, craning his neck until he was able to draw her already stiffening nipple between his lips. Instantly, Corinna felt her spine stiffen and the familiar bolt of heat surged through her loins.

  'Whatever my needs,' she sighed, 'I fear they must be wicked and that I am evil.' Her left hand crept across his right thigh, descending until it found his limp organ, fingers ensnaring it in a tender, encouraging grip. Her action was immediately rewarded, for the slack flesh began to respond from the first touch and soon she was holding a long thick pillar in her fist.

  'Slowly, princess,' he whispered, transferring his attentions to her other breast and leaning her slightly back, so that she had to use her free arm to take some of her weight. It was not a comfortable position for her and she quickly laid flat, all the while maintaining her hold on him, as diligently as his mouth maintained its hold on her.

  'Perhaps the bonds that hold me in slavery are within me,' she whispered, staring up into the cloudless sky, now turning from pale blue to silver. 'Perhaps my slavery is one from which I shall never escape, no matter where I go.'

  Pecon raised his head and looked down into her eyes. 'Maybe,' he said slowly, 'your slavery is your freedom.' He rolled sideways, lifting his left leg over her and Corinna obligingly parted her thighs. She could feel the steady drumbeat pulse beginning to build within her.

  'And maybe my freedom was a slavery of its own kind,' she said.

  'Then perhaps I should simply fuck you and have done with it?' Pecon suggested, but there was no harshness in his voice. Corinna smiled, stroking his thrusting pole with three fingers, whilst keeping its head firmly between the fourth finger and thumb.

  'Perhaps you should,' she agreed, 'but perhaps not this time.' She wriggled her hips, raising herself slightly to make it easier for him to enter her. 'This time, my master,' she said, 'I think you want to make love to a wanton slut of a princess, not simply fuck just another slave girl.'

  Chapter 4

  Dorothea stared down at her feet and at the hideously shaped boots that now enclosed them. For three days she had been forced to walk around the perimeter of the field the men called the training paddock, the heavy soles, to each of which was nailed an even heavier iron horseshoe, making the task difficult enough, even without the cruelly elevated position into which they forced her insteps.

  It was, the young trainer took great delight in telling her, necessary to raise a 'pony's' heels, in order to display her legs to the best shape and advantage, and similar reasoning was behind the fact that the wide girth belt was kept drawn so tightly about her waist that she could scarcely breathe.

  As an aristocratic lady of the courts, Dorothea was well accustomed to the heavily boned corsets decreed by upper class fashion, but this cruel leather contraption was designed to constrict even further. Worse still, as the swarthy handler seemed to delight in reminding her, eventually it would be cinched to smaller dimensions still.

  'Think yourself lucky you're not being trained for show or racing,' he growled, when she staggered to a halt, red in the face and gasping to draw air past the hideous bit that filled her mouth. 'They have waists that a man's hands can easily encompass and after a year or two they can't even stand upright without the support of their girths.

  'You're just going to be used as a working mare,' he continued, picking idly at his nose, 'so your measurements aren't that important to anyone, just so long as you're big enough and strong enough to pull a cart or wagon.'

  If she had been able to speak, Dorothea would have felt compelled to point out to him that she would be more likely to be able to haul a cart without the restrictions being imposed upon her, but she knew that would have been a waste of breath. Individual efficiency was not the overriding concern here; appearance was everything and these men were following a tradition that dated back into prehistory in their native countries.

  Dorothea had only ever read of such matters before, and such scrolls and books as she had seen that dealt with the subject seemed to her, at the time, to be somewhat fanciful and probably grossly over-exaggerated. But now, finding herself actually a part of it, she realised that, if anything, the accounts were understated.

  No stranger to the daily cruelty of routine slavery, there was something about this place and the men who ran it; an aura that was not evil, but worse, for they did not appear to do anything out of spite or viciousness. Every single thing had a purpose and the purpose was everything. The women and men they trained were simply a commodity, and whilst ordinary slavers regarded their human stock in much the same way, here it went even beyond that.

  Ordinary slaves were frequently kept gagged, either as a punishment in itself, as a means to deaden the cries that a whipping inevitably produced, or simply to prevent slaves from communicating with each other. But in between times, when instructed, they were expected to be able to speak, albeit in the approved formal fashion, and to communicate. These pony slaves, of which Dorothea was now one, were not only prevented from talking by their bits, it seemed their trainers expected that they would never be required to speak again.

  Everything they would do for their future owners would be learned as a four-legged horse or pony would learn, responding to whip and reins, to shouted single word commands, and expected to do nothing more than simply obey. Obey, or face the consequences that would befall any rebellious beast.

  What was even worse, this dehumanisation extended even to the way in which the handlers addressed their charges. They called them mares, fillies, ponies and, if they used any name at all, it was one they bestowed upon the unfortunate human equines, a name suitable for an animal, but usually not for a person.

  'We'll call you Gol,' her trainer announced when she was bitted, hoofed and bridled on the first morning of her schooling. 'It'll remind you of where you came from.'

  He threaded plain metal rings through the holes in Dorothea's nipples, adding tethers to extend her bridle rein down to them. 'That'll help you turn nice and sharp, Gol,' he laughed, slapping her sharply across her naked buttocks.

  'And tomorrow,' he said, 'we'll take you to the smithy and get the rest of your rings fitted. I'd do it today, but he's a bit busy. The last Vorsan company brought in a whole batch of new stock they took from some traders they met on the road through Karli. Some nice healthy black fillies among that lot, too. Should make good racers, the muscles they have in their legs!'

  They had remained in the camp for a further four days, before Pecon suddenly announced that they would be starting the final leg of their journey. During this time he took Corinna back to the riverbank each afternoon and there made love to her until the darkness came and it was time to return for an evening meal. Then, during the night, Pecon took Demila to his furs, leaving Corinna with Sprig, once more bound and hooded as a simple slave pair.

  On the final morning, Pecon patted Corinna's stomach and grinned.

  'Loving or fucking, princess or slave,' he said, 'if it's ever going to be filled, the deed must surely be already done, though I suspect your new masters will want to keep putt
ing you to young Sprig for a while yet.'

  'I expect so,' Corinna replied dully. She realised that she should have expected no more from Pecon, despite their daily trysts and the gentleness and consideration he had shown her. She was, after all, still an investment as far as he was concerned.

  'I would keep you, princess,' he said, 'but to do so would be dangerous, whatever you say. If Lundt really is your father, he will scarcely look kindly upon me for taking you so far away from your homeland, and to plead ignorance of my actions would avail me naught. Safer to take my profit now and be gone, though I will honour my promise and get word to your castle at Garassotta, when I am able.'

  'I think you have already taken your profit, sir,' Corinna retorted stiffly, 'but then I am helpless in the matter, so it is best left as it is.'

  The sight of so many Vorsan uniforms, as they rode and walked towards the first collection of buildings, astonished Corinna, but not so much as the sudden appearance of the one man she hated above all others in the world.

  At first she did not recognise Fulgrim, for his skull boasted only a short fuzz of hair that was now grey, and his features were far more etched than she last remembered them. But when he turned in his saddle to look curiously towards the latest arrivals there was no mistaking those evil eyes, and Corinna jerked her head away, forgetting that her slave hood would disguise her identity and that her dyed hair, the roots now almost black again, thanks to Demila, would further confuse anyone who knew her.

  The problem was, she thought, as Pecon tethered the three of them to a convenient rail and strode towards the group of dark-skinned men standing by the door of the largest cabin, simply changing her hair colour would not fool anyone who knew her for very long, and if Fulgrim saw her unhooded...

  Pecon stood deep in conversation with one of the men in front of the cabin and, from their gestures, Corinna guessed they were haggling over the details of the proposed sale. For a few minutes she began to entertain the hope that they would not come to an agreement and Pecon would take her on with him, but she knew in her heart this would not be so, and was not therefore too disappointed when she saw the two men shake hands.