by Faith Eden
'She can't run any faster, lady,' Ceth gasped, narrowly avoiding tripping over a projecting root himself. 'I'd carry her, but I wouldn't be able to move any faster than we are now. How much further is it, do you think?'
'Only a few minutes,' Jekka assured him. She came to a halt and held up one hand, indicating that they should do likewise. 'Take a few moments,' she said quietly. 'Get your breath and just listen. We should be well clear for the moment, but it pays to take nothing for granted.'
To Ceth's relief they reached the riverbank without further incident and he lifted the bound girl into the larger of the two boats, alongside Savatch, who quickly pushed her down into the bottom of it. A moment later Alanna appeared from among the bushes to their right, immediately followed by the Illeans who had joined her in forming the rearguard party.
'Right,' Jekka called out, 'everyone knows which boat they're supposed to be in, so let's get moving. The sooner we get under way, the less chance they'll have to organise any proper reception for us downstream. And keep those lanterns closed against the breeze - we need those flames to be steady when the time comes.'
As if in a dream, Ceth found himself sitting towards the stern of Savatch's boat, paddle in hand and dipping almost maniacally into the water as it headed out into the midstream. Savatch himself had made his way to the stern post and had grasped the tiller oar in both hands.
'The current will do most of the work, lad,' he cried, leaning forward to tap Ceth on the shoulder. 'Save your strength and have your bow at the ready. The other boat will head between us and the Vorsan shore, but they'll still be in range, so feel free if you think you can hit anyone.'
The second boat, slightly smaller and narrower, slid past them after a few minutes, the unmistakable figure of Jekka standing in the stern, crossbow raised to her shoulder in readiness. Behind her one soldier held the tiller steady, while in front the remaining men crouched in a line, each already holding one of the glass bottles that Jekka had prepared the previous evening. The two lanterns, Ceth knew, stood in the bottom of the boat, out of sight, but ready to provide the flames to ignite the oil-soaked rags that stuffed each bottleneck.
For several minutes they continued downstream, no more than a length between the two craft, and then Jekka turned and raised an arm.
'Steer wider, Master Savatch,' she cried. 'The Vorsan camp is just around the next bend. Wait until we run abreast of them and then get past us as quickly as you can.'
If the alarm had reached as far as this particular Vorsan encampment, it had prompted little reaction, Ceth thought. Either that, or they had not expected the fugitives to use the river as an escape route, for only a handful of troops appeared to be taking much notice of them. Jekka, however, seemed determined to raise as much havoc and cause as much confusion as possible.
As Savatch steered the larger boat out towards the far bank, the lead craft bore in towards the shore. Ceth saw Jekka aim and fire and the first Vorsan toppled headlong into the water, a look of sheer astonishment on his face as he made a flailing grab at the bolt which had pierced his skull just in front of his ear.
At almost the same instant three of the bottles went spiralling skywards, hanging at the top of their arcs momentarily, the small flames flickering around the oiled wicks. Then, almost as one, they plummeted down onto the bank.
It seemed to Ceth that there was a short pause after they struck, and then a wall of flame erupted, followed almost immediately by a curious whooshing noise. The flash was almost blinding and he turned away instinctively, but even at such a range he felt the blast of hot air. When he looked back the wall of flame had become a wall of smoke, thick black clouds billowing out into the river, completely obscuring the Vorsans and their camp.
Jekka was still not finished though, and three more of the flaming missiles went curving through the air, adding their brilliant orange flashes and even more smoke to the chaos. Meantime, not a single shot had been fired in retaliation and suddenly they were past the danger and picking up speed as the river narrowed slightly and the current grew stronger.
In the smaller boat Jekka was jubilant. She punched the air, threw back her head and howled in triumph, her voice rising to such a high pitch that Ceth felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Then, behind him he heard a deep chuckle and turned to see Savatch, leaning on the tiller oar, tears streaming down his cheeks. The older man shook his head, wiped his eyes with the back of one hand and let out a long deep breath.
'Amazing,' he said. 'Totally damned amazing. Give me a dozen more like her and I reckon I'd conquer the entire continent!' Further forward, Alanna turned and grinned back at him.
'A dozen Jekka's?' she cried. 'The gods spare us that. But fifty or so of those spirit bottles of hers and you'd rout an army, and that's for sure!'
Fulgrim studied the cowed figure for several seconds, before turning to Gorvan. The fat slave master seemed well pleased with himself.
'Well,' he demanded, 'does she not resemble the wench in the picture?'
Fulgrim frowned and rubbed his chin. 'There is a similarity,' he admitted, grudgingly, 'though it's hard to be sure with all that paint on her face, and the way the hair has been cut tends to give the features an entirely different aspect.'
'The hair can be covered with a fair wig,' Gorvan assured him, 'and the face stain will wear off in a few days or so. Luckily, Attak'u has not had his woman refresh it yet.'
Fulgrim took a couple of paces to his right, his eyes narrowing. 'Yes,' he said, 'I can see the resemblance now. You and your people have done well.' He fumbled into the pouch at his belt and drew out two gold coins, which he proffered to Gorvan. 'Give this to the fellow - what was his name, Attak'u? He has earned it. Once we have done something with the hair and given her suitable clothing, from a distance no one would guess that this wasn't the real Lady Corinna.'
'What do you mean, she isn't Corinna?' The rescue expedition had finally halted, Jekka's plan having worked to perfection. The change horses, however, were now also beginning to tire and, picking two of the soldiers to drop back with her to form a rearguard, Jekka had instructed the rest of the party to ride on for a few more minutes and then rest before changing back again.
Savatch, although he would never have admitted it, was relieved to be able to spend a few minutes recovering. His wound and subsequent convalescence had taken more out of him than he cared to admit, and the headlong gallop had drained much of what strength he had regained since. Alanna's announcement, therefore, came as a hammer blow. He stared past her to where the girl had dismounted, her bit now hanging loose since Alanna had unclipped it. She seemed dazed and confused, but then that, Savatch reasoned, was only to be expected.
'Are you sure?' he said stupidly.
Alanna nodded grimly. 'Perfectly. She says her name is Mahari and she comes originally from Tamarinia.'
'But Jekka was so sure!' Savatch cried. 'How could she have made such a mistake?'
'She didn't,' Alanna said gravely. 'Not originally, anyway. Mahari tells me there was another girl - the groom named her Flix - and this other girl was brought to the farm just a matter of days ago.
'The groom - the driver Jekka killed - was indeed training her in the very cart from which we took Mahari, and would have been driving her again today, except that she was suddenly taken way on the instructions of the big chief.'
'Fulgrim?'
'I don't think so. Not unless he's put on a great deal of weight very quickly. She described this man as being enormously fat and the boss of the farm itself.'
'Does she know why Corinna was taken away?'
'Not exactly, but she overheard part of the conversation. Apparently Mahari's stall was next to Corinna's and she was listening when the fat man arrived this morning. Something to do with her looking something like the woman in a portrait the Vulcan general had.'
'Oh no,' Savatch looked at Alanna, completely aghast. 'No, tell me it can't be what I'm thinking. Oh, please the gods, not that.'
Alanna lowered her eyes. 'There cannot be another explanation for it,' she said quietly. 'You yourself mentioned the likelihood of Fulgrim finding himself a look-alike to fool the garrison at Garassotta. None of us, however, considered the possibility that he might find himself a look-alike who looked that much alike.'
'Then we have to go back for her,' Savatch cried, his face bright red. 'Fulgrim is no fool and he's bound to realise something before long. We can't leave her completely at that maniac's mercy.'
Alanna stepped forward and placed her hand on Savatch's arm. 'The fact that we tried what we tried will surely arouse his suspicions anyway,' she said. 'If he hasn't realised the truth already, it won't take him long, as you say. But even if he doesn't realise he's got the real Corinna, our raid will have put them all on their guard now. Going back would be sheer suicide, and we both know it.'
'Then what's to be done?' Savatch's shoulders slumped and his red face rapidly began turning grey.
Alanna maintained her grip on his arm. 'Whatever is to be done, if anything can be done,' she replied, 'it cannot be done here. We must continue as we originally intended and find somewhere safe to hide for a few days, somewhere to collect our thoughts and consider the possibilities. After that, who can tell? The road from here to Garassotta is quite long and there will be many days and many nights.
'Meantime, even if Fulgrim does realise the truth, Corinna will come to no real harm, nothing more than she has endured so far, anyway. That Vorsan pig may be vicious and vindictive, but he wouldn't be stupid enough to risk losing one of his major cards, would he? He obviously wanted the real Corinna alive in the first place, so he's hardly likely to kill her now. After all,' she smiled, in an effort to lighten the mood, 'he won't find a better Corinna look-alike than the one he now has, will he?'
'You understand simple Illean, I'm sure.'
Corinna stared at Fulgrim, struggling to keep her face as blank as possible. 'Everybody knows Illean, master,' she replied, adopting the thick Karliean accent she remembered from the old nurse who had once been her constant childhood companion. 'I have spoken Illean since I was very small.'
'Where were you born?'
Corinna remained unblinking. 'I don't remember.' It was a fair enough answer for a slave girl.
Fulgrim glared at her, and then a faint smile stole across his features. 'So, you don't know.'
Corinna smiled back at him, certain she would be violently sick at any moment. 'No, master,' she said. 'Was a long time ago now, when I was very small.'
'I dare say you were,' Fulgrim said. 'So, what is your name?'
'Flix, master,' Corinna replied dutifully.
Fulgrim shook his head. 'No, I meant your real name, the name you were called before you came here.'
'Demila, master.' Corinna had to think fast. She had told Attak'u that her name was Rina, but that was too close to the truth and Fulgrim might well draw the obvious conclusion from that. As far as she knew, Sprig had no idea of her real name, for she had never told it to him, but if they asked him he would certainly remember that one of Pecon's girls had been called Demila. With luck, he would be uncertain enough to confirm that it was her.
'Well, Demila,' Fulgrim said carefully, 'you look more like a Corinna to me.'
'Master?' Corinna looked up at him innocently, eyes wide.
'Corinna,' he said, 'is - or was - a very important lady.' He suddenly produced a gilt-framed miniature and thrust it under her nose. Corinna blinked and looked down at it, wondering how he had ever managed to obtain the little portrait. To the best of her knowledge, only four pictures of her had ever been painted.
'That me!' she cried, affecting a mixture of surprise and delight. 'Who painted picture of me, master?'
'If that's you, then you're Corinna,' he said.
She shook her head. 'No, master, I am Demila - Flix,' she added brightly.
Fulgrim tucked the miniature back into his belt pouch and placed his hands behind his back. He turned, walked a few paces, turned again and walked back.
'According to Gorvan's records, such as they are,' he said, 'you were bought from a travelling adventurer about fifteen days ago.'
'Master Pecon, master, yes,' Corinna agreed eagerly. 'Very good master.'
'I doubt that,' Fulgrim growled. 'So, how long were you with this Pecon fellow?'
Corinna blinked and pretended to think. Eventually, she shook her head. 'Not sure, master,' she replied cautiously. 'Not long, but not short. Little while, I think.'
'And before that?'
How far could he check back?
'Cold country,' she said. 'Sorabund, very far in the north lands.'
'Well, little Demila, or Flix, or whatever,' Fulgrim said, 'either you really are as stupid as you sound, or else you're a good actress. Either way, it doesn't really matter, but I shall find the truth eventually.' he turned away, picked up the whip that lay coiled on the table and turned back to her, holding it up between them.
'This will get to the bottom of things,' he said. 'However, there is plenty of time and, as I say, it doesn't matter who you are, it's what you look like, and you look exactly right. The resemblance, even with your black and white face markings, is uncanny. So uncanny that it makes me think.
'And do you know what I think, little pony girl whore?'
'No, master, except maybe you want to fuck me. But then all masters do that.'
'Oh, I dare say I shall fuck you all right,' he leered. 'It would be a waste not to, especially as you look so fetching in your pony harness. But first I'll tell you what I think, shall I?
'I think that one coincidence - the fact that you look like someone who is important to a plan I have - one coincidence is fair enough. However, more than one coincidence... I'm not so certain.' He paused, examined the whip with exaggerated care and then looked at her again.
'Earlier today, the fellow who has been your trainer since you arrived here was killed. He was killed whilst driving one of your stable mates in the very same cart in which he has been driving you these past several days. The girl was abducted - a girl, I am told, who has been given markings almost identical to yours and with hair of the same colour.
'Now, given that this place is in the midst of a large military camp, this abduction was no opportunist affair. It was well planned and expertly executed, hardly the sort of operation to waste on a stupid slave girl who could probably be bought for a few krones.
'Reports tell of two women; one tall, almost white hair, an Yslander warrior woman, without a doubt. The other was similar in appearance, but with flame-red hair.
'Remind you of anyone, pony girl?' He uncoiled the whip, twisted it into a loop and suddenly snaked it around Corinna's right breast, pulling the braid tight again and snaring the soft mound at its base. Corinna was almost toppled off her towering boots and fell helplessly against him.
'For now,' he rasped, 'you can go on being a pony girl, if it amuses you. In fact, I have another pony you can work in harness with and the pair of you can pull me all the way to Garassotta.'
She could feel his hot breath against the shaven parts of her scalp, and was certain that he, in turn, must surely be able to feel her heart thundering against her ribs, even if he could not hear it.
'Princess or pony, it's all the same to me,' he sneered, stepping back and releasing his hold on her, though not before he had managed to stretch her breast painfully. 'It's a long road back to Garassotta,' he said.
'A long road to Garassotta, but after that there will be plenty more roads, too. And I think we both know what that means, don't we?' He turned to the Colrasian handler who had been standing quietly by the door all this time.
'Put her bit back in and get her harnessed up,' he ordered. 'And make sure from now on that everyone knows her name is Princess Flix.'
As the black fellow began to move, Fulgrim rounded on Corinna again.
'Princess Tits,' he chuckled. 'Very suitable. Very suitable indeed!'
-oOo-
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Bridle Lust
As the girth strap was finally unbuckled, Corinna realised the horizontal bar was almost certainly too short to spread her arms wide and that the cuffs, when closed, looked surely to be too large to prevent her hands slipping through them. It was then that she understood their true purpose, but it was not these that held her main attention, for there had been one other modification made to the saddle, and the oiled black dildo that rose from its centre seemed to be beckoning her like a sinister signpost. From both sides hung two more straps, thicker and longer than the upper pair, and she knew that once mounted on this seat, she would not be dismounting without assistance.
‘Leave her boots and the mittens on,’ Fulgrim instructed, as the bridle was lifted from Corinna’s head. ‘They make such a pleasant contrast to so much soft flesh, and I’m sure the people of Garassotta will find their lady warden so much more appealing dressed a little, rather than completely naked.’ He chuckled and turned to Corinna.
‘Have you ever ridden before, my dear?’ he asked, his voice purring with satisfaction at the expression of horror that froze on her face...
Once again a helpless prisoner of the sadistic Lord Fulgrim, Lady Corinna finds herself a naked pawn in his deadly plan to wrest control of Illeum from her father.
Fulgrim's hatred for her is such that, regardless of her rank, she is slowly and cruelly being forced into submission as one of the human pony girls so popular among the wealthy merchants and nobles of the eastern lands, and even if her father should eventually yield to Fulgrim's demands, her fate already seems sealed.
Only her beloved steward-master-lover, Lord Savatch, still recovering from a near fatal wound, fully realises the danger she is in and he, together with his former lover, the Yslandic warrior princess Alanna and her deadly young female cohort Jekka, must try to reach Corinna before Fulgrim's power becomes all encompassing.