Chosen of Mida

10 The blasphemer—and bound as a prize

There was some pain in movement, especially in walking, yet I had little choice save to follow the male. The leather knotted about my throat stretched to his hand, and in such a way was I taken through the corridors and chambers. The white-clad male before me did the bidding of Chaldrin, and it was his wish that the new slave see to a task.

I had lain upon the fur in the room of punishment no more than a short while before others entered to intrude upon the solitude. The first to be brought was the female who had falsely accused the male slave, she who was tall and thin and sharp-voiced. The male who brought her tied her wrists to the leather suspended from the ceiling, pulled upon the leather to raise her from the floor and then tied it off, then proceeded to beat her with one of the whips from the wall. It was not the whip Chaldrin had used and despite her efforts to remain silent, the female had soon fallen to screaming wildly and twisting about in the air. The male beat her till his arm grew tired, then did he leave her hanging in the leather, replace the whip, and bring himself over to me. His use was not as lengthy as Chaldrin’s had been, nor was it filled with pleasure for the slave beneath him. The male found a good deal of pleasure, and chuckled softly as he replaced his body cloth. That I lay curled in pain was of no moment to him; punishment had been decreed for me, and it pleased him to assist with it.

The next to be brought to the chamber, some reckid later, was the second female who had accused the male slave, she who had remained kneeling by the wall. She stopped in upset before the first where she hung in the leather, and the first stirred in pain.

“Later we must comfort each other, sister,” whispered the first, looking down upon the second. “Though they give us pain, they cannot deny us the comfort we find together.”

“Not again,” said the second with a head shake stepping back from the first. “We have earned the pain, and have not earned the comfort. What we did together was no more than our right; the false accusation we swore to was not within our rights. Had we not been ashamed of what we did, we would not have sought to hide it with lies.”

“You know not what you say!” protested the first, pain crossing her face when she attempted movement. “They would not have allowed us to be together if they had known! It was necessary that we lie!”

“Then why are we to be punished for the lying rather than for having been together?” demanded the second, looking up at the first with fists clenched. “It is clear to me that you, yourself, consider the act wrong, and for that reason I will have naught further to do with you. With so few things allowed to me in this place, I will not waste opportunities with one who feels shame for that which she does.”

The first female, again taken by tears, attempted to plead with the second, yet was the second allowed no further time to talk. The male who had brought the first took her roughly by the arm to the wooden form, yet her punishment, filled with weeping though it was, was not witnessed by me. He who had brought the second female concerned himself with punishing another slave, one who had been left chained by the neck for his use. Suffice it to say that the time was not pleasant, though the male attempted to make it so. There had been too many that fey, and the kiss of the whip as well, and I knew not how much more I could bear.

More than a hin passed before another came, and though I knew the effort useless and foolish, I fought him when he came to me. Rather than growing angry the male was delighted, and was deep in his pleasure when Chaldrin returned. The brawny male stood silently watching as the other pummeled me, a faint frown touching his brow, even his bruised eye seeing clearly the pain and fury I would not voice. When the one who had me finally spent his desire and rose to his feet, Chaldrin stepped nearer and crouched down beside me.

“One of the wenches brought within with you has told me that five men brought you to the Caverns,” said he, smoothing the sweat-dampened hair back from my face. “She also believes that those men used you before leaving you chained, this despite the lack of tears she, herself, would have shown. Is this so?”

I lay flat upon the now badly used fur, seeking to gather enough strength to sit, nearly ill from pain and the odor of spendings, and the confinement of the collar. At mention of those who had brought me, my lips moved back from my teeth and a growl escaped my throat; were all of these males not the death of me, I would surely be the death of them.

“Not the answer I had envisioned, yet an answer leaving no doubt,” muttered the male, faint anger touching him. He straightened and walked to the male who had last used me, spoke quietly for a moment, then watched the male hurry from the chamber even as he replaced his body cloth. With the other male gone, Chaldrin returned to crouch beside me in silence.

Perhaps four hands of reckid passed before the male returned with three slave females, yet in that brief time four other males had been turned away by Chaldrin. I had not known that the punishment was at an end till Chaldrin had spoken of it to the first who came, a thing which surprised me. The slave had been used too far, he said, and should we continue, we may well lose her. The male acquiesced with disappointment, as did the second and fourth yet the third seemed disposed toward disputing the decision till Chaldrin rose from his crouch to face him. Truly did it seem that the male would have fought on my behalf, yet memory returned the knowledge that he wished me for another purpose. A prize which was unusable was no prize at all, and this I knew as well as did the male.

The three slave females came to me at Chaldrin’s command, and despite the fact that I would sooner have been left to my own devices, a great deal of the pain was quickly and quietly taken from me. Naught was done for the beating I had been given, yet the use of males was washed and salved from me, chalky water was given me to drink, and a good wooden comb was produced to see briefly to my hair. When I was able to sit and move about, green leaves were handed me which made me laugh without mirth. Leaves of the dabla bush were they, used by war leaders of the Midanna to keep them childless. That the same was given to these slave females of the Caverns was something of an affront, yet there was no denying the necessity. Was one to bring a daughter into a world such as that, where her sire had not been carefully chosen? Though I had no need of them I took the leaves to chew, again dedicating my battle prowess, life, and soul to the service of Mida as I had done among the Midanna. The dedication heartened me in the midst of my enemies, so much so that I struggled only a short time when Chaldrin freed me of the collar, only to tie a pale red cloth about my hips of the sort worn by the slave females. Had the red been Silla red I would have spent my life sooner than wear it, yet the shade was nearer to that worn by the Happa, sister Midanna who now followed my leadership. There was little reason to waste my strength upon the point, yet Chaldrin had grown annoyed at my initial resistance, therefore was a length of leather tied about my throat. The male who had brought the slave females had been given his instructions, and I was quickly led from the chamber.

The caverns and corridors spread all about, many torches to be found upon the walls, the same strange, elusive odor penetrating chamber and corridor alike. The cloth knotted about my hips felt strange to move about in, yet the thought soon fled from my mind when we reached the area of lined metal. A long corridor had brought us to a circular hall, the entrance we had used and two others being the only ones without lines of metal closing them off. Beyond the various barred entranceways there were males to be seen, unclad males of good size who either grappled with others like them, stretched their muscles alone, or swung odd-looking swords about, again either alone or with other. White-clad males stood about both beyond the metal and within the hall, and I was allowed no time to halt and look more completely about. The male who held the leather hurried me toward one of the two remaining unbarred entrances, leaving the hall behind us.

The corridor we then entered led past metal enclosed areas to both sides, small areas separated one from the other by thick sections of stone wall. Within each cell was naught save a thin fur and heavy shackles let into the walls, a single torch lighting each space. The corridor stretched on a goodly distance, yet naught living was to be seen within the cells till we came to the one, to the left, which was our destination. There, lying facedown upon his thin, torn fur, chained by the neck and wrist-shackled, was a large, unclad male, his back beneath his light hair well touched by a lash. The small streams of blood running from the deep welts brought such strong memory to me that the leather was gone from my throat and the cell door opened before I knew aught was occurring. The white-clad male pushed me within by one arm, then reclosed the door and shot the bolt before I was able to even consider protest.

“Chaldrin orders you to tend that one, slave,” said the male, assuring himself that the door would not open again by pulling upon it. “Wash his wounds and salve them, and then feed him as much as he is able to take. And mind you! Do not eat his food yourself, nor fail to tend him properly, else will you be punished again, and this time more harshly! Chaldrin has great hopes for that one in the trials, and will not look kindly upon you if his hopes are dashed through your negligence!”

With a final glare the male took himself off, leaving me to look about the small area. On the floor, to the left of the door and within the lines of metal, were two piles of objects I had not seen sooner. One was a wide board with three wooden bowls and the other was a wide clay basin filled with water which rested upon a pile of cloths, with a smaller clay pot standing beside them. I looked upon these items for a moment, curious as to what gave the male Chaldrin reason to believe I would obey him. That he wished use of some sort from the whipped male was clear; less clear was the reason I had been chosen to tend him. Were Chaldrin foolish enough to believe I feared his punishments, he would soon learn better; Jalav was no slave, to be sent about and commanded to his bidding.

And then I looked again upon the whipped male, recalling the agony of the lash, the fire of the soul brought by its touch. Naught save pain had I had from these males about me, yet the one who lay awash in his own blood had had the same. It was scarcely likely that I would have other at his hands than I had had from those about me, and yet—the lash—

It was foolish to continue insisting to myself that I would not aid him. Had it been anything other than the lash, I would have turned my back and allowed him to find his own way through the darkness; as it was indeed the lash, I took the basin and cloth and salve and knelt upon the edge of the old, thinning fur beside him. The shadow of pain continued to plague me with movement, yet was movement necessary to wash away the dried blood and halt the bleeding where it had not yet stopped. I had thought the male gone to that nether realm awaiting one whose pain grows too great, yet the first touch of a dampened cloth to his broad back drew a muted moan, one quickly swallowed and not repeated. Thereafter I used greater care, and refused to allow the trembling to touch me.

The water in the basin had long since turned deep red before the task was done. Applying the salve was more difficult than removing the blood, for each welt and cut had need of a coating, yet the male made no protest, nor did his flesh do more than twinge. When the coating was complete and I took a cloth to wipe my hands upon, a deep sigh came from the male, and he turned his face toward me for the first time. Eyes as dark as mine regarded me carefully, and a faint smile touched his lips.

“It is more than a pleasure to see you again, wench, yet I had not expected our second meeting to be here,” he said, his voice heavy with effort. “For what crime could you possibly have been condemned?”

I gazed upon the male with some surprise, for I now saw him to be the black-clad male of the hall of slaves, he who had taken a kiss from me before I was placed in the alcove where Mehrayn had found me. His words made little sense, and I shook my head.

“I do not know the meaning of ‘crime,’” said I, throwing the cloth from me. “I am here for a reason I do not clearly understand, yet do I understand full well whom I must thank for the doing. When I have escaped, my thanks will be given with a sword.”

“Ah, yes, you are a captive rather than a slave,” said he, his faint smile strengthening. “The last I heard, Mehrayn had claimed you from an alcove and carried you off to his house. As he has never before claimed a wench, from an alcove or otherwise, I had hoped he had finally found one to his taste. Did you attempt escape, and thereby earn condemnation? I cannot imagine Mehrayn allowing such a charge to be placed against one such as you, yet times have turned strange with unexpected events.”

“There was no need to attempt escape, for Mehrayn himself saw me off,” said I, wondering at the odd expression which had taken him. “The male understood that I could not await the return of Aysayn under his roof during his absence, therefore did he arrange my temporary withdrawal to the forests. I would then have ....”

“Hold, wench, hold,” interrupted the male, attempting to move about upon the well-used fur. A clank of chain accompanied a quickly swallowed groan, those being the only fruits of the male’s efforts. The lash drains the strength from one, as the male had learned, and he lay with eyes closed and breathing heavy as he strove to push the flaring agony back to where he was able to bear it. I rose clumsily to my feet and fetched the pot filled with water, then knelt again and awaited his return from the land of blazing red. When his eyes opened again I offered the water, then aided him in drinking some small bit of it. Once I had withdrawn the pot, he rested his cheek upon the fur, and looked at me with weary determination.

“So much for freedom of movement,” said he, a sort of anger belying his attempt at lightness. “I had not thought a lashing would constrain me to a greater degree than chains, yet I have never before been lashed—nor chained. For what reason were you awaiting—Aysayn, and where has Mehrayn gone?”

“Mehrayn has gone to do battle in the south,” I replied. “He has learned that this city’s enemies plan an attack, and has gone to see to them before they are able to accomplish mischief. As to my reasons for wishing to see Aysayn, Mehrayn is aware of them and will speak to the male himself upon his return if I have not succeeded in freeing myself.”

“There is much here I do not understand,” muttered the male, nearly to himself. “Mehrayn returns sooner than he was expected, then leaves again almost immediately. You wish to speak with the Shadow, and end condemned to the Caverns. And I—I am told the Shadow has returned to his residence when such a thing is patently impossible.”

“For what reason is it impossible?” I asked, only then recalling the announced contention for the male having been brought to those precincts.

“It is impossible for the reason that I am Aysayn,” said he, moving very slowly to pull one manacled arm beneath his chest and then raise himself to lean upon it. “As I am Sigurr’s Shadow and not yet returned to my residence, how may I be already there?”

“An interesting question,” said I, regarding the male with no expression. “How is it you went unrecognized when you attempted to return?”

“The thought has been plaguing me,” said he with a short breath of vexation. “The guards before my apartments were new to their post—which should not have been. When Ladayna appeared and denied my identity, I thought the wench angered with me again and merely set upon spitefulness which would slightly disaccommodate me. When I promised her punishment for such childish behavior, the guardsmen fell upon me and brought me here. ”

“And none other know the face behind the Golden Mask,” I mused, of a sudden feeling great suspicion.

“Sigurr’s Sword knows well the face behind the Golden Mask,” began the male who called himself Aysayn, and then his broad face opened with revelation and anger. “Indeed does Mehrayn know the face of Aysayn, and Mehrayn is no longer within the city, sent off once again while I lie festering in these Caverns! By Sigurr’s thundering blade I have been snared as though I were the most innocent of children!”

“So it seems,” I said, paying no heed to his anger. “And by what other name does Sigurr’s Sword know you?”

The male’s flashing gaze snapped to me and then a bark of laughter escaped him. “The other name he knows me by is Varsan,” said he, “and you are a canny wench indeed for having asked. I, too, have great interest in a name, and that is the name of the man who set this trap!” Again his dark eyes flared, and he looked upon me with metal in his gaze. “And now, wench, I will hear the reason you sought to speak with me.”

“To speak of the thing now is idle, yet it is, after all, the reason for my having come here.” I shrugged, then regretted the shrug. The whip is not the lash, yet is it scarcely a thing to be overlooked. I spoke to the male Aysayn of my charge from Sigurr, of my finding Mehrayn and the others in Bellinard, of our journey to the city of the Sigurri, and of my meeting with the female Ladayna—which I still understood only imperfectly.

“The female insisted that if I were to meet with you, I would be taken as slave by you,” said I, looking upon the pensive cast Aysayn now wore. “I gave the thought the small consideration it merited, then naturally refused to agree. As I attempted to leave the area, I was taken captive.”

“For a reason which is now quite clear,” said the male. “Had you remained about and attempted to speak to the Aysayn who appeared, the supposed Shadow would have faced great dilemma. To invoke our host in the name of Sigurr, the Shadow must perform solemn and dangerous ritual, a good deal of which only I and the consecrated judges of the temple are familiar with. To refuse to invoke the host would bring Sigurr’s wrath down upon his head, not to speak of the wrath of the Princes of the Blood. It is certain that you were taken the second time for the selfsame reason; Mehrayn had freed you, and you would soon be about and under foot again.”

The male sighed, shifted his position slightly yet carefully, then closed his fists upon the linked metal which stretched between his wrists.

“As I gather it,” said he, “the chain of events went as follows: when I first spoke to Ladayna of my intention to soon go off and commune with Sigurr, he who stands in the darkness began to put his plan into effect. Mehrayn, the one man in the city who not only knows me well but who also has the power to demand an accounting of me, is sent off on the pretext of his examining an enemy city. His return is not expected for some time, therefore does the delay in my departure fail to distress the unknown foe. He has only to wait till the unexpected demand upon the Shadow’s time is done with, and then the Shadow will take himself off.”

The male paused to reach painfully to the pot of water, raised it in a shaking hand, then drained it quickly.

“Perhaps he even sent traitors about, searching for me in the woods and upon the mountain,” he then growled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he allowed the pot to drop from his fingers. “Should that be so, I find great joy in the thought of his deep frustration. Sigurr’s Shadow did indeed go to commune with Sigurr—and where more clearly does one find Sigurr than among the great god’s people? To move about as a simple warrior allows me to gauge the benefits and deficiencies of the policies I have instituted in Sigurr’s name—and also allows me to joy in life a short while without the burdens I otherwise carry so gladly.

“In any event,” he continued with a short though deep breath, “the Shadow has disappeared and cannot be found. The foe must cool his impatience and bide his time till the Shadow’s return, and then disaster strikes! Sigurr’s Sword returns considerably sooner than his originally announced intention, and a strange female arrives, demanding to speak with the Shadow! Ladayna attempts to send the female away, and when that proves impossible, has her enslaved. The wench should then be permanently out of the way, yet is it Mehrayn who takes her from the alcove to his house, a place she cannot be retrieved from. It becomes necessary to await Mehrayn’s next departure, which has hastily been arranged for, and therefore is the foe prepared to recapture her when she attempts to depart. The Shadow makes an appearance at last, is neatly snagged by guardsmen who think him a deranged blasphemer, and he and the strange female are sent at last upon the journey of no return—with not a single drop of their blood having been spilled. Should Sigurr seek vengeance against those who ultimately take the lives of his Shadow and his messenger, the foe will not stand among them.”

“Should the vengeance be mine rather than Sigurr’s, the foe will stand among them,” I assured the male. “Do you think yourself able to survive in these trials spoken of till Mehrayn’s return? I do not yet know what they entail.”

“I am all too well aware of what they entail,” said the male, his voice again filled with anger. “The trials have been a tradition among us for untold numbers of kalod, and though the practice offended me I made no attempt to end it and put another in its place. I now reap the fruits of my reluctance to tamper with tradition.”

The male’s self-anger attempted to grow stronger, yet did he throw off the useless emotion with a small shake of his head, and again met my eyes.

“Among other displays of prowess, the trials are held each and every fey, with victor trials held each fifth fey,” said he. “Upon the first fey fight the newest and most inexperienced men, upon the second fey the next most able and so on, through the fourth fey and the best. Upon the fifth fey stand the victors of the previous four feyd, the lowest facing the next highest victor, the victor of that match facing the next highest, and so on. This is done till but one victor stands for each of five sets of five feyd and then, two feyd later, the five must contend among themselves for the ultimate winner. Twice each kalod the ultimate winners contend, and once each kalod the two winners of those contests face one another. As there is no release from the Caverns of the Doomed, each man, no matter his position or skill, fights to the best of his ability, for there is naught further for him to lose save his life, which he finds most precious even in this place.”

“The male Chaldrin spoke of training,” said I, considering his words to that point. “For what reason must these males be trained? Are they not capable of wielding a sword in these trials?”

“For the most part, these males are not warriors,” said he with something of a smile. “A warrior will most often be given the opportunity of fighting to the death rather than being condemned to the Caverns. And the trials consist of more than simple swordplay. In the elimination trials, three contestants are sent forth unarmed into the deep cavern where only two sets of arms await. They contend unarmed for the weapons, the first of which are daggers. Should there be two survivors once the daggers have been reached, the next weapon they attempt to keep each other from is swords. Beyond the swords are crescent spears, and he who obtains one first is usually the victor.”

“Crescent spears,” said I, recalling the look of the strange spears the attackers had used upon Mehrayn’s male Hesain and myself. Taller than the large males would the spears have stood from the ground, one end of the thick, dark, wooden shaft knobbed, the other surmounted by slim, sharp, slightly curved metal joined to the shaft by a flat, wide circle of metal. The males had swung the weapons in double circles, the sharp blades flashing in to slash with a passing stroke, the knobbed end blocking sword thrusts and riposting with solid blows. “I would enjoy learning the full use of these crescent spears of yours,” said I.

“Such an eventuality is scarcely likely, here,” said Aysayn with a grimace. “Here, one learns weapons for survival, not sport. And to reply to an earlier question you put, only Sigurr knows the length of time I shall survive once I enter the trials. I count myself an able warrior, yet one accidental misstep may end all. And it is not the time of Mehrayn’s return with which we must concern ourselves. How is Sigurr’s Sword to know where we have been sent—or that we are any place other than where we are supposed to be? And what if he speaks with the foe behind the Golden Mask and tells of your mission from Sigurr? Will he not merely join us here, to stand his turn in the trials? Or perhaps, as he is fully known to our warriors, might he not be struck down without warning? The foe is ruthless, and he will not cavil at Mehrayn’s death.”

“You undoubtedly speak the truth,” said I, shifting where I knelt upon his fur to the urging of a growing anger. “Mehrayn will likely lose his life to this foe of yours, knowing naught of the reason for his having been done so. Mida take me for not having spilled her blood when she first stood before me!”

“She?” frowned Aysayn, looking upon me with a great lack of understanding. “What she do you speak of? The foe behind the Golden Mask cannot be female!”

“Yet Ladayna is female, and Ladayna is without doubt the primary foe,” I retorted gesturing an angry dismissal of his foolishness. “Was it not Ladayna who suggested Mehrayn’s visit to Bellinard? Was it not Ladayna who was told of your intention to commune with Sigurr? Was it not Ladayna who had me declared slave without hesitation, who stood able to order new guards to the place before your chambers, who swore she knew you not? Was it not she before whom I was taken when I was recaptured by her males? What does it matter upon whom she has put the Golden Mask? It is her will alone which directs it! ”

“Sigurr take me for the fool that I am,” breathed the male, enlightenment reaching him at last. “Ladayna was ever the sulking, petulant, badly raised child of an indulgent father, yet did I believe her slowly maturing to true adult outlooks beneath the firm hand I saw to her with. Rather than maturing, she was indulging in plots which would allow full rein to her willfulness! Should I ever find my way from these caverns, she will rue the fey she first conceived of them!”

Aysayn now shared the anger I felt, yet did his anger seem to stem from a source other than mine. He shifted about carefully in his fury, enraged even more that he might not move with accustomed freedom, then became aware of the look I sent toward him.

“You think me more than a fool for having loved her,” said he, a great deal of bitterness in his voice and eyes. “To love an overindulged child who has the form of a woman is the act of a king of fools, yet did I believe I might teach her to love me in return. You are not a man, and therefore know naught of the feelings of a man, wench. Perhaps I indulged her also, more than I intended, yet I now pay for my folly—with more than an aching back.”

“The price of her willfulness has been taken from others in addition to you, male,” said I, rising to my feet to ease the stiffness brought about by kneeling. “There are those who await me in another place, those who may wait in vain should I fail to escape this place. The male Hesain has given his life, and Mehrayn may well do the same. Rather than cast about for one to blame, you would be wiser to cast about for an avenue of escape—as I shall be doing.”

“It is said that there is no escape from these caverns,” said he, the difficulty he found in looking up at me without pain taking his mind from the bitterness. “I will not see a wench risk the penalties of recapture under conditions such as these. Once the soreness is gone from me, it is I who will find release from this place—for both of us. Till then, you need only obey what commands are given you to continue in safety. I have no wish to be held accountable by Sigurr for the lack of well-being of his messenger.”

“Your dark god cares naught for what befalls this message bearer, now that his word has been brought,” said I, looking down upon the male with as little expression as was possible. “Should I fail to find my own escape, there will be no other to aid me. When you have healed, you may do as you wish, male; I shall seek release from capture long before then.”

“Such a seeking will have you find no more than punishment, slave,” came another voice, interrupting the words Aysayn would have spoken. I turned to see the arrival of Chaldrin, who was accompanied by two other white-clad males. Chaldrin’s first words had been for me, yet as soon as he stood directly before the lines of metal, his gaze went to where Aysayn lay.

“I trust you now understand who is in command and who must obey in these precincts, nestling,” said he to Aysayn, looking upon the male much as he had looked upon me. “Should my eye for trial-flesh not be failing me, you will surely stand for many encounters upon the glowing sands. I will begin your training as soon as you are able to move without pain, and will have you in the trials as soon thereafter as I deem you fit for them. You will not be lashed again, save that you forget your place a second time.”

“Forget my place,” growled Aysayn, anger hardening the dark of his eyes. It was clear he wished to raise himself from the fur and meet the eye of the other as an equal, yet the lash would not permit him such dignity. He lay belly down in the fur, his wide fists clenched against the manacles upon his wrists, his light, pain-dampened hair reaching for his eyes. “I am all too well aware of my place in these precincts,” said he, attempting to sound as though he stood with head high. “And if I should refuse to train for and enter your trials? What then of the place you think to put me in?”

“It will merely be changed to the place of a slavey,” shrugged the brawny male, folding his massive arms across his chest. “With the large number of trial fighters ever to be found here, we require nearly as large a number of slaveys to see to their needs. Should you wish to serve, held in the chains you now wear, so be it. Should you wish to be denied all save the sight of slave wenches, so be it. A victor in the trials is given a slave female for the entire darkness after the fey of his victory. A victor of the fives might confidently look forward to the use of this slave who now stands before you. Can you not feel the pull of her, even through the pain of the lash? Will you find yourself able to look upon her as a slavey, knowing yourself forever forbidden to touch her?”

The voice of Chaldrin had grown persuasive, and I turned in the silence to find Aysayn’s eyes upon me, his determination to give Chaldrin no satisfaction wavering. Without thought, my body straightened and my chin rose higher in anger, and a sudden spark showed in Aysayn’s eyes before he returned his gaze to Chaldrin.

“You seem to be well aware of the price a man will pay for certain objects of value,” said Sigurr’s Shadow, his tone having lost much of its previous stiffness and anger. “I will consider your offer during the time I rid myself of your gift of immobility. Once that has been accomplished, I will require a loincloth and the services of this slave.”

“You may have neither,” replied Chaldrin, nodding to one of his males, who began to open the bolt which held the cell door shut. “Neither nestling nor fighter is permitted to cover his body, therefore will you remain as you are. The services of this slave are required elsewhere, therefore will you be attended by a slavey, learning of his duties so that you may be aided in your decision. At no time will you be given a slave female for your own—save that you win her for a darkness.”

A measure of anger returned to Aysayn, yet he made no comment as the white-clad male entered the cell, walked beyond me to the bowls of provender and looked into them, then shook his head toward Chaldrin. At Chaldrin’s nod he returned to wrap his hand about my arm and pull me from the cell, and Chaldrin again looked upon Aysayn.

“You will be wise to eat as soon as you are able,” said he to Aysayn, glancing at the male who reshot the bolt upon the cell door. “The preparations for the trials take nearly as much strength from a man as the trials themselves, which may be replaced only with food and rest. A slavey, too, requires his strength, the better to serve those who fight. Consider well, nestling.”

With such words did Chaldrin himself take my arm, and then was I pulled from the area of Aysayn’s cell. No words were spoken as we traversed the corridor between cells, yet when we entered the chamber area of barred doors, Chaldrin halted and looked down upon me.

“So, you continue to think of escape, eh, wench?” said he, amusement rather than anger touching him. “Has it not yet occurred to you that as impossible as escape is for all, it is yet more possible for any other above you?”

“You speak foolishness, male,” I scoffed, dismissing the near-painful strength of his hand about my arm. “I much doubt that there is one among your set of slaves who is my equal, not to speak of my superior. How, then, might they escape more easily than I?”

“Woman, the reason is the very truth you spoke!” He laughed, joined by the others of his males. “There is indeed none here to equal you, therefore will you be watched and guarded like no other. Neither my men nor the fighters will countenance the idea of losing your use, therefore will you be given no opportunity for escape. And I! I too, will not lose the use of you, though my use will not be as theirs! With you, I will surely have the means to save the best, rather than lose them to the final despair of the sands! When a man fights too often for his life, knowing there is naught before him save further battle for that very life, too often he will grow morose and begin brooding. From the brooding comes despair, and then the man finds that he has no further interest in victories, no matter that his life hinges upon them. With you, I will find it possible to offer interest as well as life, and bring many through the dark time back into the light. No, my girl, you will not find escape an avenue open to you, no matter your own beliefs on the subject.”

He then turned and pulled me toward the last of the unbarred entranceways, an empty corridor running for some distance behind it. Beyond the corridor was a farther chamber of barred doorways, with a greater number of white-clad males standing at what seemed guardposts. Chaldrin took me to the first barred door upon the left, waited as the lines of metal were drawn back from the opening, then hurried me within.

The area was a good deal larger than it had seemed from without, containing perhaps ten hands of males, all bare of covering. Some had been in the midst of bare-handed strength play, some with dagger-sized carvings of wood, others with wooden sword or spear shapes. Nearly a third of the males sat or lay about the large, well-lit yet nearly bare chamber, seemingly lost in their own thoughts, and Chaldrin paused near the entrance till even these had looked up and seen him. When a silence had fallen and then been replaced by growing murmurs of surprise, the burly male took me to the left of where we had stood, to an area where a large, male-shaped stuffing of cloth hung suspended from the ceiling by a length of leather tied off at the wall behind it. The white-clad males accompanying Chaldrin quickly removed the cloth stuffing from the leather, and then was I pushed forward and my wrists as quickly entangled in the leather. A single pull raised me to my toes with my arms high above my head, and Chaldrin turned to the males of the chamber as the leather holding me was tied off.

“I was not pleased when I entered this exercise area,” said he into the silence which had resumed. “Those of you with swords and spears stood and moved as though gut-stabbed; you who practiced with daggers seemed about to drop them, and those half dozen engaged in hand-to-hand would have fallen to a single twist administered by a tiny girl child. I had thought I entered the exercise area of victors; perhaps I mistook my direction and now stand before nestlings instead.”

A low mutter began as Chaldrin looked about himself, yet the mutter receded before the gaze of the male, and none spoke aloud in insult at his words. I pulled at the leather which held me so easily in place, and Chaldrin turned to regard me where I hung suspended on my toes.

“Had I truly found myself before victors,” said he, “I would have shown them the newest slave female sent to our domain. The wench attempted escape and was punished for it, yet does she continue to contemplate the possibility. Perhaps she is filled with a truly great fear, for she has been told that her use will be given to victors of the fives. Perhaps her fear is well-founded, for it is said among slave wenches that to be taken by a victor—of even a lesser encounter—is to be conquered to the soul. ”

A wide sprinkling of laughter rippled through the listening males, increasing when I again fought the leather. To say that I feared any male was to offer deadly insult, yet Chaldrin cared not. He merely moved closer to where I hung, and took my face in his hand.

“Is there none among you who would fight to have this wench?” he demanded, again looking about at the males. “Do you all find solitary comfort, or joy in no more than the screams of slaveys? Look at her!” Hands groped at my left hip, and in a moment the pale red cloth had been untied and allowed to fall about my feet.

“Merely gaze upon her!” said Chaldrin, releasing my face so that his hands might move together down my body. “The wench cries out for taming by a victor! Which of you will fight for her use in the victor trials?”

“I!” shouted many voices together, the large group moving slowly yet surely closer. “She will be mine!”

“No, mine!”

“It is I who will claim her!” said many voices at once, and Chaldrin held his hand up. When silence returned at last, he nodded toward the eager, hungry horde.

“Spoken like victors to be,” said he. “It now requires no more than your survival to see the matter so. Is your use of the practice area done for the fey?”

Again something of a silence came, yet one which lasted a very short time indeed. By twos and threes the males turned away to resume their play fighting, till none were left about me save the two white-clad males and Chaldrin. The latter nodded very slightly to his two males, then turned away and began to move among the uncovered males. As soon as he no longer looked upon me, the male to my left approached with a length of dark cloth and, to my deep surprise, wound it about my eyes. For a time had sight been denied me, yet I needed it not to see that the gesture boded no good.

The reckid passing were few indeed before the truth of my thoughts was proven. I had not heard the white-clad males leave their places to either side of me, yet suddenly there was the heavy breathing of more than one male to my left, and a hand came to the back of my thigh to stroke it. I attempted to move away from the sting of the touch, yet the hand followed without pause.

“Your attack was lacking in the necessary speed, man,” came a low, short-winded voice which somehow seemed to belong to the hand. “Your blood will blot out the Shining Sand, and you will never taste the sweetness of this slave.”

“I rarely waste my speed in practice,” came the equally low, short-winded reply from a point slightly before me. “I use my speed only upon the Sands—and never in a place such as this.”

My low gasp set both the males to chuckling, for the second had touched my thighs in front. I stood poised between the two unseen males, touched by both, able to escape neither. To kick out blindly was to find naught save the air reached, and also caused a greater amusement between the males. They and their touches remained only a short time before they presumably returned to that which they had been about, yet they were not the last who came. Others brushed past and lingered, all discussing the needs of the trials, all seeking a knowledge of Jalav through touch. Two went so far as to bring their mock battle to me, grunting and grappling briskly to my right and then, without warning, before and behind me. Around me did they attempt to reach one another, yet not as seriously as they attempted to reach me. Pinned between their sweating bodies, their hands and desires touching all about, I was unable even to struggle to any degree. These two proved to be the last, however, for a hand of reckid after they had left me hands replaced the cloth about my waist as other hands removed the cloth from my eyes; Chaldrin himself stood and awaited the lowering of the leather and the release of my wrists, and when it was done he again took my arm and pulled me from the area.

I knew not how many practice areas we visited in just such a manner, nor the number of hind passed in the doing. I knew only the growing pain in my body and the weakness of my limbs, the emptiness in my middle and the despair in my heart. I had attempted to disbelieve the words of Chaldrin concerning my escaping that place, yet the pleasure he showed when his males looked upon me with interest was undeniable. I would not be allowed even limited freedom in that place: my lot would be to give service to males as long as I was able. I hung in the leather of the latest of the practice areas, my sight closed away behind darkening cloth attempting to deny the urgings of despair, yet the truth it spoke could not be gainsaid. My task had been to carry Sigurr’s word to his Sigurri, and this I had done. The standing task of any warrior to escape capture had been shown to be impossible. Was I, a war leader of Hosta, war leader to all Midanna to meekly serve my enemies in whatever manner they wished? Had I not thought with pleasure of the end to all service, to Midanna and males and the gods alike? Perhaps the end to all service was not as far as I had thought, and these males were destined to aid in the attaining of it. It would be more easily done than escape and perhaps more pleasant, for the absence of my life sign would put me beyond even the reach of the gods. A part of me still denied such an action as despicable surrender, yet the rest of me was too filled with pain and weariness to agree. “Chaldrin, I think you had best see to the slave,” came a soft voice from my right. “She has not fought the leather nor the touching in too long a time, and seems more lifeless than listless. What ails her?”

With the sound of footsteps came a groping at the cloth about my eyes, and then did the cloth fall away to reveal Chaldrin peering at me with a frown. I blinked away the immediate brightness of the torches, and paid the male no mind.

“What ails you, slave?” asked he, taking my face in his hand and raising it toward his own. “The fire has gone from those dark eyes of yours, and pain has entered in its place. If you were in pain, why did you not speak of it?”

He waited only a moment, then made a sound of annoyance.

“For the same reason, no doubt, that you refused to cry out during your punishment,” he muttered, displeased to a large degree. “Sooner would one such as you see herself senseless than admit to discomfort or pain. It is apparently beyond you to understand that the last thing I wish is for true harm to come to you. Should this occur again, speak to me of it.”

He then gestured for the leather to be released, yet not, as I had thought, to find another area of males. My faltering steps were directed instead toward a corridor which returned us to the area leading to the punishment area for female slaves. Rather than return me to that end chamber, however, I was taken within one of the nearer chambers, a fur was thrown to the stone floor, and Chaldrin pushed me down upon it.

“There will soon be slaves here to tend you,” said he, crouching down beside me where I lay, without strength, upon the fur. “Salves and herbs will take the pain from you, washing and combing the sweat and dirt, food the beginnings of gauntness, and sleep the weight of weariness. I will allow you to serve the needs of none save Treglin this darkness, for the recovery of your strength is of paramount importance. A wench may be used many times by many men, if she is well cared for during the times between that use.”

He looked upon me with narrowed eyes, perhaps awaiting what words I would speak, yet I closed my own eyes without wasting breath in useless words. To spend an eternity in service to males was not a thing I would accept; the final darkness was an end to all pain and weariness, an end to the need for bravery and bitter choice. The fur beneath me held my aching body with a softness and comfort I found laughable, there in the midst of my enemies. The war leader Jalav had been captured and penned, yet would she find an escape these others had not the courage to seek.

The male stirred with what seemed to be annoyance, yet the silence which was apparently the source of his annoyance remained undisturbed till the arrival of three slave females. These females sought my cooperation in their ministrations, but I cared too little to make the effort. My body was washed and their salves were spread, yet their herb-mixture went unswallowed, and they found it necessary to comb my hair as I lay unmoving upon my side. The male Chaldrin had gone elsewhere at their arrival, therefore were they helpless to counter my refusals. Their upset was strong as they toiled over my well-being, and I misunderstood their concern till a fourth female arrived, bearing a wide wooden board with many pots and platters upon it. The aroma of fresh-cooked provender assailed me as the board was lowered to a place not far from my fur, and the fourth female turned to me with a smile clear upon her.

“I wish you a hearty appetite, sister,” she whispered as she knelt to smooth my hair. “You must eat all that I have brought and grow strong again, so that the masters who seek the rest of us will be fewer in number. Surely has Sigurr answered our prayers with your appearance, and will answer them again with your return to health.”

“You think me one who will lighten your burdens?” I rasped, shaking her hand from my hair as I straightened to sitting. “Seek, instead, to lighten your own burdens, and do not welcome me so gladly, slave. I am not the answer you have prayed for.”

“You think to refuse your use to the masters?” she laughed, regarding me without fear. “How well did you deny them earlier, sister? Were you able to keep them from entering deep within you then? No more than we are you able to deny them, and word has it that you are also meant for the victors. They are far worse than the masters, for they will use a slave through all of the darkness they possess her, taking all they might against their time without. When you are returned weeping from their cells, we will tend you gently and lovingly, knowing you bear the burden you have freed others of us of. Sigurr’s blessings upon you sister, and know that you have our compassion.”

The others murmured wordless agreement as all four rose to their feet, smiled a final farewell, then hurried lightly from the chamber. I stared after them, knowing them mad, then lay down again upon the fur. How might they not be mad, so few females, and slaves, among so many males? Had they been wise, they would have taken the direction I, myself, would take. The aroma of provender wafted to me, yet it tempted me not; my eyes closed slowly, and sleep soon found me so.

The approach of another woke me, yet not as quickly as it normally did. My eyes opened to the sight of Chaldrin, who stood frowning above the board of pots and platters, and who then moved his frown to me. When he saw my gaze upon him, he walked to take a fur from the pile in the corner beyond the provender board, returned to drop it beside mine, then sat himself upon it.

“Not a single dish upon that tray has been tasted,” he informed me, clearly displeased with such a state. “Should it be your intention to demand better fare, you would be wise to understand that that is the best to be had. For most feyd, our slaves are given no more than gruel; they must work long and hard to earn a taste of meat. Never are they given such an array as that.”

It seemed he intended continuing his description of my good fortune, therefore did I close my eyes again, to avoid the flow if not to halt it. My doing did indeed halt the flow, yet only temporarily, and only upon the original topic. A sound of annoyance came, and then his fist in my hair pulled me closer to him and raised my head.

“Speak to me, slave,” said he, his gaze and tone calm even with anger lurking behind. “Why have you not eaten from the tray?”

“I have no interest in your provender,” I gasped, trying uselessly to loosen the metal of his grip. “You may send the worst in place of the best. I care not.”

His hand brought me even closer to his face, and his eyes stared into mine for a moment before he nodded with his anger now most obvious.

“Indeed does Sigurr continue to turn his face from me,” he growled, more, perhaps, to himself than to me. “Our wenches are all touched with hopelessness, yet never have I seen one who could not be commanded to her duties with the threat of punishment. For some reason, yours is the hopelessness that touches my fighters, the sort which drains interest in all things, including life. Wench, I will not accept it.”

“You may do naught else save accept it,” said I, still held painfully in his grip. “I have labored long and hard, and now I am weary and wish to rest. I shall not be put at service to your males.”

“Ah, I see,” said he with a slow nod. “Being put to the service of men offends you, and you think to escape from such service into death. This fey has seen you condemned to lifelong slavery, used harshly by many men, well whipped in punishment, and displayed before those who will fight to win your use. You feel the weight of these things pressing down upon you, pain and weariness defeating even anger, and think to embrace death rather than continue with the humiliation of life. What will you do, slave, when the pain and weariness are gone, and the vital life force you are so filled with refuses to allow a passive death? How will you deny its demand that you continue living?”

“Such a thing will not occur,” I said, unable to shake my head as I wished to. “The final darkness is mine by right, and I will not be denied!”

“Aha, anger already takes the place of lethargy,” he grinned. “You cannot refuse the urgings of your spirit. Should it be necessary, I will have the slave gruel force-fed to you, giving you the nutrition of better fare without its flavor. My men and fighters will enjoy your use no matter if you are free and willing, or chained and savage. Truth to tell, they will prefer finding it necessary to chain you, for Sigurr smiles upon the taking of unwilling wenches.”

“I will not be used!” I shouted, a sudden madness filling me. Ignoring the strength of his grip upon my hair, my claws flashed toward his eyes, my teeth thirsting for his throat. Though I moved in a blur of speed, his movement was faster yet; his free arm came up to block my hands and keep them from him, though he made no attempt to capture them. He allowed me a few moments in futile attempt to battle my way through his defense, and then I was thrown to my back upon the fur, with the impossible male kneeling across me.

“You will be used as often as I allow it,” said he, looking down upon me with calm fully restored. “I will not allow your death, for your death would mean the death of too many others. You are a slave and I may do with you as I please, yet do I prefer your willing cooperation. If I should receive it, I will strike a bargain with you: you will eat as well as do my men and I, and I will teach you that which I teach to every awkward, unschooled nestling. Your hands and feet are weapons which are ever with you, and ones which, when properly used, are capable of defeating opponents much larger than yourself. Do you agree to this?”

“I agree to naught!” I spat, struggling to free myself of the grip of his thighs. “Do you think me so foolish as to believe you would school me in a thing which would allow resistance to your commands? The sole weapon I wish to face you with is swords, to show how much slave there is in Jalav! Face me in that way, male, and we may indeed strike a bargain!”

“You have not earned the right to face me with swords,” said he, a litany I wearied of. “And as to your belief that my teaching would enable you to disobey me, you are entirely mistaken. There is a deal of difference between learning a thing and mastering it. I teach my skills to all fighters who come here, yet none has mastered them to such an extent that he has been able to defeat me. Should it be your wish to make the attempt, you must first begin the learning. Will you begin with the new light?”

“No,” I denied, my fury blazing up at the immovable bulk of him. “I will not give my use to one and all in return for some fatuous male teaching—and one which, by your own words, would not allow me to defeat you. As you continue to fear to allow me to face you with swords, I shall not face you in any manner. It will be the final darkness which I shall face, a thing more pleasant-visaged than you!”

“You sadden me, wench, yet the choice was allowed you,” he shrugged, continuing to look down upon me. “You must learn, I think, that you are subject to the commands of men, not the other way about. You will be force-fed, and chained for use, and looked after as though you were a kan broodmare, all of which will be a great humiliation for you. Do not cease to recall that the choice was yours. And Treglin will not visit you this darkness.”

His hands went to the soiled white covering about his loins, speaking of his intention more clearly than words. I increased my struggles, attempting to escape him, and had nearly squirmed to freedom when his big hands took me by the waist.

“Treglin felt the need to use a slave to exhaustion,” said Chaldrin, putting himself beside me upon the fur, and rolling me easily against his broad, hair-covered body. “He agreed that you could not now be used so, therefore was I to take his place and reward you with pleasure for the doings you will so obediently perform for us in the coming feyd.”

“As there will be no obedience, there need be no reward,” I grunted, held too closely to him for struggle. The flesh of the male was cooler than mine, and his hands moved all about the back of me.

“On the contrary,” said he, a chuckle in his voice. “There will be complete obedience from you, therefore do you merit what you will receive. It will be my pleasure to give what a wench such as you requires.”

His hands moved further than my back then, and though I strained with all my will to resist him, it was as it had been earlier. The male well knew the paths to heating my blood, and heat it he did till I could not deny my desire for him. Pleasure he had spoken of and pleasure he gave, in full measure and only that which was asked for. The male did not force himself upon me, entering me only when the desire was mine, seeing to my needs as though he were the supposed slave. When he withdrew and left the chamber so that I might seek sleep again, the memory of pleasure did not befog my understanding of what had occurred. Were I to give the male Chaldrin that which he desired, I would know such pleasure again whenever I wished. Should I continue in my opposition to him, the harshness of forced use would be my only lot. I lay flat upon the sweat-stained fur and closed my eyes, banishing the flicker of the chamber’s single torch. Had I been foolish enough to expect aught save pain from males, Chaldrin’s ploy might perhaps have succeeded. Pleasure was a thing Jalav the captive had learned to do without—and would continue to do without till the pleasure of final darkness came.