by Wilf Jones
‘I am glad you appreciate this whip. I had it specially made. The steel tip is particularly effective. And these bands of wire make for a nice pattern.’
Helen bit her lip as the afterpain rolled across her back.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she gasped.
‘Do you not know?’
‘Would I ask if I knew?’
‘You might. You may think that if you keep me talking I will forget to do this.’
The whip cut through the air but the stroke made no contact.
‘I suppose you think that was amusing.’
The sorcerer chuckled softly.
‘You really have no idea.’ He ran a finger down her spine and then followed the line of his first stroke with his fingernail making her jump. ‘The last stroke was to do with conditioning. My pleasure lies in both hurting you, and in mastering you. Let me explain. You will begin this adventure feeling that you can control your response to the whip. You will believe that you can deny me in some way. But there will be a process of change. You will reach a point when you think that I will need no more. But I will continue. Stroke after stroke will fall. That beautiful skin of yours will be striped red and white: a delicious sight. And then you will think that you can take no more. But I will continue, perhaps more strongly, laying one stoke over another. And soon you won’t be thinking at all as your body simply responds to the pain. And still I will continue. When your body is shaking, when your hands are numb and the muscles in your legs can no longer support your weight, I will feel that I am getting somewhere. Then I’ll have them take you down and if it pleases me I shall use you in another way. And after that, then maybe we will start again.
‘Do you understand now?’
Helen listened to this hideous monologue completely appalled.
‘I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you find pleasure in this. Are you insane? Normal people do not, cannot think like this; they should not—’
‘Is that what you think? Do you know, Miss Travers, there are women I have met who would envy you. The thought of being used and abused and so helpless truly excites them.’
‘Not true. It is not true, just what you choose to believe.’
‘Really? And the opposite is merely what you choose to believe. Trust me: down there in the cellar of Moreda, waiting for my men to come calling, are at least four or five women who—’
‘And that makes it right?’
‘I am unconcerned by what is right and proper. Actually I prefer women who do not want this at all. Much more fun: the chances are that this will be their first time, for the whip and for—’
‘You are despicable!’
‘Yes I am, thank you.’
This time the lash made contact. And this time she screamed in terror as much as in pain.
‘But at least I am the pick of a bad bunch. You’re lucky. Kelsly would have bled you from thousands of cuts – he pretends it’s to do with religious observance but he is merely fascinated by blood. Trant’s crew are utterly brutal. They would ravish you and batter you and break you. They are savages. But if you please me, then maybe I’ll keep you for a while. If you do not then I will pass you on. Your challenge will be in trying to determine what it is that I find pleasing.’
Helen struggled to master herself once more. That second lash had drawn blood, she could feel it trickling down her side. Somehow the thought of the damage helped. She had hardly known fear in all her young life never mind the terror the sorcerer sought to induce with his words, but anger was something she knew full well and could use. As the buzz of pain subsided she forced herself to react, she put at the front of her mind her loathing for this man, her contempt for all he was, her rage at his foul deeds. Anger would be her saviour.
‘You foul creature! You foul cowardly excuse for a man! I pity the mother that gave you birth. And yet you think you are special. You think yourself better than your disgusting company: that your pleasures are more refined, that the others are animals, that you are civilized. Oh, I can hear the arrogance in your voice. But you’re wrong! You are worse than an animal. There’s nothing refined about hurting other people. There is nothing clever in controlling them. You are a rapist just like the rest, taking what you want by force, treating everything and everyone in the world as objects for your use. How you have managed to banish any thought of sympathy and understanding— Aaaah! Oh Gods!’
For a third time the whip found her and this time even more powerfully, the tip snaking round to lick at her stomach. The bolt of pain it provoked closed off Helen to the world about her, lost in the agony of the moment, and so she didn’t hear the sudden noise of someone banging on the door of the chamber.
But at that noise the sorcerer himself flew into a rage. He had left specific instructions he was not to be interrupted for anything. Those damn guards never listened to anything he said. In a mood to match the fury that raged around the house he stormed to the door and flung it wide.
‘What do you want, fools?’ he demanded of the figures in the corridor. ‘I told you not to dis—’
His word’s stopped dead as one of Sigrid’s blades thrust deep into his chest. She was so quick that she was already wiping her blade before she realized that, incredibly, impossibly, she had not killed the man.
Crushing hands wrenched the sword from her grasp and threw her against the wall. Angren’s short sword bit into the sorcerer’s sword-arm before he could advance but finally, barging the weapon master aside, Seama swung his nameless blade in a deadly arc, almost severing the sorcerer’s head and body. Blood spewed from the corpse as it tumbled to the ground.
Angren picked himself up, looking a little shaken. ‘Real blood then. When I saw that mask, I thought—’
‘And so did I, Angren. Especially when he didn’t fall at Sigrid’s strike. Garaid stopped that thing in Gothery by going for the throat so I went for the head. But anyway, it was just a man.’
Sigrid had recovered from her fall and she reached for the stolen sword. ‘Not just a man. He was a sorcerer and he should have died the first time.’
‘A sorcerer is nothing more than a man who has learned several formulae. He had no power to protect himself from a blade. No time to summon sorcerous help. I think you must have missed his vitals, Sigrid.’
‘Never, I always—’
They heard a groan from within the chamber.
Angren jumped over the corpse and ran into the room. There he was halted by a vision of beauty itself. Perhaps it was the extremity of the situation, the fact that she looked so vulnerable, the long blonde hair, the lack of clothes, but in that moment Angren thought he had chanced upon a goddess. She was without compare. He scowled noticing the weals caused by the whip and was at once angry and full of pity, but when she heard him, an unseen menace, and began to swear royally at him, he was dumbstruck.
Sigrid came in but he failed to notice until she elbowed him in the side. ‘Don’t you think, Old Angren,’ she said, ‘that you should be helping the young lady down from there instead of gawping at her backside.’
Angren flushed red. Sigrid’s sarcasm always made him feel uncomfortable but this time he was affronted. This was not lust: he was in awe of the girl. Nevertheless, stung into action, he rushed to help. Mumbling an apology, he released the manacles and then busied himself with gathering her clothes. He was blushing even more deeply as he offered them up, and he quickly turned his back upon her bold nudity.
‘Why such courtesy?’ she said, ‘Haven’t you already seen all I have to show?’
QUEEN OF TEMPEST
Moreda 3057.8.6
Sigrid had experienced fear before but never so much as when the sorcerer attacked. He should have been dead. Could she have missed his heart? Admittedly, she’d been ill at ease creeping through the darkened corridors, expecting every minute that
lights would bloom to reveal a trap. She had dismissed the two guards without a flicker of emotion but knew deep down she was on edge. Killing the guards, who were engrossed in peeping through the keyhole, was the last step before their meeting with the sorcerer. When Seama had suggested she should strike their Chief she’d thought him mad. Surely it was a job for the wizard? It was, of course, beneath her dignity to refuse. Perhaps with so much depending upon speed and accuracy, and with her uncertainty about what would happen if she dared the strike, perhaps she had missed her mark after all. But, gods above, she had been scared when he grabbed her.
The lady warrior was rubbing witch hazel ointment, recovered from the Masters bathroom, into the young woman’s back.
‘Ouch’ the girl yelped as Sigrid pressed a little too hard.
Sigrid smiled. It was the first complaint Miss Travers had made. She was a tough little cuss. Pretty too. That damned Angren had not missed any of that. Sigrid was almost beginning to like the man until she saw him goggling at the girl’s backside like he’d never seen one before.
‘Angren,’ she’d said sharply, ‘hadn’t you better go and help Seama?’ And he would have gone straight away but that little minx had to put in her two-granath first.
‘He needn’t bother on my account. It’s a little too late for him to think of sparing my blushes.’
And the fool almost ran for the door. A grown man acting like a fumbling youth. Hey ho! Sigrid worked in the last of the cream with much more vigour than was necessary.
Just outside the door the wizard was searching the body of the dead sorcerer rather gingerly.
Angren took a deep breath and tried to look normal.
‘Is he dangerous still even without his head?’ he asked.
‘Ah! I wondered where you’d got to. You took your time in there.’ He looked up. ‘Angren, have you been drinking too much lately? You’re all red in the face. Out of condition, perhaps?’
Angren winced. Seama was laughing at him: he’d heard. It had always been one of Seama’s more regular jokes to tease him about his troubles with women. – a fatal attraction that invariably brought chaos into his life. But at least he had affairs! All Seama had was his magic. Why should he worry about what Seama thought, or Sigrid for that matter? All he knew was that Helen Travers was the most lovely woman he had ever seen. The image of her hanging from the cuffs was burned in his mind: the slender arms and legs, the blonde hair cascading over smooth shoulders to reach the small of her back, and… It was not lechery that made him feel weak at the knees, he was fairly sure. But Seama had already dismissed the issue, and so Angren decided to try and pay attention.
‘Dangerous?’ the wizard was saying, ‘Not at all. There’s not much power in these sorcerers. I just don’t want blood all over my clothes. We made a mess of him. Come on, let’s get these bodies out of sight. We’ll have to hope no one wants to speak with their Chief until we’re gone.’
‘What were you looking for?’
‘Whatever I could find.’
‘And what was that?’
‘Absolutely nothing. I thought there might be some clue about his superiors, but maybe there’s something in the room. Do you think that linen cupboard is big enough for all three of them?’
Angren stepped forward to size it up. He was quite an expert in the disposal of corpses.
Ten minutes later they rejoined the ladies who were relaxing with glasses in their hands. Both were silent in each other’s company, both had enough thoughts to occupy them.
Seama took in much of the situation at a glance but decided that at least half of it was nothing to do with him.
‘Have you explained our position, Sigrid?’ he asked.
‘No. I thought I’d leave that pleasure to you.’ Sigrid smiled her sarcastic smile but then added in a more friendly manner: ‘Would you like a drink, My Lord? This port is exquisite and there’s sherry as well.’
‘Thank you. One small port wouldn’t hurt.’
‘And what can I offer Mr. Nielderson?’
Angren was oblivious to any innuendo it seemed and he charged in with: ‘Is there nothing stronger, Sigrid? Ah now, that looks like brandy. It is!’
Seama, accepting his drink, raised his eyebrows slightly and Sigrid grimaced in reply. He considered the idea of taking Angren to one side. It seemed that Angren had never noticed the wistful look in Sigrid’s eye in all these days they had travelled together. Perhaps he’d be doing his friend a favour by pointing it out. Of course, much of the fault was with Sigrid: Angren was not the sort of man to realize that all the sharp words were simply a means of engagement. That they might mean something more than dislike hadn’t occurred to him. If she wanted to get somewhere with Angren she’d have to be less ambiguous. Seama had no time for these emotional quandaries.
‘Angren,’ he said, ‘You won’t forget where we are will you? There’ll be no time to sleep off a heavy session, you know.
‘It’s just a small one, Seama,’ Angren sounded aggrieved. ‘Well sort of.’
Seama ignored him.
‘Miss Travers,’ the wizard said. ‘You may have guessed that we are not yet safe. Not by any means. There are only the four of us against a whole house full of cut-throats.’
‘Four? Are you mad? How can we hope to get the women and children out with just the four of us?’ Seama was startled by her vehemence. These were the first words she had spoken to him – they weren’t the polite thanks he had expected. ‘I hope you weren’t proposing to sneak out without them?’
‘I am afraid that’s exactly what we must do. However, it’s not as bad as it seems. Two of our companions are with them now preparing a barricade. It won’t be possible to get into the cellars and if any want to try it then at least it’ll keep them busy until we’re ready. But it’s already halfway through the night so I doubt they’ll be bothered at all. We will face these thugs on the field at dawn.’
‘What, four against a hundred?’ she said scornfully. ‘Isn’t that just a little bit steep, even for the mighty Lord Wizard?’
Seama gave a slight nod in answer to her sly greeting. She was not slow. Seama was beginning to understand Angren’s difficulty with the girl.
‘I take it you haven’t yet bothered with a full introduction, Sigrid?’
‘The circumstances never brought us to the finer points of courtesy. She’s heard our names.’
‘Apart from yours,’ Helen said.
‘I think you heard Seama call me Sigrid?’
‘That’s hardly your full name. I know of the Lord Seama by common report and this person is Angren Nielderson from all I have heard, though where he comes from and why I cannot guess.’
‘Let me tell you: he’s a countryman of yours. Is he typical?’
Seama saw Sigrid wink at Helen Travers. She was trying to relieve the tension, albeit at Angren’s expense.
‘A countryman of mine? I’m surprised. Certainly his manners would be described as lacking if he were a man of Southern Aegarde.’
‘Well thank you very much.’ Angren was unaware of the collusion between the two women. He was having a hard time of it. ‘I’m from Terremark, if you must know.’
‘That would explain it. Terremark is a long way away, isn’t it? Up in the Northern wilds.’
‘Wilds! You cheeky young… I’ll have you know…’
Seama couldn’t restrain a chuckle, Sigrid and Helen were both grinning and Angren realized he was being baited.
‘Let it drop, Angren’ the wizard said. ‘We’re not getting our story told here. You asked, Miss Travers, about the three of us fighting a hundred. Actually our task is a little easier. We have sixty of the best waiting for us to draw these villains out. We’ve a good chance of winning, do you not think, Angren?’
‘I’d say so, so long as Gumb’s men are as
good as they look.’
‘Angren!’ Sigrid said, but it was too late.
‘My uncle? My uncle is here?’ The smile had fallen from her face. She paled. ‘How did you know who I was? I didn’t tell you.’ She worked it out all too quickly now that she considered it. ‘And my father? Is my father with him? Tell me!’ she demanded, daring them. The look on Seama’s face must have been answer enough but she wanted it saying.
Sigrid was never one to drag things out.
‘We met Gumb,’ she explained, ‘and rode with him to meet your procession. A wounded man reached us first. He said that you’d been abducted and everyone else murdered.’
Such a blunt recitation, Seama was annoyed, but there was never an easy way to tell anyone that someone they loved was dead. What a pity she had to find out so soon. Seama looked accusingly at Angren but the weapon-master was too concerned with Helen’s reaction to notice.
Her face had frozen as the words were spoken, frozen as her thoughts sought desperately for an interpretation less dreadfull. But it wasn’t possible. She gathered herself up and then let out such a scream that all three rescuers took a step back. They took another when she burst into action and grabbed at the poker by the fireplace.
‘He’s dead now, love,’ said Sigrid, ‘He’s paid. He’s dead and can’t hurt—’
She wasn’t listening. ‘I’ll kill them kill him kill them,’ she screamed and with each ‘kill’ she battered the sorcerer’s chair. And then she laid in without words, only screams, and the force of her blows broke off one of the wings and splintered the legs and ripped the fabric apart.
Angren in a panic rushed up to try and stop her but Sigrid pushed him away.
‘What are you doing, Sig?’
