by Clare Smith
The man called Lab was on her in an instant, pinning her down and tearing at her clothes. Despite his thinness he was still strong enough to hold her down with one hand and rip her shirt open exposing her breasts and flat stomach. She had a fleeting hope that her tattoos would scare him off, but instead it excited him and he bit down hard on her left breast. She screamed and pulled her knee up hard catching him in the groin and making him curse.
In response he hit her hard across the face stunning her enough to prevent her from fighting back. Within seconds he had her leggings and small clothes off and was undoing his own ragged trousers, whilst behind him, the smaller man was already exposed with his manhood in his hand working himself into a frenzy. She tried to scuttle backwards, but Lab had her by the ankles and forced her legs apart.
“I’m goin’ ter fuck yer so ‘ard that yer ‘ead will …”
He stopped abruptly as his mate staggered into his back knocking him forwards slightly. For a moment she thought that the smaller man couldn’t wait any longer and was trying to climb over Lab to get to her, but then Lab coughed as if he was choking and blood ran from his mouth. He gave one last cough and then collapsed on top of her with his mate stuck to his back and a harpoon pinning the two together.
She tried to crawl out from beneath them to escape the stench, and the vermin which were leaving the dead men to crawl on her, but the men were too heavy to move. All she could do was wait until her rescuers pulled the men off of her and then try to cover herself with the remains of her tattered clothing. There wasn’t much left of her clothes except rags, so she sat up clutching her knees to her chest, looked at the men who stood around her in a circle and wondered if she wasn’t in more trouble than when she started.
There were six of them, all in the rough clothes of sailors and all of them looking as if they had been at sea for far too long. They had to be reavers and she knew what that meant.
“Well, what ‘ave we got ‘ere, a mermaid or a sea witch?” asked the man who was clearly in charge.
“Don’t know but she’s got long legs and big tits and I wouldn’t mind ‘aving a bit of either,” said a younger man, and there was a general murmur of agreement from the others.
“I’m neither,” she snapped. She’d been surprised to find that they spoke Kallisian, but it didn’t help her much; there were Kallisian reavers too. “I’m a Kallisian priestess and a handmaiden of Jurro.”
The leader looked surprised. “Is that so?”
“Perhaps the lady is one of those compassionates, I ‘ear they got special skills that can make a man pass out with pleasure.”
“I wouldn’t mind some of that,” said the youngest one again, and there was more murmurs of agreement.
“I’m not a compassionate, I’m a seeker and the daughter of an Elder.”
The leader frowned and the others looked doubtful. “Can you prove it?”
She could but she was reluctant to stand naked in front of these men in case it incited them further, but she really had no option. Reluctantly she unclasped her hands from around her knees and stood displaying the tattoos around her breasts and across her stomach. Several of the men gasped in shock and stepped back and only the youngest of them, who had been making the lewd comments, took a step forwards.
“Bloody, ‘ell, I don’t ‘alf fancy getting’ myself inside that one.”
The leader clipped him around the ear. “Don’t be such a fool, if you touched her your cock would burst into flames.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” muttered the man, rubbing his ear.
“What are we going to do with her?” asked one of the sailors who had taken several steps back.
The leader rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “We’ll take her back to the Captain, ‘e’ll know what to do with ‘er.” He turned back to the woman who was glaring at him now and, for a moment, wondered if it wouldn’t have been easier just to let his men have her and then slit her throat. “You come with us and don’t try any funny stuff or you’ll be sorry.”
“What about clothes?” she demanded.
“We don’t ‘ave any spare stuff so you’ll ‘ave to make do with your own or theirs.” He pointed at the two brigands who were still stuck together with the harpoon.
Collia looked at them too and instantly decided that she would rather go naked than touch their filthy rags. She felt the same way about her own clothes which they had torn from her body so she gave a haughty shrug, left the clothes where they were and followed the men over the sand dune. Walking around naked wasn’t that uncommon in the precincts of Jurro’s temple, although it was frowned upon to do it in public.
Somehow, though, this felt to be the right thing to do. After all it was only the sight of her tattoos which had saved her from being raped by these men, so the same should work with their Captain, or at least she hoped it would. When they reached the bottom of the dune, the men stopped to collect the carcasses of the two deer they had caught, and then set off along the beach with her hobbling behind and flexing the ankle she’d twisted. It was sore but at least she could put her weight on it now.
At the far end of the beach there was a line of rocks stretching into the sea, and she wondered if they would have to swim around it, but as they approached she could see a pathway that had been worn into the rocks going over the top. She wished that she’d brought her boots now as it was going to be hard work climbing up the rough path, but she was damned if she was going to ask for help or show these men any sign of weakness. Ignoring the discomfort of the rocky path digging into her feet, she reached the top without saying a word, and then just stood there looking at the scene in front of her.
She recognised the place as the cove where she’d been dropped off when she’d first come to Assimus by its strange shape, but it had changed considerably. Instead of there being an open expanse of sand, there was a wreck of a ship propped up at the water’s edge, and instead of empty dunes there was a large camp, a few roughly made huts and several cooking fires. Behind them in a neat line was a row of newly dug graves.
More worryingly there were men, lots of them, making her regret her decision to arrive there in the nude. It was too late to do anything about it now, so she picked her way down the rocks and, trying to look more confident than she felt, followed her rescuers across the sand. It came as no surprise to her that as she approached the camp the men stopped what they were doing and started to gather around her.
One of them darted off in the direction of the largest hut which she assumed was where the Captain lived. If her decision to show off her tattoos and make an impact was going to work, she needed to take control of the situation and not come looking like a supplicant. She waited until they were in the centre of the camp before she stopped and stood with her legs braced, her hands on her hips and a look of haughty defiance on her face.
“You’d better come an’ see this, Captain,” said Tabbin, poking his head around the door of the small hut where his Captain lived.
Bassalin looked up from the ship’s log which he’d been reading. It was singed at the edges and the leather cover with the golden bird embossed into it had burnt away, but he could still read the memories which were written there. “Is the hunting party back?”
“Aye, Captain, and they’ve found something else too.”
He frowned at the cryptic comment and was going to ask what was meant by it but the messenger had already disappeared. With a sigh he closed the log, slipped it back into the sack which contained his few remaining belongings and stood. Now the hunters had returned he’d no further reason to put off the moment when he would set fire to his ship, so he picked up the lantern by which he’d been reading and stepped outside.
For a moment he couldn’t work out why all his men were gathered in a circle, but when they stepped aside and he saw her, he didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl. There was only one person he knew who would have the audacity to stand there naked in amongst forty sex starved sailors and look as if she ruled the three contin
ents and everyone in them.
Bassalin took a step forward and bowed. “Good day, Priestess Collia.”
She was so surprised to see the man who had once been her lover standing there, that she forgot all about looking haughty and let her hands drop to her sides blushing slightly. “Captain Bassalin, What are you doing here?”
He looked her up and down and gave a small laugh. She had always been a beautiful woman, and despite their stormy parting she could still arouse him with just a smile. “I could ask the same of you.”
“Your men rescued me from a difficult situation.”
“I see, and did you take your clothes off and show them your body to reward them for their gallantry, or did you give them something more intimate than that?”
She scowled at that comment; he’d never forgiven her for taking another man when she was sleeping with him. “If you must know I was about to be raped by two brigands who had already torn my clothes from me, when your men came to my rescue.”
Now he felt guilty at his unwarranted barb. “I’m sorry for that and your ordeal. Please come inside of what passes as my cabin and we’ll find you some suitable clothing.”
“Something to eat would be good too.”
He nodded and turned back to the first mate. “Bring some grog and get the meat roasting, we’ll see to the Golden Bird later.”
Bassalin didn’t wait for a reply but turned back to Collia and placed his cloak around her shoulders. “Now, Collia, why are you really here and dressed like that?”
She sat on a log and pulled the cloak tighter around her, grateful for its warmth even if it did smell of smoke. “What I said was true, I was attacked and your men did save me.”
“And?”
Collia sighed. “I was here on a mission for Elder Collquin, only it didn’t work out, so I returned to meet a ship which was meant to be waiting to take me back to Kallisan, but I missed it.”
“So you didn’t find a way to relight the fires and save Kallisan?”
She looked surprised at the comment. “No, but how do you know about what I was doing here, it was meant to be a secret?”
“Collquin told me. He also told me that he’d recalled the ship which was supposed to wait for you.”
“He wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t abandon me.”
“The bastard would do anything, including sending me on a suicide mission to steal some Devil Fire from the Passonians before it reached Assimus.”
“They were taking barrels of Devil’s Fire to Assimus? Why?”
“I don’t know, Collquin knew where the Devil Fire had been bound but not for what purpose.”
Collquin might not have known, but she could guess what the Passonian bastards wanted it for. “So what happened to your ship?”
“Burnt to a hulk. You saw her sitting down by the water’s edge where we’ve been trying to repair her and float her again, but it’s hopeless. We don’t have a metal worker, and without cleats and pulleys to hoist the sail we’re stuck here and at the mercy of the Passonians.”
That wasn’t good news; she’d been at the mercy of the Passonians before and that hadn’t worked out at all well, but she might just be able to help. “If I tell you where you can find a metal worker, will you take me back to Kallisan with you?”
“Do you know where one is?” he asked, suddenly filled with new hope.
“Yes, close by in the rebel’s camp.” She just hoped she could find it.
*
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
Collia glanced behind her to where Bassalin and his six men followed in her footsteps. “Of course I am, didn’t I tell you so?”
The problem was she wasn’t at all sure of where she was going, as she had never been to the rebel’s camp. She remembered Tingallent’s description of what the camp looked like, how many people lived there and the denseness of the surrounding woods which had prevented the Passonians from finding it, but he’d never actually told her where it was. The only clue she really had was that there was a natural spring in the valley in which the camp was hidden.
She also remembered him telling her that the spring fed a wide stream which ran down a ravine and through the forest to the sea. It was why they were now following this fast moving stream, but whether it was the right stream or not was another question entirely. However, as she had nothing else to go on, this one would have to do. It did worry her though what Bassalin would do if they reached the end of the stream and the rebel camp wasn’t there.
Bassalin wasn’t a violent man by nature, but neither was he a patient one, as she had discovered when they had been lovers. That made her think back to the days when she’d been a young and brilliant seeker and he’d been a dashing sea captain building his own ship. Their love making had been hot and exciting and full of passion, but eventually their ambitions had come between them. They had been fools to have wanted more than each other, and should have taken the gift of love which Jurro had given them.
“Are we there yet?” Bassalin asked irritably, breaking into her thoughts.
“No, and don’t keep asking.”
Their break up had been her fault. One of the librarians had hinted that he knew where some forbidden manuscripts had been hidden, and like a fool she had believed him. She had been young and naive then, and had willingly laid down for him in exchange for the information he had. He’d lied of course, but by the time she’d realised that, Bassalin had found out about her affair, and that had been the end of their relationship.
She’d had her revenge on the lying prick though, and a month later, the librarian had been banished from Kallisan when valuable documents went missing and were found in his rooms. Her revenge had been sweet, but it hadn’t brought Bassalin back to her bed. Perhaps if she’d told him the truth he might have forgiven her but she was too proud, and apart from that, telling the truth and saying sorry had never been her strong points.
“Collia, how much further do we have to go?”
She stopped abruptly, swung around and glared at him angrily, but instead of snapping out the lie which came to mind, her previous thought about telling the truth made her sigh and shake her head. “I don’t know, I’m lost.”
Bassalin looked at her in surprise, not because they were lost; he’d guessed that some time ago, but that Collia had confessed to not knowing something. “Did you ever know where you were going?”
Collia shook her head again. “Not really, only that the rebel camp exists somewhere in this forest.”
“I see, we’ll we’d better send scouts out, perhaps they can find something.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,” said Collia, staring past him into the trees.
Bassalin turned slowly and watched as a dozen men with drawn hunting bows stepped out of the trees. He guessed he’d found the people he’d been looking for, only they didn’t look too pleased to see him. Slowly he raised his hands keeping them well away from the sword and knife at his waist. For a moment no one spoke, and then Collia stepped forward before he could stop her.
“Thank goodness I’ve found you. I’m Collia, a friend of Tingallent and we need your help.”
No one lowered their bows but one of the men took a step forward. “Did Tingallent send you?”
“Yes,” she lied. “He sent me to find you and your camp so you could help his friends and allies.”
The bowman looked her up and down and then lowered his bow slightly. “Who’s he?”
“This is a friend of Tingallent who has been helping him in his fight against the Passonians. His name is Bassalin, and he has a ship which is stranded on the shore and needs some help to set sail again so he can continue the fight.”
The man looked dubious. He’d heard about Collia and how she’d bewitched his leader and then disappeared, but he knew nothing about Bassalin, who was clearly not Assimusian and looked dangerous. On the other hand, if Tingallent had sent them, then Stesson would want to know.
“All ri
ght but you’ve got to hand your weapons over to my men. If you are friends of Tingallent you’ll get them back, and if you’re not you won’t be in need of them again.”
For a moment Bassalin thought about arguing the point, but as that wasn’t the sort of thing a friend would do he just shrugged and gave the command to disarm. He then waited until his crew had reluctantly handed over their cutlasses and knives before handing over his own. After that it was just a case of following the men along the edge of the stream and further into the trees, until they reached a clearing in the forest.
From what Collia had told him he expected the rebel camp to be large and well organised, but instead there were just a couple of rough shelters and a single fire pit. He looked about trying to see if there were more rebels hiding in the trees, but there was no one there. Apart from the men with the hunting bows, the only people he could see were a few women tending a pot of stew over the fire and several ragged children sitting at their feet, but there was no sign of the thriving camp which Collia had described.
Collia couldn’t believe it either. It was nothing like the rebel camp Tingallent had told her about, but that had been some time ago and before the rebel leader had set up his new camp in the forests around the Fire Mountains. Perhaps less people had stayed behind than he’d thought, or some sort of disaster had struck. As she looked around, she could see traces of where buildings had once stood, and wondered if the Passonians had found the place and had destroyed it.
Now very little of the camp or its inhabitants remained, and she thought she might have raised Bassalin’s hopes and led him on a wild goose chase for nothing. If that was the case he wasn’t going to be happy, and would probably take it out on her. She would soon find out as the man, who was clearly the camps leader, stepped out of one of the huts and strode towards them. He was small and dark with a black beard and muscular arms as thick as tree trunks.
