The Forests Of Gleor rb-22

by Джеффри Лорд

  The warrior spent a good deal of time working Sanaya over with slaps, punches, kicks, and pinches on any and every part of her body he could reach. She quickly lost track of the individual blows. They all blended together into one long torment that seemed as though it would go on forever.

  Much to Sanaya's surprise, it did not. Eventually the warrior stopped and stepped back, leaving her lying on the round. Gradually her mind cleared until she could recognize all her different sensations.

  She could not have spoken now if she'd wanted to-her lips were a swollen, ragged, bloody mess. More blood trickled from her aching nose and from where several teeth had been knocked out. Her eyes were swollen and watering so that everything around her seemed to be swimming through a thick bloodshot fog. Her nipples and thighs throbbed and burned where they'd been pinched, her fingers and toes ached where they'd been twisted, and large patches of skin felt as though they'd been burned. She wouldn't have dared to touch most of her own body, even if her hands had been free.

  Yet somehow she did not feel as totally wretched as she'd expected. Other sensations were lurking behind the pain and exhaustion, like the hunters of the mountain clans lurking in the forest. She could not easily put a name to these other feelings. She could make a comparison that somehow made them comprehensible. She felt as she did with a lover, as his hands moved over her skin and cupped her breasts, and his lips pressed warmly against hers. She could almost imagine that Blade was here now, arousing her, and she closed her eyes to see if that would make the image more vivid.

  Before she could find out, the warrior cursed. Then he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her to her feet. She opened her eyes to see that he was dragging her toward a tall, heavy wooden stake driven into the floor of the cave.

  The warrior tied her ankles tightly to the stake. Then he pulled both her arms high up over her head, and tied her wrists to the stake. From chin to knees she was pressed hard against the rough wood, unable to writhe or twist, barely able to breathe. She had to stand nearly on tiptoe to keep her arms and wrists from being pulled out of joint, and wondered how long she would be able to hold that position. Her weary legs and ankles already throbbed and ached enough.

  The warrior picked up the whip and stepped to one side, where she could easily see him. Then he swung the whip several times at the empty air, flicking his wrist each time so that the tips of all five strands cracked like snapping branches. Sanaya could not take her eyes off the whip and the arm that was wielding it, which was no doubt exactly what the warrior intended. It was the vicious torture whip of Trawn, and the arm wielding it was thick and knotted with muscle. Once the warrior started in on her, he could doubtless go on for hours. If Sanaya's stomach hadn't been totally empty, she would have vomited at the prospect. At the same time she felt a faint curiosity to feel the whip on her flesh. The strange feeling that a lover was at work arousing her was still there, and the combination would be-well, oddly interesting, as well as horribly painful.

  «Now are you interested in telling me who you are?» said the warrior. He seemed indifferent to whether she answered or not. She suspected he would be quite happy to have an excuse to go to work with his whip.

  A moment later she knew she was right. A broad grin spread across the warrior's face, and his arm stretched out. The grin broadened as the whip lashed back, then forward. The whip came down across the small of Sanaya's back, and she never saw what happened to the grin after that. The world around her vanished as pain exploded up from where the whip fell, into her brain and out to every part of her body. She screamed. Before she finished screaming the whip came down again, this time across the backs of her thighs.

  Five, ten, fifteen times the whip struck, each time a little bit harder, each time in a more sensitive spot. The pain was passing onward into something which Sanaya's reeling mind could find-no words to describe. Each time she told herself that she could stand no more, that the next stroke would kill her. Yet the next stroke always came, and she always found herself alive.

  She might have died or fainted eventually, except that before long she was feeling more than pain. The feeling that a lover was at work on her came again, more vividly. Now it was no longer just tongue and lips and hands that she could imagine. Now it was a swollen, rigid, thrusting maleness driving deep into her, forcing her desire to a higher and higher pitch, making her more and more of an animal. The pain of the whip remained. But now each time it fell there was more than pain. There seemed to be a long thrust by her phantom lover, driving deep into her, withdrawing slowly, tantalizing her, torturing her in a way that was almost more agonizing than the whip.

  Her lips began to move, and incoherent sounds that were not at all human came from her throat. She drove her groin and breasts against the stake, feeling more pain as tender flesh met bard rough wood. Yet she also felt as if her lover's own passion and his own vigor were steadily increasing.

  All her pain and all her pleasure combined to fog both her eyes and her mind until she could no longer see anything or make any sense of what she felt. She was hardly aware of coming to her climax, writhing and shrieking and howling so loudly that all the men on guard outside leaped up and grabbed weapons, thinking that the camp was being attacked. She was even less aware of the warrior cutting her down, stripping off his kilt, and taking her furiously as she writhed on the floor. She fainted completely before she could see the warrior's face above her. That face was twisted by the release of a terrible passion, but also by a cold and calculating satisfaction.

  Lord Desgo had reason to be satisfied. He was still not sure entirely who or what he had in his hands. But certainly she had a high place in Draad, high enough to know much of what he needed to know before his army struck. Just as certainly, she would not hold back any of it. Not now, for he had found the love of pain that lurked in her soul. As long as he could satisfy that love she would be his slave in all but name.

  Lord Desgo was not a fool, and he admitted that luck had been with him in bringing to him a woman with that kind of soul. Not all women had it. Princess Neena, for example, had no great love of pain-only a great hatred for him. Dealing with her as she deserved would be no pleasure for her-only for him. He would have that pleasure, though. He promised himself that. King Furzun himself would not stand between him and Neena's death now.

  Although he had released his passion only a few minutes before, Lord Desgo found it rising again at the thought of Neena's long lingering death at his hands. So he put Neena out of his mind and returned to the woman beside him, who now received him with furious pleasure.

  Chapter 25

  For Blade and Neena, the days after the testing and Sanaya's disappearance seemed to fly past, one after another, in rapid succession, like migrating birds. There were enough things to do each day to fill many more than twenty-four hours. Yet somehow they found a little time to spend together.

  «Your work and my jealousy and anger kept us apart for too long,» Neena said. «That was an evil time, but now it is over.»

  There were a dozen things for Blade to do himself and as many more things to supervise. There were sprayers and sleeping water to make in vast quantities, there were hundreds of warriors to train in using the sprayers, there were new battle tactics to devise and teach for the whole army of Draad. There were enough things to keep three Richard Blades busy, an idea that Neena found rather amusing.

  «I suppose that if there were three of you, I could keep one with me and let the other two work all the time.» She bit him gently on the ear. «But they'd have to be absolutely identical. I would not take any imitations.» Her lips moved down his body and conversation came to an end for quite a while.

  Fortunately all of Blade's work showed results. Kulo had taught the other three assistants well. They in turn taught dozens of craftsmen how to make the sprayers. Soon there were more of them than the workshop could hold, and Blade had a shed built to store the overflow.

  Beside the shed for the sprayers stood another shed where bott
les and jars of the sleeping water soon rose to the ceiling. A dozen stills now worked around the clock. Before long there would be enough sleeping water to slay all the stolofs in Trawn five times over.

  Most of the water would go into the sprayers, but some was poured into small clay pots. In the coming battles these pots would be thrown at stolofs or their masters. They were not as accurate as the sprayers, but they could be thrown from beyond the range of a stolof's ribbon. Every warrior trained as a stolof killer would have both a sack of pots on his back and a sprayer in his hands.

  There would be a great many such warriors-or at least Blade intended that there would be, given enough time. He did not know if there would be enough time, so he pushed the training as if the armies of Trawn were already marching through the passes of the Mountains of Hoga.

  For training, he used a method he had used before. He taught ten selected warriors and hunters (including King Embor and Neena) how to use the sprayers and pots, then had each of them teach ten more, and so on. Within a few days more than a thousand fighting men of Draad at least knew one end of a sprayer from the other. Within a few more days most of them could hit what they fired at more than half the time.

  That was a good start. Blade had no intention of training all the fighting men of Draad to be stolof killers, in any case. There would be only so many stolofs to kill. The rest of Trawn's army would be human warriors, and swords, spears, arrows, axes, and clubs would do for them.

  Blade was not entirely free of worries, however. Reports continued to come in from the clansmen, telling of more and more raiders from Trawn in the mountains. A few parties were attacked and wiped out, but no prisoners were taken, and even these victories were few.

  The coming of such a mass of raiders-or scouts-from Trawn made Blade wonder. It was hard to see what else could be following them except an invading army. «Would you like to have more warriors camping up here to guard the workshop?» King Embor asked Blade.

  Blade shook his head. «The camp of the stolof killers is only two miles down the hill. That is close enough so that they can reach the workshop quickly, without staying around here.»

  Embor nodded in understanding. «The secret, again?»

  «Yes,» said Blade. «Of course, many now know what our weapon is, and how to use it. But few know how it is made. I would rather things stayed that way until we have met and destroyed the army of Trawn. There is a risk in leaving the workshop weakly guarded, but it is one I think we can afford better than having the secret leak out.»

  Embor did send a good many warriors to watch each of the passes through the Mountains of Hoga. That way no large force from Trawn could get through and devastate the lands of Draad without being detected at once and brought to battle soon afterward. The king also set up a line of warriors stretching from the workshop down to the camp of the stolof killers. Each warrior stood within shouting distance of the next. Word of any danger could fly along the line to the camp much faster than a man could run. King Embor was an excellent strategist and leader; Blade was not worried about leaving that part of the campaign in his hands for now.

  He still worried at times over what might have happened to Queen Sanaya. Her fur cloak had been found, and one shredded, bloodstained boot. Did that mean she had been attacked and killed by wild animals? It might, or it might not. There was nothing to prove that Sanaya hadn't vanished into thin air or sunk without a trace into the earth.

  «I can hope so,» said Neena. «I cannot wish even on Sanaya the death she would receive from those of Trawn.»

  «No,» said Blade. «You are not eaten up with vengeance, as she would be in your place.» He kissed her and blew out the candle. After a moment he felt her flowing against him in the darkness, warm in the chill of the forest night. After another moment, he found himself responding as he always did.

  It was the fourteenth night after the test in the arena and Queen Sanaya's flight into the forest.

  Lord Desgo reined in his meytan and raised his hand in signal for those behind him to do the same. Silence fell over the forest as a score of six-legged beasts ceased their steady trot. Absentmindedly, Lord Desgo scratched his mount between its long golden-furred ears, then swung himself down out of the saddle. The warriors behind him did the same, then gathered around him.

  «I think I need say what we are to do only once more. Capture the Princess Neena and at least one of the Kaireens at the workshop. Slay the tall man Blade and every other living thing in sight. Then burn all that can burn, and depart with the prisoners. You all have firemakers?» The warriors nodded and patted the pouches at their belts.

  «Good.» Two more warriors stepped forward out of the shadows. Between them they led Queen Sanaya, naked, shivering, and with her hands tied behind her back. She cringed as she became aware of all the warriors' eyes running up and down her body.

  Desgo smiled grimly. Sanaya was not feigning her shame before the warriors. That only made her disguise all the more perfect. The bound hands and the nudity marked her as a prisoner, but in her heart and soul Sanaya was no longer a prisoner.

  Instead, she was Desgo's ally. Or rather, she thought herself his ally. With her guiding him, Desgo would tonight destroy Draad's secret weapons, slay Prince Blade, and begin his vengeance against Princess Neena. Then in a few days he would order the waiting army of Trawn forward. It would pour into Draad, killing every warrior who stood against it, but as few others as possible.

  Lord Desgo had no tenderness for the women and children of Draad. He had only a coldly calculating desire to make them grateful to him and to Queen Sanaya for sparing them. He would be ruling them with her beside him, and soon. After such a victory as he would win, King Furzun could hardly make anyone else viceroy over the newly conquered lands.

  And after that? The visions of what might be were even more enticing. With Queen Sanaya to advise him, he could certainly devise ways of winning and keeping the loyalty of the people of Draad. The emerald mines would give him wealth, wealth to reward any warrior of Draad or Trawn who would follow his standard, wealth also to reward those nobles and merchants of Trawnom-Driba who had already promised to be his allies.

  Over the years, he would forge his warriors and allies into an army, an army standing ready like a weapon for his hand to wield. In the end, he would wield it against King Furzun. Furzun would die in his own prison chambers, and King Desgo would rule Trawn and Draad and all the lands and forests of Gleor!

  With the favor of the gods, he would do it. He would have prayed for that favor, except that this was no time for prayer and Desgo was not a praying man in any case. Loud prayers would earn less favor from the gods than shrewd blows with a sword.

  He took Sanaya from the hands of the two guards and lifted her onto the neck of the meytan. Then he scrambled back up into the saddle behind her. The other warriors of the raiding party did the same. All of them carried swords, bows, and throwing spears; five of them led stolofs. One of the stolofs chittered briefly, and was promptly silenced by a spear butt rapped across its head. Desgo raised his hand, then pointed forward into the darkness and dug in his spurs.

  The gods would be with them tonight. Desgo was certain of that. The warriors and the stolofs and the riding meytans were all picked and trained, the best available. The workshop was guarded weakly, if at all. The mountain clans might patrol the forests all around, to be sure. They could not see in the dark like a meytan, nor stand against stolofs.

  Guided by Queen Sanaya and mounted as they were, the raiders would be on their enemy before any alarm could be given. Then it would be fire, death, bonds of captivity for Neena, and flight into the darkness faster than any of Draad could follow!

  Princess Neena had no more than an hour of freedom left. Prince Blade had no more than an hour of life.

  Chapter 26

  Blade awoke in the darkness with Neena's warm body curled against him. That wasn't what had awakened him, though. Something else had penetrated into his sleep and brought him out of it. He sat up
in bed and listened. The darkness around him seemed utterly silent. He'd heard something-he was sure of it. He had the instincts of a hunting animal for the dangerous or the unusual, instincts that seldom let him down.

  Then a sound came out of the darkness, faint and far away, muffled by distance and by the forest. It was also a sound that shouldn't have been heard anywhere for many miles around. It was unmistakably the chittering of a stolof.

  Blade rolled out of bed and began pulling on his clothes and weapons. The noises he made awakened Neena. She sat up in bed, pulling the blankets around her against the chill of the night air on her bare skin, and stared sleepily at Blade. She did not have his knack of being fully alert the moment she awoke. He was about to shake her when the chittering came out of the night again. It was just as unmistakable this time, and it was closer.

  Neena leaped out of bed as if she'd received an electric shock and began dressing. Blade finished belting on his sword and hurried into the room where the three assistants slept. He woke them quickly and silently.

  «Raiders from Trawn approach. Arm yourselves, but stay here and guard our comrade.» He pointed to the door of the room where Kulo tossed in his pain-ridden sleep. «Don't move out unless I call, or you have to. Whatever you do, don't let yourselves be captured alive.»

  The three young men stared at him, then scrambled out of their beds. They might not understand exactly what he'd said, but they understood his tone of voice. Certainly they understood what being captured by raiders from Trawn might mean.