Lord of Avalon

by J. W. McKenna

  She appeared at once. “Yes, master?”

  “I’m hungry. Are you well enough to fix us some lunch?”

  She nodded and disappeared. Within lapars, she returned with a plate full of bread, cheese and fruit.

  Jenya placed it on a small table next to the couch. She waited while he dug in. Jenya felt a little strange without her chain. She almost wanted to cover herself. She stood there, trying not to twitch, watching her master eat.

  He looked up suddenly. “Hey, I don’t want to eat alone. Please join me.”

  Another surprise! First, this man invited her into his bed, then he refused to keep her chain on, and now he was inviting her to eat with him? What would be next?

  “Yes, sire,” she said, unsure how to proceed. She leaned down briefly and took a small square of cheese, then rose again to put it in her mouth, feeling guilty all the while.

  Rydah sighed. “Not like that,” he said. “Here.” He guided her by her uninjured shoulder to sit on the couch next to him. She was stunned, but she obeyed. “Now eat,” he said, and returned to his meal.

  Jenya ate. What else could she do? Her master had ordered it. They ate in silence for a short time.

  A sudden knock at the door disturbed them.

  “Who could that be now?” he asked. With a nod of his head, he indicated she should answer it.

  She rose at once and opened the door to find a young messenger outside. His eyes widened at the sight of the beautiful, young, naked slave. “M-m-m-message for Lord R-r-rydah,” he stammered, staring at her breasts.

  Jenya laughed inwardly and accepted the sealed message. When she turned, Rydah was standing behind her, his curiosity evident on his face. She handed the message over and closed the door on the young lad, nearly trapping his eyeballs in the door.

  He examined the seal and realized at once that it was from his older brother, Farda. This was unusual. Farda was ten rynes older than Rydah, which meant they hadn’t grown up as close as brothers might be. His father, Lord Fyrad, and his slave Saranya had five children—three girls had been born in a row after Farda, the oldest. Rydah, though he hated to admit it, was the baby of the family.

  Farda, like Rydah, had been born a Damon, but when he was nineteen, he fell in love with a Craftswoman, Memma, who was not only six rynes older, but had a young daughter as well. Love proved to be blind, and Farda gave up his higher-ranking caste to be with his true love. He became a woodcarver and in the rynes since had turned out many fine pieces for Damon homes, including fireplace mantles, ornate doors and small statues. He carved many woods, but his favorite was the dark, rich memingo trees that grew on the steppes of the Pestrid range east of Blethryn.

  In the last ten rynes, Rydah guessed Farda had written to him just twice and they’d seen each other at their father’s house on three other occasions.

  Why would he be writing to me now? he wondered.

  Jenya watched as her lord ripped open the envelope and scanned the writing within. She couldn’t read, of course, but she could tell by his expression that the news wasn’t good.

  He frowned, then took the note to his desk and sat down. He stared out the window onto the street. Jenya didn’t know if she should go to him or leave him alone. So she just stood where she was and waited.

  Finally, he rose and began to pace.

  “Master, are you all right?” The words tumbled out of her.

  He looked up, distracted. “Um? Oh, yes, Jenya. I mean, no. Well, I’m fine, it’s my brother in Gordax. He’s got some trouble. I don’t know why he wrote to me.”

  Jenya wanted to ask what kind of trouble, but decided to keep quiet. If it should be her business, he would tell her.

  He stopped and came over to her. “You see, Farda—my brother—isn’t a Nobleman any more. He married a Craftswoman and gave up his rank.”

  Jenya tried not to show her surprise. She knew people often tried to move up in status, especially among the Damon, but it was rare for a Nobleman to elect to join a lower caste. It must’ve scandalized the family, she realized.

  “He has a daughter. It’s not his daughter, but he married her mother, so she’s his step-daughter. Her real father died, you see.” Rydah didn’t know why he was explaining so much. It just felt good to talk out this problem that had been dumped on him.

  “It turns out, his step-daughter, Symal—she’s seventeen rynes now—caught the eye of Lord Acolyte Lepdar. You know of him?”

  Jenya nodded. Everyone knew the brother of the heir to the throne! She remembered hearing about his older brother’s wedding just two rynes ago, in the warm season. Lord Acolyte Raparn had married Princess Tymir from the priestdom to the west in order to cement relations between the two high lords, a common practice.

  “Well, the Lord Acolyte is supposed to marry Princess Wenelle, from Farzan. Last I heard, he wasn’t too happy about it, but that’s nothing unusual. Now he’s fallen for Symal—Rand knows how they met!—and they seem to have disappeared. Together. You can imagine what an uproar this has caused.”

  What really amazed Rydah was that he hadn’t heard any of this before. News like this usually spread like the plague through a community. It must’ve just happened, he mused.

  “So the high lord has his troops out searching for them, and Farda is afraid Symal will be blamed somehow. She could be, of course. She may wind up in prison over this—or worse.”

  He approached Jenya, worry etched on his face. “He’s asking me if I can help! Why would he do that? I can’t be drawn into this mess! This could ruin my career.”

  “I can see that you’re worried about your brother, though,” Jenya said, choosing her words carefully.

  “Yes, yes of course. He’s my brother! But what can I do?”

  “He’s probably calling out for help wherever he can get it, master,” she said. She ached to help him, but felt powerless.

  “Yes, of course. He has others he can rely on. My father, for instance. That’s who he should be writing to, not me.”

  “Can your father help him?”

  “I don’t know. My father isn’t exactly on personal terms with High Lord Bandar. You can probably tell from my humble house that my father’s ranking is not high among the Damon. I can’t see him being able to assist, either. Something like this could only bring us trouble.”

  “Perhaps your brother just wants you to help search for them, m’lord. If he found them first, he might be able to figure out a way to save his daughter.”

  Rydah nodded as he began pacing again. “That’s probably it. I just don’t know if I should get involved.”

  Jenya thought for a moment. Her limited existence in the pens didn’t prepare her for such political intrigue, but she did have a woman’s intuition about love. “This other woman, the princess—does she want to marry the Lord Acolyte?”

  “I don’t know,” he responded, still distracted. “It’s all arranged. Usually, they would learn to love each other later, like Lord Acolyte Raparn and Tymir.”

  Rydah stopped and cocked his head, as if listening to something.

  Jenya started to speak, then held her tongue. Her lord appeared to be deep in thought. No doubt he was trying to figure out a solution.

  He straightened up and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered to himself.

  “Pardon, m’lord?”

  He looked up. “Oh, nothing, Jenya. Nothing. There was just something, a fleeting thought in the back of my mind that I can’t recall.”

  “A thought? About how to help?”

  “Yeah. No. I don’t know. I can’t pin it down.” He stopped pacing. “By Rand I wish I knew what to do!” He turned to Jenya. “What would you do, if you were me?”

  Jenya bit her lip, wondering why he asked her. “M’lord, I am only a slave. I know not the ways of Damons…”

  He began to pace again, dismissing her.

  “However, sire…” she continued. He stopped again and stared.

  “Yes?” His expression made it clear he do
ubted that she, a mere slave, might have an answer.

  “You are concerned about getting involved and failing to help,” she said, trying to organize her thoughts and worried that she might say something to offend him. “What if you looked at it from the other side…what would happen if you succeeded?”

  Rydah pursed his lips. “I don’t know how to do that, but if I did, Farda would be grateful, of course.” He paused to think about the possibility. “I’m not sure how the Acolyte or High Lord Bandar would feel. It would depend on the solution. If there is one.”

  He shook his head. “But if my brother just wants me to help find them, well, finding them doesn’t solve the problem.”

  He turned to face Jenya, her sexual allure completely forgotten for the moment. “What will probably happen is, High Lord Bandar will find the Acolyte and order Symal to be imprisoned. He’ll probably have his henchman, Kendam, do it. He’ll threaten to execute her if the Acolyte doesn’t marry Princess Wenelle. So they’ll get married, and Symal might then be executed or simply left to rot in prison. The Acolyte can only do so much. He can’t defy his father.”

  “But say you helped the Acolyte and Symal and did not anger High Lord Bandar. What would happen then?”

  “Helped the Acolyte? Me? Well,” he shrugged, “if I did, I’d be a hero, I guess.” His mind took that thought and ran with it. It would do wonders for his career. He might be able to move up in social circles—not that he cared. But he could afford a larger home.

  A larger home, more fitting of a Damon who now owned a slave. And would soon have many offspring to fill it with. Was it possible?

  He caught Jenya’s eye and smiled. “From the mouths of slaves. You’re right, Jenya. I shouldn’t dwell on the negative. I should think about the positive. And if my brother is writing to me, he must really need my help.” He stood still, his mind made up. “I’ll go see him. I can do at least that much.”

  He frowned. “You’ll have to stay here, though. This might be dangerous. I can’t have you wandering around getting underfoot. Will you be all right here alone?”

  Jenya looked around, thinking fast. She didn’t want to be left behind. “I don’t know, master. Being a new slave, I might wander off or get lost. You’d be taking a risk. Someone could even claim me as abandoned.”

  He studied her face. Deep down, he knew she wanted to be with him, despite the danger. He sighed. He didn’t want to leave her here, either. He had just bought her! If she traveled with him, he could continue breeding.

  “Very well, if you’re not to be trusted, you’d better come along. We’ll leave in the morning—if I can finish my work in time.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lord Rydah, having no transport of his own, had to rent a small carriage for the journey east. In deference to fair-skinned Jenya, he rented one with a top to protect her against the harsh rays of the Cyrus sun.

  They packed enough fruit, bread and dried meats for several suns. While they were not traveling far—only about fifteen leagues—Rydah did not wish to impose on his brother’s hospitality. Guests did not assume they were to be fed and housed by their hosts, as times often were hard for those of certain castes. Sometimes, they barely had enough food for themselves.

  They set out in the morning, heading east toward the farming hamlet of Gordax. Rydah had never visited his brother’s home before. The scandal of giving up his Damon status to marry a commoner cast a pall over the Fyrad family. To visit him might offer support for his actions.

  Fortunately, such scandals tended to evaporate with time. After eleven rynes, few would remember Farda had once been a Nobleman. Rydah could have visited him anytime in the last several rynes, but never had. Idly, he wondered if he was still ashamed.

  The journey east was pleasant. The horse appeared to be a plodder, but Rydah was not really in a hurry, despite his brother’s urgent plea for help. He thought he might be going to his doom—why had he listened to his slave?

  She sat next to him in silence, chained to the carriage rail. He did not feel the need to secure her, but for appearance’s sake, it was best.

  They saw only the occasional carriage—most travelers were on foot. Few of the high lord’s horsemen seemed to be out, which was strange. Usually, they rode up and down the roads, patrolling, or collecting taxes.

  At the slow pace of their carriage, it took several huras to reach the outskirts of Gordax. They passed farm fields, rich with the bounty of the earth. Grains and maize destined for the cities. Farm slaves could be seen here and there, toiling under the hot sun, their backs bent over their labors.

  Jenya watched, fascinated. She had never seen the world beyond her slave compound until she had been sold. Now, in just a few short suns, she had experienced the city of Blethryn and the world beyond. For some reason, being here under the protection of her master gave her a sense of security, of belonging.

  She wished, for a fleeting moment, that he’d stop in the shade of a tree and take her, hard, ignoring the polite smiles of passing travelers. Her pussy called for his cock. Could he tell?

  Rydah wasn’t stupid. He could hear her shallow breathing, smell her heat. She wanted to breed again! And so soon! He was enormously pleased.

  An idea occurred to him, something he remembered from Jenya’s training. He looked around to make certain they were alone. While he wasn’t embarrassed to breed with his slave, he had something else in mind.

  “Jenya,” he said, a catch in his voice. “Tell me about your training.”

  “My training, m’lord?” She didn’t follow him.

  “Yes. In ways of breeding. Or of pleasing your master.” Rydah felt a little foolish.

  “Oh!” she gasped in sudden realization. Lady Margeld’s words came back to her now. Sometimes, a master will want to use your mouth or your rear passage. “Yes, of course, m’lord. What can I do to please you?”

  Rydah squirmed in his seat, his cock pressing hard against his breeches. “Free my cock,” he ordered.

  Nodding, she bent to her task. Soon, his pole stood up proudly, swelling in the humid air.

  Without another word, Jenya opened her mouth wide and surrounded the little head. She could still taste a bit of herself from earlier that sun. She let her tongue wet him and was pleased when he groaned in response.

  She remembered Margeld’s lessons. While the virgins were not allowed to practice on men, they did learn basic techniques using wooden cocks that had been expertly carved by Craftsmen. Jenya used her tongue to pleasure her master, then swallowed him as best she could into her throat.

  Moving up and down on his turgid shaft, Jenya was pleased to discover how much more pliant his cock was than the wooden models they had used. If only they could have practiced on men, they would have enjoyed their training so much more!

  Rydah let the reins slip from his hands and the horse plodded on, oblivious. He leaned back against the seat, feeling the eyes roll up in his head. “Oh, Rand, that’s nice,” he murmured.

  Jenya kept up the pressure on his cock, not knowing if she really was performing her duties correctly. The wooden cocks, of course, would only stand like statues, forcing the girls to practice until they were exhausted. Margeld told them their masters wouldn’t last as long, but there was no way to tell. Better that the girls learned endurance early.

  Suddenly, Rydah grabbed Jenya’s hair with one hand, and for a moment, she thought she had done something wrong. Then a blast of his seed flooded her throat, causing her to choke briefly. Recovering quickly, she inhaled through her nose and swallowed the precious fluid. She didn’t want to risk insulting her master by spitting out his essence.

  His cock softened in her mouth. She waited until she was sure he was spent, then allowed it to slip free. “Was that acceptable, master?” she asked, looking up at his blissful face.

  “Oh, my yes, my slave. That was excellent. You’ve been trained well. I’ll have to compliment your teachers.” Rydah bent down to pick up the reins. “Now, I’d better concentrate
on the road or we’ll never get there!”

  Smiling, she straightened up, pleased that she had done well. She noticed that the activity had aroused her as well, making her nipples hard and her pussy wet. She wondered how long she’d have to wait until her master wanted to breed again.

  Jenya sat, knees slightly apart, smiling to herself, as Rydah slapped the horse’s rump with the reins and the carriage jolted forward. The more she learned about her Lord, the more secure she felt with him. She wondered what other little preferences he enjoyed.

  As they approached Gordax, Lord Rydah realized why he’d seen so few of the High Lord’s men earlier. They were here instead. Groups of riders thundered past on their way hither and yon. Twice they were stopped and questioned. Rydah made no mention that he was Farda’s brother, only that he was traveling to visit “relatives.” Each time, he was allowed to pass.

  His anxiety grew with each league. Clearly, the High Lord’s men were out searching for his step-niece. Farda and Memma must be frantic with worry.

  The main road passed directly through the heart of the village. Squads of High Lord’s men, armed with swords and shields walked the streets, looking grim. Villagers gave them a wide berth.

  When he turned down a side street to his brother’s house, he was stopped once again and questioned. This time, he told them he was here to visit Farda. The soldiers made him wait while Farda was brought forward to vouch for him.

  Jenya, who kept her head down, received particular attention, although none of the men touched her. That would violate the Damon’s property rights, a serious offense. Still, they could gaze upon the naked slave. A few of the soldiers grinned mischievously when they thought Rydah wasn’t looking.

  Farda saluted him formally, then grasped Rydah’s arm firmly in greeting, rare tears in his eyes. “Thank you for coming, brother,” he said softly. He appeared to be tired and pale. Rydah was shocked to see how much he had aged in the last few rynes. His chest had thickened, and his hair was going gray, although his rynes totaled just thirty and eight.

  Farda walked with them back to his house. Rydah got down off the carriage and walked beside him, leading the horse by a loose rein. They didn’t speak, for two of Bandar’s men walked with them.