“I must get help! Accompany us to the doctor’s, if you must!” He climbed into the carriage and eased under Jenya’s head, letting her rest it in his lap. He picked up the reins.
“But, sire, I have an important message to deliver!”
“Then deliver it!” He snapped the reins and the horse jerked ahead, leaving the guards standing there, mouths agape.
Rydah did not care what they did. His only concern was to his new breeder. To have her in jeopardy like this just a dal after he’d finally taken possession of her was unthinkable!
When he turned toward Mantaro, he observed Robnak continuing west, while the younger one, Mardor, followed the carriage. A simple solution to their problem. Idly, he wondered if he’d be able to slip past this remaining guard.
By Rand! Can it be? he thought. Did Jenya fall from the carriage on purpose?
“Jenya,” he whispered, making sure the guard was still too far away to hear his voice.
“Yes, master,” she said softly, pain in her voice.
“There was no kalachar, was there?”
“No, master.”
“You did that on purpose, just so we’d head in the right direction, didn’t you?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Did Memma tell you something when she brought you a pillow?”
“Yes, master.”
Rydah marveled at this plucky slave. At that moment, Mardor came alongside, preventing him from asking her anything else.
Rydah was stunned. Farda couldn’t get to him, so he had his wife go to Jenya. Very clever.
But to pull it off, Jenya had to fall from the carriage and injure herself. Her sacrifice showed how much she believed in Rydah to solve this dilemma. Her trust weighed on him.
What could he do? He was a mere scribe…
Interlude
Houston, Texas, September 2035
“She’s so brave! She must really love him.” Joyce put her empty glass on the coffee table.
“Are those tears in your eyes?”
“No, of course not,” she said, turning aside.
“Maybe you’ve heard enough for tonight,” Jack said, reaching up to pull her chin back to face him.
“Oh, no you don’t! You have to tell me what happens!”
“I wouldn’t want to upset you…”
“This?” She waved at her bleary eyes. “This is a good cry. Like when I’m watching a chick flick, you know.”
“Oh,” he nodded. “So you like our plucky little heroine?”
“Yes, very much.” She looked down at her naked breast, peeking out of her robe, and tried to imagine being naked all the time. “I pretend I’m her. You know, just a little.”
“Uh huh,” he said, smiling, imaging Joyce as Jenya.
“But you can’t fool me.”
“What do you mean?”
“The part about getting sucked off while they were driving—that was sooo American, I can’t even tell you.”
Jack laughed. “That transparent, huh? Hey, it could’ve happened!”
“Well, I forgive you—you’re making Jenya out to be such a clever slave, after all.”
“Hey, a lot of her personality came through on the tapes. I’m just filling in the blanks, you know.”
“I’m certainly enjoying it.”
Jack pulled aside the other side of her robe and peeked at her erect nipples. “Yes, I can see that,” he said dryly. He leaned in and gently licked her pale flesh. Joyce closed her eyes.
He licked her like a cat, using the broad flatness of his tongue on her breasts. The slight rasp of it on her skin only increased her lust. “God, what you do to me,” she moaned. She began to squirm on his lap. He moved down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Her heightened libido jumped another notch. She wanted to grip him between her thighs. Joyce very nearly came, right then. She reached out and held onto his arms, thankful she had found a man who knew how to love her.
Jack licked her and licked her, moving from breast to breast, nipple to nipple. She thought she could just stay like that forever, on the verge of an orgasm without reaching it. It was a delicious dilemma.
“God, Jack…” She gasped and squeezed his arms. She ached for release.
He paused, talking around one of her nipples. She could hear his voice vibrate through her breast. “You know what you’re going to have to do to hear the rest, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. She was more than ready. But first he was going to have to stop licking her breasts. She hung on, poised between pleasures—the story that turned her on emotionally, and the foreplay that excited her physically. Which was better? Right now, it was a toss up. Later, she knew only the physical would suffice.
Finally, Jack pulled away. He nodded and she climbed off his lap, suddenly aware of how shaky her knees were. She stood in front of him, feeling a little exposed. She was half-dressed while he remained fully clothed. She was becoming Jenya, in a way.
He just stared. No, ogled.
It had been a long time since she’d been ogled by a man. Perhaps when she was coy and slim and sassy in her twenties, men looked at her as Jack did now. Back then, she took it for granted. Now it was a special honor, coming from a rare man. This man knew the secret to her heart, she decided: he realized that whatever he gave her would be returned threefold. She would do just about anything for Jack.
She didn’t know if she could wait. She wanted to feel his hard cock in her. Joyce could imagine the sensation: the wet stroke of him, the sounds of their love-making, the little cries she’d make. The heat in her pussy increased.
Joyce debated: sex or story? She wanted both. But the story was flowing now. If they made love, Jack might lose his train of thought. Okay, she thought, let’s keep his brain alert, yet not ignore his cock. She gave him a little tease. She straightened up and made a show of easing the shoulder of her robe down, like a stripper. Jack smiled.
She let the garment fall away to her feet, leaving her naked once again.
She was certain he could smell her lust easily now. She glanced down to see the fluids seeping out of her pussy and glistening through the red-brown hairs. God, was she ever ready for his hard cock! Breed with me, master, she thought.
“Come here,” he said, his voice hoarse. She approached him, wondering how she was going to sit in his lap without ruining his pants.
“What about your pants?” she asked timidly.
“What about them? Come here.” He took her into his arms as she sat down, feeling her lubrication leaking onto his khaki trousers. If he didn’t care, she didn’t care. All she wanted right now was to hear the rest of the story. She knew she’d get fucked soon.
He stroked her breasts again and ran the other hand over her back, down along her naked ass. He liked the full curves of her, he’d told her many times. She wasn’t plump to him, just exactly right, he’d said. She could tell he meant it.
“You’d better finish the story before my head explodes,” she said.
“Or maybe some other part.”
“Um. We wouldn’t want that, would we? Okay, let’s see. We left our hero shortly after our heroine had injured herself in an effort to distract the guards, right?”
“Right,” she said, letting her eyes fall on the bulge in his pants.
Chapter Ten
They found the doctor’s office with Mardor’s help and he aided Rydah in carrying Jenya inside. Nerat, a second-tier Damon, was ancient, Rydah noted. He thought the old man smelled like a rotting forest log. He hoped the doctor knew what he was doing.
Nerat washed the blood away and dabbed Jenya’s wounds with tantra root to speed the healing, then wrapped her with gauze from her knee to her hips. No sooner had the bandages been applied then spots of blood began to seep through them.
“It’s just a bad scrape, Lord Rydah,” he said. “Nothing was broken, thank Rand.”
Jenya gritted her teeth but made no complaints.
“Can you give her something for the pain?”
<
br /> The doctor nodded and brewed a tea. Jenya drank it and drifted off to sleep. “She’ll need at least a full sun’s rest. Maybe two. I’ll have to change her bandages on the morrow, to make sure she doesn’t develop an infection.”
“Do what you have to, doctor. She must get well!”
Rydah went outside. The soldier waited by the carriage. “How is she, m’lord?”
“Not good,” he said truthfully. “She needs at least a sun of rest, maybe more. The doctor’s is worried about infection.”
Mardor nodded. “Um, my lord…”
“Yes?”
“My orders were to accompany you here, but my liege didn’t say anything about staying.”
“Well, that’s not my concern. You can stay or go. But I’m staying until she recovers, then I have to get back to Blethryn to complete an important project for High Lord Bandar.”
He had dropped the name on purpose. It seemed to have the desired effect.
“You work for High Lord Bandar?” Mardor said, awed.
“Of course. I’m his scribe.” Well, one of his scribes, he thought. The guard didn’t have to know that there were about fifty others. “I help spread His Word to other cities by editing church documents.”
“And he is waiting for you now to complete a project?”
“Yes, he is,” Rydah lied. He had just completed a project and had no idea when more material might come his way.
“Yet you stay with your slave?” The guard clearly thought Lord Rydah risked much.
“If she carries my Damon seed, you had better believe I’m staying. High Lord Bandar will understand as well.” He paused. “I only hope he’ll understand why you’re late returning to Blethryn.”
Mardor blanched. “I was given orders to accompany you to the doctor’s!”
“Yes, and you have. I plan to stay until my breeder gets well. What you do is your business. I am not your commander.”
He left him then, and went to the carriage to remove his belongings. The doctor had told him of a home in the village that sometimes took in strangers for the night. Though it was not even mid-sun, he wouldn’t be going anywhere without Jenya.
He walked down the street to the house he’d been told about. On the way, he passed another squad of soldiers. They paid him no attention. A heavy-set old woman opened the door to his knock and her eyes widened when she recognized the cloak of a Damon.
“M’lord! Please, come in out of the hot sun!”
He entered to a small room. A cold fireplace took up most of one wall. “I was told you take in travelers,” he said.
“Oh, yes, m’lord. It would be my pleasure! We don’t get many visitors to Mantaro. Please, come this way.” She waddled down a short corridor and stepped aside to present a well-furnished room with a single bed.
“I’m sure you’re used to finer accommodations, m’lord. I hope this will be acceptable for your needs.”
“This will be fine.” He held out a coin—more than the room was worth, he was sure.
She took it quickly and tucked in into her large bosom before he could change his mind.
Once he had stowed his gear, he became restless. He returned to the doctor’s office to see if he could sit next to Jenya’s bed. When he walked by the carriage, Mardor was still there.
“Sire?”
“Yes, soldier?”
“Um, if you’re going to stay here a couple of suns, I think I should head toward Blethryn and report in. But I’ll tell them about you and perhaps they’ll send you a new escort.”
“That’s kind of you, but I’ll probably have left by the time a new escort arrives. I can find my own way back.”
“Very well, sire. If you’re sure.” He seemed anxious to leave. Rydah wasn’t about to discourage him.
“I’m sure.”
Mardor saluted and Rydah nodded in return. Only Warriors saluted each other. Damon leaders just nodded.
He watched as the soldier mounted up and rode out quickly. Rydah sighed with relief when he was out of sight.
He entered the doctor’s office once again. “Is she still sleeping?”
“Yes,” he said. “She’ll probably sleep for another hura or more. Sleep is the best way for her to heal.”
Rand’s curse on that! He needed to find out what she knew and get to the Acolyte before more soldiers came—soldiers who knew he was Symal’s uncle.
Once Apnar heard that Mardor rode off and left him alone, he’d probably lose his head.
Chapter Eleven
Jenya dozed fitfully, her wounds disturbing her sleep. She woke up several times, her body aching. She felt like she’d been assaulted, only she had done it to herself. When she awoke mid-sun, she was amazed to see her master, sitting by the bedside, cooling her forehead with a damp rag.
“M-master?”
“It’s all right, Jenya. You needed your rest.”
“Oh, no! We have no time!”
“Of course we do. You’ve been injured. I’m worried about you.”
Jenya was touched. In the slave pens, she had learned of masters who would simply return their injured breeders and obtain another one—unless, of course, they were already carrying their child. They would let Syminton deal with the cost and time of recovery. Often, the rejected breeders would no longer be saleable, and instead would be sent down to the breeding pool.
She glanced around the room. She spotted the doctor, sitting in the corner observing them. Her eyes told Rydah all he needed to know.
He turned. “Will you excuse us, doctor? I need to examine my slave.”
“Of course,” Nerat said, rising. “I’ll be outside.”
When he was gone, Rydah turned to Jenya. “By Rand, you took an incredible risk! I ought to beat you with a strap! I bought you to have my children, not to jump from carriages!”
“I’m sorry, master, I didn’t know what else to do! Memma told me how urgent the situation was. I thought if you could get to them first, you might be able to save Symal.”
Rydah wanted to grab his slave and shake her—and hug her. That a slave would risk everything just to give her master a chance to slip the guards? It boggled the mind. How could she have so much faith in him when she’d only known him a handful of suns?
And what was he going to do to justify her faith?
“All right. We’re alone. What did Memma tell you?”
“Symal has a relative that no one knows about. It’s Memma’s mother’s illegitimate sister. She lives in Balgari. Her name is Athela. Memma thinks the Acolyte and Symal are there, but Farda can’t go anywhere near there to check. She thought you might be able to get away. To prove that Farda sent you, Memma gave me a password.” She looked embarrassed. “I’m only telling you what Memma said.”
“Come on, out with it.”
“Very well, m’lord. ‘Princess Bluta.’ That’s what she told me.”
Rydah had to laugh. A bluta was a large, placid, slow-moving beast that was cut up for meat that Damons considered a delicacy.
“All right. How can I find them?”
“Go to Balgari and seek a man called Darikani. He’ll lead you.”
“Good. You rest. I’ll be back in a sun or two.”
* * * * *
Rydah passed several patrols on his way to Balgari. His Damon garb kept him from being questioned too closely. He told the guards he was traveling to scout rural crafts for Damon households. Deep down, he knew that when Apnar put together Mardor’s report and the patrol sightings, he would soon zero in on Acolyte Lepdar’s location.
Even as he came to help, he was increasing the danger for Symal.
He rode into Balgari and tied up the carriage to a post in the main square, outside the dining hall. There were patrols here as well, he noticed. They seemed bored, as if they felt they’d been assigned a backwater while the real action was happening somewhere else.
All it would take would be one suspicious guard. He cursed himself for not donning a disguise just before he entered the vil
lage.
Rydah strolled into the café. People turned to notice the Damon in their presence, an unusual sight in this farming community. He ordered a pula, the strong drink of choice in the farmlands and sat at a small table and looked around at all the eyes on him.
Rand, he was such a terrible spy!
The waitress dropped off his drink and accepted his coin. “Excuse me,” he said.
She stopped. “Yes, sire?”
“I’m looking for Darikani. Do you know where I can find him?”
“Who’s asking?”
“A friend.” He slipped her a few more coins.
She shrugged and looked around nervously. “Don’t know him.”
He cursed inwardly. What had he done wrong?
He sipped at his drink and watched the crowd for the High Lord’s men. Fortunately, there were none at the moment. He pondered his next move. Should he ask somewhere else? Should he try to disguise himself now? Wouldn’t that raise more suspicion? He felt lost.
“Damon?”
He turned. A middle-aged man stood before him. He wore a tunic of the Craftsman class.
“You are looking for someone?”
“Yes, Darikani. Are you he?” He pitched his voice low.
“Why do you seek him, m’lord?”
“A friend sent me.”
“Oh? Who would that be?”
He sighed, anxious to end this circular conversation. He lowered his voice, “‘Princess Bluta.’ “
The man’s eyes widened. “You come from Memma?”
“Yes. And Farda. I’m his brother.”
“Yes, I heard that he had a Damon brother.” He looked around. “Come.”
Rydah left his drink and followed Darikani out the rear door of the cafe.
He stopped by the stinking pile of trash that had gathered near the back door. “Forgive me, m’lord, but would you be willing to swap your Damon clock for something, umm, less conspicuous?”
“Yes, of course. I was foolish for not thinking of it myself.”
Darikani nodded and escorted Rydah along the back of a few buildings until they came to a barn. The craftsman held up a hand, then slipped inside. He returned a moment later to wave Rydah inside.
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