The Bridle Path

by Faith Eden

  'I'm no slave!' he growled, trying to keep the fear from his voice, but it was impossible to retain any air of confidence, stripped of his clothing as he now was. How long he had lain uncovered he had no idea, but already his teeth were starting to chatter.

  'Nor was the girl,' Alanna said softly. 'But she was given no choice in the matter, either. Not only that, but you and your murderous friends killed what family she had.'

  'Then kill me too, and make an end of it,' Sprig snarled.

  'That would be too easy,' Alanna said silkily. She bent over him, taking his flaccid organ in her hand. 'My impetuous young friend has suggested cutting this thing off, you know,' she continued. To his horror, Sprig felt his shaft beginning to stir at her caress. 'Of course,' she said, still smiling beatifically, 'that would be one way of ensuring you never again forced yourself upon helpless females, but then it would also detract from your value, when we come to sell you.'

  'Sell me?' Sprig echoed, his eyes growing round. 'You cannot be serious. I'm a free man!'

  'Were a free man,' Alanna said. 'As of now you are my property, you stupid boy, and perhaps you'll start to understand just how you and your people have brought so much suffering and misery into this world.'

  Moxie did not sleep well, with only a few branches to cover her, and was wide awake well before the dawn's first fingers began creeping from the eastern horizon. Pester, however, had fallen into a deep sleep and remained in a huddle, the small saddle blanket over his shoulders.

  The road leading towards South Erisvaal had, as Moxie had hoped, been clear. They had passed only a scattering of westward bound travellers throughout the previous afternoon and none had given much attention to what they assumed had to be some sort of warrior woman and her young slave. It was less usual to encounter a female with a slave, but not unknown, though the fact that Moxie was armed only with her whip and did not carry a sword did trouble her. Few generally ventured through the high passes without a proper weapon.

  She had selected their overnight campsite carefully, leading the way up off the main track until they arrived at a small, fairly level clearing where the trees and bushes screened them completely from the road below. But now, leaving the slumbering pageboy, she slipped quietly through the undergrowth until she found a vantage point from which she could view that road clearly, and for a mile or more in each direction.

  At this hour she did not expect to see much in the way of traffic, but after maybe fifteen minutes, a lone figure came into view from the direction in which they would be resuming their journey shortly. Keeping her head well down, Moxie studied the approaching horseman intently, her fingers wrapped tightly around the wide gold ring she had removed from her left hand earlier.

  It had been given to her by Dorothea, a birthday present some weeks since and had to be worth at least three krones. Moxie hated the thought of parting with it, but it was either that, or the small ruby Dorothea had set in her navel, and the fiery red jewel meant even more to her.

  Three krones. Three krones would buy twelve decent swords, or six swords, several blankets and food supplies sufficient for two weeks on the road. However, the chances of redeeming the ring for that sort of return were faint, out here on the verge of the wilderness, so Moxie knew she would have to accept a fraction of its true value - one sword, a couple of blankets and a handful of basic rations, if she were lucky.

  Except that she would not get anything from the man below. As he drew closer still, Moxie could see he was no trader, but probably a hunter, or even a mercenary, for he rode light with just his sword, a crossbow slung across his back and a saddle pack too small to contain anything more than his own necessities. Sighing, Moxie sat back and waited.

  Corinna traveled in the back of the wagon again next morning; her back and shoulders felt far less tender now, but she was exhausted, having had very little sleep during the night. Savatch had kept her tied to the wagon wheel for much of the time, facing it, her wrists spread wide and lashed to the junctures of spokes and rim, her ankles similarly treated, though not secured anywhere near so far apart.

  He had come to her several times during the darkness, fondling her naked breasts, tormenting her aching sex, fingers sliding in and out of the helplessly sodden tunnel. Then suddenly, without warning and without speaking, he had entered her, thrusting deeply in and out while his fingers twisted her ringed nipples cruelly.

  Four times he took her and four times they climaxed as one, yet each time he left her and returned to his furs without a word passing from his lips. If Corinna had ever truly wondered what it might be like to live the life of a slave, if her experiences at the hands of Fulgrim that previous summer had not already taught her, she was quickly beginning to understand now.

  Although she knew that Savatch loved her as she did him, he was deliberately using her as a mere chattel, sating his lust on and in her quivering body and then leaving her to hang in her bondage, still masked, her waist cruelly compressed by the slave belt, the cold night air free to torment her naked flesh further.

  Finally, with the first light of dawn, he had released her, added fresh wood to the spluttering embers of the fire and ordered her to prepare hot oatmeal for them both. Corinna had eaten it greedily, gulping also at the wine sack he passed her, but she had remained silent throughout, knowing that a true slave would be forbidden to speak without her master's direct instruction.

  And she, Corinna, daughter of the Protector of Illeum, wanted to be his true slave.

  The wagon lurched on, wheels bouncing over the sun-baked mud ruts, the metal springs squealing and protesting, though in truth they performed little function, so old were they. Behind the ancient vehicle, their two original steeds followed dutifully, their lead reins looped around a stanchion set in the tailboard and up front, crouched on the precarious driver's bench, Savatch maintained his silence as hooves and wheels slowly ate up the miles.

  Savatch had replaced the leather dildo inside her before the day's journey started, but at least he had not plugged her rear, so Corinna was able to sit up against the inside of the wagon and look out through the front as they travelled on. She did not recognise the road at all now, for they had come many miles from Garassotta. Only the positions of the sun indicated they were now travelling south east and, as the narrowing road began to climb up into higher country, she guessed that Savatch might be heading towards one of the passes that led to North Erisvaal.

  How far he intended to go she had no idea and had not dared, nor even wanted to ask, for a slave girl would not normally be privy to her master's travelling itinerary. She simply went wherever he took her and if he sold her on route, then she had to accept that fate, equally.

  Not that Savatch would sell her, she knew; that was one fate, at least, she would be spared. He would beat her and use her, as she had chosen to be used, but ultimately he would always be there to protect her, as the castle at Garassotta and the palace in Illeum City would always be there whenever she elected to return to the life for which she had been born and raised.

  She closed her eyes, smiling to herself.

  The life for which she had been born and raised.

  Maybe so, she thought, but maybe this was the life to which she was better suited; travelling as a naked possession, helpless, subdued, obedient, ready to spread her legs for her master's thrusting cock and without the necessity of being whipped into compliance. The whip, when Savatch used it, simply added further to fuel her lusts.

  She was unnatural, a true whore. Fulgrim's evil touch had tainted her forever and maybe she would be as damned as he inevitably would be.

  With an effort, Corinna opened her eyes, struggling to banish such thoughts, for memories of the Vorsan nobleman were not healthy for her. Deadly and murderous as he was, and perilous as her own position had been in his power, the things he had done to her stirred feelings aside from mere fear, feelings she did not want to admit to, but simply try to recreate in this sinful charade they were now acting out.

 
The sharp hissing sound, followed by Savatch's cry of pain, jerked Corinna immediately back into reality. For a second or so she had no idea what was happening, only that Savatch was hunched over even further on the bench seat and that he was flailing the reins desperately. Only as the two horses responded and broke into a fast trot did she see the shaft of the quarrel projecting from where the base of his neck met his left shoulder.

  With a shout of alarm she struggled to get forward to him, but with her hands strapped so efficiently to her sides she knew she would be powerless to help even if she could manage to do so. And that also, without the use of her arms she was quite likely to find herself pitched headlong from the wagon, which was now lurching alarmingly in every direction as the horses broke into a canter and began to pick up even greater speed.

  'Free me!' she screamed desperately. 'Try, for the sake of all that's holy - try to get my one hand free at least!'

  With an almost superhuman effort Savatch managed to turn on the bench, whilst still maintaining a grip on the traces, but already the blood was spreading out across the front of his shirt and tunic and it was clear he was fighting a losing battle against unconsciousness.

  Corinna crawled closer to him, twice banging her head painfully as the lurching wagon threw her off balance. Kneeling, she tried to turn, offering her right side towards him.

  'Please!' she sobbed. 'Please try! I cannot help you as I am now. You must—' Her imploring words were cut short as the wagon gave one final leap and suddenly, as the terrified horses reared and screamed in terror, Corinna found herself looking down into nothingness - nothingness save for what appeared to be a river. And that river seemed to be so far below, so far that she could not believe it possible that the mêlée of tumbling horses, wheels and splintering wood were heading directly down towards it, taking with it her and the man for whom she would willingly have died and whom, it now seemed inevitable, she was going to die with.

  'I think our new slave looks quite sweet, don't you Melina?' The rescued girl looked totally nonplussed, staring at the captive Sprig, who glared angrily back at the three women from behind the slave hood Alanna had secured about his head and upper face. She had also cinched the waist belt unnecessarily tight and added cuffs about his upper arms, just above the elbows, fastening them together with a length of chain that passed across his back, forcing him to stand with his chest thrust forward.

  The final indignity had been the pouch. Jekka had discovered two of them in the saddle pack and hooted with laughter when she realised what they were for. Carefully shaped, the pouch slipped over the entire genitalia, covering, but not hiding anything of the anatomical shape, though once the restraining strap had been buckled behind the scrotum, the organ within was forced to remain in its flaccid state, regardless of stimulation and desire.

  'He's certainly well formed,' Jekka mused, 'and quite fit looking. I think now you were right for me not to kill him. I wonder how much he'll fetch.'

  'I wouldn't like to say,' Alanna said. She reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Melina's shoulder. 'No need to worry, girl,' she said. 'He'll not be able to harm you now, that's for sure. See, even as big as he is, he's quite powerless. How does it feel, boy?' she asked, addressing Sprig directly. 'How does it feel to be reduced to such a lowly status? Perhaps I should demonstrate to poor Melina just how useless a man can be made.' She stepped forward, reached down and cupped Sprig's leather sheathed testicles in one hand, gently pressing and manipulating with her thumb. The helpless barbarian groaned and tried to pull away, but Alanna's grip simply tightened further.

  'You see, Melina?' she said. 'See how vulnerable a man can be? I tell you now, the gods who made us must indeed be female, for no male would fashion one of his own with his balls on the outside and at such a convenient height!'

  Pecon spread the vellum sheet across the tabletop, using his knife and the two empty bowls to keep it flat. From her position on the bed, Demila could see that it appeared to be covered with a lot of scrawls and pictures, but none of it meant anything to her, for she had never learned to read nor write. Pecon, however, was not one to allow a simple fact like that to stand in his way.

  'Come over here.' He beckoned to her without looking up. Demila slid to the floor and padded across the hard earth to stand beside him. 'Ever seen a map before?' She shook her head. 'Thought not,' he said, and jabbed a finger at a point near the centre of the vellum.

  'This is how it works,' he explained. 'We're here, roughly, and the sun rises here...' his finger moved and jabbed down again, '...and sets over here. Now, if I'm right, this farm place you told me about must lie somewhere in this area, yes?' Again his finger moved, this time circling a small section of the map.

  Demila looked blank. 'I don't know, master,' she said. 'If that is the Vaal country, then yes, I suppose so. I only know what they told me.'

  Pecon nodded and stood upright again. 'Tell me,' he said, 'when they finally sold you, which way did you travel? Was the sun behind you in the morning, or in the afternoon?'

  'In the morning, master,' Demila said. 'Definitely in the morning, for in the late day we were walking into it as it set and it was hard to see where we were walking.'

  'Then they brought you from the east,' Pecon said, apparently satisfied, 'in which case you almost certainly came from the Vaal. Tell me, did you pass through the mountains?' This time Demila shook her head emphatically.

  'No, master,' she said with conviction. 'We crossed some hills, but did not go into the mountains, though we could see peaks in the distance to both sides of us.'

  'Then you came through from South Erisvaal,' Pecon said, studying the chart again. 'From North Erisvaal you would have come through one of several passes and further south, from Karli, it would have been the same. There is only one place such as you describe.

  'But one final thing - how many days were you travelling before you reached those hills? Think carefully now.'

  Demila wrinkled her nose and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. 'Three or four,' she said, at length. 'At least, I think it was. Maybe it was five, but no more, I am sure of that.'

  'Good.' Pecon nodded. 'Did you walk all the while, or did they carry you in the wagons for part of the journey?'

  'We walked for the second part of each day,' Demila said. She looked at him as he stood bent over the table once more, apparently trying to make some calculations and measurements with his forefinger and thumb. 'May I ask why you need to know these things, master?' she ventured. It was a precocious risk, she knew, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. Fortunately, their night together seemed to have left Pecon in a good mood towards her.

  'Well, my ignorant little slave girl,' he said, smiling at her, 'by working out how far a wagon would travel in half a day and then how far the entire caravan would travel with several slaves on foot for the remainder of the day, we can work out the distance between these hills here and the farm from where you were bought.

  'My guess is that it would be somewhere about here, give or take a few miles.' He pointed at the map again, but it meant nothing to Demila. 'So, if we make for the general area, I'm certain we shall find someone who can give us directions to the farm itself.'

  Demila shuddered and felt herself turning pale. 'You are going to sell me back?' she wailed. 'But they didn't want me.'

  'Sell you back?' Pecon echoed. 'I think not. As you say, you were too small for their peculiar needs, so there would be little point in trying. However, I am curious as to these pony slaves they train. Humans to do the work of horses - an interesting prospect for a businessman such as I.

  'I think a visit to this farm, just to see what it is they buy and sell, and then I can decide if there might be a profit in it for me, too.'

  Jorkan approached the edge of the ravine cautiously and stood, looking down at the swirling torrent far below and at the smashed wreckage and dead horses already being swept away by the furious current.

  'Damnation!' he muttered, clenching his fist. P
aulis, who remained on the road holding the bridles of their two horses, did not understand his uncle's apparent anger.

  'What's the matter?' he asked. Jorkan continued to stare down at the river without speaking, but finally he managed to tear himself away from the scene of carnage and trudged back to rejoin his nephew.

  'The matter, young Paulis,' he said, gritting his teeth, 'is that we have no immediate proof that Savatch is dead, and our paymaster won't part with any gold until the fellow fails to show up anywhere for some considerable time.'

  'But he must be dead!' Paulis exclaimed. 'I saw your shot take him in the throat and anyway, how could any living thing survive such a fall?'

  'Quite,' Jorkan said. 'But only we saw them fall, didn't we?' He sighed and reached out to take his horse from Paulis. 'And that's another thing,' he said, 'she's gone over the edge as well and they wanted her alive, in case you've forgotten that.'

  'It couldn't be helped,' Paulis protested. 'My mount shed a shoe and stumbled, just as I was about to catch hold of their horses' bridles. I was lucky I didn't end up going over with them.'

  'I know,' Jorkan conceded, 'but the sort of people I work for do not accept excuses and they'd as soon throw you down yonder gorge themselves, as they would accept your - our - failure.'

  'Well, we could at least go down there and find the bodies. That way, at least we could take back their heads, to prove we did most of the job. Perhaps they'll pay half what they originally offered?'

  Jorkan sighed and heaved himself up into the saddle. 'For a start, laddy-o,' he said, 'by the time we find a safe way down there, everything will be miles down river and we could spend days searching for wherever those bodies eventually wash up. Secondly, and far more important, if you fancy going back to these people and showing them the head of the woman they expected to use as their chief bargaining counter, then be my guest. They'll cut off your head and mount it on a pole, I shouldn't wonder.'