The Bridle Path

by Faith Eden

  'Come, hold him!' he ordered. She nudged the pony forward and reached out to take the proffered rein. Pecon thrust it into her hand and rounded upon the newcomer.

  'Bloody little fool!' he stormed. 'What in all the hells do you think you're playing at? Where is your master? Speak girl, or I'll have your hide!'

  If he had expected the slave girl to cower before this tirade he was quickly disappointed, for she drew herself erect and addressed him in a manner he had certainly not anticipated.

  'Sir,' she said, 'if I startled your horse, I am sorry, but I am in great need of your help and did not think.'

  'My help?' Pecon echoed, striding towards her. 'A slave asks for my help?'

  'I am not what I seem, sir,' she replied, standing her ground, 'but there is no time to explain. My - there is a man, a friend, badly injured and I need help to move him. I fear he is close to death, but if we could get him to a physician he might yet survive.'

  'Indeed?' Pecon replied. 'And why should I trouble myself with the friend of a slave? I presume this is another slave and I dare say you are both running from your rightful master.'

  'No sir, indeed we are not.' The girl's eyes flickered behind her mask. 'In fact,' she continued, 'the man is my master, in a manner of speaking.'

  Pecon was not sure whether to laugh or shake the impudent girl. 'This man is your master, you say?' he said. 'And yet did you not just describe him as a friend?'

  The girl threw up her arms in a gesture of supplication. 'Please!' she cried. 'Please sir, there is no time to explain. Later I can tell you everything, but for now, won't you please just come with me? It is not far, but I cannot bring him to the roadside unaided.'

  'I think that perhaps you are feeling sorry for our new slave,' Jekka said. Melina, riding alongside her, felt herself beginning to blush and the redheaded Yslander did not miss this fact.

  'Aha,' she said quietly, 'so I was right. Yet was he not responsible for killing members of your own family? How can you have any feelings for him but hatred?'

  'I don't think he did any of the actual killing,' Melina replied. 'That was mainly their leader and one other man.'

  'But he made no attempt to stop them, did he?' Jekka pointed out.

  Melina shook her head. 'No, but then I think they might as easily have killed him, had he tried to interfere. They were evil men.'

  'And he would have become just as evil in time,' Jekka said firmly, 'if he's not already so. He raped you the same as his friends did, I suppose?'

  'Yes, but he was not so rough and he let me sleep under his furs, where the others just discarded me when they had finished,' Melina said. 'I heard him ask their leader if he could take me as his own slave.' Her bottom lip started to tremble. 'The brute then told him he had to whip me, to prove he was man enough.'

  'Which, of course, he did,' Jekka said grimly. 'Some test of manhood.'

  'It is probably the way with their people,' Melina said. 'Besides, in their eyes I was just a slave and men whip their slaves everywhere, so I understand.'

  'So now,' Jekka smiled, 'let him learn how it feels to be on the receiving end, for it will be a long time before he has anything to do with a whip other than to suffer under it.

  'Let you sleep under his furs indeed,' she growled. 'Probably just wanted a cock warmer on a cold night.'

  Almost miraculously, there was a small hamlet less than a mile further down the road and, when Pecon inquired, to Corinna's relief he was told there was a physician. Though when they arrived at his cottage the sight of the old man, bent almost double, did little to inspire further confidence.

  However, Pecon quickly organised a small wagon and two young men to assist in carrying Savatch up from the river, though the delay seemed interminable to Corinna and she feared they would return to find him already dead. Following Pecon back down to the beached wagon, she hardly dared hope and stood on the grass and waited while he clambered across the rocks to investigate.

  'He's still breathing,' Pecon announced, jumping onto the river bank and stepping aside to make way for the two villagers. 'But lift him with care, or that wound will surely open up again.'

  The climb from river to roadside had been far too precipitous for the old doctor, who had waited with Demila and the borrowed wagon. Now, as the men laid Savatch on the back of the vehicle, he leaned over him, fussing and muttering and probing with his gnarled fingers.

  'It's not good,' he wheezed at last. 'He's lost much blood, as you can see for yourselves. By rights he should already be dead, though he looks as if he's strong and pretty fit.

  'Fortunately the arrow that struck him missed all the really major vessels, but it's done damage enough, for all that, so we must get him back to my house, so that I can clean and dress the wound properly. If it's left, his blood will sour and he will die within hours.'

  While the old man tended to his patient, Corinna sat on a fallen tree trunk a few paces from the back door of the cottage. Demila sat on the grass, cross-legged, some distance from her, staring down at the ground and making no attempt to communicate. Finally, as the sun was dipping low in the sky, Pecon emerged, his features impassive. Corinna rose and rushed towards him.

  'Is he...?' She could not bring herself to say the word, but Pecon shook his head.

  'He still lives,' he replied, 'though the life spark is very weak. The old man cannot - or will not - say what his chances are, but his face tells an unpromising story.' He stretched his shoulders and let out a long, deep breath.

  'Your master's fate now lies elsewhere than in mortal hands, I think,' he said, looking up at the sky. 'He must hope that some god sees fit to smile kindly upon him, for there is no more we can do.' He half turned and called out to Demila.

  'Go take the horses to the trough,' he ordered. 'We must be on our way without further delay. It will be dark in two hours and it will take all of that to reach the place where we will be staying this night, especially as one of you will have to walk. That pony cannot carry two of you.'

  Corinna stared at him, mouth agape. 'But I'm not coming with you!' she exclaimed.

  'Since when has a slave had the right to decide where and when she does anything?' Pecon demanded icily. 'I have paid the old man to care for your master and to bury him if he dies. He seemed to have no money upon him, so therefore I am taking you as recompense.

  'I have drawn up a document, which the old man has signed as well and he will give it to your former master, if and when he should recover. It is all done quite properly, so you now belong to me.'

  Corinna gulped, thinking fast. His assumption as to her status was reasonable enough, given that she still wore the slave hood and belt, that her ringed breasts were on full display, and that her final modesty was covered only by the triangular leather strap that still held the leather dildo inside her.

  'But my master had money on him,' she protested. 'There was a pouch at his belt.'

  'Well, 'tis not there now,' Pecon snapped, 'and I have not taken it. I am many things, but not a thief, and certainly not one to steal from a man who cannot protect his own. Perhaps it was lost when the wagon fell into the river. You said it was a steep drop, did you not?'

  'I did not mean to accuse you, sir,' Corinna said. 'If the pouch is gone, then it is lost, probably forever, but I can repay you your money and pay more, for your kindness and inconvenience.'

  'Oh, you can, can you?' Pecon threw back his head and roared with laughter. 'Such fine talk, coming from a slave.'

  'But I am not really a slave, sir,' Corinna said. It was a risk, revealing her true identity, but it was her only choice. 'That man in there, my master, as I called him, is not really my master at all, except that we were acting out a little game. He is Lord Savatch, captain of the household at Garassotta.'

  'And you're his wife, I suppose?' Pecon chuckled, with obvious disbelief.

  'No sir, I am not,' Corinna replied evenly, 'though I would be if I were free to marry him, and I shall be so, in another year or two. My husband - my husban
d's interests have taken him elsewhere and our marriage was not a true marriage anyway.'

  'Ah, a slave who makes a political marriage, maybe?' Pecon said, derision in his voice. 'What cackafanny nonsense is this you would have me believe?' He stepped forward and seized Corinna's left arm. 'Enough,' he snapped, 'or I shall thrash you soundly.' He turned her roughly about. 'And from these marks on your back, you are no stranger to a good whipping.'

  'But you don't understand!' Corinna squealed, trying to twist free of his grip. 'If only you'd let me—'

  Her attempts to reason with him were cut short as he thrust the wadded leather gag forcefully into her mouth and the restraining strap was fastened before she had time to react. With practised skill he forced her left wrist into the strap at her side, pulling it tight, the lock clicking into place.

  In desperation Corinna tried to kick out at him, but the soft-soled sandals had no effect and he soon had her other wrist similarly restrained.

  'That's better,' he said, stepping back. Despite his efforts, she saw he was not even breathing heavily and his expression was now one of mockery. 'Yes,' he said, nodding slowly, 'a fine big-titted wench indeed, bigger boned, bigger built and a lot stronger than poor little Demila. I think I know just the place to get the best price for you, my girl, and I may even show a profit on the deal.'

  Chapter 3

  The journey through the hills into South Erisvaal took two days, which passed uneventfully. As Moxie had predicted, the few travellers they encountered assumed that the sword she wore entitled her to a healthy degree of respect. And although a few of the males made no attempt to disguise their interest in her well-developed bosom, they offered no comments and did nothing to hinder the progress of what they clearly supposed was a warrior woman and her slave page.

  Pester, despite the fact that Moxie had removed the leather slave hood from his head, maintained a sulky silence, except when she addressed him directly. He was not a brave soul at the best of times and the events at Varragol had frightened him badly, so he could not understand why Moxie was persisting in riding towards what he plainly considered as further potential peril.

  'So,' she said, late on the afternoon of the second day, 'what would you have us do then, eh?' Pester pouted morosely and avoided meeting her gaze.

  'At least ride somewhere there's civilised people,' he said. 'We know nothing of this country and I reckon we've been lucky, so far.'

  'Civilised country?' Moxie raised her eyebrows. 'It depends what you call civilised, I suppose. In my experience, Illeum only thinks itself civilised. A truly civilised country would hardly permit men to beat women at will, nor would it permit the more fortunate to own the less fortunate as if they were no better than animals at times.

  'Through accidents of birth, people like Dorothea and Fulgrim can set themselves apart and control the destiny and fate of people like us. Even if we were to turn around and ride back, what do you think awaits us there, eh?

  'In case you've forgotten, Dorothea owns us both, legally, and the mere fact that she's been dragged off somewhere by Fulgrim and his bunch of cut-throats doesn't mean we're suddenly free. Any noble, or even any merchant who has the right seal, can seize us as his own, at least until they establish what has happened to the mistress.

  'Worse still, if they choose not to believe our story, we could be taken as being runaways and the punishments meted out for that are worse than anything we would want to face. Our best chance is to find the Lady Corinna, for she'll vouch for us. I don't fancy standing up on a public block while some executioner or bailiff starts mutilating this body of mine, and you've still got a cock to lose, even though you were parted from your balls a long while back.

  'And that would be a pity,' she smiled, in an attempt to lighten the mood between them. 'I've grown quite fond of that cock of yours and I'd hate to think of it being pickled or burned on some fire.'

  'You know,' Pester muttered, 'you go on about the way people like Fulgrim and the mistress treat us, but you're just as bad. If you'd been born into a wealthy family, I reckon you might have been even worse.'

  'Oh, poor baby,' Moxie cooed, teasingly. 'Doesn't he like having his poor little weasel in Moxie's nice warm burrow then?'

  Pester sniffed and continued to stare straight ahead over his horse's head and they rode on in silence again, side by side, as their shadows lengthened on the road in front of them and the day gradually began to draw towards its end.

  By the middle of the third day, Corinna was feeling more exhausted than she had ever thought it possible for a person to feel. Pecon set a demanding pace and schedule and she and Demila were forced to take turns walking. There were few signs of habitation on the road they now travelled, and in the two tiny hamlets they did pass through Pecon had no luck in trying to purchase another mount, though he was able to obtain a pair of stout knee boots for each of the girls, which offered better protection from the uneven road surface than did their flimsy sandals. And at least he did remove the phallus, which offered her some small crumb of comfort.

  To her horror, however, he forced her to travel still gagged and when, on the first night, he removed the foul leather and she tried to reason with him again, he rewarded her by replacing it immediately, tying her against a tree and delivering several stinging blows across her bare rump with his riding whip. The tears that coursed down her face then were not completely tears of pain and, as the frustration welled up within her, she began to realise the sheer hopelessness of her position.

  On the second night, when he had finished with Demila, he turned his attention to Corinna, something she had expected would have happened much earlier. He lifted her to her feet, holding her at arms' length, but showed no inclination to remove the hated gag. In fact, her mute state seemed to please him greatly.

  'Women chatter far too much,' he grinned, 'and I have always thought that a gag lends a certain amount of appeal to a female face. Of course, I haven't seen your face yet, and I don't even know your name, but that is of little import. I'll not be keeping you long enough to worry about little details like that, but I think I should at least test the wares I'm offering.'

  He forced her down to her knees and then onto her back, and Corinna made no attempt to resist. With her arms still bound to her sides there would have been little point, and as he unbuckled the belt from between her thighs, she dutifully spread her legs for him, exposing the pinkness of her sex.

  In other circumstances, she reflected later, she might even have enjoyed his taking of her, for after all, had she not craved to be treated so, but now, as he pistoned steadily in and out of her, although her warm tunnel gave him a well-lubricated welcome, her mind was with Savatch, hoping desperately that he was not dead, and praying fervently that he would recover and come for her.

  Later however, as she lay alone under the fur Pecon had thrown over her, listening to the muffled sounds as he once again took his pleasure with Demila, the tears came again, for staring up at the stars in the cloudless night sky she realised the futility of such hopes. Even if Savatch did survive, even if he did recover enough strength to travel, it would be days yet, weeks maybe, and by then their trail would have grown very cold indeed.

  Dorothea had long since ceased to react to the humiliations being heaped upon her. Each evening, when the caravan halted to make camp, Fulgrim's men erected a stout pole close by the fire, setting it deep into the ground and pounding the earth hard about its base, so that no single person could hope to move it.

  To this stake Dorothea was then bound, arms high above her head, so that she was forced to stand only upon her toes and the balls of her feet, which were then stretched apart and tied to sturdy pegs which they hammered into the grass. Sometimes they left her hood and collar in place and she was grateful for the small degree of anonymity it afforded her, but other times they removed it, taunting her for her smooth pate and examining it for signs of re-growth, using vicious razors to scrape away even the smallest hair.

  Then they took her
, unhurriedly and awaiting their turns without argument, some of the guards amusing themselves with her maids and pages in the meantime. Most of the men seemed unworried which sex their victims were, and the only ones to escape their animal attentions were the three youngest among the surviving maids, whom Ingrim had earlier identified as still virgin.

  These now wore leather chastity belts, thick triangular straps that were attached to the lower edge of their slave belts front and back.

  Eventually, somewhere around midnight, the camp would begin to settle down. Drink and fatigue took their toll of even the most determined among the men and finally they slept, leaving their wretched victims to a few precious hours of peace and relief.

  Only Fulgrim remained awake - it seemed he hardly ever slept at all - and then he came to Dorothea, taunting, prodding, twisting her nipples and ears and all the while speaking to her in a low whisper, so that the slumbering figures all about did not disturb.

  'This is only the beginning, bitch,' he hissed. 'And this is but a small party of men, if we are honest. Imagine how it will be to service entire companies, hundreds of men each day and all through the night. I'll have you mounted on a block right in the middle of the barracks, available to any man who feels the fancy. Ye gods, but they'll fuck you to death, though not before I'm ready, believe me.

  'No, I want you to live a good long while yet, so I can enjoy watching you suffer. You'll be fodder for whole armies before you get your release and you'll die a withered, dried up old hag.'

  Moxie straddled Pester, hovering above him as he lay on his back in the soft grass. His penis was already stiff and he held it vertically, presenting it to her yawning sex lips. She lowered herself gently, allowing the purple knob to press gently against her silken labia, though denying it entry still. She looked down at his taut features and smiled.