by Faith Eden
'Do you love me, my little page?' she whispered. His eyes flickered and he nodded, swallowing hard.
'Yes,' he croaked, 'you know I do.'
'And would you die for me, my pretty little no balls?' He swallowed again, his eyes anxious.
'I - I don't know,' he confessed. 'I think so.' His tongue flickered out, moistening his lips. 'I just pray I never have to be put to that test. But I would certainly try to kill anyone who tried to harm you,' he finished defiantly.
'Me too,' Moxie said, and settled lower, drawing a sharp gasp from Pester as the first few inches of his length slid easily inside her. She smiled again, never ceasing to wonder at the size of his organ, especially when compared to his own unremarkable stature and the fact that he had no testicles. This latter absence never seemed to detract from his pleasure, though naturally his climaxes lacked one significant feature and he also appeared able to delay them for longer, which Moxie appreciated greatly.
She laid a hand on his hairless chest, stroking the smooth flesh and teasing one of his puckered nipples.
'You're just like a girl with a cock,' she sighed. 'So much better than being a hairy great ape like most men.' She let herself drop again, this time swallowing his entire weapon as he withdrew his supporting hand, and squirmed comfortably into his groin. He groaned and closed his eyes.
'All you're missing is a pair of titties and you'd make a fine girl,' she teased. 'Even your hair is long and soft.' With her other hand she took hold of a strand of his wavy hair, using it to tickle his cheek. She felt him shiver and his rod pulsed inside her.
'I've sometimes wondered what it must be like to have a cock,' Moxie said dreamily. 'Not one of those pretend ones, like my mistress fits onto me, but a real cock, one I could feel with. Of course, you know about my pretend cocks, don't you?' she said. 'I wish we had one here now and then you could really play at being a girl again, couldn't you?'
Pester said nothing, but she could feel him trembling, remembering, no doubt, the numerous occasions when Moxie had smuggled one of the double-ended phalluses out of the palace, strapped it to herself with one end embedded deep within her and then used the rearing free end to take him as she bent him over any convenient tree stump or rock. She even made him dress in one of the maid's clothing, complete with the silver sandals that Dorothea insisted the girls wear around the palace, his hair tied back with a brightly coloured ribbon, the flimsy skirts swirling about his thighs. He had pretended to hate the charade, but made little protest when she repeated the game on several occasions since.
'Poor little Pester,' she crooned, rocking gently back and forth, her inner muscles contracting fiercely to grip him even harder. 'Neither one thing nor the other, are you? But I think I love you too.' She leaned forward, her nose touching his, and extended her tongue to touch his lips. Obediently he opened them and she plunged inside, finding his tongue and fencing with it as her mouth closed over his.
He was completely spineless, she thought, and would doubtless run a mile at the first sign of danger, but he was a beautiful creature and offered her, as much as that was possible, the best of both possible worlds when it came to pleasure.
The land they called the Vaal was largely comprised of flat plains country, featureless once the caravan had left the hill country behind. Dorothea recognised their route vaguely, for she had visited South Erisvaal twice in her younger days. Quite why Fulgrim had chosen to come this way, rather than head back for his home territory in the Vorsan states, which lay in completely the opposite direction, she had no idea. But she doubted it would make any real difference, either to her or to her maids and pages, where they were headed.
She also doubted that the purpose of the journey was primarily concerned with his desire to take revenge upon her, for that he could have done almost anywhere. His sadistic thirsts were slaked only as a by-product of whatever greater scheme he had, but what he hoped to achieve in the Vaal she could not begin to imagine.
If South Erisvaal was sparsely populated, its neighbour, North Erisvaal was even more so. The people were mostly nomadic, save for a few farmers who eked a sparse living from poor soil, and a few horse breeders.
Perhaps, she reflected, as she trudged wearily behind the lead wagon, perhaps he was intending to trade his captives for some of those horses, but she dismissed that theory as ridiculous. Horses - good horses - were worth more than most slaves, so he would hardly move himself and a half company of men such a distance just to collect maybe a dozen mounts at best.
No, whatever it was, Dorothea thought, it was much bigger than that. Fulgrim's original scheme to oust Lord Lundt, Corinna's father, and replace him with his half-brother Willum, the ill-fated plot to which Dorothea herself had originally been a party, that was the magnitude of Fulgrim's ambitions. If he had ever succeeded in his original plan, Willum would have ended up, at best, as a puppet in his hands. At worst he would have met with an unfortunate accident and Fulgrim himself would have found a way to take control of the most powerful state on the continent.
He had failed once, thanks to Savatch, his Yslandic friends and the unlikely assistance of her own maids and pages, but Dorothea doubted that a man as obsessed as the Vorsan lord would have let that one failure and his consequent year of suffering deflect him from such an ambition. No, she thought grimly, the likes of Fulgrim were not easily dissuaded and he'd had that entire year in which to think and plot.
She still had no idea what was so important about the Vaal, but Dorothea was now convinced that whatever it was, it would bode ill, not only for Illeum, but for every country in the civilised world.
The inn was not part of a village as such, but stood back from the river ford, a short distance from a large watermill and, to judge from its size, its position obviously brought it a fair trade from both travellers and local farmers alike. Apart from the main building, a two-storey structure of stone and timber, there were two sizeable barns and a cluster of smaller outhouses, including a stable block, in front of which four horses stood tethered to a timber rail.
However, what caught Corinna's eye was not so much the four-legged creatures, but the two-legged one tethered alongside them; a powerfully built male, his true age disguised by the leather slave hood that covered his head and most of his features, but probably young, to judge from his physique.
Like Corinna, he was bound with wrists buckled at either side of a broad waist belt and, apart from his boots, was naked save for the merest of concessions to his modesty - in his case a soft leather sheath that enshrouded his flaccid organ and bulging testicles. Despite her own predicament she would have smiled, had the mouth-distorting gag permitted, for the man's presentation betrayed a decidedly female hand.
Pecon guided his horse away from the stable building and dismounted at another rail, which was situated immediately outside the main tavern, hitching the rein deftly around the rough timber pole and then turning to release Demila from her saddle. Leaving the leather thongs coiled around the pommel, he lifted her to the ground, placed her hands back into the leather side straps and buckled them closed, before finally turning his attention to Corinna, who stood behind the pony, a leash from her collar to the back of its saddle.
'Come,' he said, taking up the free end of the cord. 'There is shade under those trees.' He nodded towards a group of four gnarled trees at the far end of the building, and guided both girls towards them, motioning for them to sit once they were beneath the overhanging branches. Demila he clearly trusted to remain where he told her, but not so Corinna, for he stooped and wound the end of her leash about a projecting root, knotting it firmly.
'I'll fetch you water later,' he said, straightening up. Corinna saw that his attention was now held by the male slave over by the stable, and that there was a curious glint in his eyes. Perhaps, she thought, it was not only powerless women that attracted him. With a sigh she wriggled herself backwards, leaned gingerly back against the tree trunk and closed her eyes, content, for the moment at least, to be off her achi
ng feet.
Alanna stared coolly across the table at the tall stranger, while beside her Jekka continued to fiddle with the handle of her knife, making a great show of picking at the semiprecious pincel stone that was set into the polished bone.
'Fifty silver telts is not much for such a healthy young specimen,' Alanna said. 'The fellow is young, little more than a boy, and has many years in him.'
'How young?' the man, who had introduced himself as Pecon, asked. 'Those damned hoods can hide so much.'
'As I say,' Alanna replied, 'little more than a boy. He probably still yet has more growth in him. He must be worth at least a krone - double that if he were fully trained. I've been honest enough with you on that score.'
'Perfectly honest,' Pecon nodded, 'but a gold krone is a lot of investment and I'll need to take him and feed him over several days, before I can hope to get my return on it.'
'Your return will justify it,' Jekka muttered. She laid the knife flat on the table before her. The traveller appeared genuine enough, but it paid to keep a weapon close at hand, and she had seen moods change dramatically too many times in the past to want to take anything for granted.
'I'll raise my offer to seventy-five,' Pecon said.
'Ninety. Anything less and we might as well take him with us and train him as we go. There are traders around Illeum City who would willingly pay three or four krones for such a specimen, once he's been broken in a little.'
'Illeum prices have always been inflated,' Pecon smiled, 'but I am not travelling in that direction. I'll tell you what,' he said, pushing his seat back a little and stretching out his legs, 'I'll pay you two gold krones if you include a horse, saddle, and a couple of blankets. I am travelling fairly light myself and I already have one girl on foot all the time.'
'Then we may be able to help you even further,' Alanna said. 'We have a horse for him, plus we have another, and its cargo should be of interest to you, especially as you seem to be a shrewd business judge. Where you are heading, I am sure you will find a ready market for it and make as much profit as you will do from our young slave.'
Corinna could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw the two females following Pecon out of the tavern. But her joy at seeing Alanna and Jekka quickly turned to desperation, for the gag prevented her calling out and the leash held her where she was, several paces away from them and too far to attract any serious attention.
A gagged slave girl squealing and jumping up and down would give little cause for suspicion. The mere fact that her master was keeping her gagged and bound would suggest she was either untrained, rebellious, or simply being punished, and not even an Yslandic warrior woman would consider interfering with a master's legitimate rights.
Desperately she wriggled her buttocks sideways, trying to bring her left hand close enough to the knotted leash, but the way her wrists were strapped made it all but impossible for her to bring her fingers down to the root level in the right plane. Frantically she scrabbled at the knot, but knew, almost before she started, that it was futile. Pecon clearly knew his business, and even with two unhampered hands it would have taken several seconds to loosen the tether.
Corinna howled into the gag, kicking at the earth with her booted heels. Alongside her Demila looked startled, but stayed silent and did not make any attempt to move. With her eyes Corinna tried to convey that she wanted to attract the attention of the two women, but it was useless to expect the slave girl to help. Even if she could be made to understand, it was extremely unlikely that she would dare risk her master's wrath by what would be seen as an act of serious rebelliousness.
With a final howl of anguish Corinna let her muscles relax again and turned to watch as the trio approached the stable block. Immediately their purpose became clear, for it was plain that Alanna and Jekka were responsible for the male slave and that Pecon was trying to make some sort of deal to purchase him. Perhaps, Corinna thought, they might come closer when they returned to the tavern, but deep inside she knew that was a forlorn hope.
Unless some divine power intervened, she was beginning to realise, it looked very much as if she was going to get what she had only ever really thought about in her most intimate dreams - a life of slavery, sold and traded like any other commodity in this desperately unfair and unfeeling world. And the reality was a far less enticing prospect than the images she had until so recently cherished.
The girl was very young, still in her teens, with straw-coloured hair and a fresh rosy complexion, from which her green eyes shone like twin beacons. Her forehead was wrinkled in an expression of concern and, for several seconds, Savatch was confused, not understanding that her concern was for him.
Then, as if a veil had been lifted, everything came back to him: the arrow, the horses bolting, the sudden bend in the mountain road and the feeling of falling, the ground becoming sky, then trees, the rending of breaking timbers, the terrified screaming, and then...
And then what? With a groan he tried to sit up, but the girl laid a soft hand on his shoulder and pressed him back against the pillows.
'No,' she said firmly. 'You are very weak and you may yet tear your wound open again. You lost much blood and are lucky not to be dead.'
'Where am I?' His throat felt raw.
The girl perched carefully on the edge of the bed. 'You are in my grandfather's house,' she said. 'His name is Dagnar and he is a physician. You were brought here several days ago, near to death, as I said. My grandfather tended to your wound as best he could, but you should thank whatever gods you worship for the fact that you have survived, for there was little any mortal hand could do, save keep you warm and comfortable.'
'What's your name?' Savatch blinked, trying to control his vision, which kept going in and out of focus.
'My name is Mirit,' she said. 'What is yours? We were told you are known as Savatch, but your former slave girl said many curious and ridiculous things, so it was difficult to know whether she spoke the truth about you.'
'She spoke the truth,' Savatch groaned, though his spirits were instantly lifted at this mention of Corinna. Mirit had spoken of his survival as being a miracle; that both of them should have lived after such a terrible plunge was something else again.
'Where is she now?' he asked. 'Is she hurt?' Even as he voiced the question more memories began to creep back, flashes of Corinna holding him to her, of her crying, talking, pleading. But the images were distorted and made little sense.
'She was not hurt, apart from a few bruises,' Mirit said, 'or so I am told. I never actually saw her, for she was already gone when I returned from the goats.'
'Gone?' Savatch echoed, trying hopelessly to rise again. 'Gone where? Someone should have stopped her travelling these roads, though I cannot believe she would have left me here alone, not without a good reason.'
'There was a man,' Mirit began, 'a traveller. Your slave girl found him on the road and sought his help. He came here for my grandfather and paid for two of the village lads to help get you back here in a wagon. He also paid my grandfather to tend you, or to bury your corpse as necessary, and took your slave girl in exchange.
'My grandfather has the document all properly signed, and will return to you any money left over as and when you recover your strength enough to leave again. Ow!' She squeaked in pain and alarm as Savatch's hand closed fiercely about her wrist, the strength of his grip, for a man who had so recently been at death's door, astonishing and frightening her.
'This man!' he gasped. 'Who is he? Where was he travelling to?'
'Sir!' Mirit protested. 'You are hurting me.' She made to pull her arm away, but Savatch refused to release his hold on her.
'Tell me!' he snapped. 'Tell me about this man, or so help me I'll break your arm.'
'There is not much to tell,' Mirit wailed. 'I told you, they were all gone by the time I got back here, so I know only what my grandfather knew, which indeed was little enough. The fellow's name was Pecon - that much is on the document of sale - but beyond that he said only th
at he was a traveller and that he had some dealings with buying and selling slaves. There was a girl already with him, so I am told, for he wanted to buy a horse for your girl to ride, though horses are scarce in these parts so there was none available for him.'
'Damnation!' Savatch released his grip on the girl's wrist and fell back, exhausted again. 'Where is your grandfather? I must speak directly with him.'
'My grandfather is away in the next village until tonight,' Mirit said, withdrawing out of his reach. 'I doubt he will return much before nightfall, for it is a fair distance and he is no longer a young man.'
'The girl,' Savatch said, trying to think quickly. 'You said she spoke of many curious and ridiculous things. What sort of things?'
'Only that my grandfather overheard her telling her new master that she was not your slave and that she offered him gold if he would wait until you recovered and helped you back to some castle... the castle at Garassotta, I believe.'
'And he didn't believe her, obviously,' Savatch retorted sourly.
'He said he had no time for such stories, nor time to wait around for a man who would probably be dead soon enough anyway, let alone time to travel to Garassotta, which is hardly the next village.'
Savatch closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
'Mirit,' he said at last, 'the girl, the one who travelled as my slave, she spoke the truth. She is no real slave - no legal slave, at least. I could try to explain, but I doubt you would understand anyway. I must get word to this Pecon fellow. I'll pay him more than he could ever hope to earn in a year of slave trading, so long as she is returned unhurt.
'You must get someone to ride after him, for I certainly cannot sit a horse myself as yet. But then, wait! I had money, so why was there this need for him to pay your grandfather?'
