by Faith Eden
He said little to her when he returned, simply unhitching the saddlebag he had bought from Alanna and Jekka, and dropping it between Corinna and Sprig. Then, unhitching Demila's collar from the rail, he hoisted her back onto the pony, mounted his own horse and, taking up the lead reins of pony and packhorse, started to turn away.
'Good fortune, princess,' he muttered, his face rigid. 'I shall keep my promise.'
'Then maybe we shall meet again,' Corinna said, fighting to steady her voice.
Pecon shook his head. 'I think not,' he said, 'for I feel sure that I should be soon dangling on the end of a rope if it were so.'
They had stopped at a fork in the trail, and Alanna dismounted and walked back to the wagon. The Illean troopers, all cavalrymen, sat astride their horses and waited, their faces betraying the stoic patience of fighting men all over the world.
'The road splits,' Alanna said, climbing up over the tailboard to squat beside the temporary pallet upon which Savatch lay propped. 'Either could run in the rough direction we want, but which one we cannot be sure.'
Savatch lifted himself into a sitting position, wincing slightly as the movement put pressure on his neck muscles. 'Draw the canvas aside and let me see,' he said.
Alanna squeezed past him and pulled the dirty sheeting away, leaning forward to nudge the wagoneer to one side. Savatch blinked at the sudden brightness and narrowed his eyes. After a few seconds he nodded and lay back again.
'The right fork,' he said with conviction. 'The left leads northwards again, eventually into North Erisvaal. The place our unknown friend sought lies much further south, not far from a town called Erisroth.'
'You know this for sure?' Alanna demanded. 'We could lose several days if we have to double back.'
'I know that,' Savatch snapped. 'Take the right fork, as I say.'
Pecon had given no clue as to the nature of this place to which she and Sprig had been sold, but as they were led across the open field towards a series of long low buildings, one look at the figures tethered to the various stakes and rails was enough to dispel any doubts.
Mostly female, they were all human, but only in as much as they had two legs and two arms and walked only on the former, rather than all fours. In all other respects it seemed they had been turned into awful parodies of horses, bridled, shod in what appeared to be cumbersome hooves, their hair shorn at either side to leave a sort of flowing mane that ran down their backs.
Their bodies and even their faces had been painted to give a variety of patterns, mostly black and white dappled and most even had lifelike tails sprouting from above their naked buttocks, although closer inspection showed that these were actually attached to a thin harness arrangement that descended from the broader straps that encircled their waists.
The incredible thing about them all, Corinna thought, apart from their bizarre appearances, was their general air of docility. They barely moved their heads as the two handlers led their latest charges through their midst and Corinna was reminded of cows, grazing peacefully in a field. She shuddered, for this was the fate that was clearly intended for her, too.
The one positive aspect, if anything positive could be drawn from all of this, was that almost all the bridles incorporated a broad strip of leather that covered the eyes, leaving just two holes for the wearer to peer through. Like blinkers on a real horse, this, Corinna realised, would tend to restrict their peripheral vision and keep their attention focused directly ahead. In her case, she thought with genuine relief, it would replace her current slave hood as a means of disguise and the heavy face paint would play a further role in keeping her real identity from Fulgrim, if he returned.
Fulgrim. As the first shock of seeing him and the subsequent shock of seeing the human pony creatures began to abate, Corinna began to think more clearly once again. They were, she was fairly certain, many days' journey from where she had presumed he still remained a prisoner at Varragol, and even further away from even the nearer borders of Vorsania. His presence here, therefore, was as much a mystery as a surprise, but it bode nothing but ill, especially for Dorothea, for surely something must have happened at Varragol in order for the fiendish Vorsan lord to be once again at large.
However, Corinna was given little time to reflect on such matters, for they quickly arrived at what she saw now was a stables complex, each long structure a series of stalls, accessed by doors that were split into lower and upper sections.
'By the gods,' she whispered to Sprig, as their two guards brought them to a halt a foot or so from each other, 'whatever have we been thrown into?' The taller handler whirled around, his features contorted with anger.
'No talking!' he roared. 'Ponies do not talk, even when able to, which is not often, as you will shortly discover. Disobedience is punishable by a minimum of twenty lashes and one day in the fields without food or water.'
Corinna swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to make some sort of response. These men were barbarians of the lowest kind from the forests in the far south, where no civilised man would venture voluntarily. If any human beings deserved to be treated like animals, it was their kind, yet they dared to bring their savage customs into a land where even slaves were treated according to civilised rules.
Two more men appeared from inside the squarer building that stood at the end of the wide way that separated the first two long buildings. They took one look at Sprig, exchanged a few words in a guttural dialect, and one of them ducked out of site again, returning almost immediately with another three fellows, all with the same dusky, flat featured faces. Corinna could not suppress a smile, despite her own predicament, for it was clear that they were wary of her fellow slave's sheer size.
'Come!' said the first handler, the one who had warned Corinna. He jerked on her collar leash and dragged her towards one of the open stall doors, pushing her inside with unnecessary roughness.
'Now,' he said, backing her against the rear wall, 'I explain all this only once so you listen good, yes?' Corinna nodded. The fellow's expression relaxed somewhat, but the hardness in his eyes remained.
'I am Attak'u,' he said, 'and I am a senior trainer. Many years experience, unnerstand?' His accent and clumsy phrasing would have betrayed his foreign roots, even if his face had not. Corinna once more nodded.
'Attak'u very good trainer,' he said, puffing out his heavily muscled chest. 'Soon will be boss trainer, because Attak'u ponies always the very best. You will be best pony also, or my whip will know reason. You now pony, not girl. You stop thinking like girl and you be treated fine. Good food, warm stable, good fuck sometimes, keep you happy.'
Delirious, Corinna thought to herself.
'You give trouble, only thing fuck you will be this big.' He held his hands, palms inwards, about eighteen inches apart. 'We got wood cocks for bad pony girls, stretch like cave and then you walk and walk. You not like that, pony girl, you better believe.'
Corinna believed, trying not to wince at the thought.
'Now,' Attak'u continued, folding his arms across his chest, 'we gotta find name for you. What your old name?'
Corinna hesitated, but only for a moment. 'Rina, master,' she replied. Attak'u nodded, considering this.
'Not good name for pony especial,' he said. 'We call you Flix from now. That good name for pony.' The significance of this remark was lost on Corinna and only later would she discover that, in Attak'u's own language, flix meant breasts. She would also discover that she was not the only unfortunate female to be given that name, for the Colrasian grooms seemed to have little imagination, except when it came to inventing still more ways to inflict pain and humiliation on their charges.
'We prepare you now,' Attak'u said. He produced a key from the pouch on his belt and began unlocking Corinna's travelling harness and collar, removing them and placing everything in a neat pile in one corner, including her boots, which he instructed her to remove herself. He then stood in front of her once more, hooking one index finger through each of her nipple rings and lifting h
er breasts.
'Nice flix,' he murmured. Corinna, still in ignorance, assumed he was using her newly given name and smiled. Up close, his body gave off a musty odour and there was little pleasing in his appearance, but her experiences at Varragol had taught her that the best approach in such situations was to appear as docile and compliant as possible.
'Rings fine, too,' he said, letting them go again. He stooped, peering between her legs and pressing his hands against the insides of her thighs to indicate he wanted her to spread them further. Hiding her revulsion as best she could, Corinna obliged, but was horrified when his first touch against her labia produced that so familiar reaction.
'Had rings here before,' he muttered, probing with his forefingers. 'Not enough, though. Need five each side, otherwise stud stallions still try to force way in.' He stood up and jabbed a finger at her mouth. Recoiling instinctively, Corinna only understood when he spoke.
'Open, pony,' he said. Corinna obeyed, closing her eyes when he prised her top lip back to expose her teeth more fully. 'Good,' he said. 'Good teeth.' He peered closer, fingering her septum. 'Had ring here, too,' he said. He stepped back, glaring at her accusingly.
'You been pony before?' he demanded. Corinna shook her head, but he continued to stare at her for several seconds longer, apparently trying to decide if she was lying. Eventually he seemed satisfied.
'No,' he said, turning away from her. 'You not stand, not move like proper pony.' He shot her a vicious smile back over his shoulder, exposing canine teeth that had been filed to vicious points. 'Soon will, though,' he leered. 'Attak'u make you good pony and good ride. Attak'u teach you how pony girl fuck good!'
He began with the hoof boots, taking them from a rough hewn chest that stood against one of the side walls of the stall, selecting them without any apparent consideration as to whether they were the right size for her feet or not. Luckily, they fit quite snugly, though snug was not exactly the word Corinna would have chosen for such appalling creations.
Inside the bulky, hoof-shaped leather, the boots were sculpted so that she was forced almost onto tiptoe and only the support they provided around her ankles, once he had laced them tightly into place, made it at all possible for Corinna to walk in them. When she tried, at Attak'u's command, to take a pace or two forward, the weight was unbelievable and only when he told her to raise one foot, bending her leg back at the knee, did she see the heavy iron horseshoe nailed there.
'You soon learn, Flix,' he laughed, nodding for her to let the foot drop back again. 'Very heavy, but make muscles work - make legs strong. Hooves make legs look good, weight make them stronger.'
Indeed, as she stared down, Corinna had to agree that the elevation of her feet to such a seemingly impossible degree did make her legs look much longer, and shaped them as she had never really seen them shaped before. At court, ladies regularly wore shoes with heels to obtain such an effect, but not even the most daring courtesan would ever have attempted anything as extreme as this.
Satisfied that his latest novice was not about to topple over, Attak'u left the stable, closing the lower section of the door behind him, but not bothering to secure either it, or Corinna, in any way. She leaned back against the wall for support and sighed. He didn't have to secure her, she realised. In the hoof boots she was not going far and, even if she did manage to prise the laces loose and get the accursed things off, where would she run to?
He was not gone for long, returning with a dark-skinned female, probably of the same ethnic roots as himself. She carried a stone jar, from the top of which projected a wooden handle. Even before she removed the brush, Corinna understood what was coming next.
'Bokina make you very pretty pony now,' he said, as the little black woman knelt to begin her work, starting with Corinna's legs. 'She best pony painter in whole wide world. Painted all ponies you see here.' He leaned closer to Corinna, who wrinkled her nose as she caught the sickly sweet smell of his breath.
'Paint stay for days,' he said. 'Not wash off with rain, not wash off in river, just with old skin, and Bokina paint again before that.' Corinna sighed. So, she was to be a black and white pony forever, or until someone decided otherwise. At least that would help her to blend in with her fellow two-legged equines. It would have been scant comfort under most circumstances, but if Fulgrim was still about - and the presence of those Vorsan uniforms had done little to suggest he would not be - then the less about her to attract attention, the better Corinna would feel.
Much more, Dorothea was beginning to realise, and she would eventually lose her sanity, much as she had seen happen with Willum's wife, Benita. But these savage swine would not let her die, not for a long time yet.
Primitives that they were, they seemed to know just exactly how far any one individual could be driven without causing any lasting physical damage, taking her to the very limit of physical exhaustion several times each day and then leaving her just long enough to recover sufficient strength for another tortuous training session. She ran, walked and trotted between the shafts of the different carts and carriages, beginning at first light and only returning to her stall as darkness fell, any periods of respite in between spent standing in harness, or trying desperately to suck the proffered gruel past the ever present bit in her mouth.
Several times she saw Fulgrim watching her progress, but always from a distance, as if he were now trying to reinforce the difference in their status. Whilst he strutted or rode around the village, she was now beneath even his contempt, her fate delegated to a band of brown and black-skinned sub-humans. At least, she thought, as the whip once more cut across her shoulders, her young maids and pages had been spared this.
Vaguely, as she bent forward to struggle up the slope at the eastern end of the training paddock, her thoughts turned to Moxie. She had not seen her buxom little favourite since that fateful morning, but that meant little. Fulgrim's men could easily have slain her when they made their move against the real castle guard, though Dorothea still nurtured the hope that the redheaded maid might somehow have escaped that carnage.
The image of Moxie, as Dorothea had first seen her in her father's rundown tavern, brought tears to her eyes that even the whip could not. No, Dorothea could not bring herself to believe that Moxie was dead, yet death itself was far preferable to her own situation and she knew she would willingly slit Moxie's throat herself than let her fall into the same plight.
As she and Sprig had been led to the stables, Corinna had not the chance to see much other than the wide girth straps that constricted the waists of the pony people they had passed. But now she saw the harness close up and realised what a complicated piece it was. It was also, she discovered, as Attak'u guided her arms through the broad shoulder straps, passing the complex bands either side of her breasts, very heavy.
'This make Flix stand like real pony,' he grinned, wrapping the main belt about her waist and buckling the straps at the rear. 'You breathe now, suck belly in,' he instructed and, when Corinna complied, he worked his way down the line of five straps, tightening each of them one more notch. Even now, though, he was far from satisfied.
'Again,' he said, and repeated the procedure, making Corinna feel as though she was being cut in two. He stepped back, studying the effect he had created. 'More later,' he grunted. 'Harness first.'
The complex shoulder straps assembly included two circular bands of leather through which the wearer's breasts were placed, the girth of these then adjusted by means of buckles, so that they constricted the base of the soft globes, forcing them outwards into an even more prominent display. At the back there were further buckles and these, when tightened, pulled the shoulders back, so that Corinna was forced to stand in such a way that she was thrusting her bosom out even further.
Still he was not finished. Her arms were now slipped into long leather tubes, the outside of which were open and connected with criss-crossed thongs. When these were tightened it was impossible for Corinna to flex her elbows, and when these were then attached to
either side of the main girth, her arms had been rendered completely useless. Stiff leather mitts, buckled over her clenched fists, completed the task, and she was as helpless as if her arms had been amputated.
'Very good,' he smirked. 'Starting to look like very proud pony. Good flix.'
Bokina, who had scuttled off once she had completed the task of painting Corinna's markings, now returned, carrying a water bucket and a small leather bag, both of which she set down on the straw strewn mud floor.
'Pony kneel,' Attak'u commanded. With great difficulty, Corinna managed to obey, but without the use of either hands or arms her knees struck the hard surface painfully. She bit her lip, determined not to let either of them see she was hurt, though she doubted whether it would have worried Attak'u anyway.
Bokina now went to work again. Taking a pair of shears from the bag, she proceeded to lop away great hanks of Corinna's long hair, cropping either side of her skull to leave the same central mane she had seen on the unfortunate creatures in the field outside. Then, having reduced the two sides to a stubble, she produced a small brush, soap, and a well-worn razor. In another two or three minutes the job was done.
If Corinna had thought the body harness complicated, the bridle was even more confusing, but Attak'u was more than equal to the challenge. He carefully disentangled the maze of straps and lifted it over her head, lowering it carefully, as Bokina gathered up her remaining hair and guided it between the appropriate leather bands.
The broadest band, which also formed the eye mask, passed across the forehead, and from this depended the rest of the straps. One passed over the crown, dividing on either side of the mane hair and descending as far as the bridge of the nose, where it once again split, descending each cheek and rejoining beneath the chin. To this strap, at either side of the mouth, another band was joined by means of a metal ring, running around from one side, then behind the nape of the neck and re-emerging to join the ring on the other side.
