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Episode
II Return of the Dragon
The stench of burning flesh stuck in her
nostrils. Outside the city was
burning. Inside Princess Vanora
was fighting for her life. She
had only thirty men left now, and a dozen of those were wounded, barely standing,
but determined to protect their princess with their dying
breaths.
Crruuummppp! Something
heavy struck the massive oak doors of the throne
room. The impact sent sound waves
cascading through the great hall like the beat of a massive
drum.
Crrruuuuuummppp!
The doors heaved, straining against the heavy crossbar that
held them closed, but Vanora could see that the huge iron hinges securing
the door to the wall were shedding mortar as the impact of the ram shook
them loose. They would hold for
only a short time.
“My lady, you must
flee. There is still
time.”
Vanora shook her head then realized that the
motion might not be detected inside the iron helmet that protected
her. “No, Sir Dorrien; I
will stay. I will not abandon
the throne.”
Sir Dorrien turned toward her as if to plead
with her again, but said nothing.
They had been through this before.
Her mother and sister were even now traversing the secret passage
beneath the city. It was imperative
that they be given the chance to escape and Vanora’s resistance would
provide the necessary distraction they needed to exit the city
undetected. If Zirhan Khan suspected
for a second that the Queen of Sandor was not still in the palace he would
ring the city with men and make escape
impossible.
Crrruuuummpppp! One
of the hinges tore partway from the wall, the iron bolts dripping bits of
stone and mortar. The doors would
not withstand another blow. Her
remaining soldiers readied their weapons and waited.
Vanora raised her sword and turned to the
last of her attendants.
“Leave me,” she said.
She doubted that they would be safe, but at least by retreating to
the royal apartments they would be out of the way of the
fighting.
The attendants fled, all but
one. “You too, Brixta,”
she ordered.
“My lady I will not
go.”
“Will
not? I am your
princess. You will do as I
say.” Vanora turned her
piercing blue eyes on her servant.
Her face softened. Brixta
had been with her from infancy and was like a second mother to
her. “Please,
Brixta. I cannot face
him
if you are here.”
Brixta opened her mouth to reply and saw the
anguish in Vanora’s eyes.
“Please,
Brixta. I must do this
alone.”
Brixta
nodded. Gathering her skirts
the old woman left the room. Vanora
breathed a sigh of relief. Now
there was no one for Zirhan Khan to use against
her. Facing the doors again,
she tried to calm herself. She
was sweating profusely beneath her armour and not all of it was due to
warmth. She would face Zirhan
Khan alone, but at least Brixta and her other servants might be safe.
Crraasshhh! The
doors came down in one piece, the oak crossbar holding them
together. A cloud of dust swirled
into the room and behind the dust came the indistinct figures of the Sea
Warriors.
Phhhttt! Pphhtttt!
Her
bowmen let fly their arrows. They
had precious few shafts left, but there was no use saving them
now. From the mass of armed men
near the door came cries of pain as some of the shafts found their
mark.
The Sea Warriors, however, did not
hesitate. They plunged into the
room and closed with the Sandoran
soldiers. In a split second the
room was a confused melee.
Vanora waited at the back, she was clad from
head to foot in armour, only her blue eyes showing through a narrow slit
in the helm, but she had promised Sir Dorrien that she would not expose herself
to actual combat until it was absolutely necessary.
It appeared to be necessary
now. Already a half dozen of
her men were down and the semicircle of steel that protected her was being
forced steadily back. She raised
her sword. “Honour or
death!” she cried shouting the family motto, and plunged forward into
the fray.
“Honour or death!” echoed her
soldiers. They pressed forward
with renewed fury and for a few seconds drove the enemy before them, leaving
a score of bodies on the floor of the throne
room. For an instant it appeared
that the enemy might break and then dozens of feathered shafts flew through
the doorway. A few found their
mark. Two struck Vanora but were
deflected by her armour, one bouncing off her pauldron and another striking
her full in the breastplate but failing to penetrate the tempered
steel.
“You
fools! I do not want the princess
dead!”
The voice thundered above the sound of the
fighting. Immediately the shower
of missiles ceased. The Sea Warriors
fell back and from their ranks strode a dark, menacing
figure.
Zirhan Khan was clad entirely in black
armour. He was a tall man, standing
a head taller than any of his soldiers and he exuded strength and power that
went beyond the ordinary. In
his right hand he held an immense sword, its blade alone five feet long,
and it was no mundane sword, the blade fluoresced with an eerie supernatural
bluish glow.
“He bears an enchanted blade!” exclaimed
Sir Dorrien. At his words the
remainder of Vanora’s soldiers fell back a step.
“Princess,” Zirhan Khan spoke, his
voice like the rasping of iron.
“Tell your men to surrender and their lives will be
spared. It is not them I
want.”
“Never,” said Sir
Dorrien. He stepped forward,
his sword at the ready and launched a murderous blow at the head of the leader
of the Sea Warriors.
Zirhan Khan hardly seemed to move, but his
black sword came up and met Sir Dorrien’s blow, deflecting it to one
side, Then he swung his blade
in a wide arc. Sir Dorrien caught
the blow on his sword, but the black blade sheered through Sir Dorrien’s
sword as if it were paper and continued with terrific force lopping off the
head of the knight like a cook beheads a
chicken.
For an instant Vanora’s soldiers stood
stunned by the death of their champion, and then the Sea Warriors, screaming
like devils surged toward them. To
their credit, Vanora’s soldiers did not break, but they were forced
back by the overwhelming numbers pressing against
them.
Vanora hacked and slashed at the enemy as
they closed with her. She had
been tutored in the science of armed combat, but found that there was little
use for theory in the confusion of real
battle. She simply struck at
whatever enemy was in front of her and tried to avoid being
struck. It was a bloody and one-sided
contest. One by one her soldiers
fell until she alone remained. She
realized as the last of her companions fell that her attackers were not really
trying to kill or even disable her.
She was almost surrounded and yet their swords and axes never touched
her. Instead her attacks were
merely fended off while they waited for her to collapse from
exhaustion.
Sudden fear swept over
her. She had thought to fight
and die defending her honour and the honour of her kingdom, but clearly Zirhan
Khan wanted her alive. Now trapped
and alone, she hurled herself at her enemies trying to force them to kill
her, but each time she rushed her enemies they retreated, raising their weapons
only to defend themselves or to try to knock her off her
feet. Slowly her strength ebbed
away, until she was barely able to raise her sword and then her adversaries
closed on her.
She managed just one more desperate blow and
then her sword was knocked from her
grasp. Hands reached for her,
seizing her arms. She struggled,
but each man holding her was much bigger and stronger than she
was. Her helmet was wrenched
off revealing her long dark hair.
Then she was dragged through the bloody mess of dead and dying before
the conqueror of Sandor, Zirhan Khan.
Khan removed his
helmet. Towering over her, he
was striking in appearance, his dark flowing hair tied loosely behind his
head. His face was remarkably
handsome, shining with arrogant triumph, his thin lips twisted in a sneer
and his dark eyes brimming with undisguised lust as his gaze settled on
her. “Princess Vanora,”
he said slowly, running his eyes over
her. Vanora felt her skin
crawl. This was the man who had
lured her father into a trap under a false flag of truce and had turned his
army loose on the inhabitants of her
country. She returned his gaze,
her eyes filled with rage and hate.
Khan moved
closer. His black armour was
splattered with gore. He was
so close that she could smell the stink of death on
him.
“Your resistance
has cost me a thousand men, princess, but I see that it may have been worth
the price. You will make a worthy
queen for the new ruler of Sandor.”
Trembling, Vanora found her
voice. “You have murdered
and burned your way across Sandor.
Like a coward you killed my father under a flag of
truce. You are not fit to be
my servant much less my consort.”
Khan’s face
darkened. “You will be my
bride. I will take you by the
right of conquest, and I will take you tonight.”
Vanora knew what Khan
wanted. He needed her to secure
his hold on Sandor. Khan and
his invading army had come from the sea.
Their arrival had caught the peaceful
“You are
disgusting. I would rather marry
a common soldier than foul myself by accepting
you.”
The warlord raised his
sword. Vanora noted with revulsion
that he had not even bothered to properly clean the
blade. “You will marry me
or you will die,” he roared.
“Kill me then,” Vanora
replied. She drew herself up
to her full height. Her heart
was beating like that of a bird, but she showed no
fear.
Khan towered over her five foot six inch
height. Raising his sword over
his head he tensed his muscles for the downward
stroke. Vanora did not
flinch. Her slender neck seemed
to invite the blow that would end her
life.
Khan
grinned. “You are braver
than I thought. As brave as you
are beautiful. You will make
a worthy bride. But I have another
way to force your cooperation.”
He carefully sheathed his sword and turned to one of the soldiers
who had followed him into the throne
room. “Bring her in,”
he ordered.
“Oh by the gods, no!” Vanora
gasped. A bedraggled figure was
dragged into the room. She had
once been elegantly dressed, but her fine robes were now torn and dirty,
barely covering her body. She
was chained, heavy links secured to a metal collar about her swan-like neck
and connected to manacles on her wrists.
Vanora started forward, but Khan caught her
arm. “Mother!” she
cried.
Queen Tersahi raised her
head. “I am sorry
daughter. They were waiting for
us outside the walls. We had
no chance to escape.”
Vanora’s stomach
clenched. She had fought to ensure
her mother’s safety and now that hope was
dashed. Zirhan Khan had a lever
he could use against her. Dismayed,
she looked into the triumphant visage of Zirhan Khan and then to the beaten
figure of her mother. Events
were slipping out of her control.
Defenceless, she could only wait for Khan’s
ultimatum.
“You will marry me,” the warlord
said, “or I will have my men take your mother while you
watch.”
“You cannot do such a thing,” Vanora
cried. “Have you no sense
of honour?”
“I am a warrior,
princess. I take what I want
when I want it. It is you who
will give me honour by allowing me to take your
maidenhead. I assume you are
as chaste and pure as a princess should be.”
Vanora blushed and then turned even more scarlet
in anger. “You dare to speak
to me like that? You are nothing
more that a thief and a pirate.”
“Enough,” Khan
returned. “Send for the
priest. We will be married in
the royal apartments.”
Vanora thought of the servants she had sent
away. She hoped that Brixta had
managed to find a place to hide.
Zirhan Khan’s warriors had raped every woman they had captured
regardless of age. Brixta’s
advanced years would not protect her.
Flanked by several of Khan’s warriors,
Vanora and her mother were herded from the throne room, led by one of the
palace manservants. Vanora noted
that none of her mother’s female attendants were
present. She shuddered to think
what might be happening to them.
It took ten minutes to reach the royal
apartments. During that time
Vanora watched for a chance to escape, but she was closely
guarded. She would not have gone
five paces before being run down and her mother would have had no chance
to escape at all. Even if she
could have escaped she would not have left her
mother.
They entered the royal living
quarters. Before her was the
familiar setting Vanora had been raised in, a luxurious sitting room furnished
with fine furniture constructed of rare
woods. As the
Zirhan Khan and his warriors filed into the
room. The heavily armed warriors
took up positions in front of the doors and
windows. There would be no
escape. Then they
waited. A few minutes later a
frightened priest was ushered into the
room. “You will perform
the marriage ritual,” Khan said.
He moved over to Vanora and stood next to
her.
Vanora saw her
chance. She seized Khan’s
dagger from his belt and struck at his
chest. But she had reckoned without
the Warlord’s snakelike quickness.
His hand shot out and caught her
wrist. “You little
she-cat,” he laughed.
“Would you kill your
bridegroom?”
“Bridegroom!” Vanora spat, wrenching
her arm free as Khan disarmed her.
She wanted to rub her bruised wrist, but would not show such
weakness. “I would rather
marry a pig!”
“Remove her armour,” Khan ordered,
as if Vanora had not spoken. He
turned to the priest. “Ready
yourself for the ceremony. I
will be married within the hour.”
“You will never have me for your
queen,” Vanora, cried. She
was struggling to resist as Khan’s warriors released the straps and
fastening that held her armour. One
piece at a time the armour was removed, until finally she was dressed only
in the padded underclothing she had worn to protect her against
chaffing. “I will kill myself
first chance I get.”
“That would be a shame,” Khan replied,
running his eyes over her body.
“But so be it, just as long as your maidenly blood is displayed
on the sheets of our wedding bed.”
Vanora flushed and then
paled. Khan meant to take her
and would use force if necessary, but there was one thing he could never
force her to do and that was to consent to be his
bride. “Then it will be
rape,” she said. “You
will never be accepted as the legitimate rule of
Sandor.”
“Bring the queen here,” Khan
ordered.
Vanora watched her mother dragged before
her. Queen Tersahi had been
considered one of the great beauties of Vanora’s world when she was
younger.
Married when only fourteen years old, she was now
just thirty two, and had lost little of her
beauty. Tall and slender,
with the full breasts of a mature woman, her dark hair contained not a hint
of gray. Her vivid blue eyes,
which Vanora had inherited, were set off by finely arched eyebrows, high
cheekbones and a perfect straight nose.
Her lips were full and sensual and were now slightly parted in
fear.
“Incredible,” said
Khan. “If I did not need
the daughter, I would be more than willing to take the
mother.” He turned to
Vanora. “I am not one to
make idle threats. Consent to
marry me now or watch your mother violated.”
“Do not do it, daughter,” Tersahi
said, her voice quavering.
“What happens to me is not
important. Do not sully the family
name by debasing yourself with this piece of
filth.” The queen held her
head high, and despite the torn clothing she wore, was a picture of regal
pride.
“Enough,” Khan said, his face colouring
in rage. “I will not be
defied by two women. Take
her.”
Vanora watched helplessly, her arms pinioned
by two the two men who had removed her
armour. Her mother was lifted
from the floor by four of the Sea Warriors and thrown on top of a low
table.
Queen Tersahi fought gallantly, kicking and
striking at the men who held her, but she was simply
overpowered. One man pulled her
chained arms over her head and another held her ankles, stretching her supple
body the length of the table. The
other two men ripped her once elegant clothes from her, first baring her
breasts.
“You coward,” Vanora
screamed. “You do not have
the courage to face even a woman in fair
combat.” She struggled to
break free, but failing, spat in Khan’s
direction.
Her spittle landed on his
boot. “Gag her,” Khan,
ordered. “She can watch
her mother enjoy the attentions of a real
warrior. The fact that she produced
no sons shows that the king was not much of a man.”
Vanora tried to spit out the filthy piece
of cloth that was thrust into her mouth, but it was tied fast, forcing her
jaws apart and nearly choking her.
Reduced to incoherent grunts she watched helplessly as her mother
was stripped and
humiliated.
Queen Tersahi lay helpless as she was stretched
out for all to see. The priest
turned his eyes away, but every man in the room drank in the charms of her
lush body. She was very pale,
the pink of her erect nipples almost startling in its
contrast. Khan approached her
and starting at her throat began to trace a slow line with his fingertips
down the Queen’s trembling body.
“Exquisite,” Khan muttered as his
fingers circled her breasts and then gently caressed her
nipples. “Like fine
porcelain. It seems almost sacrilege
to take her, like violating some holy
site.” Whatever his sentiments,
however, it did not stop him from moving his hands lower, caressing her white
belly, and then sliding his fingers toward the dark triangle at the apex
of her thighs.
Throughout the degrading experience the helpless
queen lay quietly, a picture of
hopelessness. Only her agitated
breathing and frightened eyes indicated the mortification and terror that
she was feeling. It seemed obvious
that she knew she could not escape and had given up all hope of
resistance. She gave only a low
moan of fear as Khan’s fingers parted the lips of her vulva and he inserted
a finger into the wet slit.
“The gates of heaven,” Khan
murmured. “It is only right
that I should take her first.”
Help me with my armour.”
Several Sea Warriors stepped forward and began
to strip off Khan’s black armour.
Vanora watched, helpless.
She had stopped struggling and now stood wide-eyed, unable to look
away as Khan was undressed.
Stripped of his armour the Sea Warrior chieftain
was even more impressive. As
he bared his torso, Vanora’s eyes
widened. He was powerfully built
and his smooth muscles rippled beneath his
skin. His body was scarred, no
doubt as the result of many battles, but that in no way detracted from his
strength or power. Vanora realized
that if circumstances had been different she might have been attracted by
such animal strength, but now, a helpless prisoner of the man who was about
to rape her mother, she could only find him huge and
terrifying.
Khan removed his pants and turned so that
he was facing Vanora. His manhood,
which was in direct proportion to the rest of his body quivered as it
hardened. As Vanora watched like
a mouse mesmerized by the eyes of a snake, it slowly began to rise.
“Consent to be my bride
and I will spare your mother,” Khan
said. “Refuse and I will
take her as a prize of war and then give her to my
men.”
“Do not listen to him, Daughter,”
the helpless queen pleaded.
“Do not dishonour the memory of your
father.”
“I am waiting,” Khan insisted, ignoring
the queen’s outburst.
“You need only nod your head.
Spare your mother a cruel ordeal.”
Vanora held her head
high. Her entire body trembled
with the effort to control herself.
All she had to do was nod and her mother would be
spared. Just a slight inclination
of the head…
“As you wish, princess,” Khan
growled. “Witness the
humiliation of the one that bore
you.” He stepped forward
and wrenched Tersahi’s legs apart.
The queen who had lain quietly until now began to struggled frantically,
twisting her body in snake-like
gyrations. She had saved her
strength to the last and now fought desperately to avoid the
inevitable.
The battle could have only one
ending. Khan slid between
Tersahi’s silk smooth thighs.
Cruelly, he palmed her breasts, squeezing the soft flesh until the
queen grunted in pain. Then he
moved his hips violently and thrust into the panting
woman.
For the first time Tersahi
screamed. Vanora, somehow unable
to tear her eyes away from the horrible spectacle, watched as Khan ravished
her mother, the woman once known as the White Rose of
Sandor.
Tersahi arched her back as Khan entered
her. His invasion of her love
grotto was brutal and violent; ripping into her like the battering ram his
men had used to destroy the gates of the
city. He took her without finesse
or any attempt to be gentle; enjoying the pain he inflicted as he asserted
his male domination.
Vanora could not imagine what the horror of
being raped was like, but the pathetic cries of her mother as she was ravished
gave her some idea of the ordeal.
Tersahi’s screams filled the room, finally subsiding as the rape
reached its climax. Then Khan
erupted into her, and gasping stepped back, leaving the queen sobbing brokenly
on the table top. He gestured
toward the broken woman.
“Take her,” he said.
Immediately several of his warriors stepped
forward. Tersahi screamed again
and kept on screaming as one after the other each of the Sea Warriors took
her.
Vanora lost track of the number of times her
mother was violated. She watched
the entire ordeal, unable to look away for even an
instant. Nauseated, she fought
to hold down the contents of her stomach, but try as she might she could
not tear her eyes away from the frightful
ordeal. It was almost as if some
magical spell forced her to watch.
When it was finally over, she could hardly stand, as exhausted as
the sobbing figure of her mother.
“Now,” Khan spoke, as the last man
finished with the queen.
“Will you marry me?
This is your last chance to freely consent.”
Vanora did not reply, but stared fixedly
ahead. Still in a state of shock
due to the events she had been forced to witness she could hardly
think. Her mother had been brutally
raped before her eyes. How could
she not honour that sacrifice?
Slowly she shook her head.
“I will have your consent one way or
the other, Princess.”
Khan’s voice was calm, but the menace in it was
unmistakable. He turned to a
one of his warriors. Send for
Vincius
Slahn. It
is time for him to practice his art.”
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