DAUGHTERS
OF THE SKY
Episode 1 The Slavers of El
Arish
Chapter
3
Enslaved
Mahmoud Ben Aben waded through the chaos of the battlefield. He had to move fast to keep the rabble he had hired from murdering the captives in revenge. The Dwarfs, as he had anticipated had inflicted murderous casualties on his poorly trained and undisciplined band of ruffians. It was the Juarians and their poisoned darts that had won the battle and he used the jungle warriors and his trusted lieutenants to restore order.
He called to two of his men. “Abas, Ismail. Deal with the wounded. I’ll make sure our loot isn’t despoiled.”
He rushed toward the gigantic forms of the drugged gryphons his heart pounding with excitement. He could hardly believe that his plan had gone so well. Sprawled beside them on the ground were their riders. He was most curious about them. He had heard many tales of the Elven gryphon riders and if they were still alive they might be a prize to rival the gryphons themselves.
He pushed the aside the men who were gawking at the gryphons. “Keep those scum away from here,” he ordered the other loyal men who were with him. “I want nothing touched. Ahmed, you and Moamar secure the wagons.”
A scream sounded from behind him. Bed Aben didn’t so much as turn his head. Apparently one of the wounded was resisting the efforts of Abas or Ismail to cut his throat. The scream was cut off suddenly, and probably literally, Ben Aben thought.
“I hope ye’ll not be thinkin’ of trying that with me,” rasped a voice that Ben Aben knew well. He turned to see Jarl Steelforge standing just a few feet away.
Ben Aben kept his face bland. He had hoped the disagreeable Dwarf would be among the dead or perhaps one of those having their throats cut by Ismail and Abas. Apparently someone had come close to killing him. His helmet was creased from the crown to the nose guard and a trickle of blood dribbled down the side of his face staining his dark beard. Other than that, however, the Dwarf appeared to be unharmed. He stood with legs slightly apart loosely holding his axe horizontally with both hands.
Ben Aben wasn’t fooled by the Dwarf’s calm demeanor, however. He had seen Steelforge fight and knew that the Dwarf was quite capable of killing him before he moved so much as a finger. However, he smiled calmly and answered. “Of course not, Jarl. I am if nothing, a man of my word.”
“Is that what ye call it?” Steelforge sneered, hefting his axe slightly. “Ye certainly got a strange way of showin’ it.”
“We’re going to have to move fast,” Ben Aben replied calmly. “Wounded men would only slow us down.”
Steelforge snorted in disgust. “I’ll be taking me share now. And I’ll be goin’ me own way. I expect I’ll live longer that way.”
Ben Aben almost smiled. He would be more than glad to get rid of the violent and brutal Dwarf. However, he took his time in answering, stroking his well-trimmed beard as if thinking over the Dwarf’s demand before finally responding. “Agreed,” he said finally. “Take what you want and then leave.” He began to move impatiently toward the two Elves once again.
“I’ll just be goin’ with ye,” Steelforge growled. “I’d like to have a look at those two meself.”
Ben Aben stopped. He had a strange premonition that his moment of triumph was going to be marred, but he had agreed to let the Dwarf have second choice of the pickings. Adopting a look of complete nonchalance he strolled over two where his men were guarding the gryphons and their unconscious riders.
His men had not moved the two Elves from where they had fallen. It was quite possible that neither of them were alive. The gryphons had not come down hard, but he had no way of knowing how many of the poisoned darts aimed at the two huge beasts had struck their riders as well.
The henchman standing by the first rider stepped aside as he and the Dwarf came up. Stooping, he gripped her by her shoulder and rolled her over. To his relief she gave a low moan as he did so.
She was very tiny, surprisingly so. Was it possible that the gryphon riders were children? He could tell nothing from her figure as her padded undergarments and armour disguised the contours of her body. Her face and most of her head were hidden by a bronze helmet. Kneeling beside her he undid the laces holding the helmet and pulled it off. He gasped in amazement at the face that was revealed.
“Perfection,” he murmured. Relaxed in unconsciousness the Elven girl’s features were perfect with full pouting lips, a petite nose, and long-lashed eyelids; all framed by hair so dark it almost seemed blue. High cheekbones, and beautifully arched eyebrows completed the picture. Ben Aben fell in love with her almost immediately.
“She’s naught but a child,” growled Steelforge. “Let’s look at the other.”
There was no doubting that the other rider was the sister of the first, but her blonde colouring made her equally unique. Ben Aden had not expected such a bonus when he had ambushed the caravan. He had sought to capture two gryphons. He had thought their riders completely incidental, but now he realized that he had been completely mistaken. He could hardly believe his good fortune. To capture two such beauties was a prize beyond anything he could have imagined. Only one thing could spoil his triumph.
“Which one do ye want?” the Dwarf growled. “I’ll be takin’ one as me payment, but ye get first choice.”
“You want one of the Elves?” asked Ben Aben, trying to sound unconcerned. Perhaps he could persuade the Dwarf to take some other form of payment. “Surely the gryphons or the cargo carried by the carts would be a more suitable payment.”
“I’m nay fool,” the Dwarf replied. “I ain’t the resources to transport one of them beasts. As for the carts, I’ve money enough. I want one of the Elven bitches. She’ll be easy to transport and will provided me with something to amuse meself with.”
Ben Aben hid his disappointment. He made his choice. “Take the honey-haired girl then.”
“I will,” Steelforge rasped. For the first time Ben Aben saw him smile, but there was not the faintest hint of amusement in the expression. The Dwarf strode forward and without apparent effort tossed the blonde Elf over his shoulder. Then without a backward glance he strode off, heading for the top of the bluff.
“Dwarven bastard,” muttered Ben Aben, but there was nothing her could do about it. He would have to be content with a single Elf and the two gryphons. It was, he reminded himself, a greater prize than anything he had imagined.
Delendria moaned with the pain of opening her eyes. It felt as if someone was pushing the point of a dagger into each one and her head throbbed unmercifully. But something told her she was in deadly danger. It was urgent that she wake up and discover what was happening to her. Against the pain of the light she forced her eyelids open and moaned again, but this time in fear.
She was lying on her side facing into the sun. She opened her eyes the barest slit, feigning unconsciousness. The glare of the sun blinded her and she was able to make out very little around her. She was aware of Men moving back and forth on some mysterious mission or other and could hear their strange language, mingled with a few words she could understand.
She realized that there was a good deal of swearing in Dwarvish and the repeated clang of metal on metal as if a blacksmith was pounding on an anvil.
A shadow fell across her face and she realized that someone had probably been keeping an eye on her. She closed her eyes tight and lay very still, hoping to deceive her captors a little longer. However, the ruse did not work. A voice sounded very close beside her and when she did not answer it changed in both tone and language.
“Awake are you?” the voice said in Dwarvish. She felt a foot nudge her ribs and realized that there was no further point in pretending. She opened her eyes.
Standing over her was a Man, the first she had really ever seen. From her vantage point he seemed enormous, but she knew that even exaggerating due to her position, he was very tall. He was dressed simply, wearing a cotton jerkin, leather trousers, and knee-high boots, all of the best quality. His dark hair was covered by a metal helmet equipped with soft leather flaps onto which were sewn metal rings. A sword hung from a belt at his waist, with a dagger to balance it off on the other side. He wore no armour other than a pair of metal bracelets that covered most of his forearms. He carried himself with an air of command that suggested he was used to being obeyed. As she gazed up at him, he pursed his lips in a whistle and then knelt at her side.
“Well,” he said. “You are amazing. Where did you get eyes like that?”
Delendria looked at his eyes. They were dark brown dots set in a field of white. No doubt he found her glittering blue orbs as unusual as she found his. But there was more to his appearance than his eyes, finely trimmed black beard, and long aquiline nose. It was the way he looked at her. Never had anyone looked at her with such undisguised hunger and desire. For a second she cringed under the intensity of that gaze and then she collected herself.
Her next impulse was to flee or at least get to her feet, but she discovered belatedly that someone had removed her boots and bound her ankles. She also realized to her dismay that her armour had been removed, along with the underpadding, leaving her wearing only her light cotton vest and knee-length drawers. It went without saying that her weapons had been stripped from her as well.
“Who are you?” she croaked.
“And where is my
sister?” The hoarseness
of her voice took something out of the tone she had intended to
use. Her mouth and throat were
so dry she could barely speak, however, something about the way she spoke
seemed to have offended the
“You will have to be taught how to speak to your master. From now on you speak only when spoken to.” He got to his feet and spoke to one of the other Men in what she supposed was his native language. Two men strode forward. One untied her ankles and then together they lifted her to her feet.
To her chagrin, Delendria found that she could not stand, but the Men holding her seemed not to care. Lifting her clear of the ground they carried her forward. From her now elevated position she caught sight of a massive tan and white form lying crumpled a few feet away. “Fire,” she gasped. Had her feet been on the ground she would have tried to lurch toward her gryphon companion, but the Men carried her like a doll, ignoring her attempts to twist free. Exhausted, Delendria gave up her struggles after a few seconds and hung in her captors’ arms.
In a few seconds she found the source of the clanging and the swearing. Surrounding a long line of Dwarfs were more than two dozen Men. Most were armed with spears, but a few carried bows. The Dwarves were stripped of their armour, but nothing could take away their tongues. They were using language that would have blistered the rust off iron, but Delendria was too horrified by what was happening to each of them to even notice the language.
One by one each Dwarf was dragged forward, some driven by blows from the butt end of spears, and then held down so that their heads were flat of the surface of an anvil. A powerfully built man bent a curved band of iron about each of their necks, and then while two other Men held the struggling and cursing Dwarf in place, he closed the band into an iron collar, sealing the end with a glowing rivet. Then a length of chain with an open link at one end that was still glowing cherry red was attached to the collar, linking him to the Dwarf who had been collared before him.
Other than cuffing the occasional Dwarf, the Men ignored the language, but things changed rapidly when the tall Man who had spoken to Delendria showed up. He was holding a long whip of braided leather. “Enough,” he said, speaking Dwarvish. “You are now the possessions of Mahmoud Ben Aben. I hold your worthless lives in my hands. You will speak only when spoken to and only with the utmost respect. You live to serve me. When you become more trouble than you are worth then you will find your lives ended.”
Most of the Dwarfs immediately ceased their foul-mouthed complaints and insults. But three, who had not yet been chained, continued their stream of invective. With a flick of his wrist Ben Aben sent the lash flicking among them. One Dwarf yelped as the tip of the whip cut into his thigh, another cursed, throwing up his hand to touch the cut on his cheek. But after that one vulgar exclamation he went quickly silent. The last Dwarf, however, shouted in rage.
“Ye filthy piece of yak shit,” he screamed. I’ll wind that whip around yer balls and twist it until they come off. Then I’ll ram them down yer throat and shove the whip up yer ass.”
Ben Aben did not so much as flick an eyelid at the insult. With a quick nod of his head he motioned to several of his men. Fighting to escape, the Dwarf who had made the outburst was dragged forward. Unrepentant, or perhaps too stupid and bad tempered to realize what was going happen, he continued to shout creative and crude insults.
Four Men dragged him to the anvil and draped him across it. The Dwarf struggled while his arms and legs were held, then he screamed in pain as the whip came down. His first scream was just one of many. By the twentieth lash his cries of agony were mixed with pleas for mercy, but Ben Aben seemed to have gone deaf. Mechanically and efficiently, his face a perfectly composed mask, he raised his arm and brought the whip down until with a final scream the Dwarf stopped moving.
Ben Aben, however, delivered five more blows before stopping. Breathing hard, he wiped his brow with a handkerchief he took from his belt. Then he scanned the remaining Dwarfs as if daring them to repeat the mistake of their comrade. “Get rid of him,” Ben Aben said finally, motioning to the bloody body of the Dwarf. Two Men grabbed the Dwarf by the wrists and dragged him face down to a spot a few feet away. To Delendria’s horror they did nothing to help him, leaving him to bleed in the dirt.
By this time Delendria had recovered enough that she could stand on her own, but she still lacked the strength to do more than wait where she was. Ben Aben turned his eyes on her and nodded to the men on either side of her. Filled with dread, Delendria was half-walked half-carried toward the anvil.
The smith standing by the anvil looked at her with undisguised lust as she was brought before him, but whatever he was thinking he kept it to himself. Instead he picked up a band of metal and with impressive strength bent it about her neck.
Delendria felt all the strength go out of her at the touch of the iron on her throat. Her knees buckled and the men had to catch her before she fell. Then she was bent forward, her head placed on the cold iron of the anvil. The smith took a pair of tongs and pulled a red-hot rivet from the charcoal brazier that burned just next to the anvil and with practiced ease inserted it into the two holes in each end of the metal band that now encircled her neck. With two quick blows of his hammer he flattened the rivet fastening the collar to her neck.
The ring of the hammer so close to her ears was deafening. But it was the shame of the collar that almost overwhelmed Delendria. Almost sobbing in humiliation her body shook like a leaf as the smith hammered the chain to the collar. Ben Aben himself stepped forward and took the chain. “Remember, that what I said to the Dwarfs applies to you as well. I expect absolute obedience and I will get it. Do you understand?” He jerked the chain to emphasize his question.
Delendria nodded dumbly, her shame and fear writ plainly on her perfect features. The collar about her neck felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. Somehow her legs seemed too weak to bear her weight and she almost fell.
Ben Aben handed the end of the chain to one of his men. “Take her to my tent and chain her there. Keep close watch on her. If she escapes I will take personal delight in removing all of your skin.”
The Man nodded his understanding.
Pressure on the chain told Delendria to follow her
escort. Sick with fear and
humiliation, she followed him like a dog.
But he was only one
The tent was a fairly grand affair, circular in shape and tinted bright yellow with red highlights in some abstract motif. Inside she found that the fabric was sheer enough that the tent was quite light. Her guard led her to the centre of the tent and forced her to her knees. While she watched helplessly he took a three foot iron stake, inserted it through a ring on the end of her chain, and then taking an iron hammer from his belt, drove the stake in until barely three inches remained above the ground. Then with a smirk on his face he retired to the tent entrance and sitting cross-legged took up his post as her guard.
Delendria remained on her knees, to shaken to attempt to move. Just a few feet away there was an ornately carved stool and a very comfortable looking camp cot laden with cushions, but she doubted that she was expected to use them. Instead, she squatted in fear and despair, her thoughts turning to her sister. What had happened to Asharia?
Asharia’s head pounded with the constant motion. She had been slung across the back of a donkey and her hands tied to her feet beneath the belly of the beast. When she had first awakened it had taken her several minutes to overcome her queasiness and figure out what had happened to her. Since most of her limited range of vision was restricted to the donkey’s belly and hooves, she could not see much, but to her surprise she appeared to be in the company of two Dwarfs.
She couldn’t really see them, but the stream of invective that passed back and forth between them was evidence enough of their presence. Even more surprising was that one of the Dwarfs was Kran Firetong and that he seemed to be the prisoner of the other. She had no idea who the other Dwarf was, only that he was the least pleasant individual she had even had the misfortune to overhear.
He spent most of his time ridiculing his helpless captive, who was walking somewhere behind the donkey. From the continual clanking sound it appeared that he was heavily chained. Asharia soon wished that something had been done about his mouth.
The thumping and uncomfortable ride seemed to go on forever, or so it seemed. She wasn’t quite sure how long the ride went on, as she drifted in and out of consciousness. And, of course, she had no idea how long she had been comatose before she came to. As far as she could tell when she was conscious the donkey seemed to be going uphill and she could smell the scent of pine and spruce mingled with that of the donkey so she guessed that they were probably passing through a forested region. It didn’t tell her much; for that she would have to wait until they stopped.
That came eventually. She felt the donkey stop and then a knife flashed before her eyes, cutting the ropes that joined her hands and feet, and strong hands grasped her waist and lifted her easily from the donkey. She was dumped unceremoniously on the ground and was fortunate that she landed on a bed of pine needles. Nevertheless, the impact drove the air from her lungs with an audible gasp.
“Ho ho, the Elvish bitch is conscious. Good, now she can walk.”
Asharia looked up at the speaker. She had not seen enough Dwarfs to judge them properly, but the one she was looking at was one of the least pleasant individuals she had ever seen.
He appeared to be fairly young as Dwarfs go, but judging the age of a Dwarf was not easy. Like Elves they were a long lived race and it was quite possible he was decades old. However, it was not his youth that caught her attention it was what had been done to his face. Sometime in his past someone had taken the time to break his nose and break it so badly that it was mashed almost flat. Dwarfs did not have prominent noses in any case and it gave the Dwarf a strangely pug-like appearance. During the recent battle he had evidently received a blow to the head, as a ragged gash ran from his hairline to the bridge of his deformed nose. It had been crudely stitched and Asharia could see that it would leave a livid scar.
The Dwarf caught the direction of her gaze. He laughed mirthlessly, a sound that sent chills down Asharia’s spine. “Stitched it meself,” the Dwarf growled. “I doubt that it will harm me appearance. His glittering blue-gray eyes studied her with an intensity that had her sweating in fear.
“I was planning on waitin’ till evenfall,” the Dwarf said, “but I think I’ll have a little fun with ye now.”
“Leave her be,” a voice from behind the donkey said. Asharia turned her head in the direction of the sound and saw, as she had guessed, that it was in fact Kran Firetong, the Dwarven commander of the shattered caravan, but he was hardly in any position to aid her. He was heavily shackled, a length of heavy iron chain connecting each manacled wrist. His ankles were similarly chained, and connected by a length of chain that ran from the links between his feet to the links connecting his hands. It made it impossible for the Dwarf to make a full stride or to raise his hands higher than his waist. Still one more length of chain was looped around his neck and secured to the harness of the donkey. It was a weight of chain that would have been almost impossible to carry for anyone other than a Dwarf.
However, the strain of being forced to walk behind the mule was telling on even the brawny Dwarf. He had been stripped of his armour and was covered with a mixture of sweat, blood, and dirt. Bruises that he had no doubt received in the battle covered much of his chest and shoulders.
“What?” the disfigured Dwarf said, his voice rising in disbelief and indignation. “Defending an Elf? Or perhaps you want her fer yerself?”
“She’s but a helpless lass,” Firetong replied. “Surely yer not such a coward ye take out yer vengeance on children?”
The other Dwarf crossed the space separating him from Firetong and slammed his fist between the helpless caravan master’s eyes. He went down as if he had been pole-axed, but to Asharia’s surprise managed to rise into a sitting position and stood blinking back tears of rage and pain. “Well dealt, Steelforge. Ye always were one to attack those who could not fight back. It’s one of the reasons ye were thrown out of the clan.”
“Steelforge,” thought Asharia. Now she knew the other Dwarf’s name, not that it really made any difference. The Dwarf was a brute and seemed as vicious as his appearance would suggest. She suppressed a shudder as he turned back to her.
“Now that I know ye care, fucking the Elf is going to be even more pleasurable. I’m going to do it where ye can see so ye can get the full enjoyment.”
Asharia went cold. Steelforge was talking about rape. She opened her mouth to protest, but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth and she could not make a sound.
Firetong did it for her. “Harm the wee lass and I’ll never rest till yer punished.” With difficulty he rose to his feet and lurched toward Steelforge.
Steelforge spat contemptuously. “Ye have no say in the matter. I’ll fuck the Elven bitch while ye watch and then I’ll teach ye some manner afterwards.”
Asharia fought back her fear. She was so frightened that the contents of her stomach threatened to empty. To be raped by such a brute… The thought was horrifying. An Elven maiden’s virtue was tied to her honour. To be taken in so foul a manner was something so shameful she could scarce contemplate it.
While this thought passed through her mind Steelforge seized the end of the chain around Firetong’s neck. With a vicious jerk on the chain he unhooked it from the donkey and dragged the exhausted Dwarf over to a tree where he chained him in place so that he was forced to stand and face the open area of the road. He was looking directly at Asharia as Steelforge intended. Then he turned to his Elven captive.
Asharia found her tongue as Steelforge cut the ropes binding her ankles, and seizing her wrists hauled her to her feet. “No,” she protested. “You can’t be going to do something so dishonourable.”
Steelforge’s reply was a humourless laugh. He dragged her across the road to a sapling opposite Firetong. “Ye should have a good view from there. But no doubt ye’ll not enjoy it as much as I will.”
“Ye bastard,” Firetong cried, rattling his chains as he tried to break free. “I should have killed ye, when I had the chance.”
“Ye be payin’ fer that mistake the rest of yer life,” Steelforge retorted, as he bound Asharia to the sapling. He tied her so that she was bent over, her wrists tied to the tree and her legs spread for balance. She whimpered in fear as she realized that what she most feared was almost certainly going to happen to her.
Steelforge finished binding her and stood as if appraising her then he ran his hand over the back of her neck and moved it slowly over the thin cotton shift that covered her torso. “Ahh,” he murmured. “Ye be a pretty little bitch. I hope ye don’t break when I fuck ye. Ye’ve not the strength of a Dwarven maiden.”
Asharia used all of her strength to keep from trembling. She resolved that no matter what happened she would not give the Dwarf the satisfaction of hearing her beg for mercy or show fear. Nevertheless, her breathing quickened as Steelforge moved his other hand beneath her, fondling her body through her clothing.
“Ah,” the Dwarf muttered. “As firm a tit as I’ve ever felt. I think it be time for a better look.”
Asharia managed to remain perfectly still as the Dwarf squeezed her breast, but it took all of her self control and strength of character. Her uptilted cerulean blue eyes were wide with fear and her lips were parted slightly as her breathing quickened. She gasped as Steelforge took her shift in both hands and split it down the back leaving it hanging raggedly from just her arms.
“Ye filthy bastard,” Firetong shouted, straining at the chains that bound his to the tree. “Ye have no cause to do that to any woman.”
“She be mine by right of conquest,” Steelforge replied. “And I intend to enjoy that right.”
“She be an innocent,” Firetong thundered, angrily, “and ye have no right to commit so brutal an act.”
“She be an Elf, and I have the right to do what I wish with her and any member of her cursed race.” He emphasized his comment by seizing the waistband of the Elf’s brief underpants and tearing them from her body. She was now almost completely nude, none of her nubile charms hidden, and although Firetong did not want to for a moment he could not help looking at her.
She was truly beautiful, although quite different from the Dwarven maidens he was used to. It would have taken two of her to make up one female Dwarf, but somehow he found it almost impossible to turn his eyes away from her slender beauty. She was perfectly formed and in his eyes almost child-like with her slender arms and legs. However, there was no missing the maturity indicated by her narrow waist, flaring hips, and rounded thighs. Her perfect breasts, although small, were in perfect proportion to the rest of her and quivered slightly as Steelforge fondled her.
He could see that she was doing her best to be brave, but the trembling of her body betrayed her. Sick at what he was watching he closed his eyes. At least Steelforge could not force him to watch. However, he could not close his ears. He could hear every sound that Steelforge and his victim made as the brutal Dwarf brutalized and degraded her.
Asharia clenched her teeth in anger as Steelforge’s fingers fondled her breasts. He made no effort to be gentle, squeezing the soft flesh until it bulged out between his fingers and twisting her nipples. Despite his cruelty she did no more than breathe heavily, but she could not hold back a gasp of fear as his fingers found her sex.
“Ah, I finally found something ye like, ye cold bitch,” Steelforge growled. He thrust his thick index finger into her and watched as he body arched involuntarily. When his probing finger reached her maidenhead her back bowed and her head curved back. “Yer and tight one, that’s fer sure. I’m going to have me work cut out fer me. But it will be enjoyable work.”
The Elven girl finally spoke. She whipped her golden head around as far as she could and stared at him. “You may violate me, but be assured that you will pay for your vile crime. The Shebaria will never rest until I am avenged.”
“Well spoken,” Steelforge grunted, “but I care not for Elven threats. We’ll see what tune ye sing after I’ve filled yer Elven cunt with Dwarven iron.”
For a second Asharia feared that Steelforge was threatening to disembowel her, but she saw what he meant as he tugged loose the ties holding his pants closed and revealed his “Dwarven iron.”
He was huge, although perhaps to another Dwarf he might not be considered so. Stories she had heard as a child rushed back into her mind, stories about what Dwarfs did to Elven women they captured during the long wars between the two races, and she could barely contain the cry of fear that rose to her lisp. It was said that Elven women who were taken by Dwarves lived only a short time, but it was a time filled with pain and horror.
Steelforge read the fear on her face. His features twisted in his equivalent of a smile and he pulled open his trousers to reveal the full extent of his Dwarfhood. His huge phallus thrust upward at a forty-five degree angle and was fully as thick as her forearm. It was so turgid that it was actually bowed and the thick veins stood out on it like cords.
Asharia swallowed, her breathing heavy. Without thinking she jerked at her bonds, but the twisting of her body only heightened Steelforge’s state of arousal. As she quivered in fear, he gripped her smooth hips pressed himself against the firm flesh of her buttocks and entered her.
“Dwarven iron, ye Elven bitch,” Steelforge grunted as he thrust into her. Asharia’s only reply was a cry of agony as the huge member forced its way past her labia and then tore apart her maidenhead. She was a virgin no longer, but she had little time to contemplate her lost innocence, she was too busy trying to survive the blinding pain of being penetrated by a male organ so large it felt as if she was being torn apart.
For the first part of the rape she was sure that she was going to
die. The pain was beyond anything
she had imagined possible and Steelforge’s bestial grunts and brutal
thrusts made her feel as if she was being taken by a wild
beast. For the second part of
the rape she almost wished that she would
die. The shame of being taken
like an animal and the complete hopelessness of her situation shattered her
youthful confidence. Somehow,
in spite of her threat that the
Shebaria
would never rest until she was found, she knew that there was little likelihood
of anyone finding her.
The rape seemed endless. Just as she thought Steelforge was finished he found the energy to begin again, driving into her with such power that she was forced onto her toes with each thrust. He finally finished by releasing her hips and grabbing her waist-length hair. Arching her back, he hammered into her several more times before spurting into her with a cry of savage satisfaction.
Steelforge let her go, and Asharia slumped, her hands over her head and her knees on the ground. She was completely defeated, blood from her ravaged vagina trickling down her thighs and soaking into the dust at her knees. She sobbed silently while Steelforge voiced his enjoyment.
“That were a right good fuck. Yer the tightest bitch I’ve ever had. Tonight ye’ll share my blanket and we’ll do it again. I’ll soon have ye loosened up a bit.”
Asharia did not reply. She hung her head and wished that she had died honourably in battle. Anything would be preferable to the horrible fate that awaited her.
Mahmoud Ben Aben rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. He was well pleased with the day’s results. He had captured two gryphons and had determined that they were a male and female. He could hardly have been more fortunate. He didn’t know anything about the life cycles of gryphons, but if they were like any other animal he had no doubt that he would be able to breed them. Transporting them would be the only difficulty, however, he had a solution for that problem.
He had waylaid the caravan three days march from a
edge of the
It was the only weakness in his plan. If the gryphons died while being transported to the river most of his efforts would be wasted. For at least three days they would not be able to eat or drink. However, he did not have much choice. His men had constructed two large sleds to transport the huge animals. They would have to remain drugged and unconscious while being dragged to the river port. There was no other way they could be kept under control.
He gave the signal to Abas to begin moving out. Each sled carrying the gyphons was pulled by twenty horses. The sleds were followed by a line of carts containing food and equipment for the two day journey. Flanking the entire column were the Juarian warriors and his loyal men. The column wouldn’t move fast and he would have no trouble catching up with it. In the meantime there was something he wanted to do first.
He strode toward his tent, smiling slightly as he did so. It was quirk of his physical and mental character that a successful enterprise always stimulated him sexually. Fortunately, waiting in his tent was the perfect answer to his arousal. The man guarding the tent stood up as he approached and Ben Aben motioned him to wait an appropriate distance away. He was not a prude, but he did not want a public audience listening while he enjoyed his Elven captive.
The Elf looked up as he entered the tent. She was sitting on her haunches in the middle of the tent, apparently too frightened to use any of the furniture. Good, she was learning her place. He preferred to have his women at his feet when they were not grunting in pleasure beneath him.
Once again, he was struck by the incredible beauty of his raven-haired captive. Her eyes fascinated him. Slightly uptilted at the corners, they resembled those of the Moon Child, but were without pupils. They were a dazzling blue in colour and were full of tiny dancing motes of gold. He wondered if they could see anything he could not.
His eyes wandered to her tiny body. She could not have been more than five feet tall and was very fine-boned with slender arms and slender legs. Although he found her almost child-like there was no denying her womanhood. The swell of her breasts beneath her tunic attested to her maturity. Ben Aben longed to have a better look at them, but he was wary of the reputation of the Elves. The gryphon riders were alleged to be among the most formidable of warriors and despite the Elf’s childlike appearance he was not one to take her lightly. His experience with the Juarians had shown him that people who appeared harmless could be among the deadliest of warriors.
He decided to take no chances. Chained to the heavy iron stake in the centre of the tent, she had little room to maneuver and he took full advantage of it. Without warning he took two full strides into the tent and caught hold of the chain before she could move. The Elven maiden gave a yelp of surprise and attempted to leap to her feet, but she was too late. Using the chain to his advantage he jerked her toward the ground and then twisted her body forcing her face down into the dirt. As he used his weight to pin her he had a sudden and cruel idea.
Her hair hung to her waist in two long braids. While the Elf grunted and squirmed beneath him he twisted her right arm behind her and forced it high into the centre of her back. She whimpered in pain while he twisted one of her braids around her wrist and then turned his attention to her other arm.
Delendria’s mouth opened in pain as her head was jerked cruelly back. Ben Aben’s attack had caught her off-guard and she had reacted too slowly to stop him. Had she not still been suffering from the effects of the poison dart she would probably have stopped him, but she was just a fraction too slow and now she grimaced in agony as Ben Aben bound her with her own hair. Her wrists had been pushed painfully between her shoulder blades into the centre of her back and her long braids twisted around them. Any attempt to escape threatened to tear her hair out by the roots and forced her to arch her back to alleviate the pain. Now helpless, she could only struggle weakly as he lifted her from the floor and placed her face up on the bed, careful to position his body where her limber legs could not reach him.
Ben Aben grinned down at the helpless maiden. Her chest heaved as she looked up at him and he could sense her fear. Her body trembled and her lower lip quivered as she fought to control her emotions, but other than her heavy breathing she made no sound. Slowly and deliberately Ben Aben took the top of her light cotton vest between his fingers and tore the material apart, opening the garment from her neck to her waist.
He had thought her breasts were small, but in fact they were perfectly in tune with the rest of her petite body. His hands palmed their rounded contours, squeezing them gently as his thumbs flicked over her perfect pink nipples.
“No,” she protested. It was the first intelligent sound he had heard her make since he had come into the tent. “I am Shebaria. You have no right to take me against my will.”
It was a pathetic protest. Ben Aben shifted his weight, straddling her like a pony, his weight pressing her into the mattress. “My possession of you gives me the right to do to you whatever I choose. I own every part of your body. Your breasts, your hips, your, thighs, and your cunt.”
Delendria could only lie helplessly as Ben Aben emphasized every point by touching the part of her body he listed as he spoke. When he cupped her mound of Venus she shuddered in fear. “Soon,” Ben Aben continued, “you will welcome my touch.”
Delendria grunted as Ben Aben pressed her into the mattress. She could barely breath, but she gasped out another “No” as he spread her legs. She tried to fight him, but would not beg for mercy; not even when he raised himself above her and she caught sight of his erection. It was larger than anything she imagined, and it stirred her into a fruitless attempt to escape.
Ben Aben laughed at her reaction. Lowering his head he teased her nipples with his lips and teeth, making love to her just as if she were a willing lover. Delendria grunted in pain as she accidentally wrenched her hair as she attempted to move her arms. She was helpless and could only struggle feebly as Ben Aben enjoyed her charms.
He touched every part of her body, using a variety of lovemaking skills that had her panting in spite of the horror of the situation. Her body covered in sweat, she almost gave into him and let him take her without resistance. After all, if she was going to be raped she might as well enjoy it as best she could, but her sense of honour held her back from that final submission. But she could not prevent her traitor body from reacting to her captor’s skillful use of his tongue on her vulva and clitoris. His tongue licked into her maidenly crevice and his lips sucked at her as if her vulva was a ripe fruit. She was suddenly very wet and the smell of an excited female told Ben Aben that she was ready.
As she struggled to clamp her legs together he raised his body above her, placed his hands on her hips and thrust into her. A sob escaped her lips as he took her virginity, but Ben Aben seemed oblivious to her humiliation. Grunting, he drove deep into her, until she screamed at the sudden pain. He grinned down at her. “Now, you Elven bitch, you are a woman.”
Delendria wept in shame and anger. She was dishonoured, not just in the eyes of her people but in her own. Her shame was all the deeper for having responded however slightly to Ben Aben’s lovemaking. Her only hope was that somehow she would find a way to escape and that perhaps by some good fortune her sister had escaped the same fate.
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