Tales of
Erogenia
Based
on the online comic created by J.E. Draft.
Episode 2: Journey to
Jinqua
Chapter
5: Trouble on the
River
Zenaria kept her pace slow,
partly to spare the horse and partly to spare her
backside. In spite of the fact
that she had proclaimed her riding ability to Shalandra she was far from
a proficient rider as her buttocks and thighs soon told
her. By mid-morning she was quite
happy to use the excuse of sparing the horse on a steep hill to get off and
walk.
The journey to the lands of the Moon Tribe and Queen Ipola would take her straight south, and through the lands of three other tribes, that of the Fox, Bear, and Bull Tribes. However, she didn’t plan on travelling the entire distance by horse or foot. A day’s ride or walk would take her to a small port on the River Fuln. The Hawk Tribe used it as a place to transfer their shipments of finished metals to river barges. From there the barges traveled to the aforementioned tribes and to the river ports of Normos, Fuln, Dell, and even as far as distant Gost. After that no one in the Hawk Tribe seemed to know where their exports went. In spite of the fact that the three closest towns were in lands controlled by Erogenian tribes, most of the trading was carried out by Kivalian merchants, who tended to be rather closemouthed about their trading connections.
The thought of encountering Kivalians had her thinking about
them. She had met a few of them
before and had not been particularly
impressed. After her adventures
in Sandak the Kivalian border
Musing on this subject at length brought Zenaria to the banks of the Fuln and a small landing around which were arranged a cluster of crude buildings. She was still in Hawk Tribe territory, so the men working on the dock and in charge of most of the buildings were Hawk warriors. The fact that most of them were engaged in menial tasks did not conceal their obvious fighting ability, nor did it surprise her. The men and women of her tribe were formidable warriors, but they also had to deal with daily realities such as finding food and mending the roofs of their dwellings. They gave Zenaria an appraising look as she rode up.
Zenaria recognized a few of them. Some she had met in the Hawk Tribe stockade, but others were strangers. None, however, were unfriendly, and there was no reason for them to be when presented with a woman with Zenaria’s physical attributes. Sadly for them Zenaria did not intend to stay long enough for the men to become better acquainted with her. She went directly to the one of the barge owners and began negotiations.
“I wish to journey downstream,” she began, “and take my horse with me.”
The barge owner was the opposite of any Hawk Warrior she had ever seen and it did not surprise Zenaria to discover that he was Kivalian. Barely up to her breasts, he was heavyset and swarthy and clad in a sweat-stained shirt and baggy trousers. He looked her over almost insultingly before answering. “You I wouldn’t mind takin’, but the horse will cost you. Horses don’t usually take well to water and the cost of feed eats into profits.”
Zenaria felt her temperature rising. She was used to men looking at her body, as a matter of fact most of the time she glorified in it, but the way the loutish bargekeeper looked her over made her skin crawl. She had seen much the same look when she had been dragged in chains through the streets of the Sandak city of Uhra Don. Almost unthinking her hand moved upward toward the hilt of her sword.
The bargeman caught the motion and hurriedly stepped back. “Course I’m willin’ to give you a good price if you don’t mind yer horse travelin’ with the goats and pay me for my trouble.”
Zenaria let her hand drop, but not her intimidating glower. She needed the Kivalian in order to ease her journey. Travel by water would be much faster and more comfortable than spending a week on horseback and her thighs and backside needed a break from several days in the saddle. However, she was not about to let the Kivalian get away with overcharging her, and made that clear immediately. “I’ll pay the going rate and nothing more,” she said. “I’ll take the road rather than throw my silver in your direction.”
The fact that she had no idea what to going rate was she kept to herself, knowing that almost certainly whatever demand the bargeman made would be about double what was fair.
“A piece of silver for you and two fer the horse, and I ain’t takin’ less,” the bargeman growled, conscious of the fact that the members of the Hawk tribe who were loading ingots of copper onto his barge were taking in the confrontation.
Zenaria opened her mouth to reply and then shut it. Why should she lower herself to bargaining with this surly fool? Anyway she suddenly had an idea. Her mouth twitched up with just the barest hint of a smile. “Alright. But my cat travels free.”
“Yer cat?” The bargeman asked, craning his neck to see around her. Not seeing anything resembling a cat he frowned. “Sure. Bring yer cat. Maybe it will kill a few of the rats I’ve got on board.”
“Perhaps it might,” Zenaria grinned, taking three silver pieces from her small leather purse, and dropping them into the filthy palm of the bargeman.
The bargeman grinned knowingly at the other men, his smile clearly declaring what he thought of the stupid female barbarian he had just cheated. But his grin turned to an expression of horror just a few seconds later.
Zenaria put her fingers to her lips and whistled. She could just as easily have summoned the great cat through mental contact, but she thought the gesture a bit more dramatic. There were several seconds of silence, and then the rustle of undergrowth as the snow leopard pushed it aside told of Jaree’s arrival.
“Holy mother,” the bargeman sputtered. He took several steps backward and there was a sudden strong odour emanating from his vicinity.
“Perhaps you might consider stabling yourself with my horse,” Zenaria suggested. Around her the watching Hawkmen guffawed, although all of them kept a way eye on Jaree as she rubbed up against Zenaria’s thigh.
Recovering slightly the bargeman sputtered a protest. “You can’t bring that thing on board, it’ll eat the goats.”
“You have my silver,” Zenaria replied. “Jaree travels with me.”
“She has you, Barlenan” one of the warriors roared. “I bear witness that you took her coin.”
The look of a trapped animal swept over the features of the bargeman, followed almost immediately by one of intense hatred. Zenaria realized that she had made an enemy, but was not the least concerned that the Kivalian riverman would be able to do anything about it. In any case, Barlenan was clearly too frightened of the huge snow leopard to prevent her from boarding, and without waiting she led her horse up the ramp and onto the deck of the barge much to the delight and noisy enthusiasm of the watch Hawk Tribe warriors.
Much to Barlenan’s further anger and dismay, after securing her horse among the goats and making sure that it had ample food and water, Zenaria invited Jaree to stay with her in the section of the barge reserved for passengers. Not surprisingly no one else boarded the barge for the trip south and the frustrated barge owner was forced to cast off from the landing without his usual human cargo.
The trip south occurred in strained silence other than the occasional angry muttering of the barge captain, however, Zenaria felt little sympathy for Barlenan’s discomfort. The riverman’s arrogant behaviour had gotten him what he deserved. She was a princess of the Snow Leopard and would tolerate no insult to her person or tribe. His own vanity and stupidity had allowed her to humiliate him and turn circumstances to her advantage. She sat back and enjoyed the journey.
There wasn’t really much to river travel. The current did most of the work and the Fuln ran fast and deep. All that Barlenan and his crew of five had to do was watch for snags and logs and keep the barge in midstream. In fact there was so little to do that the bargemen spent most of the day passing around a bottle of strong liquor, which usually had them close to falling overboard by the end of the day. It was an activity she stayed well away from. Instead she spent most of the day near the bow watching the country slip by. At the end of each day the barge tied up at one or the other of the banks and supper was prepared ashore. It gave Zenaria a chance to stretch her legs and practice her martial skills including her archery. It also gave Jaree a chance to hunt. The big cat spent most of the day curled up on the deck of the barge doing what cats did best. But she became wide awake as soon as the barge got close to shore.
Each time the giant leopard moved off into the darkness Zenaria experienced a little anxiety. Jaree had never stayed with her this long before and she expected the cat to head off by herself every time she left to hunt, especially as it was more than clear that the leopard did not like the heat of the lowlands. However, each morning the cat returned, much to Barlenan’s continued disgust. “Cursed animal,” he growled. “I’ll be more than glad when yer off my boat.”
Two days into the journey the barge tied up at a small settlement, known by the unimaginative name of Treestump. As usual, Zenaria and Jaree were the focus of much attention, although most of it was rendered from a respectful distance. As usual Jaree disappeared into the surrounding forest, leaving Zenaria alone for the night, but she was not particularly concerned. The locals were quite friendly, almost too friendly, several of the men showing more than just pleasant interest in her. Zenaria knew what they wanted and was careful to offer no encouragement. She wasn’t too concerned, however, with the big cat close by she was fairly safe. And there was always her sword if any became too insistent. For most men, one look at her six-foot-four-inch frame and the sword strapped to her back was enough to get most of them to keep their distance.
She wasn’t sure what business drove Barlenan to stop at the isolated river outpost, there seemed very little there other than a few bales of hides. However, neither he nor any of his men made any attempt to load them. Instead he and his crew spent most of their time in the shack that passed as the local tavern, knocking back poor quality ale. Finally, sometime after the late summer sunset he and his men emerged from the tavern and staggered toward the barge.
From her place on the riverbank, Zenaria watched them, having awoken from her usual light sleep. She never slept on the barge, being more comfortable finding a place where she could be sure none of the crew would sneak up on her. She didn’t trust Barlenan even half the distance she could throw him and wanted to make sure that the ale hadn’t put it into his heads to shove off in the middle of the night and leave her without her horse and gear. A few minutes later, however, the sound of snoring men told her that it was safe to sleep until dawn.
She awoke a second time to the sound of activity down by the river. For some reason some of the men Barlenan had been drinking with were shoving off before daylight in a small boat apparently confident that they could find their way on the river even in the dark, or perhaps still too drunk to know any better. Deciding she might as well get up, she stowed away her blanket and headed down to the barge. Coincidently, Jaree showed up and she boarded the barge and waited for sunup.
Not too surprisingly Barlenan and his men were late that morning, not arising until the sun was well above the trees. Complaining loudly about their pounding heads they cast off while Zenaria watched. By this time she was having second thoughts about traveling by water. Although it was easier than riding and spared her horse and backside, she tired of having to keep her eyes on Barlenan and his crew, but she decided to stick with it another day or so. She could cover more distance in a day simply due to the fact that the barge never stopped moving during the daylight hours, and the route it took was not much more crooked than the roads.
She had purchased some fruit and roast beef at the small market in the river village and ate as the barge cast off. After checking to see if her horse was watered and had feed she took up her position in the bow. From there she enjoyed watching the banks of the river sweep toward her as the barge moved downstream. Today they were making particularly good time as they had a following wind and were able to raise the sail. She knew from talking to the crew that another three or four days remained before they reached the lands of the Fox Tribe, but perhaps it might be sooner if the wind kept up.
Up ahead, something was happening.
The river was dividing into two channels as it passed to either side
of a large island.
“
Zenaria smiled. “Thanks, Harald, it is nice to have a guide.”
The boy blushed in pleasure. Zenaria gathered that he was somewhat smitten, although even by her standards he was a bit young. But it never hurt to have an ally.
As Harald had predicted the barge was steered into the channel to the right of the island. Here the river narrowed a little giving Zenaria a perfect view of the thickly forest land to either side. The west was especially rugged with broken stone coming right down to the water. The island side was gentler, but the banks were still higher than on the early part of the voyage and so thickly forested as to appear almost impenetrable. Always wary of ambush Zenaria watched the banks closely, however, there appeared to be no immediate threat and Jaree remained docile.
Zenaria watched as the barge followed the curve of the river around a bend, noting that the rocky banks to the west suddenly diminished to a wide spit that thrust out into the river. To Zenaria’s surprise the barge seemed to be heading toward it. Then she noticed something that aroused her suspicions. Pulled up on the spit was a small boat. Almost certainly it was the same one the men who had left in the middle of the night had taken. Her eyes swept the heavily forest riverbank, but she could see no sign of them. Nevertheless, she warily eyed the crew of the barge. Something was not right, but she could not detect it in the crew members who were scrambling to bring the barge into a gentle mooring by the spit.
Jaree too seemed disturbed. The great cat was leaning forward, the fur on her body raised as if expecting an encounter. Zenaria drew her sword and waited, her body tense and ready for the unexpected. The barge thumped against the shore and Jaree was gone in one magnificent leap. A flood of feline images poured into her mind. Jaree was off after something, but what Zenaria didn’t know. She could only determine that the leopard was highly excited, a situation that might lead to the huge cat rushing into something she should not be meddling with.
She sent out a mental command almost at the same time that Jaree let out a feline scream of rage. Never had Zenaria heard the cat make a noise exactly like that. It sent chills down her spine even as she ran toward the sound of the leopard’s shrieks and growls. Casting aside caution she burst through the trees and found herself in a small clearing. In it were two of the men she had seen Barlenan speaking to at Treestump. But her eyes were drawn to what the two men were standing beside.
From the bottom of a pit came the growls and screams of the angry snow leopard. For an instant Zenaria wondered why Jaree didn’t simply leap out and then she saw the reason. The pit had been dug so that it was wider at the bottom than at the top. As the enraged leopard attempted to leap out she struck the inward sloping sides and fell back. Only by jumping straight up would it have been possible for Jaree to grab hold of the edge and the few times the cat attempted that the earth crumbled and she fell back into the hole. The leopard was also hampered by the fact that the screen of branches that had covered the pit had fallen into the pit, creating a tangle of broken branches that impeded her movement. Eventually the leopard would have worked her way out, but the two men standing by the pit were dragging a heavy net toward the opening. In a few seconds all chance of escape would be gone.
Zenaria had no idea what the men had used to lure Jaree into their trap, but it had obviously been effective. However, figuring out how Jaree had been trapped was the last thing on her mind at the moment. Swinging her sword she charged across the clearing, screaming her war cry. She managed just a dozen strides before the net engulfed her.
The heavily weighted net drove her to her knees and completely entangled her arms and sword. Unthinkingly Zenaria fought to escape and simply made matters worse, enmeshing herself so completely that she could hardly move. Finally realizing what she had done, she dropped her sword and tried to pull her knife from its sheath. If she could just reach it she might be able to cut her way free. But she was already too late.
“Well, not so high and mighty now are you?” Barlenan’s mocking voice sounded from behind her. Zenaria was so hopelessly tangled in the net that she could not even move her head to look at him. But she was not about to give up. Her fingers found the hilt of her knife and she drew it free. However, her captors were not about to let her escape. Several hands grabbed hold of the net and twisted it so that she was turned onto her back and tightly wrapped in its folds. Through the mesh she could see Barlenan and the other members of the barge’s crew leering down at her. A few seconds later they were joined by some more of the men she had seen the barge captain talking to at the village.
Zenaria cursed herself for a fool. She had run blindly into the trap without even thinking about what she was doing. By now she should have been smarter. Hadn’t she blundered into similar ambushes before? She was caught and completely at the mercy of her captors. They could do whatever they wanted to her and memories of being in similar situations before sent a flicker of fear through her.
“Tie her wrists and ankles,” Barlenan ordered. “And then get her out of the net. I’m going to have a little fun with the barbarian bitch.”
Zenaria had no doubt that Barlenan’s words were intended to frighten her. If so, they failed. Instead they simply made her angrier at her rashness and stupidity. However, she was helpless to prevent the men who had captured her from reaching through the spaces between the mesh and grabbing hold of her arms.
Zenaria thrashed wildly as her captors attempted to pull her wrists together so that they could be bound. Several times she pulled her arms free, until finally the men gave up trying to force her wrists together and settled for tying each one separately. Then, with two men on each of the ropes they took up the strain and in spite of her struggles slowly pulled her arms out to the side. At the same time one of the men straddled her, pinning her to the ground, while another looped a rope about her ankles and drew her legs together.
Now almost helpless, Zenaria’s struggles weakened as the strength ebbed from her body. Her arms were pulled over her head and her wrists bound at last. Only then did her captors begin to untangle her from the net.
Barlenan stood over her, his legs wide. “Thought you could sneer at me with that cat to back you up. But now I’ve got you and yer pet and you’re both going to fetch me a good price. The Kivalians find wild animals interesting entertainment and as for you I think there will be a good market for your charms in Sandak. But first me and my boys are going to have a little fun trying you out.”
Zenaria’s only reply was an angry growl. She was almost more enraged at herself that she was at Barlenan and his henchmen, but only just. Even as they tossed a rope over the overhead branch of a tree and tightened the rope lifting her slowly upwards, she gripped the ropes, bent her body and slammed her feet into the chest of the man closest to her.
The blow had a result even Zenaria had not expected, launching the startled man over the pit and onto the net that had now been strung across it. Intended to keep Jaree from jumping out, it held for a few seconds and then broke free, dropping the man Zenaria had kicked into the bottom of the pit. There was a terrible scream, followed by a roar and a crunching of bone and then silence.
“Barbarian bitch! She killed Varn,” one of the assembled men shouted. His shout was followed by others in an angry babble as the men raged at her.
Barlenan, who was standing just a couple of yards away, took two quick steps and then drove his fist into her vulnerable belly.
“Ahh!” The barge captain stepped back, rubbing his wrist. Zenaria had tightened her abdominal muscles and the effect was like punching a wall. “Barbarian whore, you’ll regret that.”
Zenaria spat her contempt, but made no answer. Barlenan’s blow had hurt even if he had gotten the worst of it. The barge master was powerfully built and if he had hit her higher he might have broken a rib.
“Turn her and make sure she can’t move,” Barlenan growled. “I’m going to teach her a few manners.” He stripped off his jerkin and picked up one of the lengths of rope that his men had brought with them. Doubling it up, he tied a heavy knot in one end and then called for Harald. “Soak this in the river,” he ordered. “Make sure it’s good and wet.”
Harald scampered toward the riverbank. Zenaria doubted that the boy really wanted to do what Barlenan ordered, but she also knew he really had little choice. A few seconds later she lost sight of him as the men holding her turned her away so that Barlenan could approach her in safety.
Unable to see what the barge captain was doing Zenaria listened as he moved toward her. “Let’s see how you deal with this,” he murmured just behind her right shoulder. Even standing on tiptoe his face would only have been level with her shoulder and Zenaria was stretched out full length with all of her weight on her wrists. Zenaria could hear him moving behind her and then she felt his fingers grab the neck of her doeskin vest. There was the touch of cold metal to the skin of her neck and then a ripping sound as Barlenan slashed her vest from neck to waist.
Cool air brushed her naked back and then there was the sound of footsteps as Harald returned. There was a swishing sound as Barlenan tested his makeshift whip. “Much better. This should make a mark,” the barge captain grunted.
Zenaria braced herself for the first blow. As a warrior her instincts called for her to fight back, but she was at the mercy of her brutal captors. The terrible helplessness of his situation added to her fear and anger. And then her self-recrimination was banished from her mind as the bargemaster struck with the whip.
Zenaria thought she was ready for the first blow, but the pain as the knotted rope struck her back was shockingly painful. It was not as excruciating as several of the wounds she had received during her life, but it came close. The heavy knot bit into her flesh like a fist and the coarse fibres of the rope ripped away her skin. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Zenaria waited for the next blow.
The fact that she had not cried out angered Barlenan. He put all of his strength into the next series of blows, striking her so hard that her breath was almost driven from her body. It was all she could do not to scream as he struck her again and again. Her eyes glazed with pain and she was sure that several of her ribs had been broken. Finally, panting from the effort, he threw down the whip. “The barbarian whore must be made of wood,” he gasped. “But I’ll get a sound out of her.”
Zenaria bit back an agonized cry as she was lowered to the ground. In spite of her stoicism the savage flogging had left her barely able to stand, and although her ankles were untied, she had to be dragged across the clearing. Her vision blurred with pain, she saw that she was being hauled toward a large log and guessed immediately what Barlenan intended. She fought against every step she was forced to take, but there was a man holding each of her arms and she was forced up to the log and then bent face down over it. The man holding the rope that bound her wrists pulled it tight, stretching her over the log while two other men held on to her legs.
Desperately Zenaria tried to break away from her captors, but the severe beating had taken almost everything out of her. A lesser woman would not have remained conscious to hear the catcalls and insults of her captors as they crowded around her.
Barlenan moved between her legs. “You’ll make some noise after this, bitch. I promise you that.” His fingers released her belt and while she fought weakly to escape, he jerked down her leather trousers. Sheer terror almost overwhelmed her as she faced the brutal reality that she was going to be raped and probably more than once. All of Barlenan’s hirelings crowded around her, so close that she could smell the stink of their bodies.
“May the Moon give me strength,” she muttered and then Barlenan’s hands gripped her hips and she felt his loins moving toward hers.
“Hold! Release the fair maiden!”
The command rang out over the vulgar comments of her assailants. To Zenaria it made no sense until it penetrated her terror-strained mind that someone other than the men about to violate her had spoken.
“Who in the name of all that’s holy are you?” Barlenan roared.
Zenaria felt a momentary slackening of the hands that held her; enough that she could raise her head and peer toward the object of Barlenan’s anger. For a few moments she had to shut her eyes against the blinding glare. Squinting, she saw that an otherworldly vision had entered the glade. Vaguely she could make out the outlines of a rider mounted on a gigantic white horse. Clad in gleaming silver armour he moved slowly toward Zenaria and her astonished captors.
“I am Sir Varden,” the apparition proclaimed, “Holy Knight of the Silver Order, and thy lives are forfeit if the maiden is harmed.”
“Too late for that,” Zenaria thought. “For some completely bizarre reason, perhaps something brought on by her injuries, she found the knight’s pronouncement oddly amusing.
She felt the hands holding her let go and the movement of Barlenan’s men as they scrambled to lay their hand on their weapons. By Zenaria’s standards they were not well armed, but they had swords and spears and several of them had bows. But more to the point there were more than a dozen of them against the single knight.
“Kill him,” Barlenan ordered, and arrows and spears flew toward the armoured figure.
There was the rattle of arrow and spearheads against the knight’s armour, and then the knight spurred his charger forward. “For Saint Brenna,” he roared and then he was upon Barlenan and his men in a whirlwind of slashing steel, hammering hooves, and flying body parts.
It was all over in just a few heartbeats. The few men that remained were running for the river or the forest, leaving Zenaria alone with her rescuer. As he swung from the saddle she staggered to her feet, but she did not turn to meet him, instead she found a sword amongst the bodies. Stepping toward the trees on the edge of the clearing she swung the borrowed blade, taking down a sapling with a four-inch trunk in a single stroke.
“Fair maiden what…” Sir Varden began and then he saw Zenaria’s intent.
Dragging the trunk of the felled tree she made it to the pit and then pushed it in before collapsing face down by the edge. It had taken the last of her strength, but the welcoming roar of Jaree as she clawed her way up the trunk made the effort more than worth it. During her ordeal the leopard, picking up Zenaria’s mental images, had screamed in rage. Leaving her in the pit would have driven the giant cat to the edge of madness.
“By the saints,” the knight exclaimed as the huge leopard bounded free. He wheeled his horse to face the new threat, but he needn’t have worried. Jaree went immediately to Zenaria and began to lick her wounds.
“Saint Brenna be praised,” Varden said, “the cat succours the fair damsel.”
Jaree’s ministrations roused Zenaria, but she was too badly beaten to do more than raise her head. Her back throbbed agonizingly, the pain seeming to increase with each heartbeat. Her head swimming, she watched as the knight swung off his horse and wiped his sword on the body of one of the dead bandits before moving toward her.
A loud growl warned him away and he halted, his sword still in his hand. “Fair maiden,” he said. “I cannot help thee if thy beast will not let me near.”
Zenaria stared toward the knight. The pain of her injuries made it difficult to think straight, as she struggled to keep from fainting. The knight’s features were still covered by his helmet, making it impossible for her to judge him. But he had saved her life and he was right about her injuries needing tending. Without proper care she risked infection and death. She sent out a calming message to Jaree and the leopard responded, sinking back on her haunches, although continuing to watch Sir Varden.
The knight approached and Zenaria could now see why Barlenan and his men had been so helpless against him. He was clad from head to foot in beautifully articulated plate armour. Few weapons would have been capable of piercing such protection and few men would have walked so easily in it. In spite of its obvious weight Sir Varden moved as if he was wearing almost nothing.
He knelt beside her and removed his helmet revealing a fall of dark hair bound up with a headband to keep it out of his startling green eyes. Just now, however, Zenaria was in too much pain to take much interest in the knight’s striking features or his rather strange mode of speech. “Thy captors have cruelly abused thee. It was fortunately that I was not too late to prevent them from taking thy virtue.”
Zenaria didn’t have any virtue left to take, but that fact seemed rather inconsequential considering her injuries, nor was she the least concerned about the subject of the knight’s next comment. “In order to help thee, I am forced to look upon thee, but please know that I intend thee no indignity.”
The words confused Zenaria at first until she realized that there was very little left of her clothing. Barlenan had jerked off her trousers and had shredded her jerkin, leaving her almost nude. It was not something that bothered Zenaria, but her nakedness seemed a source of serious embarrassment to the knight. Removing his cloak he covered the lower portion of her body before proceeding to treat her wounds.
Sir Varden fetched his wineskin from his horse, and ripping up a shirt one of her assailants had worn he soaked it in wine and then proceeded to clean her wounds. “Your pardon, fair maiden. This may prove painful,” he said before beginning. Zenaria’s body was already throbbing in such agony, however, that the additional sting of the wine hardly registered.
She lay quietly while he carefully and thoroughly cleaned the clotted blood and filth from her wounds. It was a painful process, but Zenaria endured it stoically or rather she lay semi-conscious while the knight went about tending to her. Finally he tossed down the filthy rag and finished by dousing her wounds liberally with the remaining wine. Then he did some something completely unexpected.
He had removed his armoured gauntlets while tending to her and now he placed his hands upon her shoulders. “Maiden,” he said, “I am about to lay the blessing of the holy Saint Brenna upon thee. Thou mayest feel some discomfort, but be not afraid.”
Zenaria had no idea what the knight was talking about and was in no position to protest in any case. Barlenan had flogged her close to the edge of oblivion and only her stubborn will and tremendous physical strength had allowed her to remain conscious. She lay face down, almost naked from the waist up except for the shreds of her costume and tried to control her breathing. Every breath she took felt like knives were being stuck into her, confirming her belief that the knotted rope had cracked or broken one or more of her ribs.
“May the blessed Holy Mother help me,” Sir Varden murmured. He pressed his hands, his fingers outstretched on Zenaria’s back.
Zenaria let out a low moan as a sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced ran through her body. It started as a gentle heat radiating from the knight’s fingers; heat that spread through her body from her shoulders to her toes, and then began to increase in temperature until sweat poured from her body and she was almost certain that the remaining skin on her body was about to burst into flames. Somehow she did not scream. Perhaps it was because she was already too weak to utter a sound or perhaps it was because her warrior training forbade so shameful an act, but whatever the reason she made no sound other than the initial moan. But then she did something that she had never done before – she fainted.
She awoke to the singing of birds. Overhead her eyes were shielded from the morning sunlight by a screen of leaves. She was lying on a bed of leaves covered by a blanket and a similar blanket covered her body. Beneath the blanket she was completely nude, but more importantly she felt not the slightest pain. Slowly she stirred and found to her chagrin that she was not even able to lift her head. She was not aware of having made a sound, but she must have because at that moment a large shape loomed before her eyes, and resolved into the knight who had saved her life.
“Worry not fair maid,” Sir Varden said, “the blessing I laid upon thee draws from thy body to accomplish the healing process. What thou needest now is food and rest and in a few days thou will be completely restored.”
“What I needeth now,” Zenaria replied imitating the knight’s mode of speech, “is to empty my bladder. Can thou helpeth me?”
To her surprise the knight coloured, his complexion performing a very good impression of a beet, however, he did not shy away from her request. “I will assist thee fair maid, but fear not I shall close my eyes the while.”
Zenaria blinked in astonishment as the knight placed his arm behind her back and helped her to her feet all the while keeping his eyes tightly shut. Unfortunately for his composure she found herself so weak that she had to lean close to him for support, pressing her nakedness against him. The position required Sir Varden to place his right arm around her, his fingers supporting her just beneath her right breast, a situation he seemed to find acutely embarrassing. His left hand held her left elbow in order to better support her weight.
Zenaria found the knight’s behaviour very strange. She knew that some men did not prefer women. As a matter of fact there were several same-sex relationships among the people of the Snow Leopard. Such liaisons were not regarded as particularly unusual, just different, and those who were a part of them were not ostracized or treated any differently from other members of the tribe. However, she had never encountered someone like Sir Varden. His behaviour seemed to indicate that he was fully aware of her female charms, but he seemed acutely discomfited by their close proximity.
This made crossing the clearing very difficult as Zenaria was forced to lead the way, the knight’s eyes being tightly shut. Not once did she catch him peeking even thought she checked several times. However, they managed to make the edge of the campsite without mishap even though the knight stumbled once or twice. Reaching the trees, Zenaria squatted and did what she had to do and then she was helped back to her bed. One the way back she noticed two things. One was that there was a pot bubbling on the fire, from which issued a mouth-watering smell, and the other was that there was someone else in the camp. There were two horses present; the knight’s charger and another more modest mount. She wondered at the whereabouts of the missing rider until after being settled back in her bed, a boy in his mid-teens entered carrying an armload of wood.
“This is my squire, Derwald, fair maiden. Forgive my manners, but I have neglected to ask thy name.”
Zenaria followed Sir Varden’s lead and gave her full title. “I am Princess Zenaria, daughter of Cirilia and Zennar of the Tribe of the Snow Leopard.” Her pronouncement was not quite as grand as she would have liked to make it. She could barely raise her voice above a whisper, and lying on her back in the shelter Sir Varden had constructed for her was not particularly inspiring, but the knight went down on his knees in salute. “Forgive me, princess for not recognizing thy royal lineage, but it was made difficult when those villains dressed thee in animal hides.”
Zenaria did not comment. There seemed little point in informing Sir Varden that the animal hides had been her normal clothing. She began to wonder a bit about the knight. Surely he must have seen an Erogenian before somewhere. Either he was incredibly unobservant or had led a very sheltered life. At that moment Derwald came forward holding a wooden bowl full of hot stew. Zenaria was so hungry that she would have eaten anything, but as it turned out the stew was quite good although she had a little trouble eating from her prone position.
Eating seemed to restore some of her strength and she asked for a second serving, which she was able to eat sitting up. Sir Varden seemed impressed by her quick recovery. “Thou art most strong, your highness. I expected from thy injuries that thou wouldst barely be able to move for days.”
In truth Zenaria was far from back to normal. In spite of her surprising recovery from the savage beating she was still as weak as a kitten. However, she was most curious about her rescuer and could not help asking him about himself. “Sir Varden why do you speak so strangely and why is it that you happened to come across me in so remote an area?”
“I apologize, fair princess. The knights and squires of my order live in isolation and are taught to revere the old ways. We live a monastic existence and spend years in prayer and training. I have spoken to few people outside the order since I began my training fifteen years ago and use the mode of speech demanded by the knights of my order. As for how I found thee – err you, that is a bit hard to explain. You see, I saw you during my prayer vigil.”
“Prayer vigil?” Zenaria inquired. The stew seemed to have restored her strength and she was able to prop herself up on one elbow. Sir Varden quickly looked away when the blanket covering Zenaria slipped a little, revealing rather more of her impressive bosom than was seemly. Zenaria wondered a bit about the knight’s strange behaviour. Surely he must have seen a nude woman before. However, she stifled her curiosity and waited for the knight’s reply.
“A Knight of the Silver Order spends two days in prayer and fasting before receiving his spurs. During my vigil the altar before which I knelt seemed to disappear and was replaced by a vision of a woman so beautiful that I thought at first I was experiencing a visit from Saint Brenna, the patron saint of my order.” Here the knight paused and looked at Zenaria almost apologetically, careful to keep his eyes on her face. “I soon realized, however, that I was mistaken when I saw that she was in dire danger; threatened with the loss of her honour and being brutally beaten. The maiden I saw being so violated was you.”
As he finished the knight once again coloured and Zenaria wondered just how realistic his vision had been. For reasons Zenaria was having trouble understanding the knight seemed troubled by nudity and if his vision had truly shown what Barlenan and his men were doing to her then he would have seen a great deal of her body. However, there was something about his story she did not understand.
“I understand the vision, but how did you find me? Surely your order is not located in so remote a part of the world.”
“I was guided by Saint Brenna,” the knight replied. “Somehow I knew the way tho’ the journey took me a full month.”
Zenaria was familiar with visions. The gift of second sight was well-known among her people, her sister being a prime example of the talent, but she had never heard of a vision so persistent anyone could follow it to a particular destination. However, her brief conversation with the knight had tired her and she found it impossible to keep her eyes open. Lying back on her bed of leaves she closed her eyes and slept.
She awoke considerably refreshed, but with her stomach
growling. From the position of
the sun shone she guessed that it was about
“What do you mean?” Zenaria
asked. “It’s barely
“
Sir Varden’s mode of speech was beginning to irk her, but Zenaria said nothing. After all, the knight had saved her life. The least she could do was put up with his idiosyncrasies. “I feel much recovered, thank you,” she said. “But very hungry.”
“You are in luck. The large cat that guarded thee brought a fine buck and left a portion of it for us. Even now it is roasting on the fire. The cat has since departed.”
Zenaria received the news about Jaree with a smile. She knew that the leopard had probably not gone far and the big cat’s kill was her way of looking after her human companion. In the meantime the smell of grilled venison had her mouth watering and she gladly received the generous portion the knight order Derwald to bring her. “Use this to cut the meat,” Sir Varden said, handing her a knife. “It seems a fine blade.”
Zenaria noted that the knife she had been given was her own and supposed that her sword and bow were probably close by as well as she had taken them with her when she had jumped from the barge. Even her immediate hunger came second to the sword and she asked about it immediately. “Tell me sir knight, did you find a particularly fine sword as well?”
“I did,” the knight replied, looking at her curiously. Getting to his feet he strode across the campsite and returned with her sword in his hand. Holding it hilt-first toward her he asked: “Knowest thou the blade?”
“My father’s sword and now mine,” Zenaria said, taking it from him and laying it by her side.
“Ah, the knight said. “A family heirloom.”
“Something like that,” Zenaria replied, stuffing her mouth full of venison. She did not speak for the next little while, feeding her empty belly until it bulged. While she ate she studied her rescuer. Her initial impression of the knight was that he was tall and powerfully built and even though he had removed his heavy plate armour this turned out to be the case. He was about her height with dark hair styled so that although it covered his ears it was cut away from his eyes. It was a style Zenaria did not find attractive, used as she was to the much longer hair of Erogenian males. He was also clean shaven, a habit that reminded her of her assassin lover, Tren. Altogether he was quite attractive and she would have been even more taken with him if it had not been for his irritating mode of speech.
Finally, tossing aside the last bone with a sigh of contentment, she finished her meal and turned to the knight. “Now,” she said. “Were you able to salvage any clothing? I wish to dress.” She was still wrapped in the blanket and out of courtesy to her saviour’s sensibilities, she kept herself covered, but now she was not about to stay in bed forever.
“I have these,” the knight answered, dumping a pile of men’s clothing near her. “There is nothing fit for a princess as it appears your abductors carried away your clothing when they fled.”
Zenaria knew that the few rivermen who had escaped had done no such thing and sorting through the pile she was able to find her trousers and boots. She selected a jerkin from what remained to replace the one that had been cut from her body and then buckled on her sword and knife. In order not to unduly alarm the knight and his squire she moved into the shelter of a grove of trees before dropping the blanket. Nevertheless Sir Varden and Derwald stood with their backs turned while she dressed. When she emerged from her hiding place the knight looked at her in something approaching astonishment. “Thou wearest that sword as if thou knew how to use it,” he said.
“You might be very surprised,” Zenaria replied, as she picked up her bow and quiver from the pile of weapons the knight and his squire had stockpiled.
“Thou need not arm thyself, fair maiden,” Sir Varden commented. “I will defend thee from all dangers.”
“I appreciate what you have done for me,” Zenaria replied. “But I can look after myself.”
“Pardon, fair maiden,” the knight said “but that did not appear to be the case when I found thee.”
Zenaria bristled at the comment. She was already angry enough with herself for falling into so obvious a trap and did not wish to be reminded of it. “Sir Knight,” she relied slowly, “I thank you for saving me, but I am a warrior of the Snow Leopard and need no one to act as my bodyguard.”
“I see I have offended thee,” the knight replied contritely. “Please forgive me. I spoke in haste.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Zenaria said. “I foolishly allowed myself to be taken prisoner and owe you a debt I probably cannot repay.”
“I expect no payment, fair maiden,” Sir Varden replied. “The Knights of the Silver Order exist only to serve.”
Zenaria strode across the clearing to the riverbank and stared across the waters. She had learned from Derwald that several of the men who had abducted her had managed to escape to the river, taking with them the barge and the skiff. With them had gone the fine horse Theredin had given her and all of her gear and money. She sighed, realizing that she was fortunate not to have lost a great deal more than just her few possessions, and she still had her bow and sword. She had managed before with less and could manage again. However, it galled her that the fine armour she had brought back from her first adventure was gone forever. Even if she tried she doubted that she would have much luck catching the men who had fled with her goods. She would just have to do without them.
She turned to the knight once more. “I thank you again, but I must complete my mission. Perhaps someday we will meet again.”
“Fair maiden,” the knight replied. “I do not intend to leave thee. My vision told me to serve thee and serve thee I will.”
Zenaria shook her head. “I prefer to go alone. I don’t need some clanking monster to frighten away the game.”
“Fair maiden,” the knight protested, “surely you don’t intend to make your way through this trackless wilderness without any supplies or even a horse?”
“I am not a fair maiden,” Zenaria replied. “As a matter of fact I am not any type of maiden, as you would know if you understood anything about Erogenian customs. Did your holy order not educate you in the ways of the world?”
Sir Varden seemed taken aback, by her outburst, but only for a second. “I apologize, fair princess. I had no way of knowing that you were married.”
Zenaria sighed. Placing her hands on her hips she stared at the knight, suddenly realizing that it was going to take her far too long to educate him and it was time she would rather spend on the road. “Follow if you wish,” she said, “but from now on address me as Zenaria.” Without waiting for the knight’s reaction she headed off into the forest.
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