Barbarian Tales

Episode 1

 

Mistress of the Sword

 

by L'Espion

 

 

Chapter 18: The Queen of Uvar

 

Morning’s light brought a change, but not for the better.  Velag stirred himself from behind the silk curtains, a place Shailaja had come to recognize as his private sleeping quarters although she had never been there.  “Awake already?” he sneered.  “Apparently our efforts last night did not tire you as much as I thought.  However, the next few days might prove more arduous.”

 

Shailaja thought he spoke of further use at his hands and those of his men, but it proved to be a bit more than that.  He moved toward her and stood over her, wrinkling his nose in disgust.  “You stink.  I shall have to see you bathed before we proceed further.”

 

Shailaja expected him to call on Killa and Teela as was usual, but this day was different.  He went to the door of the tent and spoke to the guards.  Two of them stepped in, and moving to her side, rearranged her chains so that she could walk.  Her arms were shackled in their usual position, a length of chain across her back joining her elbows.  Her ankles were tethered by another set of chains and she was pulled to her feet and taken out of the tent. 

 

Movement was agony, and she moaned in pain as she was dragged toward the door.  For some strange reason her body was still in a state of partial arousal.  However, she ached physically even more.  Every step sent a wave of pain through her loins and the bruises on her thighs, breasts, and belly throbbed with the reminder of what had been done to her.  But her escort took no notice of her discomfort, walking her between them as they took her from the tent.

 

Outside the camp was astir, men moving in all directions.  After three years as a mercenary Shailaja knew the signs well, Gorvag and his allies were on the march.  She was, however, still so caught up in her need that she barely took notice of what was going on, not even when she was marched through the camp to the stares and jeers of those she passed. 

 

She did manage to wonder where she was being taken and that was quickly answered when they came to a small stream that splashed over a ledge into a deep pool.  It was an ideal bathing spot and she was ordered in.  “Velag wants you clean for the march,” one of the men grinned.  “Though I don’t know why.  You will just get covered with dust by the end of the day.”

 

Shailaja splashed into the water, chains and all.  There was little she could do to bathe properly, but she could duck herself below the surface and feel the cool water lift some of the filth from her skin.  “Velag said we could join her if we liked,” one of the guards leered.  “I think we should take him up on it.”

 

“Well said, Mervan,” the other man grinned.  “I could hear her clear across the camp last night.  I expect it will be most enjoyable.”

 

Mervan was already stripping off his clothes and his companion quickly followed.  Shailaja stood helpless in the centre of the pool watching them wade toward her.  However, it was not fear that she felt, but lust.  She rose from the pool, water dripping from her taut nipples and welcomed them as they took her.  In but a moment Mervan’s companion moved behind her and took her arms while Mervan moved in front and placed his hands behind her knees.  Lifting her legs he ducked himself and came up between her thighs.  Shailaja could have fought him, but there was no such thought in her head.  She was governed entirely by her loins and she welcomed him as he thrust into her.  He took her hard and fast, lunging into her like a stallion on a mare and he felt almost as large. 

 

She had been used hard by Velag and her other captors and Mervan’s every thrust reminded her of the ordeal she had suffered, but she could deny him nothing crying out not just in pain, but also in passion.  It did not take long for her cries to attract others. 

 

Numerous soldiers lined the edge of the pool and not a few plunged in to join Mervan and his companion.  Shailaja offered resistance to none and was taken by several more until Gorvag and Velag suddenly appeared at the edge of the pond.

 

“Enough!” Gorvag roared.  “We’re breaking camp, not enjoying the barbarian whore.  Bring her to me and I will see to her.”

 

To the great disappointment of those who had hoped to use her and Shailaja’s equally great disappointment she was taken from the pool, somewhat cleaner than she had been, and stinking less from her use at the hands of men, but still aching from their heavy use.  Velag took her in hand, marching her back to a large wagon into which the furniture and other trappings of his pavilion were being loaded.  Revtim and the twins were there, helping with the loading, the two girls doing their best to ignore the suggestive comments of the men who passed by.  Fortunately for them no one was about to abuse Velag’s property, not with several dozen of his Belusendran warriors in the camp.  

 

It was the first time Shailaja had been outside the tent in more than half a moon and the camp was much changed.  Gorvag’s band had swollen from perhaps two hundred assorted rabble to more than four hundred with the addition of Velag’s fifty men and Bekor’s one hundred.  With a few exceptions few of the men other than Velag’s warriors had the appearance of anything resembling real fighting men.  However, in Arkana such a force was probably more than enough to deal with anything the petty city states of that land had to offer. 

 

Shailaja had considerable time to assess the qualities of her captors, as the process of breaking camp took several turns of the glass.  It was a process that would have been regarded with complete contempt by Den, but the Ravens were no more.  They had deteriorated into something resembling an armed mob and had it not been for Velag’s warriors and Bekor’s militia they would hardly have been considered a fighting force. 

 

While she waited she was fed and watered.  She refused to drink the wine, and could only hope that Selene’s Tears could not be hidden in the gruel that was spooned into her by Killa. 

 

Velag appeared before her, his eyes lingering on the forward thrust of her breasts before speaking.  “She appears a little too comfortable.  I think a rearrangement of her chains is called for.  He motioned two men forward.  “Chain her strapado and make sure the chains are tight.”

 

There was nothing Shailaja could do to resist what was to be done to her, but the two Belusendrans called over two more of their number just in case.  She was kept on her knees, two men holding her and a third attending to her chaining.  She was first fitted with a leather collar before Velag saw to the removing of the chains fastened just above her elbows.  Struggling would have been a waste of time and energy, and Shailaja was very tired from what she had been forced to endure during the night and at her bathing.  It was better to harbour her strength in the hope that one day her captors would grow lax and give her a chance to escape.

The release of her arms was very brief.  The chains were transferred to her wrists, the right one first.  However, before the left one was chained her right arm was forced upward until her hand was between her shoulder blades.  Then the chain was pulled up to the left side of her neck and wrapped around her throat before being pulled tight.  Her left hand was then forced alongside her right and fastened to the shackle.  It left her hands crossed between her shoulder blades and the chain connecting them pulling at her throat.  But just to make sure she could make no adjustments to the painful position a leather thong was used to tie the chains at her wrists together, preventing even the slightest movement from where her hands and arms had been placed.  The position was incredibly uncomfortable, so much so that it almost drove her sexual craving from her mind.  Almost. 

 

The awkward position soon went from being uncomfortable to painful.  As she was stood up, she was forced to arch her back, thrusting her breasts even farther forward than they already had been.  It was the only way she could find any measure of comfort and prevent the chain from cutting into her neck.  Had it not been for the collar she almost certainly would have choked.  Only then was the chain connecting her ankles removed.  Free to take a normal stride, she was marched across to a wagon that had already been loaded and chained to the back of the wagon by means of still another length of chain that left her three strides behind the wagon. 

 

Her awkward position did not go unnoticed, her escort freely squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples as they took her to the wagon.  Once at the wagon, however, she was left alone, watched by only a single guard as the others moved off to help with the breaking of the camp. 

 

By this time Velag, Gorvag, and Bekor were mounted with most of their men.  They were already moving out, leaving the wagons with the tents and other baggage to follow later.   Velag’s three slaves were included with the baggage and Teela came over to Shailaja carrying her boots.  She had worn nothing on her feet since her capture, but it appeared she was going to be allowed some protection for her feet.

 

Shailaja stood on one leg and then the other while the boots were put on her feet, an action that took considerable concentration due to the painful position of her arms.  More than anything she wished to sit and rest, but expected such an action would not be allowed.  It would also show weakness and in spite of the shame she had endured she was not ready to show that yet. 

 

Shailaja watched as the camp slowly broke up around her and the wagons began to move.  Pulled by the yeggers the wagons moved slowly out of the camp.  It was midmorning by the time the last of them, the one that she was chained to, moved out onto the road.  It was fortunate that the weather had been dry, but it was still no easy matter to follow along in the tracks of the wagon.

 

The arched position of her body made taking a simple stride painful and awkward, and following the last wagon in the baggage train meant that she walked in the dust of every man, animal, and vehicle.  And then there was the matter of the horse and yegger droppings. 

 

Horse manure is not particularly unpleasant, as a matter of fact having been around horses since childhood Shailaja found the texture and smell of their dropping to be quite inoffensive.  However, she had never encountered yeggers until she left Kaltara.  They were a beast of the midlands and the south and poorly suited to snow. 

 

Yeggers were cow-like in nature, and in spite of the three formidable horns growing from their skulls, they were amazingly docile and made excellent draft animals.  Unfortunately, their manure was both plentiful and very strong smelling.  With almost two dozen wagons in the baggage train, each pulled by four yeggers, the trail of manure she was forced to step around was quite daunting.  Dragged steadily forward by the wagon, Shailaja was unable to avoid everything on the road and frequently waded through more than her share of yegger droppings, much to the amusement of the men who formed the rear guard. 

 

“Enjoying you walk, barbarian?” one of them laughed.  “You’re going to be a little ripe before the day is over.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind washing her, provided I get to spend a bit of time with her after,” another laughed. 

 

Their taunting added to her shame, but if words were the worst she had to endure she would have been well off indeed.  Stripped to the skin except for her boots, she was exposed to the elements and found that her fair skin was soon suffering from the burning light of the sun.  In her northern homeland the sun was of little consequence as it lay low on the horizon for most of the year.  But in the more southerly lands the sun burned brighter and hotter and Shailaja had learned that she must take measures to protect herself or else suffer severe pain.

 

She was denied that protection now, and the sun soon had her burning, her only protection her unbound hair, which streamed over her back and shoulders.  She was also desperately thirsty, but was offered nothing to drink, not even when the column rolled across shallow streams. 

 

Shailaja was almost tempted to throw herself into the water and drink her fill as the wagon pulled her though it, but she feared that if she did so her captors would not stop to let her rise, and the vision of being dragged behind the wagon kept her from taking such rash action. 

 

Even worse that the thirst, however, was the constant ache between her thighs.  Each time her eyes fell upon one of her escorts she wished him between her legs, satisfying her primal urge.  She was dismayed that abstaining from drinking the drugged wine had not lessened her desires even slightly.  Neither the burning sun nor the torment of her thirst distracted her for more than a few moments from thoughts of carnal enjoyment and she wondered if the affects of the drug she had been given might be permanent.

 

Halfway through the afternoon Quorash dropped back to look upon her.  It would have been difficult for him not to notice her burned skin or that fact that she was barely able to walk through of lack of water, but he did not comment on her condition, saying only: “We camp soon, slave.  Velag has promised me a turn between your thighs tonight.  It will give you something to look forward to.”  Then he was gone, leaving Shailaja to labour on as best she could. 

 

Camp was made a short time later and it was only then that Velag came to inspect her.  Shailaja’s was the last wagon to roll into the spot chosen, and she limped in after, barely able to stand, her skin on fire and her throat dry as dust.  When he saw her his reaction was immediate, and somewhat surprising.  “What has been done to her?  Why was she not dressed properly for protection against the sun?  And why was she not given water?”

 

His anger was so great that none dared reply and he called for Selvan to attend her.  Then he called for his three slaves.  “Which of you was it who dressed her only in boots?” he demanded.

 

Teela knelt before him.  “It was I master.”  She made no excuse for herself, no doubt fearing worse punishment if she pointed out that she had not been told to dress Shailaja in more than her boots.  Indeed Shailaja suspected Velag had given that very order, and was now angered that his prize possession had been spoiled.

 

By now Selvan had arrived.  He held back nothing when he saw her.  “What fool left her to walk all day in the sun unprotected?”  He turned on Velag.  “Your exotic toy will give you little pleasure tonight, my lord.  Thanks to your cruelty and neglect you will be lucky if she is able to serve you for some time.”

 

If anyone other than Selvan had addressed Velag in such a way, he would probably not have lived out the day, but a healer of Selvan’s talents was rare, and Velag said nothing in reply.  Instead he set upon his body slaves.  “You are fools who neglected your duty, and you shall be punished.”  Teela who was already on her knees gave a little moan of fear, while Revtim and Killa prostrated themselves before him, but Shailaja was having none of this.

 

She stood as straight as she could, somehow finding not only the strength to stand tall, but finding strength in her voice as well.   “You are a coward, Velag.  You punish others for your own stupidity.  Were I free you would run from me with your tail between your legs.”

 

This brief speech exhausted her, and she fell to her knees, somewhat spoiling the effect, but it did succeed in diverting Velag’s attention from his hapless slaves.  “You will find, slave,” he growled, “that you do not need your tongue to pleasure me.”

 

He turned to his three slaves, his anger with them now redirected.  “Fetch water and clean the filth from her.  It is time for our barbarian slave to learn the importance of holding her tongue.”

 

It was done as he requested.  While Shailaja knelt on the ground Killa, Teela, and Revtim doused her with water until the dust and filth of the road had been cleaned from her body.  Then she was hauled to her feet and at Velag’s directive bent back over the back of the wagon she had been chained to. 

 

Velag’s punishment was public, painful, and degrading.  While Shailaja whimpered in pain he unlaced his breeches, spread her legs and entered her.  She cried out, but not just in pain.  The response of her body shamed her as nothing else could.  She cried and moaned in pleasure as he took her, revealing to all just how helpless she was to resist him.  Fortunately, Velag was more interested in punishment than truly enjoying the fruits of her body.  He used her thoroughly and painfully, driving deeply within her and ignoring any pain caused to her badly burned body as it was ground against the bed of the wagon.   So brutal was the attack that by the end of it Shailaja was close to unconscious from the pain.  When Velag had finally satisfied himself, he stepped back from her. 

 

“See to her,” he ordered Selvan.  “I want her well as soon as possible.”  Then without another word he turned and strode away. 

 

The healer moved toward her and then the world darkened around her.  She fought to stay awake, not wishing to faint like some weak girl, but her injuries and the pain of her ordeal would not allow it.  Blackness claimed her and with it a brief time of peace.

 

Shailaja awoke in the familiar surroundings of Selvan’s tent, a place she had seen more than enough of, but at least she was away from Velag’s and Gorvag’s cruel attentions.  Her chains had been removed and she had been placed on her belly, however, she was not free to leave even had she been physically able.  Two of Velag’s warriors stood beside her bed and kept a watchful eye on her while Selvan attended to her.  He had already begun his work, her body smelling of the sweet-scented salves he had placed on her burns. 

 

With Velag’s men in close proximity there was no chance for Shailaja to consider escape, even had she been physically able.  She still burned from the affects of the drug she had been fed, its intensity undiminished.  Had the two guards chosen to use her she could not have resisted them and she could do little more than grit her teeth and try to ignore the sensations that swept through her body as Selvan’s hands moved over her. 

 

The healer must have known something of her suffering as he ceased his attentions long enough to offer her a potion “Against the pain,” so he said.  And he insisted that she drink it.  She soon felt its effect and her vision clouded once again as she drifted off to sleep. 

 

The next time Shailaja awoke she was no longer in the tent, but in the back of a wagon.  She was alone, but the absence of Velag’s men did not improve her chance of escape.  Most of the pain of her burns was gone, but she found that her ankles were once again shackled and she had little doubt that her guards were not far away. 

 

She was somewhat confused until she realized that the army must once again on the march.  It made sense that they would not leave her behind, but at least she was not forced to walk chained behind a wagon.

 

That comfortable circumstance lasted only one day.  That night Velag came to check upon her and in spite of Selvan’s assertions that she was not healed she was once again taken to his tent.  She was marched nude through the camp and once more upon the thick rug of his tent she was placed on her knees before Velag and his ever present companions, Gorvag and Bekor.

 

Once there she was again treated to another session identical to what she had endured before.  She quickly found that in spite of what she had endured her primal urges had in no way diminished.  Her moans and cries could be heard throughout the camp as she was used again and again until her captors were finally satiated.

 

The morning before camp broke Selvan visited her in the tent.  He glared at Velag, angry that his advice had been ignored.  “If Gorvag insists that I remain then I should be heeded.  You have used this girl beyond her endurance.  If you do not wish her to fall ill she must be given a chance to heal.”

 

Velag frowned, clearly not happy about being spoken to in this manner by the irascible healer.  “She is mine to do with as I please,” he responded.  “I will use her as often and as hard as I see fit.”

 

“Then at least allow me to give her something that will help her survive the punishment you dole out each night.”

 

“What is it?” Velag asked, looking suspiciously at a blue bottle Selvan had produced from the folds of his robes.

 

“A restorative.  It will help with the healing process and increase her stamina.”

 

“Give it to me,” Velag demanded.  He took the bottle from Selvan’s hand and removed the cork stopper.  Then he carefully held it to his nose.

 

He coughed and quickly pushed the bottle away from his face.  “I do not think I have ever encountered anything more vile.”

 

“Good medicine always tastes bad,” Selvan proclaimed.  “Have your slaves give her a dram of this each day in her wine and make sure she takes it.”

 

Velag shrugged.  “It will be done as you suggest.”

 

Shailaja was not pleased by this.  Selvan’s advice would mean that she could no longer avoid the cup of drugged wine that was given to her each day.  It seemed she was doomed to remain Velag’s obedient slave.

 

The next day and the day after that her life continued as before.  She was chained behind a wagon and forced to walk in the dust and the filth of the baggage train.  This, time however, she was properly dressed, her pale skin protected from the elements.  She was also chained so that she could walk comfortably, or at least relatively so.  Both wrists were enclosed in manacles, but at least they were chained in front with the other end of the chain secured to the back of a wagon.  There was enough slack that she could walk with her arms lowered, but it was still not a pleasant existence even if it kept her in readiness for the nightly sessions with Velag. 

 

By day Shailaja was filled with despair, forced to follow an army led by men she despised.  At night it was even worse as she willingly served those same men, her cries of passion loud enough to prevent sleep in most of the camp until her captors were through with her.  Each morning her aching loins reminded her of how she had been used, but there was no escaping a repetition of what had happened the day before.  Still gripped in the fever of desire, she spent the day both longing for and dreading the night, and then gave way to shameless lust as soon as Velag called her to him. 

 

It was a shameful and hopeless existence, and it was steadily wearing her down and then on the fifth day everything changed.

 

Gorvag and his allies were now deep in the territory surrounding Uvar.  Gorvag’s army had encountered no resistance and expected none and as a result the army was spread out upon the road in a manner most inviting to an enemy.  It was passing through a thickly wooded area when the attack began. 

 

It was well staged, targeting the weakest part of Gorvag’s army, the baggage train, and it began as a hail of arrows and quarrels that threw Govag’s army into confusion.  The yeggers hauling the lead wagon went down, bringing the column to a halt and making easy targets of the rest of the wagons.  Hidden in the trees, the attackers kept out of sight, shooting into the disorganized mass that was most of Gorvag’s army.  Most of the rabble that Gorvag had recruited ran, some sheltering behind the wagons and some going even further into the woods on the side away from the attack.

 

That turned out to be a serious error as they encountered a second force hidden among the very trees in which they sought shelter.  Caught between two forces, most of Gorvag’s men threw down their arms and ran for their lives, leaving the baggage train to the enemy.

 

Chained behind the last wagon Shailaja could only watch as the battle raged around her.  By some strange chance she was not targeted even though several arrows and quarrels passed close to her. 

 

A veteran of many battles she was able to determine that the attack was delivered by a relatively small force, certainly smaller than Gorvag’s, but they had the advantage of surprise and they were fighting on their own land.  As Gorvag’s men broke several dozen horsemen charged from the trees intent on completing their victory.  They ran down the fleeing remnants of the escort, killing any who dared to stand.  Several others broke off prepared to fire the wagons. 

 

It was a complete route, or would have been except for one thing.  Velag’s men and the warriors Gorvag and Bekor had with them as their bodyguard did not run.  Riding at the front of the column they were far removed from the point of attack.  A hundred strong they wheeled and rode the length of the column, the first of them arriving just as the Uvarian cavalry burst from the trees.

 

The Uvarian captain turned to face them followed by a dozen riders.  He rode straight at Gorvag hoping to disrupt the counter- attack.  The horses crashed together sending men and mounts spilling in all directions.  Strung out along the baggage train, Gorvag’s forces were arriving piecemeal and for a few heartbeats the Uvarians had the advantage. 

 

The captain drove his horse into Gorvag’s mount, knocking him sideways.  The horse stumbled, throwing Gorvag from the saddle and leaving him to the captain’s sword.  For a brief moment Shailaja thought she was going to be denied her chance at vengeance and suddenly Velag arrived.  Driving forward, he engaged the captain in a one on one confrontation that decided the battle.  It was a mismatch, Velag towered over his opponent.  He struck hard, beating down the captain’s guard, and then driving forward, knocked him from the saddle.  The defeat of their captain had an unexpected affect.  Instead of being demoralized the remaining Uvarian cavalry redoubled their efforts, hurling themselves into to the battle without regard to their own safety.  To Shailaja’s further surprise the lightly armed crossbowmen and archers that had hidden in the trees also joined the battle in a desperate attempt to turn the tide.  But it was already too late; more and more of Velag’s men arrived and with the help of Bekor’s bodyguard the Uvarians were simply overwhelmed. 

 

Quite suddenly the battle was over.  Not an Uvarian remained standing, all having been killed or wounded.  Their attack had achieved partial success, several wagons in the baggage train were aflame, and dozens of yeggers had been killed, but the attack had killed very few of the elite troops, leaving the core of the army intact.  Most of the dead were the undisciplined rabble Gorvag had recruited. 

 

For the Uvarians the cost had been high.  They had lost all of their cavalry and most of their foot soldiers and archers.  Shailaja wondered at their foolish bravery in leaving the shelter of the trees in order to hurl themselves into battle against heavily armed cavalry.  But that was explained very quickly as Velag dismounted and strode over to the Uvarian captain. 

 

The warrior appeared unconscious, but stirred as Velag neared.  Velag raised his sword and Shailaja expected the captain was about to meet his end.  Instead Velag used his weapon to knock the captain’s sword out of reach and then stood over his defeated foe. 

 

Gorvag, who had regained his feet after being knocked from his horse, limped forward.  “The bastard got lucky,” he growled, “Drove his horse into me.  I’m going to enjoy gutting him.”    

 

“Hold,” Velag said, raising his hand.  “I think we have a bit more here than meets the eye.”  He motioned Quorash forward.  “Remove his helmet.”

 

The man on the ground attempted to pull out his dagger, but Quorash pinned his hand to the ground with his foot and using his own knife, cut the laces on the captain’s helmet and then wrenched it from his head.

 

Dark hair spilled over the captain’s shoulders, revealing why the Uvarians had fought so hard.  Shailaja immediately recognized Hestia, the Uvarian queen.  She gazed up at Velag, her dark eyes filled with anger, and just a hint of fear.

 

“The Queen of Uvar,” Gorvag muttered.  “She is indeed a prize.  It is well that you stayed my hand.  She will prove far more valuable in other ways.”

 

His meaning was not lost on anyone around him, least of all Hestia.  As she was hauled to her feet she looked Gorvag in the eyes.  “Do what you want,” she said, her head held high.  “My people will avenge me.”

 

It was clear to Shailaja that the queen was holding herself erect by sheer force of will, a truth that was confirmed as she suddenly swayed and would have fallen had not Quorash caught her.  “We will see just how strong you are,” Gorvag leered.  “Your delivery into our hands has made certain the fall of Uvar, and will provide us with a most pleasant diversion.”

 

Hestia recovered enough to glare her defiance.  There was no mistaking Gorvag’s threat, but she met his eyes without flinching.  Even dishevelled from her fall she was undeniably beautiful with high cheekbones, raven’s wing hair, dark eyes, and full enticing lips.  Shailaja knew from her previous meeting with the queen that she had seen over thirty springs, but she appeared much younger.  “I fear nothing you can do,” Hestia answered.  She raised her chin higher as though daring Gorvag to carry out his threat. 

 

No doubt he would have done so had not Velag intervened.  “Leave her for now.  She will provide much better sport later when she is rested.  In the meantime we should attend to setting up a camp.  We can go no farther today.”

 

Reluctantly Gorvag nodded.  His gaze drifted toward Hestia.  “You are right.  It will take us some time to set right the disorder the attack created.  In the meantime our barbarian will have someone to keep her company.”  He motioned to the men who held Hestia.  “Place her majesty with the barbarian.  Make sure she is well secured.”

 

Hestia was marched over to where Shailaja waited.  The manacle holding her left wrist was removed and locked around the queen’s right.  It still left Shailaja more than secure, especially as both men remained with them as guards.

 

Hestia looked at her curiously, but said nothing.  Shailaja detected a hint of recognition in her eyes and expected she remembered the tall redheaded warrior from the year before.  It was clear that she probably wondered about her circumstances, but with the two guards just a yard away she kept silent. 

 

Gorvag and Velag moved off to attend to the establishing of the camp, a duty that occupied them for several turns of the glass.  Although the Uvarian attack had ended in disaster it had thrown the baggage train into complete confusion.  Many of the yeggers had been killed and several wagons set on fire.  In addition, those of Gorvag’s rabble who had fled the battle had to be tracked down and ordered to return.  As a result it took until nightfall to properly establish camp.  During that time Shailaja and Hestia remained where they were, trying to get as much rest as possible.

 

Shailaja knew that the queen was probably terrified; wondering what was going to happen to her as Gorvag’s captive.  Considering what Shailaja had suffered there was little she could do to reassure her.  She could only pretend indifference to her captive state and hope that her calm demeanour would transfer itself to the queen. 

Shailaja settled on the ground, glad to be given a chance to rest after her forced march behind the wagon.  After a time she actually managed to get a little sleep, but that was not to last long.  Eventually the camp was established, the cooking fires lit, and the evening meals prepared.  She was not taken to Velag’s tent, but remained beside Hestia.  It was a change of routine she could not help but notice especially when food and drink was brought to them where they were.

 

Not surprisingly Hestia ate very little.  Shailaja could almost smell her fear as she sat beside her even though the queen did her best to hide it.  A month as Velag’s captive had left Shailaja resigned to what was going to happen and she was glad of the chance to escape the humiliation of being fed by Velag’s slaves.

 

Supper over and the camp established to the satisfaction of the Ravens’ leaders, they turned their attention to their latest captive.  In honour of Hestia’s status the entire camp was assembled to witness her humiliation. 

 

She went bravely, head held high and showing not the least sign of fear although Shailaja had no doubt that she was probably terrified.  The queen’s wrists had been bound behind her and she must have known what was going to happen, but she went bravely, nevertheless.  She had largely recovered from the injuries suffered in her defeat and capture and walked without assistance, coming to a halt in front of the trio of Gorvag, Velag, and Bekor.  She stood silently, ignoring the comments from the assembled brigands as to what they were going to do to her.

 

“I have wanted to see you like this ever since I first laid eyes on you,” Gorvag said, “and now I have my wish.”

 

“I doubt that not,” Hestia replied loud enough for everyone to hear.  “It suits the character of a coward.”

 

Gorvag frowned his displeasure.  “Remove her armour,” he growled. 

 

For Shailaja the scene brought back painful and all too familiar memories of her own shaming at Gorvag’s hands.  But another form of shame assailed her as the Uvarian queen was humiliated.  She should have felt nothing but anger, but instead felt an unmistakable stirring in her loins.  Incredibly, the ordeal of the captive queen inflamed her in a manner that had her panting with desire.  Only the fact that the degradation of the Uvarian queen drew all eyes saved her from further shame, but it did not save her from herself.  Shamed that she should be aroused by the degradation of another she wished that her captors had killed her rather than subjecting her to this never-ending ordeal.  But it was to get worse.   

 

The first part of Hestia’s shaming was soon completed.  She stood revealed in just her underpadding and the light tunic and trousers she wore beneath that.  Gorvag stepped forward and took out his knife.  “Now let’s have a better look at you,” he sneered.  With a couple of quick slashes he cut through the ties holding the quilted padding to Hestia’s body, allowing it to fall at her feet. 

 

Through all this, Hestia stood immobile, eyes fixed straight ahead.   Shailaja knew that the queen was suffering the same humiliation that she had endured when Gorvag had stripped her, but the ugly spectacle left her filled with desire rather than pity.  She wanted to lower her eyes so as not to witness any more of the Uvarian queen’s degradation, but she looked on fascinated as Gorvag continued his shaming of his helpless captive.

 

Gorvag sheathed his knife and for the first time laid his hands on the queen, placing his hands on the swell of her breasts, fondling them through the thin material of her tunic.  It was only then that Hestia reacted.  Unable to break the grip of the two men that held her, and with her hands bound behind her back she could only spit into his face, her features reflecting as much contempt as she could muster. 

 

Needless to say, Gorvag was not amused.  Slowly he wiped the spittle from his face and then delivered two hard slaps to the helpless queen’s face.  The blows left her momentarily stunned and unable to react to what Gorvag did next.  Placing his hands at the top of her tunic he flexed his muscles and tore the garment open, revealing Hestia’s breasts, and then with a further tug he ripped the remaining shreds of cloth from her torso.

 

Although Shailaja understood that Hestia had seen at least thirty-five springs her body was that of a woman barely into her second decade.  Tipped with copper-pink nipples, her breasts were large and rounded; not as large as hers, of course, but then Hestia stood more than a head shorter.  They were well displayed and emphasised a narrow waist and flat athletic belly. 

 

Recovering from the blows Gorvag had dealt her, Hestia coloured as her body was revealed.  She sought to pull her arms free, the movement of her body causing her breasts to sway most invitingly. 

 

It was an invitation that Gorvag could not resist.  Once again his large hands found her body, the pressure of his fingers on her breasts causing her to gasp in pain.  She attempted to arch away from the pain, but Gorvag stepped forward and punished her, twisting her nipples until she cried out. 

 

Her agonized reaction stirred Gorvag to the next step.  He ripped open the brief trousers Hestia had worn under her armour and finished by tearing them from her body. 

 

Hestia stood stripped and shamed, panting from fear and her efforts to escape.  Gorvag’s next step was completely predictable, but he surprised her.  Taking a step back he turned to Bekor.  “Your enemy is magnificent is she not, Your Highness?”

 

“She is indeed,” Bekor replied, his eyes drinking in Hestia’s body.  “A fine prize, and soon her kingdom will be mine.”

 

“Perhaps you would like an early taste of the fruits of victory.” Gorvag grinned.

 

“I would,” Bekor smiled, his hands already moving eagerly to the ties binding his trousers. 

 

“You are not a prince or a warrior,” Hestia said, drawing herself up.  Even stripped and helpless she appeared magnificent, her large breasts quivering and a deep flush suffusing her upper body.  Between her legs the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs drew Bekor’s eyes. 

 

“But it is not I who am in chains,” Bekor countered.  However, a slight flush stained his features showing that the queen’s scorn had scored.  He turned to Gorvag.  “Perhaps before I begin, her majesty should be prepared in the manner of the barbarian.”

 

“An excellent suggestion,” Gorvag grinned.  “It will serve to show our royal prisoner what she has truly become.”

 

Bekor’s suggestion was instantly carried out. Velag’s three slaves were summoned from his pavilion.  They appeared almost immediately, dressed for the occasion in modest tunics that screened their bodies from the assembled army.  It seemed that in the case of his personal slaves, their bodies were for Velag’s eyes alone.

 

Hestia’s eyes widened in fear as the three body slaves appeared.  No doubt she expected some especially cruel and painful torture and indeed, she might well have preferred pain in place of what was done to her.  Of those watching Shailaja was the only one other than the three captains who knew what Hestia was about to experience.  It was a procedure that she was forced to submit to daily, but had still not gotten used to it.  The custom of removing the fleece from between a woman’s thighs was common in many regions of Vedra, but in the north and central kingdoms it was not the usual practice and when carried out it was most often done to humiliate and debase a female captive. 

 

That was clearly the motive in the shaving of Hestia’s dark pelt, and the expression on her face as she was held down with her legs apart, while Revtim applied the razor showed she understood it full well.

 

There was little doubt that Bekor intended the shaving of the captive queen to truly show her the reality of her situation and to reinforce the knowledge that she was completely at the mercy of her captors.  When it was finished she glared at the man who had ordered the degrading procedure, but in her eyes was the clear knowledge that she was now no longer a queen, but instead a thing to be used by her captors in any way they chose. 

 

Hestia struggled with the emotional shock of her degradation.  To be a queen one moment and then be reduced to the status of slave the next was an almost soul destroying experience.  As bad as it had been for Shailaja, at least her experiences prior to her capture had prepared her for the shame that was heaped upon her.  Hestia had no such preparation.  She had fallen suddenly and very hard; and it was about to get worse.

 

“Now, your majesty,” Bekor sneered, “it is time to show you what you have truly become.  I think after the fall of Uvar I will keep you as my personal slave, at least until the bloom of your beauty has vanished.  And then I will give you to my men to use as they will.”

 

“You won’t break me,” Hestia replied defiantly.  Shamed and held by two men, she still radiated a sense of majesty, but that was to disappear all too quickly before the night was gone. 

 

“Lift her up,” Bekor commanded, “and spread her legs.”

 

Hestia fought in spite of the utter hopelessness of her situation.  She was lifted by one man, his hands just below her breasts as he supported the weight of her torso, and then two more took her legs, placing their hands under her thighs as they drew her legs apart.  Her wrists bound behind her, she could do little more than heave her body and attempt to wrench her legs free, actions that did nothing to free her, but almost certainly had every man watching in a state of arousal.

 

Shailaja know that was certainly the affect on her.  Selene’s dew flowed freely within her, and it was all she could do to hold back her moans of desire as Bekor moved between Hestia’s thighs and began to enjoy her.

 

He took her as hard as he could, but as Shailaja had learned Bekor was hardly a man to be feared in terms of his maleness.  Nevertheless, for the Uvarian queen it must have been a brutal and painful experience.  She grunted in pain as he pierced her, and like many women attempted to arch away from the attack.  Shailaja could hardly contain herself, biting her lip to keep from revealing her passions.  As Bekor continued to plunder the helpless queen she could not help but let a whimper escape her lips as she watched in sheer torment.

 

Bekor used the queen hard, driving into her with all of his strength and using his hands to maul and pinch her magnificent breasts.  All the while Shailaja’s state of arousal increased, until by the time he was finished she was in such agony she was close to screaming.  And then it was Gorvag’s turn.

 

His assault was quite different from that of the Cebarian prince.  Even before he took her, Hestia moaned in fear at the sight of his member and when he thrust into her, taking her all at once in a single savage thrust, she screamed.  It was a long sobbing cry and it was one that Shailaja almost echoed as she watched the queen being brutally ravaged.

 

“Enjoying the show, my barbarian?”

 

The question came from Velag.  In her private torment Shailaja had not noticed him watching her, but it was obvious that he must have been observing her for quite some time. 

 

Shailaja turned toward him, her face reflecting her inner torture.  “It is not right to treat a woman so,” she protested.  “Please do not make me watch.”

 

To her surprise Velag seemed to agree with her.  “Indeed you have watched long enough,” he said.  “It is time you became part of the show.”

 

His answer was not quite what Shailaja had hoped, especially not when he had two of his men escort her to the place where Hestia was being ravaged by Gorvag. 

It was a well lit area, being illuminated by several campfires that had been placed to their greatest advantage.  Off to one side, just a few yards from the moaning and weeping Uvarian queen was a large tree, something that Velag had no doubt almost certainly planned to make use of from the beginning.

 

Barely able to contain her desire Shailaja was marched beneath a large overhanging branch.  Her wrists had been bound in front of her and now a rope was tossed over the branch and her arms drawn over her head.  The rope was tightened until she was forced to stand on the tip of her toes and then Velag undressed her.

 

It was a relatively easy operation.  Since the beginning of her nightly sessions in his pavilion Shailaja had been given clothing that could be removed with just the loosening of a few ties.  Within a few heartbeats she was stripped, her tall body revealed for all to see. 

 

To her shame, there was something else for them to see as well.  Selene’s grotto was so moist that she could not contain all of the moisture within her.  “You see,” Velag proclaimed, “the barbarian whore begs to be used.”

 

Shailaja was unable to deny his accusation; her swollen petals, taut nipples, and heaving breasts were all clear evidence of the truth of his statement.  As Gorvag’s fingers found her breasts she moaned in eager anticipation. 

 

Two men moved forward and lifted her as Hestia had been lifted, but they had no need to force her legs apart; her limbs parted on their own.  In a moment Velag moved between them and her cry of pleasure sounded throughout the camp and he thrust deep into her.  As usual with Velag, there was pain, but in no way did it dull her ardour.  She cried out again and again as he plunged within her and she screamed in pleasure as his lips found her engorged nipples. 

 

Gripping the rope that bound her wrists, she heaved herself upward that she might better position her body to receive Velag’s thrusts while at the same time wrapping her legs about his waist to draw him more deeply within her.  So thoroughly did she enjoy him that she was oblivious to the cries of another; that of Hestia as she was turned over to the men of the encampment to use as Bekor and Gorvag had already used her.

 

So too was Shailaja used, but her moans, groans, grunts, and whimpers were of pleasure and she urged each man on as she was taken again and again.  It was not until just before dawn when the last man finished with her and she hung exhausted from the rope, barely supporting her weight on trembling legs.

 

She was then taken down and returned to Bekor’s pavilion.  There she got something of a surprise as she was escorted to the rug that served as her sleeping mat.  Lying on a separate rug was the semiconscious form of the Uvarian queen.  Her nude body was covered in bruises and her thighs were bloodied as a result of her ordeal. 

 

She did not move even to raise her head as Shailaja settled beside her.  Shailaja expected to be chained as usual, and she was, but this time with a difference.  Instead of being secured to the heavy iron stake she was chained to Hestia.  It was a rational arrangement.  She was hardly likely to escape if she had to drag the beaten and exhausted queen after her. 

 

However, the sight of the defeated and violated queen had another affect on her.  She felt a sense of shame deeper than anything she had yet experienced.  It completely wiped away the powerful urges that had so dominated her just a few hundred heartbeats earlier and left her feeling completely degraded.  Her eyes filled with tears and for a few moments silent sobs shook her body as she also was overcome by a feeling of complete hopelessness.  How could she fight the urges that swept through her at the sight of a man?  She knew though that somehow she must find a way.  It was either that or face a lifetime of captivity.  With that disturbing thought rattling around inside her head she found sleep and did not awaken until morning.

 

When Shailaja did awake it was to moans of pain and the now more than familiar soreness between her thighs.  The moans, however, were not hers, but came from Hestia.  The Uvarian queen had been heavily used and Shailaja had little doubt that her pain might be even greater than hers. 

 

Dark eyes opened as she watched and looked into hers.  At once the moans stopped although Shailaja could tell that the queen was still in considerable pain.  “You are the one that was used as I was,” Hestia stated, managing to rise up on one elbow. 

 

“That is so,” Shailaja agreed, her sense of shame welling up within her once more.

 

“But even though you are chained you seemed to welcome what was done to you,” Hestia said accusingly.

 

“That is also true,” Shailaja replied.

 

“How can that be?” she asked.  “I remember now that I have seen you before as a warrior of the mercenary band that served Uvar two seasons ago.  How is it that you have been brought to such a state?”

 

“I was betrayed and enslaved,” Shailaja answered, “and tricked into consuming a foul potion that has corrupted my nature.”

 

Hestia was about to reply, but at that moment the flap of the pavilion was pushed aside and Velag entered, followed as usual by Gorvag and Bekor.  Shailaja glared up at them from her prone position on her sleeping rug, but said nothing.

 

“See that look,” said Bekor.  “She is not close to tamed in spite of the potion you fed her.”

 

“Not tamed,” Velag agreed, “but she is most quick to respond the touch of any man.”

 

“She should be beaten,” Gorvag proclaimed.  “It is the only way to teach her true obedience.  You cannot expect a few grains of dust to do the work for you.”

 

“Never fear,” Velag replied.  “She quivers at my slightest touch.  Using her is far more satisfying than removing her skin, and far more degrading.”  He turned to her as he spoke his last words.  “Is that not so my redheaded barbarian?”

 

Shailaja bowed her head, and said nothing, but her silence proclaimed the truth of his words.  In spite of her heavy use the night before she would have responded immediately to Velag’s touch.   

 

“You see,” Velag grinned, seizing her hair and forcing her head back so that he could stare down at her face.  “She dares deny nothing of what I say.  Even now she burns to part her thighs for me.”

 

“I still say the use of the whip is needed to tame one with her spirit,” Gorvag argued.

 

“There is another way,” Velag grinned.  “And I have already put it in motion.  I have ordered that she no longer be provided with senna.  Within a moon she will be carrying my child.”

 

Shailaja’s eyes widened in stunned amazement, and there was a sudden hollow in the pit of her stomach.  There was no greater dishonour than for a Kaltaran warrior to be forced to carry the child of an enemy.  To be denied the means to prevent it was a damning blow. 

 

“I see you meant keep her then,” Gorvag observed.

 

“Why not?” Velag answered.  “She is most spirited and has the body of a true warrior.  I would almost fear to face her myself had she a sword in hand.  She will produce handsome sons and if there are daughters I have no doubt they will fetch a high price at any slave auction.”

 

Shailaja listened in silence, not that anything she said could possibly change the feeling of dread that permeated her being.  To be used as a vessel of pleasure was one thing, but to know that her fate was to serve as Velag’s brood mare and that her daughters were to be sold like livestock confirmed just how low her estate now was. 

 

It was almost beyond endurance but she could think of nothing to say and no way to avert her fate.  She was Velag’s captive; part of the spoils of war and she could be used in any way he chose. 

 

It was Hestia who spoke for her.  “You speak bravely, warlord when your victim is chained and helpless at your feet.  I wonder how much bravery you would show had she a sword in her hand.”

 

Velag glowered in anger, but his attention was momentarily diverted.  Had Shailaja spoken it would no doubt have gone very hard with her, but the bold words of the captive queen had saved her.

 

“I see her majesty still lives,” sneered Velag in response.  “From the noise she made last night you’d think she’d never had a man between her legs.”

 

“That was certainly something we remedied,” Bekor laughed, “and something she will certainly become most used to before we are finished with her.”

 

Hestia glared her defiance, but nothing could erase the stain upon her honour. 

 

“Do not doubt Your Highness,” Bekor continued, “that you will continue to be used and used well.”

 

“But not before you bathe,” Velag interjected.  “You stink of the use of many men and I prefer my women clean.  There is a small stream that will suit your needs.  See that you clean yourself well.”

 

Still chained to one another Hestia and Shailaja were marched from the tent.  There were the usual insults and comments as they passed through the camp, but Shailaja gave them not the slightest notice.  Hestia, however, hung her head, refusing to meet the eyes of those she had passed.  The queen was struggling mightily in a brave attempt not to show that every step was agony and several times she had to lean on Shailaja, however, the pain of the insults hurled toward her was greater than that of her body.

 

“They are scum,” Shailaja said.  “Pay them no heed.  You are a queen and a warrior.  Do not let them take that away from you.”

 

Hestia raised her head and fixed her eyes ahead of her.  They proceeded to the creek where they washed the filth and stink of their ordeal from their bodies.  But even as they did so Shailaja wondered how much longer she would have to endure the continual attempts to degrade and break her.  She was strong in spirit, but wondered how much more she could take before Velag’s words were proven true and she became as tamed as his three body slaves.  It was a thought she found most disturbing and it remained with her long after her bath was finished and she returned to Velag’s pavilion and another night of seeing to his pleasure.

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