Barbarian Tales
Episode 1
Mistress of the Sword
by L'Espion
Chapter
8: Accused and Condemned
Shailaja put as much distance
between herself and the three brothers as she dared the first day after her
escape. She had little fear that
Lahn would try to follow her; expecting that he would be too busy caring
for his injured brothers. Mounted
on Halvar she made much better time that a man on foot could in any case,
especially one who had no food.
Whatever the case, she saw no more of her former captors and made
good time through the mountains.
She gave little thought
to the men who had captured and abused her other than to wonder at her own
stupidity in being so easily taken prisoner once
again. She felt nothing but contempt
for the three men who had waylaid a fellow traveller and used her for their
own purposes. Killing all of
them would not have satisfied her.
Leaving them to die of possible cold and starvation
did. If the gods saw fit to let
them live then so be it, but she was finished with them.
In a strange way, the three
brothers had actually helped her.
She now had their mules and all of their
gear. She should be able to sell
off her acquired possessions for a good price in the first town she came
to and it relieved her of the problem of what to do with
Halvar. Now that she no longer
needed him in order to pay for her passage across the
Within a quarter of a moon
she was well on her way out of the final
pass. It was then that she parted
with Halvar. She had no wish
to take him into the warmth of the lowlands or to turn him over to someone
who might not take proper care of him.
It was a sad parting as she had bonded strongly with him, and he with
her. But there was no other choice
and she sadly gave him his freedom.
However, she knew it to be for the best and tried to put the best
face on it. Although she knew
that the chances were small, she held out the faint hope that someday she
might return and find her faithful
mount.
Turning away from where
she had left Halvar she trekked steadily down the pass and reached the warmer
elevation of the coastal plains in two more
days. Here the landscape changed,
the forest thinning, to be replaced by small
farmsteads. It occurred to her
that the mules she led might be recognized by someone friendly to the three
brothers. After all, this was
territory that they probably passed through every year on their way to the
mountains. It was possible that
they had friends or even relatives among the farms she was passing and she
had no wish to run into complications created by being caught in possession
of their property.
As a result she stopped
along the way and unloaded the mules and then carefully sorted through the
gear. She decided that she needed
only what she had brought with her from Lorholm along with the few seasonings
and tools she had not had time to take with her when she fled her
home. The rest, consisting of
bulky equipment like large tents and heavy traps, she decided to leave at
the first village, along with one of the
mules.
It did not quite work out
the way she had planned. But
she did not discover her error for several
days. Having reloaded the mules
she headed out on the road once more, and later in the day came upon one
of the wilderness farms similar to those she had already
passed. She was alerted to its
existence many heartbeats before she saw it, but not with the usual sounds
common to a farm. Instead she
heard a woman screaming in fear.
It was like nothing she
had ever heard before; a chilling cry of absolute terror and despair, and
it spurred Shailaja into instant action.
She regretted that she was now on
foot. Had she still been riding
Halvar she would have kicked him into a gallop and charged toward the sound
of the scream. However, she still
had her feet, and grabbing her bow and a quiver of arrows she broke into
a run, her long legs carrying her rapidly toward the spot where she had heard
the sound.
It came from just down the
road ahead of her and it took only a few heartbeats before she rounded a
bend in the road and came upon a small
farmstead. It was typical of
the small farms she had passed in the last few
days. Cut out of the woodlands
around it; it consisted of a few acres of stony soil and a log-built house
and several farm buildings.
Shailaja knew about farms.
She had spent part of her childhood working on her family’s lands
and she took in the chicken shed, byre, and pig pen at a
glance. But it was not farm buildings
she was interested in. What caught
her attention was the frightening scene occurring in front of
her.
Five rough-looking men had
the farmer and his family at their mercy.
The farmer had apparently tried to protect his wife and daughter and
was lying on the ground, blood streaming from a nasty cut to his
head. One of the ruffians stood
over him a heavy wooden club in his hand while the others struggled with
the two women.
It wasn’t much of a
contest. One of the men held
the girl’s arms behind her back while one of the bandits stood in front
of her. He had already torn open
the girl’s crude dress, revealing her small, pointed breasts and was
in the process of tugging at the rest of the garment in an attempt to strip
her. The girl, who Shailaja guessed
was about the same age she was, struggled frantically, but was greatly
overmatched in strength by the two men attacking
her. She made no sound but
desperately fought to break away from the man who held
her.
The same could not be said
of the mother. It was her screams
that had brought Shailaja on the run and she continued to scream even as
she battled against the remaining two
men. Two small children huddled
behind her, their cries blending with
hers. Even as Shailaja watched
one of the men dealing with the mother drew his fist back and struck her
to the ground.
“Shut yer face, ye
screaming bitch,” the bandit roared.
“I’ll give ye something to scream about soon enough as soon
as I’ve had a run at yer daughter.”
The man’s words filled
Shailaja with rage, but not so much so that she forgot her
training. She continued to run
forward, and reaching a low stone wall in front of the cottage vaulted it
and landed just a dozen yards away from the man standing over the downed
farmer. The man pinning the
girl’s arms behind her gave a shout and the man turned, club in hand
just as Shailaja drew her sword.
Using her bow might have
been more effective, but she guessed that if she did that the men would scatter
and she did not want that to happen.
She also feared that if she started shooting arrows one of them might
hit a member of the farm family. As
a result she had left her bow and quiver on the other side of the wall and
stood facing the bandits, sword in hand.
All five men were facing
her now, the one who had been holding the girl having pushed her behind him,
but not before giving her a good slap on the face that left her
dazed. The man holding the club
took a step forward. Shailaja
noticed that the other four men were similarly armed, the only edged weapons
being heavy knives which they now had in their other
hands.
“Well, what we got
here?” the man with the club asked.
“Looks like another piece of tit offering herself
up. Put down that sword, girl
and we’ll only fuck ye. Resist
and we’ll do a bit more than that.”
Shailaja wasn’t worried
about anything any of the five men might do to
her. Her only concern was that
there might be more than five of them and that someone might come at her
from behind. But she had seen
no one else on her way to the farm and guessed that if there had been more
than five men they would be with the
others. After all, the pleasure
of raping the mother and the daughter would be too wonderful an opportunity
to pass up.
“It is you who should
put down your weapons,” Shailaja
answered. “I am a warrior
of Kaltara. Surrender and your
lives will be spared.”
“Here that boys?”
the man laughed. “We got
us a warrior. I never heard of
no girl warriors, but I guess they’ll move their asses just as well
as them that ain’t.”
The man’s insulting
words and careless manner angered Shailaja, but she would not be goaded into
attacking. She noted that even
as the man spoke the others had spread out in a semicircle and were ready
to come at her all at once. She
realized that she would have been better off attacking rather than giving
the bandits fair warning. Now
they were on their guard and although they were poorly armed, she knew that
a club could break an arm or a skull as easily as a
sword.
“Doesn’t look
like she’s going to do what she’s told, Jeb,” said the man
farthest to Shailaja’s right.
“Guess we’re going to have to take that sword away from
her.”
Shailaja could wait no
longer. The men had closed to
within a few paces of her, leaving her only the choices of fighting or jumping
back over the wall in retreat. She
was not about to run, however; she taken more than enough from men who thought
that they had a right to use women any way they
wished. Her mind made up she
attacked.
She feinted first, darting
toward the two men on her right, her sword describing a deadly
arc. As she had guessed the two
men jumped back out of the range of the sweeping blade. At the same time
the two men on her left and the man directly across from her stepped in on
the attack, their clubs raised.
Shailaja let the strength
of her swing and the weight of her blade carry her
around. Turning in a complete
circle she came about in a crouch and found herself facing the two men on
her left. Too late they realized
their danger. Her unexpected
agility and the speed of Shailaja’s movements caught them
flat-footed.
As the man called Jeb brought his club up to guard against the blow the edge
of her blade lopped off his hand at the
wrist. He screamed horribly,
and fell back clutching the severed limb.
Shailaja’s blade was hardly slowed by the
strike. She continued the sweep
of her sword, striking the club of the next man with such force that the
edge bit deep into it and almost tore it from his
hand.
With a twist of her wrist
Shailaja tore her sword free and stepped into the space where the screaming
bandit leader had once been. The
move allowed her to face the man who had blocked her
blow. Before he could retreat
she stepped toward him and continuing the motion of her blade drove the point
of her sword into his chest.
As the man fell she pulled
her blade free and then immediately attacked the remaining three
men. So quick had her movements
been that they were still strung out in a line, one behind the other, allowing
her to take them one on one. She
showed no mercy, using all of her considerable skills against her poorly
trained opponents. Several quick
movements of her sword penetrated the next man’s guard culminating in
a downward stroke that cut through the man’s neck and the shoulder and
almost passed through his body. As
he fell she gave his body a kick, knocking the dead man into the feet of
the next man in line. He stumbled,
waving his club frantically in front of him, while Shailaja drove straight
forward and plunged her sword into his
chest. That left just one
man. He backed fearfully away
from her, babbling incoherently. No
doubt he was trying to surrender, but Shailaja wasn’t
listening. She knocked aside
his clumsy attempt to defend himself and took off his
head.
Shailaja then whirled back
to the man named Jeb. He was
still screaming, gripping his severed arm at the wrist in an attempt to stop
the bleeding, but there were no more living or uninjured
opponents. The entire battle
had lasted only a few heartbeats.
Four men were dead and one was shrieking in
pain.
For an instant, Shailaja
considered finishing off the bandit leader, but her sense of honour would
not let her kill a wounded and defenceless
enemy. Lowering her blade she
stepped to the first man she had killed and wiped her sword clean on his
shirt before sheathing the weapon.
“Stop that
screaming,” she commanded.
“And hold out your arm.
I’ll stop the bleeding.”
Surprisingly, the bandit
leader did as he was told even though he continued to
whimper. Pulling off the belt
of one of the dead bandits she wound it around the stump and pulled it tight,
shutting off the flow of blood. She
handed the end of the belt to him.
“Hold that tight until it stops bleeding on its
own. Now get out of here before
I change my mind about not killing you.”
She knew by rights that
she should probably have handed over the bandit to what passed for the law
in this part of the world, but she was rather vague on what authorities existed
in this wilderness area and did not want the burden of having to shepherd
a prisoner while continuing her journey.
She watched as the man walked unsteadily out to the road and then
moved out of her line of sight. She
then turned to see about the farm family.
“This bunch has been
preying on us farmers fer the last year,” the girl
said. She seemed to have recovered
from the blow and stood facing Shailaja, her hands clutching her torn dress
across her breasts. “Ye
ought to have killed the last one
too.”
Shailaja found it interesting
that the girl seemed undisturbed at the carnage around her, but suspected
that she was controlling herself only with
difficulty. She nodded her
agreement. “You’re
probably right, but I don’t think he’ll be bothering anyone for
awhile.” She
turned her attention to the mother and the father.
The older woman had also
recovered, and ignoring her bleeding nose was helping her husband to a sitting
position. Shailaja went to them
and noted that neither seemed badly hurt.
“I have some medical
supplies. I’ll get them
and be right back.” Before
any of the farm family could answer she turned and vaulted the
wall. Picking up her bow and
quiver she headed back up the road and found the five mules where she had
left them grazing calmly at the side of the
road. Retrieving her medical
pack, she hurried back to the homestead.
Once there she administered to the man, cleaning and binding the cut
on his forehead. His other injuries
were minor, consisting of just a few bruises and Shailaja decided that they
did not require further attention.
The same was true of the mother and the daughter, both of whom had
been manhandled, but required little in the way of
treatment.
While she attended to the
farm family she learned their names.
The farmer was called Gorb and his wife,
Berri. The daughter’s name
was named Bluebell and the two boys were called Sam and
Hab. They were quite in awe of
Shailaja and a little frightened.
Gorb barely came up to Shailaja’s breasts and both women were
even smaller. Nevertheless, as
she examined their wounds they began to realize that she wanted nothing from
them.
“Thanks be to
Teloch,” Berri cried.
“Had you come along just a few heartbeats later my Bluebell would
have been ruined by those brutes.
Then where would she be.”
Shailaja merely nodded her
agreement, but she couldn’t help wondering what the farmer’s wife
would have thought if she had known how many times Shailaja had been
“ruined.”
“She’d have no
hope of good marriage,” Berri
continued. “She’s already
had back luck twice. Her first
betrothed was killed when a tree he was falling kicked back on him, and her
second got drunk the day before the wedding and fell in the creek and
drowned.”
It was a sad story indeed
and explained why Bluebell was still unmarried at the ripe old age of eighteen
springs. There was little Shailaja
could do except murmur sympathetically.
“We can’t thank
yer enough,” Gorb said.
“It must be as Berri says.
Ye were sent by the gods to help
us. I am afraid we can’t
offer ye much more than our thanks, but perhaps ye could stay the night and
share the evening meal.”
Shailaja could do little
more than agree with this request.
There were still several hours of travel time ahead, but she was not
in that great a hurry and wanted to give Farmer Gorb some way of showing
his gratitude. As a result she
stayed for supper and accepted the offer of being allowed to sleep in the
barn.
She had to spend a good
deal of the meal fielding questions as to what a warrior of her skills was
doing in so remote an area, but she managed to deflect most of
them. Fortunately, the family
was too much in awe of her to question her too closely and she was able to
pass herself off as an adventurer out to see a bit of the
world.
The meal she shared was
peasant fare, and in truth she would have been better off eating form her
own supplies, but she did not want to insult her hosts, who were doing their
best to show their appreciation for what she had
done. And Berri did serve up
a delicious blackberry pie at the end of the meal which showed that there
was perhaps something to her name.
“Are there many outlaws
about?” Shailaja asked by way of
conversation.
“Some,” Gorb
answered. “Not as many as
there used to be. The Warden’s
been sweeping most of them up pretty good, but these are some he
missed.”
“The Warden?”
Shailaja asked.
“The Warden of
Fellem,” Bluebell chimed in.
“A mighty warrior who strikes terror into all
lawbreakers.”
“Fellem be the main
town hereabouts,” Gorb explained.
“And the Warden be in charge of it.”
Shailaja nodded her
understanding and switched the conversation to matters closer to a farmer’s
heart, namely that of crops and
livestock. In this way the
conversation drifted off until it was close to
dark. Since Farmer Gorb and his
family rose early, she had no difficulty taking her leave and retiring to
the barn
She awoke early, the crowing
of the rooster helping in that regard, and joined the farm family for a meal
of porridge. It was time to move
on and she knew that her hosts had probably strained their resources in feeding
her. However, before she left
she divested herself of a good deal of the gear carried on the mules and
left one of the mules as well.
Gorb and his family were
overjoyed at the unexpected bounty, but Shailaja knew that they needed the
gear much more than she did and she was planning on getting rid of it
later. She felt much better at
doing it this way.
Leaving the farm family
standing in the farmyard, their arms raised in farewell she headed off down
the road. Gorb had told her that
Fellem was a few leagues down the road and she might make it by
evening.
His estimate turned out
to be right. A day later she
entered the first village she had seen since leaving
Lorholm.
It was a motley collection
of peasant huts numbering about four dozen in all and surrounded by a wooden
stockade. Its hilltop location
and the stockade seemed to indicate the presence of some danger and she supposed
that it was to protect against bandits, although the crude palisade would
have been more effective against wild animals than human
predators.
Approaching the open gate
she saw that before it there was a single
guard. He was armoured only in
a brass-studded leather jerkin and a pot helmet and carried a
halberd. Eyeing her warily as
she approached, he said nothing until she was almost upon
him.
“Hold, girl,”
he ordered. “Who are you
and how did you come by those mules?”
The greeting was certainly
not friendly and Shailaja was heartily tired of being addressed as
“girl,” and so she answered perhaps without
thinking.
“I am Shailaja of the
Kaltara and I acquired these mules from three cowards who drugged and attempted
to force themselves upon me.”
She did not think it necessary to add that her captors had succeeded
all too well in having their way with
her.
In retrospect it might have
been more prudent to determine the guard’s relationship to the three
hunters who had shamed her before making so bold a
statement. But it had never been
in her nature to prevaricate, a characteristic that had gotten her into trouble
on some occasions.
“Those belong to the
sons of Belehm,” spoke the guard.
“I know their markings.
You will come with me.”
He finished his last statement
with a flourish, lowering the halberd to a threatening angle and pointing
it at her chest. She sighed,
realizing her mistake in telling the truth and in not seeking out a larger
town where the brothers might have been less well
known. She had no wish to kill
the man in front of her, who no doubt thought that he was only doing his
duty, but she dared not turn her back on someone armed with so deadly a
weapon.
“You know that I am
a Kaltaran warrior,” she said, as she drew her
sword. “Put away your halberd
or I will have to take it from you.”
“I see a girl dressed
in man’s clothing,” the guard
replied. “You are not like
any warrior I have ever seen.”
It annoyed Shailaja that
in spite of the fame of Kaltara’s warriors, so many refused to believe
that a woman standing a head taller than the average man and of martial bearing
was not to be taken seriously. This
man had no excuse, as he claimed to have met Kaltaran warriors
before. She could only suppose
that he was being deliberately stupid and she was in no mood to debate with
him at the end of a long day spent on the
road. She stepped forward, and
with a simple movement, entangled his weapon in hers and then pulled it from
his grasp.
She caught the halberd in
her left hand and twirled it like a toy.
“I have demonstrated the use of a sword,” she
said. “Would you like a
demonstration of the use of a pole-arm?”
The guard stared at her
in stunned surprise and then began a slow retreat through the gate, never
taking his eyes from her. Her
best plan of action would have been to turn back the way that she had come,
but a certain stubbornness and the fact that she had been looking forward
to staying the night behind walls kept her where she
was. Besides, she had done nothing
wrong. It was the brothers who
had set upon her, not the other way
around. She stepped after the
guard, following him through the gate with the intention of attempting to
give him the truth as to what had happened in her meeting with the
brothers.
She had gone no more than
two steps before something very heavy landed upon her
head. The blow drove her to her
knees and broke her hold on her sword and the
halberd. She tried to reach out
for her blade, but the guard darted forward and kicked it
away. Then, before she could
rise he heaved himself upon her.
Like the three brothers,
he lacked her height, but he was a big man and probably outweighed her by
fifty pounds. His weight bore
her to the ground, where she struggled to escape his arms, which he had wrapped
tightly around her.
Shailaja fought poorly,
still dazed from the blow on the head.
There were any number of ways she could have fought him off, and had
not she been befuddled from being almost knocked unconscious, she would have
used them.
“It looks like you
need help Palnelt,” spoke a voice from just above
her. There was movement that
Shailaja vaguely recognized as someone descending a ladder and then someone
sat on her legs.
“I think we have her,
Chern,” Palnelt replied, “but best we make
sure. She took the halberd from
my hands as if I were a raw recruit.”
“Let us bind her
then. She will make a fine showing
as we lead her to the House of the Warden.”
The words spurred Shailaja
to greater resistance, but a pain so intense that she almost fainted struck
her in the centre of her skull.
Whatever had hit her had hit her
hard. In spite of the pain she
struggled to resist as she felt her arms being drawn behind her back, but
it was to no avail. Leather thongs
encircled her wrists, and then they were pulled tightly
together. After that her captors
had little trouble holding her, especially as they were joined by several
others from the village.
“Who is she,
Palnelt?” a woman’s voice
asked. “And what has she
done?”
“She claims to be a
Kaltaran warrior, Edila. But
I think she is little more than a thief and
murderer. She has the mules of
the Belehm Brothers and some of their
gear. She gave some foolish story
about being set upon on the trail.
But what I can tell you is that she is most quick with a
blade.”
“Bitch,” Edila
spat. “We will hang
her.”
“Most assuredly we
will do that,” Chern pronounced.
“But first she must have a trial, and we must take her to the
Town Warden’s house for that.”
“A trial, yes,”
someone else said. “We will
have a trial and then we will hang her.”
“Let’s get her
up,” Palnelt suggested.
Willing hands pulled Shailaja
to her feet where she stood swaying
uncertainly. Her vision was so
blurred she could see nothing distinctly and a wave of nausea swept over
her as she tried to move.
“My, she’s a big
girl isn’t she?” Edila said.
“Better keep a firm grip on her.”
She felt several more willing
hands upon her, pulling her forward.
She fought down the urge to vomit and steeled herself against the
pain. She let them drag her forward,
willing her head to clear, and then she struck
out.
She swept Chern’s feet
from under him and then shifted her attack to Palnelt, driving her knee into
his groin. He doubled up in pain,
collapsing to writhe in the dust of the
street. With the two men who
held here most strongly taken out, she twisted to her right, breaking the
grip of two others. Suddenly
she was free, and then the weakness of her plan became more than
evident.
She stood in the middle
of the village, surrounded by at least half its inhabitants, many of whom
were armed with axes, rakes, shovels, and other
implements. With her wrists bound
behind her she was hardly in a position to retrieve her sword and even making
a run for it seemed out of the question.
However, she put the best face on it and tried to bluff her way out
of the predicament.
“Who is in charge
here?” she demanded.
“Release me at once or prepare to face the wrath of a
warrior.”
There was a moment of confusion
in the crowd facing her. And
then some in the crowd recovered.
“What wrath?”
Edila asked. “You are hardly
a threat with your wrists bound. We
could beat you to death where you stand.”
There was a murmur of agreement
and several in the crowd stepped toward
her. Shailaja assumed the best
defensive position she could, but she could not look in all
directions.
At that moment Chern got
to his feet. “I see that
I should have dropped a bigger rock on you,” he
declared. “Surrender now
or be beaten into surrendering.”
“I will not,”
Shailaja shouted defiantly.
“I’ve done nothing
wrong. You will release me at
once.”
Edila, who seemed to be
something of a town leader, had a better
idea. “Stone her,”
she screamed. “Stone the
murderer.”
Shailaja realized that she
might have been better off taking out the old
woman. Several of the villagers
took her advice, picking up stones from the
street. It was fortunate that
the street was unpaved or she might have suffered
greatly. As it was, only a few
missiles were thrown before Palnelt regained his feet and his
composure.
“Hold off,” he
ordered. “We don’t
want her dead. She must be properly
tried. And she might have
accomplices. She must be questioned
so that we know who they are.”
He had regained possession of his halberd and moved toward Shailaja
with the weapon at the ready. As
weak a warrior as he was, he was still more than match for her while her
wrists were bound and the crowd was at his back.
Still, stubborn pride would
not allow Shailaja to give up, and she waited defiantly as he moved toward
her. At that moment someone else
in the crowd took the opportunity to come to his
aid. From behind her there was
movement and suddenly she was struck in the back of the
knees. She did not know what
weapon was used; probably it was a broom or some other household item, but
it did the trick, causing her legs to buckle so that she fell to her
knees.
The crowd moved quickly
then, swarming around her, and she received not a few blows before Palnelt
was able to intercede.
“Stop. She must be
taken to the Town Warden for questioning.”
That seemed to settle the
crowd a little and they backed off, but not before additional ropes were
tied to her arms and neck. She
was then hauled to her feet and forced to proceed as
before.
Shailaja had to admit that
she was probably a pathetic sight.
Dragged forward by the rope around her neck and held by two other
ropes on either side of her that were attached to her arms; she was at the
complete mercy of the crowd of taunting townsfolk who dragged she toward
the House of the Town Warden. The
wounding of her warrior pride could not have been much greater, but it was
about to get worse.
The procession arrived there
eventually. The House of the
Town Warden was not an imposing building, but it was the largest in the
town. It was a two story affair,
constructed of heavy timbers and was the only house in the town with a raised
porch, which was reached by a stairway of six
steps.
Standing on the porch was
a rather large man. He might
once have been a fine figure, but many years of good food and probably good
drink had fattened him up. He
had a long black beard that he wore braided and tied with a red ribbon and
was dressed well, in trousers cut from fine cloth with a shirt of the same
material. He wore gloves with
high brown boots to match and a wide leather
belt. About his neck he wore
a heavy gold chain on which was imprinted the clan sign of the
Deer. Shailaja’s eyes widened
a little at this, as he hardly appeared to be a Kaltaran
warrior.
It was to this personage
that she was presented by the eager townsfolk.
“This is the one who
claims to be a Kaltaran warrior?” he asked, as Shailaja was dragged
up the steps to stand in front of him.
“Yes, Yagos,”
Palnelt replied. “But we
think she is more likely a thief and
murderer. She had the mules and
gear of the Brothers Belehm when she tried to enter
Fellem.”
“It that so?”
Yagos said, looking at me.
“No it is not so,”
Shailaja replied. “It is
true that I had the mules of the Brothers Belehm, but I did not kill them
although they deserved death and more.
It was they who set upon me and used me against my
will. I took their mules by way
of retribution, leaving them to survive on their
own.”
“Lies,” shrieked
Edila. “A mere girl could
not overcome three strong men. The
harlot must have waylaid them and used her body to lull them into carelessness
before she killed them.”
“Enough,” Yagos
replied. “We will not try
her here. She must be properly
questioned first. Bring her into
the House of the Warden.”
Shailaja was pushed and
pulled forward and through the doorway of the building and found herself
in a hallway from which led several
doors. She was taken through
the first door to the right and entered what appeared to be some sort of
office of modest size. It contained
a large desk; several carved wooden chairs, and a number of draperies upon
the wall. Across the room was
another door. Behind the desk
was a large wardrobe containing what she did not
know.
Yagos seated himself behind
the desk and Shailaja was pulled forward by Palnelt and
Chern. “Now, girl,”
he said. “You will tell
your story. And it had better
be convincing. Theft and murder
are hanging matters.”
“Will it make any
difference what I say?” Shailaja
asked. “So far my words
have received nothing but scorn.”
“You must admit that
your tale is somewhat lacking in
credibility. For a mere girl
to overcome three strong men is simply not credible unless you used your
feminine wiles to gain their trust and then slew them while they
slept.”
“As I have stated,”
she replied. “The three
brothers still live. Or at least
they did when I left them.”
“Your last statement
seems to indicate some doubt,” Yagos
observed.
“It might,” she
replied. “I left arrows
in two of them.”
“So,” Yagos said
slowly. “You admit to murdering
them.”
“I admit no such
thing. The wounds were not fatal
and were inflicted only after I was rendered senseless with a vile drink
called spahr and then robbed of everything I owned, including my
virtue.”
To her surprise Yagos laughed
along with Chern and Palnelt and two of the other men thought necessary to
serve as her escort.
“Spahr,” Yagos
roared when he was able to stop laughing, “I can see how a cup could
put a mere girl under. A woman
should always avoid strong drink.”
Shailaja turned red with
anger, remembering that it had taken much more than a single cup of spahr
to render her senseless, but it would have been useless to protest to the
braying jackasses before her and so she stood silent.
“Look,” Palnelt
jeered, “she blushes with shame.”
“And she has confirmed
her guilt,” Yagos pointed out.
“She admits to murdering the Brothers
Belehm. That it was done under
the influence of spahr cannot excuse such a deed.”
“I was under no such
influence,” she shouted.
“I punished them as they deserved.”
“Enough,” Yagos
said decisively. “Through
her own words has the girl convicted
herself. Take her to the
cells.”
“This was no trial,”
Shailaja protested. “I have
not been allowed to tell my story.”
Yagos dismissed her
complaint. “You will be
given time for a few words just before we hang
you. Take her
away.”
Shailaja was dragged from
the room under her four man escort and back out into the entrance
hall. There Chern stopped to
light a candle and set it into a lantern.
Then he led the way to a side door on the right of the passage which
opened on a wooden stairway. The
four men muscled her down the stairs and into what was obviously little more
than a stone-lined storage cellar.
Barrels of preserved foods and other oddments were stacked in neat
lines and against one wall there was a large wine
rack. Next to that were several
large hogsheads of ale. However,
against the farthest wall of the cellar, there were two sets of
shackles. This apparently constituted
the “cell” in which she was to be
placed.
Shailaja struggled against
her fate, but this time her captors were not caught
off-guard. As she attempted to
lash out at them with her legs, they drove her to her knees and then dragged
her face-down across the cellar.
“Hold her,” Palnelt
commanded. “She must be
properly chained.”
Held in the kneeling position
by two of the men, Palnelt attached the shackles to her
wrists. Then he untied her wrists
while the other two men pulled on the chains, spreading her arms out to the
sides.
Why they chose to chain
her in this fashion Shailaja had no idea, but her captors seemed mightily
pleased with their work. Stepping
back they stood around her in a semicircle and surveyed their helpless
captive.
“A most fetching girl,
for all of her height,” Palnelt
mused.
“Indeed, it seems a
shame she is fated to face the end of a rope,” Chern
observed.
“I think it only proper
that we give her a proper send off before that event,” Palnelt
leered. “I am sure Yagos
will see his way clear to that.”
“Let us go for now,”
Chern said. “She is secure
enough.”
There was general agreement
among them and they left, taking the light with them.
As they climbed the stairs
Shailaja tested her chains. There
was no give in them and they were set low into the stone wall, making it
impossible for her to stand. Her
arms were pulled to either side, giving her a choice of continuing to kneel
on the dirt floor or assuming a sitting
position. Neither position was
particularly comfortable, but by now the fatigue of the day and the abuse
she had received was beginning to take its
toll. Her head still ached
agonizingly and she was very tired.
She was also hungry and thirsty, but there was nothing she could do
about that.
She settled down to wait,
not having much choice to do anything else and mulled over the latest turn
of events. It seemed that since
her flight from her homeland she had blundered from one disaster to
another. It should have occurred
to her that this close to the mountains, that the Brothers Belehm would be
well known, but she had marched up to the gates of Fellem with their mules
trailing behind her without a thought that they might be recognized, or that
those who dwelt within might be much more sympathetic to those who had waylaid
her than they would be to her. It
seemed that she was simply too naïve to survive outside her
homeland. With these thoughts
in mind she slumped in her chains, the weariness of her body overwhelming
her mind and for a time she slept.
What woke her was the sound
of the door opening at the top of the
stairs. It was followed by heavy
steps on the stairs and the movement of the faint light of the lantern moving
toward her.
Five men presented themselves;
Palnelt, Chern, Yagos, and the two others who had acted as
guards. She had learned that
they were called Sten and Kellern.
After her experience with the three brothers she had little doubt
as to what they wanted and the first words out of Yagos’ mouth confirmed
her suspicions.
“You have been found
guilt of murder and face death,” pronounced the man she knew as the
Town Warden. “Such a fate
for one so young and attractive is a sad thing and we are here to make sure
that your last hours are spent in a manner that will give you
enjoyment.”
“You mean to take me
against my will, you mean,” Shailaja
retorted. “I see little
enjoyment in that.”
“It will be as pleasurable
or unpleasurable as you wish it to be,”
Chern stepped forward with
a basket. Shailaja could smell
the odour of fried chicken rising from it and her stomach growled and her
mouth watered at the prospect of being fed.
“I see that I was
right,” Yagos smiled.
“Palnelt will loosen your shackles so that you can eat and
drink. Enjoy it, it will be your
last meal.”
Shailaja moved from the
sitting position in which she had slept as Palnelt moved to adjust her
chains. He did not release her,
but let the chain slip through the heavy ring in the wall that held it so
that she could move her left arm enough to feed herself.
While she ate her hosts
settled down to wait, pulling up crates and barrels to sit in a semicircle
about her. They also broke open
the small barrel they had brought with
them. She immediately recognized
the distinctive tang of spahr.
Yagos waited while Chern
filled every cup and then held one out to
her. “Since you expressed
a liking for this, it is only fit it be part of your last
meal. Don’t worry, a single
drink won’t put you under, it will just relax
you.”
Shailaja ate a few more
bites of chicken and then took the cup.
Without comment she tilted the cup and threw its entire contents down
her throat, and then handed back the cup.
“It was not a single cup of this that was my undoing,” she
boasted. “I will have no
trouble matching you drink for drink.”
Yagos
laughed. “A woman after
my own heart. Alright, girl,
drink on.” He tossed back
his own drink as he finished speaking, as did the other
men. It gave her a faint
hope. As long as she was chained
she had little hope of escape, no matter what her captors did to her, but
if she could use the strength of spahr against them it might give her a
chance.
She ate another few mouthfuls
of food and then raised her cup to her
lips. This time she sipped more
slowly as if already affected by the strong drink, although in truth, in
spite of its fiery taste she felt little affect.
Grinning Yagos and the others
downed their cups in a single gulp.
“Stronger than you thought isn’t it, girl?” Yagos
mocked.
As if angered by his comment
Shailaja finished her drink and then held out her cup for
more. “I will match you
drink for drink. We will see
then who is the girl.”
Yagos and the others laughed,
clearly thinking that she was outmatched.
She finished the food they had brought her and the contest was
on.
Several cups of spahr later
Shailaja was truly feeling the power of the drink, but she was not the only
one so affected. All of the men
were laughing at the silliest of comments, foolish grins splitting their
faces. It appeared that her plan
might actually work if she could coax them into a few more cups of the heady
drink. However, the relaxing
of their inhibitions had an adverse side
effect.
Chern rose to his feet and
lurched toward her. “Enough
of this drinking,” he slurred.
“We came here to put ourselves between the girl’s legs,
not to drink with her.”
“I see,” Yagos
grinned, “that the girl is playing a bit of a game with
us.” He moved off the barrel
he had been sitting on and stood before
her. “Did you think to drink
us into insensibility and then find some way to
escape?” He raised his cup
and drained it. “We will
finish this contest, but not until we have taken what we came here
for.” He turned to
Palnelt. “Tighten the chain
on her arm. It is time to examine
our prize.”
Shailaja tried to resist
as Palnelt shortened the chain, but was unable to prevent her arm being pulled
back to where it had been. Arms
spread wide and helpless, she could only kneel before her captors while they
moved upon her.
“Stretch her out,”
Yagos ordered.
Shailaja kicked out as four
men converged on her, but they caught hold of her legs and held her while
one of them, Kellern she thought it was, rolled a large barrel beneath
her. She was quickly arched over
it, her arms held over her head while Kellern and his partner, Sten kept
her from falling off. Thus held,
she could do nothing as Yagos, Chern, and Palnelt began a much more interesting
investigation.
In spite of the large amount
of spahr she had consumed she had not drunk as much as the first time, and
she struggled desperately as the three men began to loosen the ties on her
clothing. She succeeded in doing
little more, however, than exciting her captors.
“That’s it, girl,
fight,” Yagos taunted.
“I want to feel that body move beneath
me.” His fingers were at
the ties of her shirt, loosening them one by
one. He parted the cloth, revealing
the curve of her breasts; now concealed only by her breast
band. He wasted little time with
it, using his dagger to cut through the cloth rather than fumbling with the
knot between her breasts.
“That was well worth
the effort,” he grinned, staring at her quivering breasts.
“I’m going to
love sucking on those,” chimed in
Palnelt. “She’s got
tits to rival Selene.”
Shailaja felt a surge of
anger at his words. She was heartily
sick at having her breasts and body compared to the goddess of the larger
moon, but something else happened as the rest of her clothing was
removed. It began as a faint
but unmistakable tingling in her nipples that was more than just a reaction
to the cold air of the cellar. It
continued as a warming of the centre of her body as her boots were taken
off, and it surged through her like a wave as Yagos’ lips found her
nipples and sucked them to the hardness of green
blackberries.
A low moan of desire escaped
her lips; one that deepened and lengthened as the ties to her breeches were
removed and Palnelt’s hand cupped the mound at the apex of her thighs.
Something warm, wet, and
familiar stirred at her core. No
doubt part of it was due to the strong drink, but she could not place all
of the blame on the spahr. Once
again something rose within her, a sensation spurred on by the very helplessness
of her situation. It was a feeling
she could not hide from her captors.
“You burn, don’t
you, girl?” Yagos taunted, his lips no more than inches from
Shailaja’s. “Let’s
taste that sweet mouth of yours.”
He gripped her hair and tilted her head so that he could bring his
lips to hers, but she was not as far gone as he
thought. Instead of a kiss Shailaja
sank her teeth into his lower
lip.
His inarticulate cry of
rage was muffled as he fought to pull his lips free without tearing off the
one she held. Fortunately for
him, Chern came to his aid by driving his fist into her
belly. The blow knocked the breath
from her body and freed him from her grip.
“Red haired, harlot,”
Yagos cursed, his words slurred by the injury to his
lip. Blood streamed down his
chin, blotting on his fine shirt.
He moved toward her, fists raised.
Arched across the barrel there was no way that she could prevent him
from taking his vengeance. He
struck her several times, driving his fists into her well-muscled stomach
and then leaning forward to strike her
face. Only Palnelt’s
intervention saved her from a severe
beating.
“Wait,” Palnelt
said, placing a restraining arm on Yagos’ arm, “let’s her
see to that cut first. We can
punish the bitch later.”
“And she will be
punished,” Yagos growled.
“And most severely.”
It took a few moments for
Palnelt to attend to Yagos and then they both
returned.
The latter’s tongue
caressed his swollen lip and he glared down at
her. “That was most
foolish. Now you will be made
to suffer for your stupidity.”
“I doubt you can do
much more than hang me,” Shailaja retorted.
“You will hang just
as well without a nose or tongue,” Yagos replied, taking out his
dagger.
“Hold,” Palnelt
said, “are we not forgetting why we came
here? I for one would prefer
to have use of our captive before she is
mutilated. Let us enjoy her first
and then if your anger still persists we will punish her
later.”
“You have a point,”
Yagos agreed. “We will do
as you say. But the bitch has
forfeited any right she had to gentle behaviour on our
part.”
Shailaja was greatly encouraged
by the fact that Yagos seemed to think taking a woman against her will was
gentle and fought harder than ever against the men who held her legs, but
Kellern and Sten kept their grip on her.
Arched backward she could only struggle helplessly as Palnelt and
Yagos resumed their positions on either side of her.
Once again their hands found
her body, stroking, fondling, and
caressing. This time, however,
she felt no ignition of her inner heat.
Instead she felt nothing but revulsion and fear, her body leaking
sweat as she battled fruitlessly to escape.
Her fear must have shown
as Yagos loomed over her.
“Not so defiant now are you,
bitch? You are very much going
to regret your act of defiance.”
He moved between her legs,
which had been drawn wide by Kellern and Sten, and ran his hands up the insides
of her thighs. His attempt to
excite her, however, was wasted as she continued to struggle; however, the
sight of her heaving breasts and the writhing of her body no doubt excited
him. With a muttered imprecation
he changed his tactics, pinching the insides of her thighs and then moving
to her breasts. Placing his hands
on the barrel to either side of her hips he leaned over
her. “So you like to bite
do you?”
He leaned farther forward,
his mouth seeking her nipples.
Shailaja winced in pain as his teeth closed on first one then the
other. “Such pretty little
buds,” he commented as he raised his head before lowering it again to
savage each nipple until she gasped in
pain.
He was panting heavily when
he finished, obviously aroused by this act of
cruelty. Stepping back he fumbled
with the ties on his trousers and produced his ready
member. “Let’s see
how well you handle this.”
He moved his fingers to
her petals and parted them.
“For all your reluctance, I note that you seem more than
ready,” Yagos commented. Then
before Shailaja could reply he thrust quickly into her.
As he had observed, in spite
of her reluctance her early arousal had prepared her for his entry, and he
penetrated her deeply.
Nevertheless, she let out a cry at the sudden
intrusion. “A little larger
than you are used to no doubt,” he
jeered.
In truth, Yagos was making
no idle boast, as was proven by her gasp of pain and the further arching
of her back. She had known only
four men, but none could match him and she was used hard, Yagos making not
the least effort to be gentle. It
was a painful session, intended to make her pay for her act of
defiance. By the time he was
through with her there was no doubt that the memory of his taking her would
last more than a just a few turns of the glass.
Palnelt took her next and
then Chern; and finally Kellern and Sten.
None was as large as Yagos, but one on top of the other they had her
gasping by the time they finished with
her. It was a session entirely
without pleasure, at least for Shailaja.
All of the men seemed to enjoy it well enough,
however.
When they were finished,
she lay helpless, her body covered with the stink of their use and the many
bruises that inevitably accompanied such harsh service to
others. But her time of pain
and shame was not quite at an end.
First, there was the matter of the punishment which Yagos had
decreed.
“Turn her over,”
he ordered, as Sten, who had taken her last, stepped back from her exhausted
body.
To carry out the command
was a simple matter of changing the shackles from one wrist to the
other. The action was performed
by Palnelt and Chern, both of whom kept a tight hold on her to prevent a
repeat of her defiance.
Shailaja was turned so that
now she lay face down over the barrel, her ankles held as before while Yagos
moved behind her. All of the
men had replaced their clothing with the exception of Yagos who had not yet
replaced his belt. He slapped
it idly into his hand indicating the use he had planned for it while Shailaja
was secured in the punishment position he had chosen.
“I know this makes
little sense, considering that you will hang on the morrow,” Yagos said,
“ but I cannot allow any woman to commit such an act of defiance
unpunished. You have been given
several hours of pleasure and now you must face a shorter interval of
pain.”
Yagos knew full well that
there had been no pleasure in what he and the others had done to her, but
it mattered not so far as he was
concerned. He was intent on punishing
her and punishing her hard, as Shailaja soon found out.
He moved to the side where
he could swing the belt more freely and strike at the tempting curves of
her buttocks. The first blow
when it came shocked her in spite of the fact that she had received similar
treatment at Sheb’s hands. It
was delivered with the full strength of his body and the crack of the leather
across her bottom sounded as loud as a drover’s
whip. The blow forced a pained
gasp from her lips, but nothing else.
Nor did the next blow or the next elicit any
response.
As when Sheb had beaten
her, her stubbornness no doubt earned her a more savage beating than if she
had simply screamed for mercy. But
begging for mercy it was something Shailaja could not do, and she endured
blow laid on top of blow until her backside was so aflame with agony that
the slightest touch would have been
excruciating. Finally, exhausted
from his efforts, Yagos ceased the punishment, leaving her panting like a
horse that has been run until it is
blown. During the entire session
the only sound she had made was that of her harsh breathing and the loud
gasp she had made at the first blow.
It was a further act of defiance that Yagos somehow found
admirable.
He moved to where she lay
sprawled across the barrel, her jaw clenched against the flaming agony in
her backside and placed his hand in her
hair. Raising her head he looked
into her tear-filled eyes.
“So, perhaps you are a warrior after
all. But tomorrow you still
hang.” So saying he let
her head drop and without another word departed the cellar, the others
following.
Needless to say, Shailaja
spent a night filled with pain. In
too much agony to even move, she remained where she was, slumped over the
barrel and awaited the day of her
execution. With no way of judging
whether it was day or night she simply lay there, waiting for the sounds
of footsteps upon the stair.
When they finally came it
was the same men who had used her so vigorously during the night, minus
Yagos. However, it would have
taken no more than one of them to deal with
her. She lay exactly where they
had left her, in too much pain and too exhausted to move so much as a
muscle. Or so she
thought. Palnelt and his companions
had other ideas.
“Get her up from there
and get her dressed. Try to make
her look somewhat presentable,” Palnelt
ordered.
In spite of her best intentions
Shailaja could not help releasing a moan as she was
moved. Compared to the beating
Yagos had administered, Sheb’s beating was
minor. Even the slightest movement
was excruciating. However, the
four men paid no attention to the fact that it felt as if every inch of skin
had been removed from her buttocks.
She was taken from the shackles, dressed and then forced to her
feet. Chern even combed her hair,
although he made no attempt to braid it.
“Doesn’t matter
if it’s braided or not if you’re hanging,” he pointed
out.
Then her hands were tied
behind her back; quite unnecessarily considering the fact that she was able
to offer not the least resistance, and she was marched up the stairs, her
agonized body protesting every step of the way.
Yagos was waiting at the
top of the stairs. Shailaja tried
her best to hide her pain, but she fooled no one, least of all the man who
had punished her so severely.
“Excellent, girl,” he
said. “Now it is time for
your final performance. As a
matter of fact it is a bit past time and the townsfolk are getting impatient,
but it never hurts to keep them waiting.
They appreciate the show all the more.”
Shailaja noted that his
words were somewhat slurred, due no doubt to the severe swelling of his lower
lip. She took some slight
satisfaction that she had left her mark upon him if only for a little
while.
She was taken through the
door of the House of the Warden and held on the raised
porch. From there she could look
upon what appeared to be the entire
Yagos gave a little speech;
the usual thing about justice being done and the gods seeking just retribution,
and then she was pushed forward under escort, Chern on one side and Palnelt
on the other. They were wearing
what she supposed was their best ceremonial dress, which meant both wore
what she had first seen them in with the added difference that each now wore
a heavy cloak. Given the fact
that it appeared to be about
Head held high, she tried
to hide the pain, but every step was sheer
agony. The pain of being so heavily
used by five men would have been enough, but with the added anguish of the
beating she had to fight hard to hold back the tears of
pain. The ordeal was made worse
by the fact that the execution was not to be held in the village, but outside
the palisade. She saw why shortly
after they passed through the gate.
Several hundred yards from the town was the
cemetery.
“Once you’re
hanged,” Edila informed her cheerfully, “you’ll be cut down
and beheaded and your head will be hung over the
gate. Your body will be buried
in an unmarked grave.” The
old woman seemed quite keen on the event, having even brought along her knitting
in case Shailaja took too long to die.
There was no scaffold, only
a very large oak over which a rope was tossed while Shailaja
watched. There wasn’t even
a drop, the preferred method of execution being to place the rope around
the neck of the condemned and then haul her into the air and watch while
she choked to death.
“We pull on the legs
of those who deserve a quick death,” Edila
grinned. “But in your case
we’ll just wait you out.”
Shailaja reflected, as she
stood beneath the tree, that things had not gone particularly well for her
since her decision to flee her homeland.
Even her death was to be a long drawn out
ordeal. Strangely, she suddenly
felt very calm at the prospect of her life
ending. She would die as bravely
as she could, and she hoped with a minimum of
kicking. As Palnelt placed the
rope around her neck, she raised her head to take one last look at the sky
and the sun. And then the noose
tightened.
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