Tales of
Erogenia
Episode 1: The Snow
Princess
Chapter 9:
Oasis
She opened her eyes to a
delicious coolness and the unmistakable tinkle of running
water. She was on her back lying
under a blanket, her bow, sword, and clothing lying within easy reach.
“I must be dreaming,”
she thought. “Where am
I?”
“Welcome back,
princess.”
She jerked her head in the
direction of Tren’s voice and instantly regretted the action as a wave
of nausea swept over her.
“Go easy,
princess. There is still a trace
of the poison in you, and you’ve been asleep for two
days. You need food and water
before you try anything vigorous.”
Zenaria let herself fall
back. She did feel weak, and
for once she was more than happy to follow Tren’s advice without arguing.
“Where are
we?” From her prone position
she could see that she was in some sort of cave, but where the cave was she
had no idea.
“Uhra Don,” Tren
replied. “Or rather the
hidden entrance to Uhra Don. We
are safe here. It will give you
time to finish healing.” He
handed her a small cup of steaming brew.
“Careful,” he warned, “it might be a little
hot.”
Zenaria was parched and
starving, but she sniffed at the cup
suspiciously. It smelled delectable,
but she had no idea what it was.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Just
a bit of fish
broth. It was the best I could do without
leaving you and heading in to the oasis proper.”
Zenaria sipped the brew,
to her surprise it was delicious, flavoured with just the right combination
of salt and spices. “Where
did you get fish?” she asked, emptying the bowl and holding it out for
more. Then she realized what
Tren had said earlier. “You
watched me for two days?” She
glanced down at the light blanket covering
her.
“Watched
over
you, barbarian,” Tren corrected.
“Most of the time you were completely delirious and babbling
nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” Zenaria asked, accepting another
small bowl of fish broth. She
wondered exactly how much of her private thoughts she had given
away.
“Something
about
Trolls. And you kept calling for someone called
‘Jaree.’”
“Ahh,” Zenaria
said. “Well Jaree’s
a friend. And as for the trolls
I’d rather not talk about it.”
“As you wish,”
Tren replied. “From the
way you were raving it doesn’t sound like I would like to meet them
in any case. And this Jaree,
he was your lover?”
Zenaria
blushed. She was glad of her
dimly lit surroundings. “I
have no lover. Did I not make
that clear?”
“Enlighten me,”
Tren answered. “I thought
it natural that any adult Erogenian would…
“I am sworn to let
no man touch me,” Zenaria interrupted.
“Ahh,” Tren replied
slowly. “To dedicate
oneself to the gods is noble
indeed. Perhaps that is the
reason…” Tren left
the sentence unfinished and changed the
subject. “Finish the rest
of the broth; then I will leave you to attend to any personal duties you
may wish to perform.”
“Wait,” Zenaria
protested, partly rising from her bed, but Tren was gone, slipping out of
the cave.
Muttering to herself, Zenaria
fell back. Now Tren thought she
had taken some sort of vow of celibacy.
And what did he mean by his unfinished
comment? What would that possible
explain?
She noted that the blanket
covering her had slipped to her waist.
Annoyed she caste it
aside. Tren had had two
days to gaze on her nude body while she slept.
What did she care if he saw it
now? She finished the broth and
then took his suggestion. There
were personal things
she had to take care of.
She found the part of the
cave where Tren had prepared a slit trench, and then finished with her bodily
functions she headed back to the
campsite. She felt indescribably
grimy. Erogenians bathed frequently,
but her desert journey had so far made this
impossible. However, from outside
the cave entrance her keen sense of smell detected the scent of
water. Without bothering to cover
herself she headed for the light.
She entered into a
wonderland. Before her was a
small rocky beach that led down to a deep pool confined by canyon walls that
soared so high above her that they seemed to come together at the top, leaving
just a thin sliver of
sky. She
stopped dead, a shiver running down her
spine.
It couldn’t
be, but it was. The multihued
iridescent walls were unmistakable.
It was her dream become reality.
But if that was so then
Tren…
He emerged from the pool,
water dripping from his dark-skinned well-muscled
body. In the subdued light of
the canyon his skin gleamed like that of some Erogenian god, highlighting
the twin dragon tattoos that encircled his arms and ended on either of his
shoulders.
“This can’t be,”
Zenaria muttered. And then
Tren’s lower half emerged from the
pool. “Oh…”
Zenaria was strangely distracted
during her swim. She kept thinking
of Tren and more importantly that portion of his anatomy he had hitherto
kept hidden. In spite of the
luxurious feel of the cool water on her skin, however, she kept her swim
short. The effects of the poison
still lingered and she found she tired
easily. She emerged from the
water and entered the cave, the sudden change from the desert heat of the
pool causing her nipples to harden and raising goose bumps on her
skin. She shivered and without
waiting for her body to dry hastily pulled on her desert
robes.
Tren was farther back in
the cave, sorting through the last of their
food. He too had
dressed. He looked up as she
approached. “Enough for
two days,” he said. It is
a good thing we are made it to the oasis.
We can go into the city tomorrow.”
“I do not
understand,” Zenaria said as she twisted her hair into a thick
braid. “Are you not afraid
of discovery?”
“There is always that
danger,” Tren replied, “but I speak the language and am dressed
like the average Sandakar. I
doubt anyone will notice me.”
Zenaria was
puzzled. It was hard for her
to conceive of an enemy walking into a Snow Leopard camp and not being
seen. “What about me?”
she asked.
“I leave that to
you. You are safe here, but if
you wish to accompany me you may, provided you follow
orders.”
“I…”
“I know,” Tren
interrupted. “You take orders
from no man. It is amazing you
have survived so long with such an
attitude. Hasn’t it gotten
you into enough trouble?”
Zenaria growled an
unintelligible reply and Tren continued.
“You speak Sandak with an atrocious accent and know nothing of
the local customs, however, if you keep yourself
covered and take a few simple precautions you should pass casual
inspection.”
This time Zenaria made no
objection. “What
precautions?” she asked.
“You will have to hide
that meat cleaver. No Sandakar
carries a blade like that. And
you will have to learn to walk without swinging your
hips.”
“The sword was my
father’s,” Zenaria replied
hotly. “And it is no meat
cleaver. As for swinging my
hips…”
Tren sighed and
demonstrated. “You walk
like this,” he said swinging his hips in an exaggerated
manner.
Zenaria glowered at
him. “I was not aware that
you watched me so closely.”
There was a moment of silence
and then Tren replied. “I
am an assassin. It is important
that I observe all things.”
Zenaria
sighed. “Is there anything
else?”
“Your height is a problem,
but nothing can be done about that.
Try to remain as inconspicuous as possible and do not speak unless
absolutely necessary.”
Zenaria sighed and nodded
her agreement. She watched as
Tren moved off ahead of her and tried to copy the way he
moved. It had not occurred to
her that men and women moved differently, but she could now clearly see that
there was something different about the way Tren moved his
body. To her surprise he was
not walking toward the entrance to the cave, but instead was moving deeper
into its recesses.
“We’ll take the
camel,” Tren said. “You
ride. It will make your height
a little less obvious.”
Zenaria suddenly found herself standing in what appeared to be a stable
built out of rock.
“What is this?”
she asked.
“My way into the
city,” Tren replied as he began to saddle the
camel. “It is much more
convenient than attempting to pass through the main
gate.”
“Come,” he said,
taking the reins and pulling the camel
forward.
Zenaria followed as Tren
led the camel down a long dark tunnel.
As they moved farther along she began to hear the sound of voices
and a faint glimmer of light appeared
ahead. Tren suddenly stopped
and Zenaria had to dig in her heels to keep from slamming into the rear end
of the camel.
“Wait,” Tren said,
without any other explanation.
Zenaria saw that they had come to a halt before what appeared to be
a solid wall constructed of well-sawn
boards. Tren moved up to the
wall and appeared to be listening.
After a few seconds he nodded and gripping a lever tugged open the
wall. What was revealed was the
inside of a conventional stable.
One that was conveniently empty at the
moment. After carefully closing
the ‘wall’ behind him Tren led the camel through the stable and
out into the street.
What seemed like a wall
of sound hit Zenaria before she was even out of the
stables.
Raised in a village less than than five
hundred souls she had never seen more than a few hundred people in one place
before. They emerged into a street
that was crowded with dark-robed people for as far as she could
see. The street was lined with
shops and the noise of animated bartering could be heard on every
side. Tren led her out into the
thick of the crowd and waited while she clambered into the camel’s
saddle. “Remember, say
nothing,” Tren cautioned. He
took the reins and led the camel down the street.
Disconcerted by the noise
and commotion, Zenaria could only stare, but she had enough presence of mind
to keep the cowl of her hood well forward, shielding her light skin from
the crowd. The street they were
in seemed to be an area of the city devoted to the sale of camels and horses
as well as their stabling, as a result no one so much as gave Zenaria and
her mount a second glance.
Slowly Tren wove his way
through the crowd, moving steadily toward what Zenaria supposed was the centre
of Uhra Don. She stared in
astonishment as they moved from the livestock area into what she supposed
was the central market. It was
like nothing she had ever seen or
imagined. The market square was
an area larger than her entire village and bordered on all four sides with
whitewashed buildings several stories in
height. Hundreds of stalls filled
the open area and the sights, sounds, and smells almost overwhelmed
her. Her senses were assailed
with the scent of spices and perfumes, and her eyes feasted on a riot of
colours and clothing styles. For
the first time the monotonous black of Sandakar robes was broken by the exotic
dress of dozens of different tribes and
nations.
She wanted to call out to
Tren to ask the names of some of the peoples and goods that were all around
her, but he had forbidden her to speak and from her perch on top of the camel
she doubted that he would have heard her anyway and so she just stared until
eventually curiosity got the better of
her. She slid from the saddle
almost snagging her sword, which she now wore tucked into a dark sash around
her waist. As a result she landed
awkwardly and stumbled into a stand selling some sort of yellow fruit.
“Imbecile!
Clumsy bullock!” the vendor cried as the fruit spilled into the
street, much to the delight of passers by who stopped to take in the
drama. “You will pay for
that fruit. It is
ruined.”
“Peace friend,”
Tren interjected before Zenaria could
reply. She was halfway between
taking out her knife to remove the impertinent vendor’s tongue and picking
up the globular yellow fruits and shoving them somewhere
interesting.
The vendor glanced at
Tren’s twin swords and took a step
backward. “I doubt that
your lemons are much harmed,” Tren said, “but I will buy a few
to make you happy.”
“Ah, perhaps I could
also interest you in a few limes and oranges as well,” the vendor replied,
suddenly all smiles. He was a
stout man and Zenaria took an unreasonable and immediate dislike to
him. However, mindful of the
fact that she was surrounded by the members of the race that had sought to
enslave her, she willingly let Tren handle the
situation. Fortunately, the fruit
vendor seemed pleased by Tren’s modest purchase; either that or he was
intimidated by the weapons she and Tren carried.
As they walked away from
the scene of her latest blunder Tren tossed Zenaria one of the yellow fruits
he had bought to appease the vendor.
“You made me buy this.
You may as well try it.”
Zenaria regarded the fruit
dubiously. Although it looked
appetizing enough, it seemed to have a very thick
skin. “What is it called?”
she asked.
“It is called a
lemon. It is very good for preventing
your gums from rotting on long trips away from sources of fresh fruit and
vegetables”
“Now you sound like
my mother,” Zenaria said.
Actually she was stretching the truth
somewhat. Queen Cirilia was hardly
the sort of mother who tucked her children in at night or dispensed maternal
advice. Although she had been known to correct Zenaria’s handling of
her sword,
“Here, Tren,”
said, taking out his knife and neatly removing the thick yellow
skin. Inside was a yellow segmented
fruit with a most enticing ordour.
She broke off a segment and bit it in half.
“Haa!”
Tren laughed.
It was the first time Zenaria had ever seen him break his controlled
composure, however, she was too busy trying to stop her mouth from puckering
to fully appreciate the moment.
“Wolverine!” she
spat. “You tricked
me!”
However, her face spit in a grin as large as
Tren’s. She
couldn’t help thinking that he was immensely handsome when he
smiled.
“I apologize,”
Ten said, although he sounded anything
but. He took out one of the other
fruits he had purchased, this one bright orange in
colour. “Try this
instead.” In a show of good
faith he peeled this fruit as well and breaking off a segment popped it into
his mouth.
Zenaria took a cautious
bite. “Mmmm,” she
murmured. “What is this
called?”
“An orange,” Tren
answered, taking another segment.
Zenaria took another segment
from Tren and raised it to her lips and then stopped with her mouth
open. She was looking at the
most amazing thing she had ever seen.
“What is that,” she asked, unable to keep the awe out of
her voice.
They had rounded a corner
of the market and entered a wide street lined with permanent shops as opposed
to the temporary market stalls. But
it was not the shops that took Zenaria’s breath
away. The street ran straight
and true with the obvious intent of impressing anyone who entered it with
the grandeur of the building at the far
end. Gleaming white in the desert
sun was a magnificent domed structure large enough to have contained a score
of villages the size of the one she called
home. Massive pillars lined the
street for several hundred feet before the building, each pillar rising in
height until the first step of the building was
reached. Then there was a rise
of a hundred steps to the base of the building and a further rise of arched
windows and doorways and finally the gigantic onion-shaped
dome. It was too much for anyone
to encompass all at once, much less a barbarian warrior who had never imagined
such architectural splendour.
“Behold the palace
of the High Thuski, ruler of Uhra Don, a city built on the enslavement and
suffering of thousands.”
Tren spoke quietly, as well he
might. His words were tinged
with bitterness.
Zenaria gazed
open-mouthed. She did not even
try to pretend that she was not
awe-struck. “What do the
Sandakar need with Erogenian slaves when they have such
magnificence?”
As Tren opened his mouth
to reply a hideous shriek split the air.
At once Zenaria saw the people around them falling to their
knees. Her hand moved toward
her sword and her eyes searched for the source of the
sound. “Down,” Tren
said quietly. His hand touched
her shoulder pushing her toward the
ground. Zenaria suddenly realized
that none of those falling to their knees seemed the least bit
concerned. It even seemed rehearsed
as a number of them had spread small rugs on the ground before they
knelt.
“What was that
scream?” Zenaria asked and then got her answer as the sound was
repeated. This time she recognized
it for what it was, some sort of call to prayer.
“The Sandakar pray
to their god five times a day and expect all among them to do the same whether
they believe or not. Just keep
your head down and say nothing and you will not be
noticed.”
Out of the corner of her
eye, Zenaria spotted something she had not noticed before, although no doubt
Tren had. Walking down the wide
street were a dozen black-robed men with gold embroidery decorating their
costume. Each carried in his
right hand an elegant gold staff fitted with a spear point at the
top. In their left was a seven-tailed
whip. Zenaria’s keen eyes
noted that each of the flails was fitted with fitted with gold
studs.
“Servants of Aroo,”
Tren whispered. “They punish
any who do not appear to be praying fervently
enough.”
“They must be mad,”
Zenaria thought, bowing her head low.
“What kind of god needs to force its worshipers to
pray?”
All around her she could
hear the sounds of praying; it rose in volume as the Servants of Aroo
approached. “By the Moon
goddess,” she muttered.
“I don’t know the
words.” She had no interest
in conforming to the Sandak religion, but she felt she owed it to Tren to
not give him away. Besides they
were surrounded by enemies and she had no desire to fight the entire Sandakar
Empire.
Around her the strange chanting
of the Sandakar faithful became increasingly fervent as the Servants of Aroo
moved ever closer.
“You
there! I can’t hear
you!” The voice came from
directly behind her.
Zenaria held her breath
and remained absolutely still.
Maybe the remark was not directed at
her. “Damn,” she
thought. “I don’t even
dare put my hand on my sword.”
“I am speaking to you,
camel dung!” There was a
whistling sound and a terrible stinging pain across her
back.
She reacted instantly, rolling
away from the whip. Her motion
brought her up against a praying man next to her, but she managed to scramble
to her feet, drawing her sword as she did so.
“What is this?”
exclaimed the man who had whipped her.
“Have we a heretic?”
His voice and Zenaria’s motion alerted the
others. Almost as one they moved
toward her, their spear-like staffs directed toward her.
Zenaria did not wait for
them to surround her; her nature was hardly defensive in any
case. Gripping her blade with
both hands she charged into the Servants of Aroo, her blade describing
a wicked arc that cut off the hand of the man who had dared
to flog her, cut through the staff of a second Servant, and ripped open
the belly of a third. Instantly
the street dissolved into pandemonium, filled with the shrieks of wounded
men, cries of fear, and the shouts of alarm of the Servants of
Aroo and the innocent citizens of Uhra Don who
fled her wrath.
Her attack, so unexpected
and devastating, caught the Servants of Aroo completely off
guard. Used only to brutalizing
defenceless members of the public who dared not fight back, they reacted
in terror, almost falling over themselves to get away from
her. They fled shouting in terror
– all except the man Zenaria had
disembowelled. He writhed on
the ground, shrieking in agony, his hands making futile efforts to stuff
his guts back into her abdominal cavity.
Zenaria gave him a mercy stroke, taking his head of cleanly and ending
his suffering.
For the moment, the once
crowded street was almost deserted, except for the backs of fleeing
citizenry. Tren stood beside
her, carefully returning his swords to their
sheaths. His expression was
unreadable and for a second he said nothing; then he
spoke. “I think we had better
leave.”
Zenaria looked back the
way they had come, but Tren stopped her.
“Not that way; the market will soon be swarming with
guards.” He turned to look
toward the palace. “And
we can’t go that way either.
No doubt the Servants of Aroo will return with
reinforcements.”
Zenaria didn’t see
that there were many choices left to
them. There were no side streets
that she could see, but Tren surprised
her. “Quickly,” he
said, moving to the side of one of the
shops. “Before anyone thinks
to look in our direction again.”
Zenaria joined him, glad
that he had not scolded her for so carelessly exposing
them. “Boost me up,”
Tren ordered, looking toward the roof of the
building.”
Like most of the ordinary
buildings in Uhra Don it stood about ten feet high and was built of whitewashed
mud brick with a flat roof. Zenaria
linked her fingers together and offered them to
Tren. Then she boosted him over
her head. He easily caught the
edge of the roof.
“Quickly,” he ordered, his body hanging straight
down. “Use me as a ladder
and then pull me up.”
Zenaria obeyed immediately,
clambering up Tren’s body and then standing on his shoulders to gain
the roof. She turned, and offering
her hand, helped him to the rooftop.
“This way,” Tren said as soon as he stood beside
her. “There is no time to
lose. It will not take them long
to figure out where we have gone.”
He ran toward the back of the building, Zenaria
following. Reaching the edge
of the roof he launched himself across the small space separating the building
from the next and continued at top speed toward the next
building.
Space was at a premium in
Uhra Don and the alleyways separating the buildings were never more than
a body’s length wide. The
only difficulty they ran into was when the building they were jumping to
was somewhat higher than the one they were
on. Interestingly, Tren seemed
to know exactly where he was going and from the convoluted route he took
across the rooftops she guessed that he had probably travelled this way
before.
They finally came to a building
that was too high for them to reach by jumping,
however, Tren did not hesitate for even a
second. Swinging over the edge
he dropped nimbly into the alley and waited for Zenaria to join
him. Although caught off guard
by this sudden change in routine, Zenaria quickly swung over the edge and
dropped beside him. “The
next part of the trip will not be quite as
pleasant. We have probably thrown
off pursuit for now, but we still need to do a little shopping before there
is a city-wide alert for us. The
Sandakar do not take kindly to having the Servants of Aroo hacked down in
the street.”
Tren ducked down a staircase
that was set against the base of the taller building and Zenaria followed.
At the bottom there was an iron
grill secured by a heavy iron padlock.
It took Tren less than ten seconds to have the lock off and with a
great creaking of rusty iron hinges he threw the door
back.
Beyond the door was complete
darkness, but Tren ushered her in and then coming in behind her slammed the
iron grill shut and reattached the
padlock. Zenaria stood in the
darkness, her nostrils assailed by an unmistakable
stench. “What is this
place?” she asked, hardly daring to breathe.
“The sewers,”
Tren answered. “It will
not be pleasant, but few come this way other than
criminals. Be on your guard for
them. From now on there will
be no more talking. Touch me
on the shoulder if you wish to communicate, and stay
close. We will use no
lights.”
“What are sewers?”
Zenaria wondered. But Tren had
told her not to talk, so she couldn’t
ask. But it took her only a very
short time to figure it out for herself.
“By the Moon,” she muttered, “this place is full of
s…mmpphh!”
Tren clamped his hand over
her mouth. Zenaria had a wild
urge to bite him, but stopped dead when she heard the sound of voices speaking
in Sandak.
“You sure you heard
the grill open?”
“As
sure as Aroo provides virgins to the
righteous.”
“Don’t
blaspheme. You will anger the
one true god.”
“Since when did you
become so devout? We’re
rapists and murderers.”
“That doesn’t
mean Aroo doesn’t love us.
Well… actually maybe it does.
Now shut up. I want to
catch the little gutter rat that came in through the
grill.”
It was pitch black, but
Zenaria could hear the sound of footsteps coming toward
her. She tensed her muscles getting
ready for the kill, when Tren suddenly took his hand
away.
“Come on,” said
the voice. “I know you’re
there. You can’t hide from
me. Come out and I won’t
skin you alive.”
Zenaria eased her sword
out. The man speaking was no
more than ten or fifteen feet away and how he could see her she had no idea,
but she suspected he was bluffing.
She also knew from the movement of feet that there were more than
just the two men who had spoken.
Several others were out there and they were edging their way around
to her left.
Tren was
gone. She could no longer sense
his presence anywhere near her and guessed that he was on his own little
hunting expedition. That thought
was confirmed a moment later when there was a muffled
scream about ten feet directly in front of
her.
“What in the name of
the Prophet?” The exclamation
came from the same direction as the footsteps had come
from. Zenaria stepped toward
them, swinging her sword through the
darkness. There was a gruesome
“thunk” as her blade made contact, not
once but twice, followed by a horrible scream.
The scream was followed
by a considerable number of appeals to Aroo and then the sound of feet dashing
off into the darkness. It seemed
to Zenaria that in spite of the numerous appeals
of the Sandaks to their god he didn’t pay
them much attention.
Zenaria listened, but the only sound she
could hear was that of her own muted
breathing.
Tren’s voice floated down to her from
barely six feet away. “That
was well done, barbarian. But
try not to let anyone know we’re down here next
time.”
“It wasn’t me,”
Zenaria hissed back, “it was you opening the
grill.”
There was a long
sigh. “Were you this much
trouble to your father?”
“In
the Leopard Tribe women
rule. I never knew my
father.”
“That explains
things,” Tren whispered.
“Now come on and try to move without speaking this
time.”
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