Servant of the Gods (3 page)

That was the first time Khai saw her, the last of the mercenaries hired by the conquered city to fall before the might that was Egypt and he the commander of those forces beneath General Akhom.

She’d been both beautiful and terrible to watch, neither implacable nor merciless, more a force of nature. As she’d fought her hair had swirled around her like liquid sunlight and her body was as fluid for she twisted and turned like a snake, like an eel. Graceful and elegant, she spun and whirled. It was as if she’d been born to the swords in her hands.

Perhaps she had.

Then there were her eyes…as clear and blue as the sky.

Her eyes and golden hair were at least part of the reason his people saved her, that and her liquid grace, her skill with her swords. They were the reason Khai did. One shouldn’t kill such a beautiful thing.

A part of him rebelled at the thought of putting her in chains, but in chains she must be if they were to take her back to Egypt, to Thebes and the King. She was plunder, an object of value to be sold in the slave markets. He couldn’t deny that, not when so many had died at her hands – not his own folk, who’d been wiser, but those of another of Akhom’s commanders.

Still she had been magnificent to watch, fighting alone on the battlefield. Blood splattered, with her yellow hair streaming like a banner in the hot breeze, and wearing only a band around her breasts and another around her hips, sandals, her swords flashing in her hands.

Then she’d put them down. Surrendered.

Khai gestured, reluctantly.

His men surrounded her.

Eres didn’t protest the rough iron shackles they put on her, there was no point. They would simply punish her if she tried. Her heart sank, though, as they did it.

She’d been on the other end of this more than once, had watched others take this first step into slavery, and pitied them. Somehow she’d never thought that one day this might be her fate, that someday she might be the one to wear the chains. It was what it was. It was the risk every mercenary soldier took – win and walk away, lose and die, or survive to live in chains.

Deliberately, she lifted her chin. She wouldn’t be cowed before these. She wouldn’t show her fear.

Watching her, Khai couldn’t help but admire her strength, her courage…and her pride.

Never once did those shoulders slump, nor that proud golden head bow. There was no defiance in her, simply acceptance. She met her fate with the same courage and determination she’d demonstrated on the battlefield, along with the will to survive it well.

If nothing else, though, Khai would spare her one thing. As a slave like any other, male or female, she would be made available for the use of any officer, any soldier, in whatever manner they wished to use her...unless Khai took her for himself.

He rarely took advantage of the privileges of his rank, too aware he was a foreigner among folk not his own. Few native Egyptians fought outside of Egypt itself, for to die on foreign soil was to lose the afterlife. So men like him joined the army of Egypt to fight the wars that would bring the upper and lower halves of Egypt together.

This time he did. He took her, but not for himself.

For her.

In the aftermath of the battle it was some time before he could retire and even then he’d nearly forgotten his order. Until they’d brought her to his tent, prepared as any slave would be to service the commander, as servant, body slave, or simply a receptacle for his desires.

They’d washed her, dressed her in a simple shift, bound her wrists behind her and left her in his tent.

It was clear the slave-master wasn’t happy about it although he said nothing. It was obvious from his expression that he’d wanted the female warrior to himself first. As with all his kind there was a necessary cruelty to the man’s nature that was essential for him to do his job well. That job was to break the spirit, to resign his charges to their fate. With this girl, Sebi had clearly anticipated enjoying his duty, especially knowing her skills in fighting. It would have pleased him to have her bound and helpless before him.

With an effort, Khai restrained the urge to cuff the man and simply dismissed him instead.

It was only then that her sheer beauty struck him, when she wasn’t sweat-drenched and covered in sand and blood.

Her face was truly lovely, exotic in its fairness, in the pale gold of her skin. Her nose was a little crooked from some ill-timed blow, but it didn’t detract from her attractiveness, not to him. A bruise colored one cheekbone, her lip had been split, and she bore assorted other marks and wounds from battle. Even so, she was intriguing. Her eyebrows arched perfectly and naturally over those remarkable eyes and she had a finely shaped, firm and tempting mouth. Her body, too, was finely formed, young, well-muscled and strong beneath the thin, coarse shift, full in the breast and round in the hips.

Then there was that hair, streaming over her shoulders like rippling sunlight, brilliant in the light of the torches.

His body reacted predictably to an attractive female as he examined her.

The slave eyed him, her expression wary…and Khai was suddenly certain that if he were to take her she would give him nothing. He would use her body only, to scant satisfaction, save of his most primitive urges. There would be nothing of her in it. He found he had little taste for that. He wanted fire.

He circled her.

Keeping still, Eres watched him, moving only her eyes, waiting to see what he would do.

If it was her body he was after, well…she’d heard enough stories from the few men who’d taken advantage of slaves in the same manner. It was hard to justify rapine to the women who stood next to you in the line of battle, so few of Childric’s band had taken such advantage. She’d learned that unless one enjoyed being used so carelessly – and none did – it was best to give them little satisfaction. So she wouldn’t struggle or cry out. She had no desire to be a whore or to be sold as one. If she didn’t act as one, though, they might not treat her as one. That must start now, however attractive this man was.

And he was dangerously attractive.

It surprised her that he didn’t try to use her that way, simply studied her for a time and then went about his business.

She listened to him talk to his lieutenants, his aides, even his body-servant, listened to the cadences and the rhythms as they spoke. He had a natural air of command about him, this man.

At the end of the evening as the torches were quenched, she hunkered down in a corner out of the way, watching him in curiosity.

Her breath caught as he prepared for bed, removing even the pleated cloth around his hips, stripping down to naught but tawny skin. Even before then she’d known he was a strong, well-built man. Now she knew just how well built he was. In that moment, she was tempted in a way she hadn’t been in the past.

However, to her relief her fortitude wasn’t tested. He left her be.

Instead she curled into a corner of the tent and slept. It had been a long day and she was weary.

At daybreak they took her out to be herded along with the other slaves of the fallen city as they marched west and south, through the lands now conquered.

Having marched many a league over the years since she’d become a mercenary, it was a shock to have the lash come down over her shoulders. The sun and the heat had made her doze a little, even bound, even while marching.

At the next bite of the whip, though, she knew it wasn’t simply her pace but something about the slave-master that sent the whip snaking over her shoulders. The lash stung, made her suck in her breath. She’d taken worse wounds in battle but it still hurt. Trying to avoid it made it no easier. This was the fate of slaves and she knew it. She’d been lucky as a child that the Druids had taken her in and she hadn’t been sold into slavery then.

By the stop that evening she had half a dozen stripes across her back and when they washed her, the natron and herbs in the water stung sharply in the welts.

Once again they led her to the commander’s tent and once again he ignored her. Finding an out of the way corner, she sank onto her knees once again to watch and listen, shifting her shoulders now and then to keep the cloth from sticking to the wounds on her back. With the scarcity of water, the chance of being able to soak the cloth from the stripes was slim.

She kept her eyes slightly lowered and simply listened. She needed to learn the language here better, the ways of it, and quickly.

So quiet was she that until she made a movement, Khai had almost forgotten she was there. Almost, but not completely, no never that. It was only then that he was sharply reminded of her presence, and she was brought to his mind so vividly. That ability to seem almost invisible surprised him, the stillness in her.

The movement of her shoulders caught his attention. Something pained her.

He signaled her to rise and turn around.

To his surprise, her gaze sharpened. She hesitated, sighed, and turned obediently, if reluctantly.

Khai’s jaw tightened at the sight of the stains on her shift and then he looked at her. She looked over her shoulder at him. Eyes as clear and as blue as the sky met his briefly and boldly for a slave, but then they lowered.

She knew and understood her position.

To Khai that made it worse. He would honor another brave warrior for as long as he might, for that was what she was to him, a warrior, courageous and skilled.

With a gesture, he sent her back to her corner, and Eres obeyed.

He strode out of the tent.

When he returned he said nothing, but no more after that did the whip fall across her shoulders although she caught the furious glare of the slave-master’s eyes. Instead the man resorted to more subtle means of punishment, blows to her arms, ribs, and lower back with a soft sap which left less visible marks.

That was no more abuse than she’d taken while in training or drills.

Of a night, Khai found himself talking to her, knowing she didn’t understand his words, but as a foreigner among these folk as she was, there were times he needed to talk to someone like himself – whether she understood or not.

He was intensely aware of her, aware of when the light from the lamps would flicker over her lovely face or make her bright hair glow, moments when he was acutely aware of the curve of a breast, of her finely muscled legs, moments when his resolve not to take her wavered. It had been some time since he’d been with a woman for something more than to ease his most basic needs. Like most men, there were times when he needed more than the ease of just his body.

When he talked to her, watching her eyes as he did, those thoughts faded. There were times when he wished she understood him and times when he thought she might.

So it went, each night Eres was taken to the leader’s tent.

His name was Khai, she learned, and he commanded this group.

Kneeling in the corner, Eres watched him curiously, absorbing the words he spoke, the way he said them, fit them to what she knew. In time the words made more sense to her as she matched his actions to those words or understood the context as orders were given and people came or went.

She watched him with his people. He had an innate and easy sense of command. It was simply part of him, as natural to him as his hair and eyes. Unlike some he didn’t seem to feel the need to shout, to rant and rave, to give orders carelessly – he listened, accepted or rejected recommendations firmly but without giving insult or creating resentment.

The more she watched him, the more she respected him and the delicate balance he walked so well.

Oddly enough, the most difficult part of the evening was when she watched him undress for the night.

He was a well-formed and firmly muscled man as well as a handsome one with his fine, aristocratic features and slightly full mouth. As was the habit with these folk, his beard was neatly and closely trimmed and she found she preferred that to the untamed tangles of those of the north, while his thick, wavy hair streamed over strong shoulders. The muscles of his chest and belly were taut, conditioned by time and labor.

She wasn’t immune to the attractions of a handsome, well-built man.

Each night she watched and listened. Each day she marched, her own skin browning where it was exposed by the coarse shift. After a time the slave-master gave up beating her as she showed so little effect. He didn’t know the days she’d been dizzy with it, sick, the days she’d drunk the natron-laced water they showered over her to slake her thirst before taking her to Khai.