Warlord (9 page)

Rainura studied Sara over the worn, wooden bowl as she finished the infusion. This new woman was no threat – she would never rise to Rainura’s level. She could see it in the woman’s vacant blue eyes. Besides, the upkeep of a concubine was expensive in times of warfare and she knew it was unlikely Arystan would agree to another.

Nazin and Kumys began to remove Sara’s clothing. Sara drew back, clutching at her threadbare robes, a look of disobedience in her eyes. Rainura immediately rose from her stool and threaded her way through the other girls, carrying the bowl, displeasure clouding her attractive features.

She reached Sara and held out the bowl. “Drink,” she ordered.

Sara’s blue eyes flashed at the woman. Something about the situation screamed danger.

“Stupid girl. We do not mean you harm,” Rainura sneered. She gestured toward the shelter. “We – the women – are all you have here. This camp is dangerous, deadly even.

Without us, you will have no one, no allies, you will be completely vulnerable. You do not want to find yourself in that position. You must accept our help if you want to live.”

It was partially true anyway.

Rainura flicked her eyes disdainfully over Sara’s gaunt figure. “Besides, you are half-starved. The drink in this bowl is a powerful nourishment. We will feed you and your strength will return.” Sara eyed the bowl suspiciously. Her mind was trying to tell her something.

Rainura would force the drink down Sara if she had to. But this speech would work. It always did with the stubborn ones.

“Do you think I lie?” scowled Rainura. “Look around you. Does any woman here look malnourished?”

Sara’s eyes darted around the shelter. All of the women did look well-fed, if a bit glassy-eyed. And she was very hungry. Very, very hungry. She looked back at the milky white fluid filling the bowl. It wasn’t a roasted pygmy shrew, but still . . . .

Sara nodded, allowing Rainura to help her tilt the bowl so that she drained all of the beverage. Then her blue eyes glazed back over, but this time not from hunger.

Relieved, Rainura thrust the bowl into another woman’s hand. “Wash this,” she commanded, watching Sara carefully. The drug took effect almost immediately. The woman would be easy to control now. Rainura returned to her stool.

Nazin and Kumys again went to remove Sara’s clothing, this time without a single protest from her. Rainura’s black eyes washed appraisingly over Sara’s body. She looked to be in her early to mid-twenties, full breasts, a good roundedness to her hips, her belly too thin, but that would be remedied once she started to eat again. Although her abdomen was slack, Rainura’s discerning eyes noted a bit of developed muscle in Sara’s calves and thighs. Her eyes narrowed, wondering how that came to be.

The woman was also of another race, but that would not be a problem for the men.

Periodically, the camp acquired women who looked differently: skin of white or black, hair of yellow or red, eyes of blue or green. Rainura grinned wickedly. It really didn’t matter to the men – all women had a pussy.

Arystan had informed her that the camp would hold another festival next week. Such celebrations were held occasionally when the threat of conflict was low to allow the warriors to unwind. The slaves were to be presented at that time to Arystan’s chieftains for the night as a reward for their loyalty. Conditions were harsh on the hot steppes and the end of the campaign against General Bayuan’s army was not yet in sight. Arystan’s forces had been routing small bands of soldiers for more than a year without success in luring the general to engage them. Ah well, what did she care? That was something for the men to worry about. It was Rainura’s job simply to have these pitiful women as presentable as possible in a week’s time.

“Bathe and clothe her,” she snapped to Nazin. Her eyes followed the dark-skinned woman who immediately led Sara to the large pail of water under the corner of the overhang which collected the runoff when it rained.

“And feed her.” It wouldn’t do to have this new woman looking like a skeleton when it came time for the festival.

Although her wits felt dulled, Sara sensed her physical strength returning as she hungrily consumed the wild apple, barberry, pistachios and almonds she was given. Two days before the festival, Rainura also distributed dried ground squirrel to the women. Sara thought she had never tasted anything better in her life.

On the evening of the festival, Rainura appeared again. She had not given the root concoction to the women yesterday and the drug would be wearing off by now. Rainura always stopped giving the drug before festivals. The women became shy and frightened without it and all of the chieftains preferred them that way.

Torches were already lit by the shelter and Rainura walked among the cowering women in the flickering light, hissing at them to behave, slapping those who angered her. She wore a long, flowing dress which covered all of her attributes and calf-length deerskin boots. The rest of the women were dressed more scantily. All were barefoot. Leather thongs wrapped tightly around and underneath their busts, forcing their naked breasts upward and outward. They wore short hideskin skirts, open on the sides, and black leather collars with a metal ring on the front of each. Rainura informed the women that the collars were for the enjoyment and discretion of the chieftains.

She stood before the women, ready to give her usual speech. After a time, the drug seemed to permanently dull the brains of some of the women, and she found even those who had already been through the festival needed to be reminded. Besides, there were quite a few new women this time. The chieftains would be pleased.

“You will follow me without question to the bonfire. The men are . . . hungry. They are warriors, first and foremost. It is in their nature to show no mercy. Tonight, you will be fucked brutally, possibly raped, and you may be beaten or killed.” Several women let out a small shriek and most cringed visibly. Rainura smirked. She was not making this up.

“The chief and his chieftains will choose from among you tonight. You are gifts for their pleasure, their amusement, their urges, their whims. None of you shall complain no matter how you are treated if you want to live,” she said, fixing them with a severe gaze.

“Of course, some of you may not live anyway.” Rainura shrugged.

“When brought before the bonfire, the warriors will select in order of seniority.

Arystan,” she hesitated as she said his name, “as leader, will choose first.”

Rainura had no idea why she hated the fact that Arystan fucked other women. He went through them with abandon, seeming not to particularly care for anyone. She too, of course, fucked all of the chieftains and some of the common soldiers from time to time.

But she would have given anything to have even a bit of the handsome leader’s heart for herself, for his strength, his dominance, his passion to be reserved in some way, some small way, for her alone. It frustrated her immensely that he showed nothing for her beyond the sex act itself, no matter how hard she tried to please him.

The old, withered man who had guarded entry to the enclosure when Sara first arrived, now swung the gate open and two men stepped through, heading for the torchlit area at the back of the enclosure.

“Line up,” ordered Rainura. The women all rose from under the shelter, forming a procession of sorts. “Hold your hands before you.” The women did what they were told.

The two men walked down the line, binding the hands of all of the women. “You sure are a pretty one,” leered one of the men at Sara as he bound her wrists. “Not often we get foreign pussy.” He shook his head. It was too bad he didn’t rank high enough to warrant a go at her. Sometimes, when a chieftain was displeased in some manner, a woman was turned out to the rest of the men. Now that was always something, even if the woman didn’t often survive long in the ensuing savagery. Maybe they would get lucky tonight.

He slapped Sara’s ass as he finished, causing her to jump, and moved on to the next woman in line. When finished, the soldiers linked the women together with a long length of rope.

The old man swung the gate open again and the men, carrying small torches, led the women to a huge bonfire around which Arystan’s chieftains sprawled in a semi-circle, their eyes dark and hungry. Although there were thousands in the camp, most were not of sufficient status to merit such a reward. Those warriors spent festival nights eating roasted goat, drinking around other bonfires, some even cavorting with their own comrades.

The intoxicating music of the long, reed ney flutes stopped abruptly and an erotic, thumping drumbeat picked up. A man at the center of the bonfire rose, his strongly muscled chest glistening in the dancing light of the flames. His black eyes swept past the fire to the line of women, their faces in shadow. As leader, Arystan was entitled to select first.

He first turned to his chieftains and made a short speech about the women and his intent to reward each of them for their fealty to him. This was met with enthusiastic hoots and growls.

If truth be told, Arystan cared little for this ritual but continued it regularly as it kept his libidinous chieftains more than appeased. He preferred to strategize about battle, practice his fighting skills, thunder across the open steppes on his great, strong horses. Pussy was simply pussy. He fucked women thoroughly, even animalistically, but it was just that –

fucking. Once he’d sated his need, he could return to other pursuits until the urge was upon him again. But . . . the ceremony was good in other aspects. It was heady to watch his chieftains choose their women, to see the lust in their eyes, feel their appreciation of his generosity, stoking their reverence, allegiance and devotion to him. That was good indeed.

Arystan moved around the fire, walking slowly to the beginning of the line of bound women. The eyes of his warriors were upon him as he inspected them. Unlike his chieftains, he never groped or fondled a woman before he chose her. It simply didn’t matter to him. He was going to fuck the woman anyway – it really didn’t matter how she felt. He was known to be rather brutal sexually, another quality that inspired admiration from his chieftains. He always pretended to make a show of interest, but actually chose a woman at random, sending her to his tent to be fucked later while he waited, magnanimously, for the remainder of his chieftains to make their selections.

The women all looked frightened, properly cowed, their black eyes wide with apprehension. His chieftains would be quite pleased. Rainura had done a good job. He would have to give her a thank-you fuck later. He knew Rainura kept the women drugged to make them easier to control. He didn’t care as long as they were clear-eyed at bonfire night. The chieftains fed on the scent of fear, the women’s distress, their vulnerability. Arystan did too. After all, part of the thrill of the hunt was the terror in the eyes of the hunted.

Yes, they all looked terrified. All except one.

He stopped in front of Sara, her pale skin obviously out of place, even as golden as it had turned under the sun. She was pretty, he admitted, although in an unusual way. Hmmm.

It had been awhile since he had had a woman of another race. He had once fucked a woman with hair so pale it might have well been white, almost to her death, taking her so brutally, refusing to stop, even when she pleaded with him in that strange, lilting language. Perhaps she did die afterward – he had no idea – he never saw her again. And then there was the black woman who had actually been magnificent. One of the best fucks of his life if there were such things. Well, what the hell, why not something different tonight.

He unsheathed his short sword and held it to Sara’s throat. She stared back at him, meeting his gaze, unflinching. Her blue eyes were cool. So, she wasn’t afraid of him.

Well, that would change before the night was through. Another reason to choose her, to remove her from the line-up. His chieftains wouldn’t appreciate a woman who was not accommodating.

He brought his blade down swiftly twice, severing the ropes that linked Sara to the women on either side, leaving her hands bound. He frowned as she didn’t flinch when he swung his sword. He jerked his chin at the attendants waiting in the shadows who materialized and pulled Sara from the line. Then he walked back to the fire and gestured for his first chieftain, Tebur, to rise and select. His black eyes glowed. This was the best part.

Sara was pushed roughly down a line of yurts by the same man who had bound her hands in the enclosure. No one was to touch her now that Arystan had claimed her, but they didn’t have to treat her gently. The man stopped before the largest tent in the compound, opened the flap and stepped through, yanking Sara inside with him by her wrists. He dragged her to a pole in the center of the room and pulled her hands over her head, attaching them to one of several, linked metal rings which hung from a bronze pin.

“Yeah, it’s just too bad I can’t have a turn with you,” the man breathed, licking his lips, as he watched the torchlight play over Sara’s naked breasts, his hand moving to his loins.

He inhaled sharply. “But I prefer to keep my cock attached to my balls.” He exited the tent quickly and re-tied the flap.

Sara felt her mind clearing. She was not used to drugs and had still felt under its influence at the bonfire, even though the effects had been waning. She had not reacted when Arystan had swung his sword. If she had had all of her wits about her, perhaps she could have thought of some way to escape by catching him unaware. Then again, possibly not since she apparently had been surrounded by the fiercest warriors in the camp.

Her mind was beginning to work faster now in the way in which she was accustomed; her intellect feeling more comfortable, familiar. Where was she? More importantly, who was she? She could not recall anything before she had been abducted by Sabalak on the plains. She had been starving and hungry, but certainly she had a past, didn’t she?