THE BONDS OF TIME
By
Gerard Whittaker
The Bonds of Time
By Gerard Whittaker
Smashwords edition.
Copyright by Gerard Whittaker, 2010
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Prologue
Yag-Urth's orange sun dipped towards the tree shrouded horizon, its dying light filtered through the foliage, staining the hidden soldiers a greenish amber as they crouched in well concealed trenches. Their leader, Captain Homer, crouched at the base of an immense Ironwood tree, tense with the usual pre-battle nerves he knew so well after a lifetime's soldiering, and wondered why they never got any easier. He checked his Boltcaster one more time, to take his mind off the crawling feeling that seemed to come from somewhere in his hollow gut.
The vertical copper magazine was still holding its ten bolts, just as it had when he'd checked it the last time, ten minutes ago. And when he pressed the cylindrical stock the glyph glowed slightly, indicating that the captive air elemental was still alive and ready to blow the modified crossbow bolts from the stocky weapon with impressive force, and, hopefully, at whoever he was aiming at. Carefully placing two leather wrapped bundles of bolts alongside his charcoal blackened rapier, he picked up the field farspeaker which was connected to Norvell's garrison, hoping that the thin wire hadn't been found by the Silvans and tapped.
"Captain Homer speaking Excellency," he whispered over the hissing line. "The jaws are set- how is the bait? Over."
"The bait is just fine Homer," laughed the supercilious voice from the copper cone that Homer held to his ear. He could just hear female screams in the background, as a score of Silvan slavegirls were being tortured for supposed crimes against their Soomish-Lagar masters. "And the hammer is ready."
When Homer had suggested this manner of baiting a trap for the Silvan raiders, he wasn't surprised that his Soomlar masters had readily agreed to it, but the enthusiasm that they'd shown for punishing their Silvan cousins had taken him by surprise. He wanted to use a few condemned prisoners, not innocent slaves.
Homer was a human mercenary who'd been employed by the Soomish-Lagar High People to put down a rebellion by the Silvan People; who, from the cover of their eternal forests, had waged a millennia long struggle for independence from the Soomlar's High Empire. But, as a mere mortal, he couldn't hope to understand the motives of two near immortal races- nor the hatred that had burned within their breasts for longer than mankind had existed on the world of Yag-Urth.
In his long career as a mercenary, Homer had switched sides between his various employers many times, and once, he had to admit, during a battle, when he found out that the other side had captured his paymasters wagon. But he was a professional, and bore his old foes no ill will- provided they didn't break the mercenary's code of conduct.
"Homer!" the farspeaker squeaked into his ear. "The rats have smelt the cheese; over!"
"Understood, we're ready; out!" He put the copper cone back into its leather case, and signalled to his men who were dug in along both sides of the narrow, heavily wooded, ravine. This was the escape route that the raiders would need as they attempted to fight their way free from Homer's trap, and, as the planner, he had the honour of holding the most dangerous position. It was an old custom of the Soomlar Empire, and one that he agreed with- it ensured that poor strategists didn't live long enough to get on the Imperial staff.
Suddenly there was a flash from far down the trail, as a scout reported movement by reflecting the dying Sun's rays off his polished dagger. Homer smiled as he regarded the farspeaker, thinking that despite the Soomlar's high technology, sometimes the old way were the best. Reading the code as the scout flashed his message, Homer learned that there were six Silvans fleeing from Norvell. Using hand signals he ordered his strike team to follow him, and a dozen green clad men crawled silently down to the trail and faded into the dark bushes.
"Ariss," he whispered to his lieutenant. "Tell the men to use stun bolts, I want them alive!" The tall slim half breed smiled, and faded from view. Being half of the People, Ariss was much better at woodcraft than the rest, but, thanks to his training, Homer's strike team was nearly as good as the Silvans. Homer carefully slid a thick bolt from his weapon harness, and slipped off the bamboo cover- then, cocking his Boltcaster, he slid the bolt into its breech, replacing the ejected bolt into the top of his magazine.
The Silvans appeared hurrying around the bend along the wide open trail, and into Homer's selected killing ground- this was the only spot on the trail without any cover that could be used by defenders. Watching the six Silvans hurry along the trail, Homer was surprised to discover that they were all girls- he smiled, and drew a bead on the loveliest- aiming straight between her breasts. They all wore the rusty silken tunics and baggy shorts of the Silvans, the only difference between the mail and female garments was that the latter was cut shorter. As she ran down the trail the first girl seemed to stiffen, as though she sensed something was wrong.
Homer touched the glyph, and blew his bolt straight at her with a sharp cough. She twisted at the sound, and the bolt just caught her right breast a stinging blow. Gasping in agony, she dived through the trap, and ran for her life. One second after Homer's shot, ten more coughs sounded surrounding the startled girls, and as the first girl fled past Homer, her companions started to drop as each was hit squarely with two drugged bolts.
Lunging after the terrified girl, Homer chased her through the heavy brush, as the drug started to race throughout her veins. Although she hadn't caught the full dose, or the numbing blow from the stun bolt, the drug was draining her strength and will. Deep inside her tiny body a war was raging as her terror activated adrenalin fought the tranquilliser. The end wasn't in doubt, it was only a question of how long she could stay awake, and running.
Finally the drug blurred her vision, causing her to collide with an Ironwood tree. She bounced off the impervious trunk, and into Homer's arms; still futily fighting her internal war. The girl screamed as she felt rough hands grip her slender wrists with the force of steel manacles. He gripped both wrists in one huge hand, and lifted her from the ground as though she was but a babe.
Gazing at him through a drug induced frenzy, she saw a man who towered over her by at least a foot and a half. His scarred face grinned at her savagely, and was framed by a mass of black hair that was just going grey at the temples. His camouflaged tunic and pants covered a light alloy vest of chain mail, and had pockets that held alloy panels which protected his arms and legs. A battle harness carried his equipment in leather pouches, while a sword was sheathed diagonally down his back.
Casually ripping open her silken blouse, to search for weapons, he found a slim dagger, and smiled again. "So, it looks like I made the right choice- carrying a concealed weapon is an enslaving offence girl!" He shook the delicate girl by her wrists, "Who are you, and where were you going!"
"I am Sharral of the Wrexfords- daughter of Count Sharonch, lord of the clan." She said it proudly, even as her heart pounded frantically in her drug confused state. "We were just picking herbs. You have no right to hold me!"
"You're a traitor," he told her coldly. "And probably a spy- so I have every right to hold you for as long as I want." Dropping her unexpectedly, she stumbled, and fell to the ground, where he twisted her wrists behind a tiny back, and tied them together harshly with a thin strip of leather that he pulled from his harness. "I might as well finish the search now, because I'd only have to start again later," he grinned savagely. "And I really don't think you'd look forward to it!"
Grabbing her weakly kicking legs, he dragged them brutally wide apart, knelt on her ankles, and then reached for her shorts- while Sharral gasped in horror. As he unbuckled her belt and started to pull the loose garment down her legs, he had time to admire her slim form and the filmy underware that enhanced her dainty figure. With his heart pounding nearly as much as the girl's, Homer grabbed the brief shift and yanked it up over her head, then pulled the panties down to her ankles- revealing a light auburn bush, and a tiny letter just showing from her startling cunt.
"I was praying to the Lady Ellbraeth that I wouldn't find this!" he told her grimly. "Do you know what it means?"
"No," she gasped as he pulled the roll of parchment from between her love lips. "I have not read it." She thought he couldn't read.
"Not the letter you stupid girl," he stormed. "Do you know what it means to you?"
"That I will be sold," she mumbled.
"No, it means that you're dead!" he said grimly. "Spys are executed, all that remains to be decided is your fate, the axe, the fire, or the stake- have you ever seen anyone impaled?"
"Please no!" the horror of his words brought her fighting from the drug induced drowsiness. Sharral was very young, for one of the People, and had expected to live for thousands of years- she had treated her part in the insurrection as a lark, but it was only now that she realised the seriousness of her situation. "Save me, I'll do anything," she cried. "Anything!"
"I wish I could." He held up the tiny letter, "I have to report this, and you- or I could lose some of my men due to poor intelligence. Sorry Sharral, but you'll be interrogated, and executed," he said sadly. "Girl- you're already dead!"
"My family is rich," she pleaded. "They will pay you anything; just walk away and name your price- you can go home a rich man!"
"And leave my men!" he scoffed. The thought of a fortune was intriguing, but he had bigger plans. "Oh no, you're not wriggling out of it that easy!"
Backhanding her casually, he ripped the sweat soaked panties free, pushed them into her mouth and tied them in with a strip of leather. She nearly choked on the mouthful of salty silk, and glared at him with large amber eyes that gleamed through freely running tears.
"I might as well have you- this will probably be your last time, so try and enjoy it!" Homer knew that he had an hour to spare before the battle would start in the town, and about two more before he would be needed, so he decided on a little recreation.
As he stripped, Homer had time to examine Sharral as she lay on the grass- writhing in desperation. Her shorts lay wrapped around twisting ankles, leaving her legs bare up to pleasantly wide hips and a very narrow waist- her arms were still tied tightly behind her back at wrists and elbows, forcing her small, but superb, breasts to stand out even further, and her blouse was open from her red groin to her slender neck, only managing to cover her shoulders. The white shift lay half across her bewitching face, so he pulled it free snapping the shoulder straps, and stared at her as if for the first time. Although she was tiny, scarcely five foot tall, and very slim, she was beautifully built- her heart shaped face was delightful, especially with the panty gag in, and was framed by a halo of deep, almost bronze, auburn hair. Her large amber eyes pleaded with him for the mercy that she knew she would not get. For the first time in her life she wished she was ugly.
"By the Goddess," Homer blasphemed. "What a woman!" She stared at him in horrified fascination as he descended on her like a frenzied beast. He thrust hard, and entered her with a single move, forcing a cry of anguish and pain through her gag, he thrust again and again as she writhed in agony, not caring how much he hurt her.
Sharral's beauty infected Homer like a plague, driving him into fevered delirium; until he only wanted to cool his inflamed passion on her defenceless body, as a poisoned man might frantically quaff a vial of the antidote. His incandescent desire tore through the frantic girl in pyretic current of lust, overpowering her pride of birth in pain, shame and disgust. She lay helplessly as he took her, blushing in shame, her frantic attempts to resist his strength were less than futile, and the only result was to feel his ardour inflamed even further by her defiance.
When he was through, Homer removed Sharral's gag and forced her to lick him clean- as she sobbed in shame. He dressed in a hurry and forced her to stand- roughly tying her blouse closed, and pulling up her torn shorts buttoned them low on bruised hips. Then, looping the thin belt around her neck, he pulled her after him savagely, picking up her torn shift and panties as he made his way back to the ambush. Homer was very pleased with the way things had gone- he hadn't thought about his butterflies in over an hour.
"Captain." Sharral gasped, trembling, as he pulled her through the seemingly eternal forest, and asked nervously, "may I speak?" Her reply was a backhander that caught her backside with a loud crack! She stumbled, and fell screaming to the forest floor.
"You've one question," he said with a savage grin. "So make it a good one- because I'm going to gag you after!"
"Did you enjoy me?" she moaned. "And would you like to do it again?"
"Yes I did, so what?" he sneered.
"If I was your slave, you could have me anytime." she moaned in desperation. "Please do not kill me, I beg to be your slave- master!" The last word sounded strange coming from her torn and bleeding lips, so she tried it again, "Master!" He knew that she meant it, and that she meant him, and turned to hide his grin.
"You're going to die girl! Get that through your head! It's not up to me." He forced the panty gag back in her mouth, and savagely jerked her after him through the timeless woods. Sharral seemed to collapse in on herself as her courage fled; she had made a last ditch attempt in asking the beast of a man to take her for a slave, and that was something that happened very rarely, for most of her People would rather die than suffer what they saw as the ultimate indignity, to be an immortal slave to a mortal man. Sharral now knew that she was going to die.
* * *
Back at the ambush, Homer tied Sharral to a tree next to the other five girls, and promptly forgot about her as the battle reports started coming in.
Nearly a thousand Sylvan raiders had invested Norvell before realising that it was a trap, and that they didn't face a local garrison, but the cream of the Soomlar Legions. The raiders had reached the tortured slaves on the lower level of the Norvell Citadel, and freed them without much resistance, but when they started to withdraw, the town became a death trap, as a hundred of the new elemental powered battle bikes descended upon them like a swath of mechanised death.
The new cavalry mounts were a cross between Stevenson's Rocket and a tricycle, but they could out-run horses, and had a powerful self loading ballista mounted on the handlebars, with a magazine containing twenty heavy bolts. They were a formidable weapon against the Sylvan light cavalry, and protected by a transparent shield in front, and the steam engine at the rear, the troopers were very hard to hit with the Silvan's bows. The screeching metal monsters stopped on the hill overlooking the town's main square, and opened up with their ballista's on the fleeing horsemen, each firing a bolt every ten seconds, bringing down a hundred within the first minute. The Silvans fled in rout at the surprise attack.
Stopping only long enough to reload their magazines, the bikes swooped down on the raiders like grim reapers. Deep inside their boilers were enslaved minor fire and water elementals that provided all the steam the bikes needed without anyone having to shovel coal or fill up the water tank. And yet another minor fire elemental glowed from high on the steaming stacks, bathing all around in a harsh bLyneth light. They swerved and dodged through the fleeing horses, firing ballistas at point blank range, to devastating effect. It was only when they ran out of bolts, and the Silvans thought to attack the bikes wheels, that they started to withdraw, and that had been planned long ago by Homer. As the Silvans fled along the dark road, leaving nearly four hundred dead and wounded in the town, the size of the disaster became evident- traps were strung across the road every few yards, wearing them down, and then the Soomlars latest weapon struck from above.
A monstrous dark form blotted out three of the Worlds four moons, and a dozen fire elementals were dispatched to swoop around the fleeing men, bathing them in a blinding bluish light- as a swarm of bolts tore into them from above. The elementals brilliant light revealed a huge menacing skyship which was held aloft by four enormous triangular wingsails, each supported by an howling air elemental- it was fully five times the size of any other warship in Yag-Urth's skys, and the rails were lined with Boltcaster armed men. The two hundred foot aerial dreadnought easily kept pace with the fugitives, showering them with a hail of death.
In desperation, the Silvans only Mage cast a single spell. A beam of scintillating energy shone from his palm to impale one of the rear elementals, revealing another line of energy connecting it to the controlling Mage. The Soomlar Mage cast a beam at the Silvan, forming a glowing triangle of energy from the fleeing horseman to the elemental to the skyship's Mage and back to the horseman. The two People met in a magical duel as each sought to control the elemental. Finally, the beam connecting it to the Soomlar Mage went dead as he lost control. Tearing loose it took off like a rogue whirlwind, and leapt into the sky- to disapper in the dark. The skyship staggered sternwards, and started to slip towards the trees- as its crew began to slide down to the stern rail.
In desperation, the Captain ordered the other elementals released, and managed to catch the monstrous vessel on its wingsails before it could stall, and crash into the forest of immense Ironwood trees, which seemed to point at the frail skyship like a phalanx of pikes. Gliding like a colossal bat, the skyship just managed to reach an open field before its wheel tipped skids groaned as they slammed into the ploughed land, tearing six huge ruts across the muddy acres- scattering a score of peasants and their slaves, then crushing a seed cart into kindling- before it came to rest a scarce six feet from the Ironwoods impervious trunks.
The Silvan Mage grinned as he released the other Mage from his spell, thinking that without the skyship's pursuit they were now safe- he hadn't yet seen the bikes which were now rearmed and gaining on the exhausted horses, and nor did he know about the rest of Homer's carefully planned trap. What had happened so far was just to soften them up, and soon the real battle would commence.
The wide road, that had been built to carry farm produce to Norvell from the scattered farms in the Ironwoods few clearings, soon turned into a narrow track as it wound through the heavily wooded hills, and headed through the saddle of two mountains towards the near legendary Silvan city of Lallabaree. The city's location in the endless forest was the greatest secret of the Silvans, and one that the Soomlar had sought in vain for nearly ten thousand years. The path had been neglected and all but forgotten for centuries; its only users were the lost or the desperate, for only they would dare enter the Silvan's realm from the Soomlar's Empire.
But now five hundred horsemen galloped up the overgrown track as a hundred metal beasts pursued, gaining a few yards with every mile- and while the Silvan's horses were almost ready to drop, the bikes would go on forever. Just before the final climb through the high pass, and across an imaginary line that existed only in the minds of the Soomlar's cartographers, to define the limits of their Empire, the track dipped and ran through a narrow valley. Although expecting an agent to confirm that the pass was safe, the Silvan's leader was so hard pressed by the bikes that he had no choice but to order his remaining raiders to race across the pass as fast as they could, and ignore the cost- before scattering into the forest to make their own roundabout way to Lallabaree. He didn't know it, but the cost would be far more than he could afford to pay. Having fought their way passed road blocks and traps for the first ten miles, the last five had been free of anything other than the fast approaching bikes- lulling them into a false sense of security.
As the raiders raced down the dark valley, hidden nets sprang up from all sides, cutting them into small groups. Minor fire elementals swooped around the startled men, throwing them from panicking horses. Murderous Boltcaster fire rained down from entrenched positions. And small glass jars were dropped from swiftly darting skyboats, which released clouds of orange gas when they shattered among the Silvan raiders- blinding, and choking the men with nauseating vapours.
Very few escaped, and most were taken alive as they lay on the ground, sickened from the rapidly dispersing gas. But those who did flee knew that with their almost inconsequential birth rate it would take a thousand years to replace those who were lost, and that when the time came there would be restitution. They swore vengeance by the Lady Ellbraeth that when the time came they would reap a thousand for every one they lost! The war would continue until the end of time.
Far above Yag-Urth's skys, and slightly out of its dimension, a Godess cried on hearing her name used in such an oath; she watched helplessly as the Ealder's aeonic plot unfolded.
Homer walked among the litter of battle, well pleased with his nights work, but looking forward to being paid and ending his contract. This was always the most dangerous time for a mercenary, just after a battle when his men were almost out of ammo and exhausted. It wouldn't be the first time that he had been attacked by employers too tight-fisted to pay him. It was easy to report that they were mistaken for the enemy, or had all perished in the fighting. But Homer was a professional, and had taken all the usual precautions, half his fee had been paid in advance, and the other half was deposited in a brokers in Orissia. His company was even now falling back to a pick up point, awaiting a skyship, and to be told whether they would be invited to the victory parade- or their executions.
As the prisoners were being chained, a private skysloop circled the battlefield, and swooped down to land with scarcely a jar. Grinning, Homer walked over and saluted his employer with a clenched fist, only to see the man scowl at not being given a formal abasement as was his right. The Soomish-Lagar General was nearly eight foot of arrogance, he stepped from his Sloop's ramp only after a tall girl had carefully brushed his platinum shoulder length hair, and walked across the bare back of a petite slave girl who threw herself into a muddy puddle to prevent her masters thigh length boots from getting dirty. Homer thought that he had deliberately walked towards the puddle just to check that the girl was paying attention to his every need. Over his immaculately polished boots he wore a double breasted jacket of sky bLyneth with scarlet cuffs and lapels, but it was covered with so many gold buttons, medals and lengths braid that it was hard to see the cloth. On his head was a fancy hat that was so garnished with feathers that it was impossible to even guess what shape it was, but Homer knew that each feather had been plucked from the hat of someone who he had slain in a duel; just as his slavegirls had been plucked from their dead husbands and fathers. Homer also knew that the medals had been won in hand to hand combat. Another slavegirl, a statuesque brunette with a dusky tan and large doe eyes, carried his slender seven foot sword with reverence exactly three feet from his right hand, she never moved more than six inches out of position- it was her only duty, and one that she had performed well for the last thousand years.
"It's over revered leader, the last of them are being chained even as we speak." Homer gave a respectful bow, but he wasn't going to abase himself on a battlefield, and certainly not when his boss had that sword at hand, and no witnesses- the slavegirls didn't count, for they were mute- the General had only one use for a slavegirls mouth, and that wasn't for talking.
"Good Captain, then my victory is complete." Homer didn't like the sound of that, 'My victory' at all. "But what of the spies?"
"I found no evidence on five of the girls I interrogated Excellency, and so I ask that they be treated as spoils of war."
"That is a fair and just reward for their complicity, yes Captain you may share them among your men, but what of the sixth traitor- where is she?" On Homer's command Ariss led a terrified Sharral to her fate by the thin belt that was still looped around her neck.
The general stared at her in cold amusement on seeing that she was covered in dirt after being dragged through the forest by her neck and dishevelled hair- her blouse was torn down the middle and crudely tied together in a large knot which revealed her breasts and waist- her ragged, stained shorts were barely keeping up on her hips- her ankles were hobbled by afoot of chain, and someone had wrapped a rope tightly around her arms from hands to elbows forcing them together behind her back. She had stood like that for hours now without being able to move a single muscle, and was in agony. Her large amber eyes were leaking tears at an alarming rate, staining both her cheeks and dripping down past her panty gagged, lips.
"I must say that you know how to treat traitors!" the General said with an approving grin.
"It's a knack I picked up somewhere," Homer dismissed it casually. "You've read the letter, what is her sentence?"
"She will be executed at dawn as an example to her kin," he said it absently, as though her life meant nothing at all. "But you can have her tonight if you want?" Sharral almost fainted.
"She was amusing," Homer mused. "Yes I'd like that, but what can I do to her?"
"Anything at all, just make her wish for dawn!" Sharral gagged, and fainted. Arris just caught her in time and slung her over his shoulder. "I'll have her delivered to your quarters, now what about the slaves, are there any worth ransoming?"
"Only a few lord, but the rest will man your galleys." Homer smiled as Sharral was carried away, and then set about the usual tedious post-battle work.
* * *
It was the early hours before Homer reached his quarters; he had nearly forgotten about the girl, but found her hanging from the rafters of his small room with a Soomlar guard lightly whipping her, and dripping candle wax on her bare feet.
"That's all," he told the guard wearily. "You may leave now."
"Sorry Captain," the guard replied respectfully. "I've orders to remain with her at all times in case she tries to escape- I'm sure you understand?"
"And to ensure that I make her pay," Homer said tiredly. "Very well, you may watch." He lowered Sharral to the floor and slowly stripped her; marvelling again at how she affected him. He removed her bonds and the gag, grinning as she finally stood before him totally naked.
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked in terror, while unsuccessfully trying to cover her small, perfect breasts and reddish bush with shaking hands.
"Beat you, rape you- and see you killed!" he said simply and reached for a wide belt. She stared at him in hopeless dread.
* * *
At dawn, Sharral was dragged trembling before the Soomlar General by her sickly guard. The place of execution was a stone tower that jutted off Novell's Citadel next to the market place, and every Silvan in the town had been rounded up to watch her die. On the flat roof were the three traditional methods of execution: the axe, the pyre and the slim stake.
"Are you ready to die, Sharral of the Wrexford clan?" the General asked her in the formal address. He was looking forward to hearing the girl pleading for her life, and knew that she would die anyway.
"Kill me Excellency, please!" Sharral flung herself at his feet, holding her chained wrists up in supplication. "But don't let him near me again!" She gestured to where Homer lounged against a wall with an evil grin plastered across his face.
"How did it go?" he asked the slightly green guard with surprise.
"General I've done these tasks before, as you well know." The guard dropped to his knees and then lay in a formal abasement. "Respectfully, I request that I am never again given this task." He looked a Homer in disgust. "The man is a monster!"
"Kneel at the block girl!" the General ordered her.
"Thank you!" she ran to her death almost with relief.
"What did you do to her?" the General asked in wonder.
"Esteemed leader," Homer sank in a formal abasement. "I merely gave the traitorous bitch a taste of hell- before she reaches it!" Everyone who could hear his low evil chuckle shuddered. Sharral bent over the block, as the executioner approached with his axe- he took his place, and raised the axe, looking at the General for the confirmation.
The General was in a dilemma, he wasn't evil, being of the People he couldn't be. Sharral's unfortunate death was meant to be a warning to any other of her People who were thinking of rebelling, and to save their lives; as well as hundreds of others who would inevitably perish in a mutiny. 'But damn it!' he cursed under his breath. 'She is not supposed to want to die! And it looks too easy.'
To give himself time to think he caught the executioners eye, and shook his head. The double handed axe swung down, to bite into the wooden block next to Sharral's expectant neck. The haft struck her a stunning blow, and the blade left a thin red line and inch long just under her chin. At the thud she jerked and rolled over, falling off the block- to lay unconscious.
Sharral awoke a few minutes later, expecting to see her Lady's garden, instead she saw Homer's cruel face staring down at her- she nearly fainted again.
"You've a week longer to live girl, in my care!" Homer whispered with a deep chuckle as he released his belt. Sharral sprang to her feet and ran to throw herself at the General's polished boots, falling over his sword bearer. The other girl stumbled and almost dropped the sword, sprawling against her master.
"You clumsy bitch!" The General shouted at his slave- she turned white, and threw herself at his feet next to the quaking Sharral. He reached for his sword, and examined its highly polished scabbard for scratches, but to both girls relief he didn't draw it; for it could never be sheathed without drawing blood, and they knew who's blood it would be. "Homer, chain them both to the stake," he snarled. "It looks like I need a new sword bearer!" The girl scampered to her feet trying to flee, but there was nowhere to run to on the bare tower, and the only exit was filled with the General's personal guard. Homer grabbed Sharral's manacled wrists and started dragging her towards the stake, as she pleaded with the General.
"Please lord, kill me I beg thee, but don't let him have me again!" Homer clipped her manacles to a bracket high on the Ironwood stake, carefully avoiding the oil filled pool that surrounded it. The guard was whipping the girl towards the stake, as she tried to speak for the first time in a millennia, but all she could manage was a whimper. Homer grabbed her long dark hair as the guard manacled her, and hung her next to Sharral by her wrists. Then, winding a crank in the post, he hoisted them both until the girl stood on tiptoes, but the shorter Sharral hung a foot off the oil slick tiles.
"You may use them both," the General told Homer casually. "I would observe your style."
"And then lord, are they both to die?" Homer stripped the swordbearer of her simply draped, but ornate silken toga, ceremonialy folded it, and presented it to the General- who accepted what was, in effect, his coat of arms, with hauteur. Homer turned to examining the raven haired woman closely for the first time. Trembling in terror, she hung tall and slender from the post, with proud breasts and wide hips. Her complexion was a light olive, almost golden- her waist length hair and large eyes were both of gleaming jet. She had a face of classical beauty- her forehead was wide and intelligent, with a slender aristocratic nose- her mouth full and lush with perfect white teeth. "Surly you'll not waste this!" Homer gasped in disgust.
"If she had dropped the sword of my honour, then I would have had no choice, but I was thinking of changing my uniform, and she would clash with the new colour." The general said it as though discussing wallpaper. "So I might as well dispose of her now." The girl, who had been devoted to him for over a thousand years, stared on in horrified incredulity.
Homer lashed her a few times, and then noticed a metallic gleam under her dark bush- he bent to look closer and found that her clit had been carefully sewn shut with golden thread, and sealed.
"May I ask about her Excellency?" Homer said respectfully. "I have never seen her like."
"Very well, but go on with the beating while I speak." Homer started to lash both the girls one stroke apiece as he learned of the sword bearer. "Her father was a noble of the Nomad People who took offence to something I said about his ancestry- so he challenged me." He didn't mention the war that had been avoided due to a zealot's early death, or the duels outcome. "But, because she was not of age, I had to take care of his daughter." Sharral's screams broke his concentration, and he looked at the sweating man with a mixture of respect and disgust.
"Thank you lord. But why is she dumb, and what about the seal?"
"She was trained to fulfil a very important duty, but, as my sword bearer, she had access to all manor of sensitive information- so I made sure that she could neither read nor write, and had her muted. I can't stand gossipy slaves. I thought about sealing her ears as well but decided against it," he said absently. "I also made sure at an early age that sex would never interfere with her work!"
"How long is it since she's been with a man?" Homer was intrigued.
"I thought that she would not miss what she had never had, so it was more humane to seal her still virgin." Homer stopped dead with his lash halfway to Sharral's back, and turned back to his employer with a look of wonder.
"She's never had sex!" he gasped. "By The Lady! How old is she?"
"I am not sure, we don't bother keeping track like you mayflys." He thought about it. "She is still quite young by our standards, in fact barely out of apprenticeship- say about twelve hundred years."
"She's still a virgin at twelve hundred!" Homer broke down laughing. "Goddess, she must be as frustrated as hell!" The General started to smile as he realised for the first time what he had done. "What's her name?"
"I have no idea," the General laughed for the first time, "I did not bother to ask before her operation, and it was too late after. She answers to 'Hey you!'" Both men laughed aloud, whilst the girls hung in agony above their funeral pyre.
"Master," Sharral gasped respectfully through her agony. "Will you please kill me? Anyway, but I can not stand this man any longer!"
"Anyway!" the General said with raised eyebrows. "Do you fear him that much? Would you accept the stake?" She looked at the twelve foot pole, that had two even higher ladders mounted at both sides, in grim resignation, it was by far the worst punishment inflicted by any of the People, and it could take hours to finally kill. But she feared Homer more than death!
"Yes Excellency!" she cried in a voice that shook everyone in the huge silent crowd. "I beg to be impaled!"
"Then so be it!" he snapped with a voice of ice. "Release her Homer, and let her clime to her doom!" Homer freed Sharral and followed her up the ladder as the executioner climbed the other one. At the top was a short thin plank which lay between the ladders rungs two feet below the stake's smooth three inch wide tip. She stood on the plank, noticing the rope that led from it to a cleat at the steak's base for the first time. Then they loosely tied her wrists to a thin rail on each ladder by three feet of cord. She was just about to sit on the tip when the executioner stopped her, and made her lower herself so that the rounded tip touched her vagina. Sharral gasped, and slowly started to twist and force the massive shaft inside her, knowing that it had a long way to go- she shuddered, a full twelve feet!
"You don't have to go through with this." Homer whispered as a cold wind started to blow high over the town of Norvell. "I could ask that you be given to the flames, the pain will only last a few minutes- I promise you."
"I am not afraid." she said coldly in a voice that carried, by some freak of the wind, to everyone in the square, and forced the shaft further inside her- while gasping in agony.
"Goodbye Sharral of the Wrexford clan," Homer said sincerely. "It was a pleasure to have known you!" The executioner grabbed her ankles one by one and tied a loop of cord around each, wrapping them loosely around the stake. She sat on bent legs with the shaft deep inside her, and although she was only loosely bound, she could hardly move- in fact, the only way she could go was down!
"May you burn in the hottest caverns of hell Captain Homer!" she spat at him. "At least I know where I am going."
"Do you really?" He chuckled, and started to clime back down the ladder. "How many innocents have died because of the information you passed to the raiders, and how many of them perished or were enslaved due to your interference?" He turned to look back up at her shocked face. "Shall I tell you little miss know it all? Over two hundred died, and over seven hundred will spend an eternity rowing a galley!" He laughed grimly, "I once heard that Silvans make lousy sailors, and I've never heard of one who could swim!"
"But I did not know!" she wailed, struggling in her bonds.
"Good luck Sharral, I hope the Lady likes you as much as I do!" Homer shouted back up the stake as he and the executioner reported to the General. But that worthy was having a crisis of conscious, he'd had doubts about the execution for a long while, but now he judged that he was making Sharral into a martyr. Her death was supposed to save lives, not start a sweeping mutiny.
"Sharral, do you plead for mercy?" the General shouted to her, as the executioner untied the lanyard which was connected to the plank she stood on. All he had to do was give one good yank and she would be slowly impaled, sliding down the slick stake- death would not come easy.
"I plead for nothing," she called back. "Except that you get on with it!" At her courage the crowd gave a cheer, and the General started to get very nervous- most of his troops were still pursuing the few Silvan raiders who had managed to flee, or trying to dig his skyship from the muddy field that clung to it in earnest, and he was now surrounded by thousands of restless Silvans.
"Stop the execution!" he snapped. "Release her at once!" The crowd gave a gentle cheer, thinking that he was freeing her.
"Oh no lord, kill me- I beg thee!" Sharral had been through more than enough within the last day, and was far beyond breaking. "Do not let him have me, I plead mercy!" As if from the blue the General saw his way out; he could not kill her, and he could not free her, but her could give her away into the only thing she seemed to fear.
"Did you enjoy her Homer?" the General asked him with an evil grin.
"Yes Excellency, very much- what do you have in mind?" Homer started to grin.
"How would you like to have her?" She screamed as the executioner and the guard started climbing the ladders. "All you have to do is beat her every day."
"I would lord, but I'd need someone to help- I do have a company to run after all!"
"Who do you want?" He thought Homer would ask to borrow the guard.
"I just need someone who will feed and clean her- your ex-sword bearer would do fine- but I'd want her permanent!"
"You have a nerve!" the General laughed. "I offer you one slave and you ask for two! By the Lady, I actually like you!"
Sharral was dragged forward and thrown to Homer's feet, screaming hysterically, and the crowd started to lose interest when they realised that she was only be enslaved and not martyred.
"Sharral," the General said aloud. "Formally of the Wrexford clan; you are hereby sentenced to be enslaved, and are sold to the man who caught you spying for the sum of one copper." The nominal coin made it legal, Sharral was now a slave, and would remain one for the rest of her life. "But I also issue a suspended death sentence- if you are treated kindly, sold, or freed, before Homer dies of natural causes, or battle wounds- you will be slain on sight!"
"NO!" Sharral gasped, and succumbed to hysterics.
Homer slapped her face hard, bringing her back to her worst nightmare. "You're mine girl, and I'll make you hate it!" Picking her up by an handful of red hair, as she struggled weakly, he turned to the General. "Thank you Excellency, I'll take good care of the slave bitch- believe me!"
The other girl was released from the pyre and thrown to her knees at Homers feet- where she was also sold for one copper. "I'll have to see about that," He touched her sealed vagina, and she turned white- then tried to mewl something, but he shook his head with a grin. "No, I won't have your voice fixed, I like you just the way you are!"
The General pulled a ruby ring from a well manicured finger and gave it to Homer, smiling warmly. "I shall have the documents delivered to your quarters."
"Many thanks," Homer grinned at his new friend. "But why the ring?"
"The swordbearer's soul is trapped inside the ruby. While you wear the ring she can never betray you. I wish you luck Captain."
"Thank's highness, I may need it!" Homer grinned at the slaves, and led them from the tower naked and manacled.
The General wondered if he should have killed Sharral out of mercy, but he knew it was the one thing he could not afford.
Homer dragged them to the healers, to have the swordbearer, who he decided to call Kare, unsealed- it was a long painful and embarrassing operation, but she didn't complain, and never would about anything. He started to wonder if he should have Sharral's voice fixed as well, but he loved it when she called him master. When they left the healers an hour later, Sharral wore the remains of the silken shift that only just covered from prominent nipples to her fiery groin, but she did still have her panties- in her mouth. However, the only thing Kara wore was a bandage between her legs, it would take her weeks to recover from a millennia's atrophy, but he could wait.
He dragged the slaves home and threw them on his bed, slamming and the locking the door.
Sharral spoke for the first time in over an hour, as her mounting dread overrode her terror paralysed brain. "Kill me master," she whispered. "Please!"
"Kill you!" Homer laughed. "After all the trouble I went through to save your life- you must be joking! No girl, you're mine- now and always."
"Why?" she pleaded. "Why pick on me?"
"Because I like you," he said with a big grin. "Didn't you realise that you little fool!"
"Yes, to torture!" she snapped.
"No, it's a lot more than that. But I'll still have to beat you; just to make it look good, and because I like it." She gasped and started to pull away. "Don't worry, I won't go too far, but when my contract is finished you're going with me."
"But why did you not enslave me in the forest?" she begged as tears started to leak from her large amber eyes. "It would have been so much easier."
"Ariss followed me- he's one of my best men, but he would have been honour bound to report us both."
"Why go to all this trouble?" she begged again.
"Does it matter," he said hoarsely. "You're mine- now and for the rest of my life."
Homer chained her to his bed, and raped her, gently, lovingly. Kara looked on in wonder, knowing that it would soon be her turn, and that she was both dreading it and desiring it.
"Now you know I can give pleasure as well as pain," he told Sharral a long dreamy time later. "But it's up to you."
"I have a choice?" she asked in wonder.
"Yes," he said with a grin. "Just tell the General that you want to stay with me, and you'll be on the bonfire before you know it!"
"Then I'll have to grin and bear it?" she said with her first real smile. "But it will not be forever, will it?" Homer only smiled, he had heard of a place where life could be extended for hundreds of years, and he had every intention of finding it.
CHAPTER ONE
THE CONTRACT
Sandy led his grey pony quietly through Aeden's primeval forest, their footsteps went unheard under the constant droning of spectacularly large insects which buzzed all around in prismatic splendour. He grinned at the airborne metallic kaleidoscope, knowing that none could harm him, and that their deafening hum would conceal his approach from the keen ears of his reptilian quarry. He stalked confidently through the hundred foot high fern trees and the dense undergrowth which futily tried to catch his skin-tight chameleon suit with hundreds of tiny thorns. The familiar excitement of the hunt made him feel truly alive, and he gloried in it! Sandy kept one eye on his path and the other on the screen of the motion detector strapped to his left wrist that swirled in a greenish blur as it sought to ignore the meter long insects, while still pointing towards the Hadrosaur herd.
As he neared the clearing, Sandy checked his Zeus rifle's capacitor, hoping that the new program would direct more of the charge into the beasts central nervous systems', instead of wasting the energy in an impressive and painful pyrotechnic display that would send the creatures into a stampede rather than silently dropping them.
Tethering his mount Appolloina, to a small tree, he crept around downwind of the clearing, and slithered underneath a bush, to gaze upon the forty or so Hadrosaurs as they lapped at a small pool, and grazed upon the sweet grass and tropical foliage. The adults reached up to thirty feet long, and resembling over-sized kangaroos with rearward slopping crests that acted as voice amplifiers, and, starting at their broad bills, swept back almost covering their graceful necks. They were covered in a fine green silken fuzz that had brown stripes and orange patches which blended into the forest's primary colours. Several of the magnificent beasts were industriously rubbing itchy hides against immense gnarled trees, leaving copious quantities of their superfluous winter-coat to drift around the clearing, clogging the pool and being swooped up by a multitude of nesting flying reptiles.
Sandy stared at the the primeval spectacle in awe, as he wiped the sweat from his blond hair plastered brow, and smelt the rank earthy aroma of mountains of fresh dung that drifted over the fragrantly humid forest. It wasn't the first time he'd seen, or whiffed, a herd of Parasaurolophus, or duck billed Hadrosaurs, at rest, but he always felt the same, and thanked God that he'd had the good sense to apply for a job that had asked for pioneers. Of course he didn't know then that the job was being offered by time travellers, or that the new world they mentioned was just that, an alternate Earth where Dinosaurs had evolved instead of becoming extinct, and mammals had never been. But it was a lonely life being a game warden and scout on a world that had just one town of about fifteen thousand people; there were plenty of women in the town that would have been more than happy to join with Sandy, but none who would wish to share his nomadic life, or the dangers that he seemed to thrive on.
Brought up a farmers son on the lovely but barren Pennines between Lancashire and Yorkshire, he hated bustling towns and cities, instead preferring the quiet solitude of the rapidly shrinking wilderness. Greedy developers had fought to rape his land in order to build shopping precincts that nobody needed or wanted- and his precious childhood dreams now lay buried under miles of sterile concrete and featureless glass boxes. At six foot two and of a wiry athletic build, he hadn't the strength of many in the town, but he had the stamina to keep going all day and all night at whatever task he set himself; his face was roughened by the elements but still ruggedly handsome, despite his chosen lifestyle.
Raising the Zeus into line with the nearest Hadrosaur, a female of about five tons, she had a shorter crest that the males and was preening an infant that was half the size of his pony, he glanced once more at his charge LED, wishing that it didn't take ten seconds for the power pack to recharge the capacitor between each shot. Then Sandy stared through the head up display which folded over his right eye from an head band; it was a thin transparent sheet which displayed everything he needed to know about the weapon and his environment. Sandy took up the first pressure on the trigger and a red laser beam sprang from the Zeus to strike the female just underneath her bright crest and three inches behind her right eye; she didn't even notice it. Taking a deep breath, and then slowly breathing it out through his nose, he took up the second pressure; to loose a concentrated blast of energy with a faint crackle. It struck exactly on the laser's red dot; the Hadrosaur jerked as if she'd been poleaxed, and sank down as though going to sleep. The others didn't even notice, and Sandy relaxed; the last time he'd shot one it had caused a stampede that nearly killed him.
Slowly, he started to drop the others, one by one, until a faint buzz caught his attention. His HUD was linked to the motion detector, which had picked up several large forms moving towards him, but they didn't match any of the expected lifeforms. Sliding back into the bush he glanced through his HUD, scanning the thick cover, only to see that it was alive with ten foot forms that could only be seen as bright spots on infra red. But he didn't need to see them to know what they were, for only one creature on Aeden was that good at fieldcraft. On realising how much trouble he was in, his mouth felt dry and his last meal seemed to turn cold and greasy in his stomach. Sandy faded hastily back into the bush snatching the tiny radio from his weapon-belt with a shaking hand.
"Scout to Hawkeye, come in Hawkeye," he whispered tensely. "Code Mayday, repeat Mayday; over!"
"Hawkeye to Scout," came the sharp reply. "What's the situation? Over."
"I've got unwelcome company," Sandy said drily. "And would appreciate a lift; over."
"Carnies?" The sound of a siren came over the comlink, and that of running feet as the marines scrambled for their skimmer. "ETA ten minutes, keep your head down and tracer on; over."
"Will do Hawkeye; over and out." Sandy sighed with relief on realising he rated that kind of response, but then realised that everyone did, there we few enough humans on Aeden, and they all pulled together when push came to shove. Although no-one knew about the Carnies when Aeden was first colonised in a desperate attempt to save thousands of lives, the citizens felt that they'd paid enough to be left in peace. The rent had been mostly paid in blood.
Suddenly the forest came alive with the sound of thrashing as the Carnies smelt him, and started poking huge spears and swords into every bush in an attempt to flush him out. He backed silently towards his horse as one huge Carnie started prying into the bush that he'd been lying under; it caught his sent, and hissed a warning to the rest of the clan. The ten foot tall reptile was covered in greenish brown inch wide scales and a crude vest of chainmail. The face was a dentist's nightmare with a savage snout full of drooling inch long fangs, and the eyes gleamed with scarlet hate on spying him. The ton of enraged carniasaure wielded an eight foot sword of jagged steel in both well developed clawed arms. On spotting Sandy it charged with a sibilant hiss. Sandy dropped it with a hip shot; using his HUD he could hardly miss, but he couldn't fire again for ten seconds. He turned at the faint sound of a metallic rustle, but missed the second Carnie that attacked his exposed back. A spear caught his back with a sledgehammer's might, but slid harmlessly off his lightly armoured suit; leaving a huge bruise on one shoulder. The chameleon suit was an artificial living organism that was capable of self-repair, and while it would prevent penetration by most weapons, it couldn't protect him from the bone crushing trauma of a weapon swung by a one ton Carnie with the might of a battering-ram. Sandy staggered under the thrust, hastily rolling forward to evade the follow-up blow that should have crushed his skull, and landed on his back against a tree- stunned and breathless. The twelve foot spear was driven straight down like a piledriver, burying the meter of razor sharp head an inch from Sandy's right ear with an eruption of soil. He gasped as the thick shaft nearly tore his ear off, blinking as the damp earth rained down on his HUD, confusing the sensors and nearly blinding him with an avalanche hysterical data. Raising the Zeus, he frantically tryed to bring it to bear on the Carnie that seemed to tower over him like a mountain of death. He aimed instinctively and squeezed the trigger. But nothing happened. The charge indicator still glowed red, it would be another five seconds before it changed to green, Sandy knew he didn't have that long to live.