A successful experiment in The Slave's Dream leads to dreams of a normal life as a freewoman. Tyra tests the final bonds to her former warriors. Ketrick goes too far. The challenge of a foe returns. Tyra's loyalty and warrior honor are tested. A long day as a siolat girl is just a prelude of things to come in the fight to defend her city.

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The Legal Stuff: The Warrior from Batuk  © 2004, 2007 Aardvark
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 

 
Photo Credit: 3.bp.blogspot.com

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Chapter 6
 
 
When I emerged from The Slave's Dream, the world was new. I inhaled fresh air, and marveled at the deep blue afternoon sky. I twirled in my dress! I wanted to skip down the street. Tisa, though, didn't didn't share my mood. She grabbed my hand and dragged me away. I didn't care. I was free!

We slipped down a few side streets to make sure there were no abductors or blackmailers following us. Then Tisa took me to a park not far from home, to a wooden bench in a clearing off the main path, nestled between trees and bushes, where it was safe enough to uncover our veils.

“You called me Mistress!” Tisa exclaimed. “I’m almost afraid to ask; what happened in there?”

I couldn't stop grinning. I didn't want to risk losing her respect for me, but the way I felt, I would risk it. “Tisa, I’m a slut. I admitted to the first man that I was a natural slave in less than fifteen minutes. Then I satisfied four men in three hours.”

Both her eyebrows rose as high as they could go. “Goddess! How do you feel?”

I raised my hands in the air. “Wonderful! It wasn’t really me in the club, it was the girl I created, not the same as going through it yourself, but the aftereffects.... How can I describe this? Satisfied seems a poor word. The urges were put to bed happy; I ... I was well-brolled.” And sore, I added privately. It may have been someone else's memory, but my body had taken a pounding.

Tisa pushed out her lips and blew. She leaned closer; said in a lower voice, “You know that you're a natural slave -- for certain?”

I nodded. The faintest possibility that I was not had died a pleasurable death beneath the twylls of four men. “It bothers me that I've lost my virginity. I think that eventually I'll want to marry one day, if that’s possible as a serum girl. I mean, I know I like men, or at least what they can do to me...” I stopped at Tisa's stare. I was rambling. I didn't care. I laughed. “Tisa, it worked!”

“If someone abducted you, would you submit?” she asked, looking at me very oddly.

“If I was unprepared, I’d probably cross my wrists to the first strong man who wanted me as his slave in under an hour. The good news is that if I'm careful, I don't think I'll have to. I feel -- wonderful!”

She took my hand, and looked into my eyes, searching for her sister, I supposed. I was a continent away from that girl trapped in dark despair. A stray thought made me laugh again. Once again, my parents had a single virgin daughter -- and it wasn’t me.

“I’m happy for you. I can’t wait until you tell Mother and Father.”

I shook my head. “I can’t tell them, and neither can you,” I said seriously.

“Why?”

“You were right about Hana. She never thought it would work; it was supposed to be a merciful distraction until the urges stole my will. Remember when she advised me at first to submit to a strong master? She's not one of the loons that goes around telling masters to free their slaves. No rational person would give away — or try to create — a way to counter Ruk’s Serum. Think of the chaos! Instead of giving criminals Ruk's Serum, magistrates would simply kill them. Masters could no longer be sure of their slaves. The Slavers Guild...”

“I understand, but ... but if that's so, then how did you....?”

“Hah! That's the joker, isn't it? It was dumb luck. I added something Hana doesn't know about.”

“Then — what do we tell Mother?”

“Nothing. After a while, seeing that my thigh remains stubbornly unbranded, Mother, Father, and Ron will have to decide that I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“Uh huh. I wonder if you’ve thought of everything, big sister. You're not like the other serum girls. You'll be notorious soon.”

“Notorious?”

“With your past, how did you miss this? You think I'm so naive. I know that men like to take a new slave and show her what she is. They raved about you through the walls. And this ‘performance’ will be repeated every time you visit.”

Damn. She had a point. “I’ll need more than a dagger. Any abductor worth the name would plan for it. I need an edge — Ketrick. As many women as he’s abducted, he must know some women's tricks.”

My sister smiled too sweetly. “You really like Ketrick, don’t you?”

“Tisa! Ketrick likes slaves, not freewomen.”

“Hmm. You know that Angel and Wanda are living in his quarters now.”

“After today I can stand to be around them. I’m a bigger slut than the two of them combined.”

I knocked on Ketrick’s quarters soon after dinner. I wore one of my nicer dresses that showed my figure, although I had no illusions that I would ever be as attractive to Ketrick as Angel or Wanda, a freewoman has too many restrictions to compete with a slave. Angel answered the door. It hurt to see her, but she looked happy. She recognized me, of course, but followed protocol.

“Good evening, Mistress. Whom shall I say is calling?”

“You know who I am, Angel. Tell your Master I'm here.”

She disappeared inside for a moment, and bade me enter when she returned. Ketrick lounged on a divan while Wanda, naked and giggling, fed him bits of a sweet. When he saw me, he waved her aside and rolled to his feet. “You seem better this evening. I thought you might have been having difficulty yesterday.”

“Really? As you can see, I’m in no ‘difficulty.’ Thank you for your — concern.”

He grinned. The bastard still affected me the same as before. I glanced towards Angel and Wanda, who were standing quietly in the background, as slaves should when they aren’t required. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“They were a bargain. What can I do for you?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

He considered me. “Who's asking, Tyra, the friend, or Tyra, the woman?”

“Ketrick, don’t you ever stop? I want to know if you have anything that I could use to defeat a man who wants to abduct me.”

He shrugged. “I know some dirty tricks and surprises that might serve. Some of them could not be used under the warrior’s code.”

I held out my dress. “Do I look like a warrior to you?”

“Not in the least. Do you have time later tonight, say in a half-hour?”

“Sure. If you’d like, we could meet in my quarters. I have more room now.”

He nodded. “Fine. I’ll get a few things together and be right up.”

Ketrick arrived with a case of knives and other sharp implements, and explained their use: a few might be concealed under a dress in a leather sheath; one tiny curved blade was meant to be glued under a fingernail, and could cut bonds. One was designed for the hair, another for the mouth, and one could be concealed in a pouch inside the saer. Ketrick also described the use of poisons, a topic forbidden to warriors.

His greatest contribution, in my opinion, was not a weapon. All too often the abduction was bound and wrapped before she could strike back. Much of it had to do with the long dresses and skirts that freewomen wore. Almost two hundred years ago, Ketrick had seen a woman who used a dress that split up the side at a sudden tear, allowing the legs the freedom to run and kick, as well as provide a way to access weapons underneath. I wasn’t willing to destroy a dress I'd just bought. I tried tying one up out of the way, but it kept falling down. Ketrick was fairly patient, but he had his limits.

“Wait,” I said. I put on one of Angel’s slave tunics, which gave me all the freedom of movement I needed. For modesty, I donned a slave undergarment, unheard of for a freewoman, but necessary to avoid flashing my saer at Ketrick every time I kicked high. My body was flexible and strong for a woman my size. I tried a few kicks and punches at him, assuming he could defend himself against anything I could manage. He blocked well, but I actually had one or two blows get through. I was having a wonderful time -- it was so much like weaponless combat and knife play when I was Tyr. Finally, Ketrick held up his hand.

“Stop.”

I thought I knew what was wrong. “I’m sorry, Ketrick. I’ve been keeping you too long. You’ve given me a great deal already. I can create a tear-away dress later and practice then.” I bent over and started to pack up the knives and other lethal objects.

Ketrick sighed behind me. “I’d like to discuss something with you.”

“If you like. Please, sit down.” He chose to sit cross-legged on a pelt on the floor, so I did the same just in front of him.

He frowned. “You affect me. You are a bundle of contradictions, and I’m confused.”

“How so? Speak frankly, and so will I.”

“I know you have the urges. The signs were there two days ago for anyone who knew what to look for. Yet now you seem normal, if a combination of warrior and woman can be considered such. If you’re going to a slave club to relieve your stress I can understand some of that, but you are not just managing, you are thriving. How?”

I considered his question. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m interested in you.”

“You’ll have to do much better than that. I’m willing to share information with you, but it must be a fair exchange. I’m interested in you, too. Your turn.”

He grunted. “Before I go any further, do you think you have the means to stay a freewoman?”

“Only the Gods know a person’s fate, but I’m optimistic. Now, why don’t you just say what you want to say?”

“I find myself unaccountably attracted to you,” he admitted.

I blushed. I seemed to be doing a lot of that since becoming female, the natural result of being on the receiving end of any relationship between a man and woman. “And I’m attracted to you, as if you didn’t know. The problem, from my perspective, is that you want to make me your slave.”

“You’re a natural slave. You’d be happy with me.”

I nodded agreeably, leaned forward, and took his hand. “I am a natural slave, but consider this, my friend: If anyone, including you, tries to force me to wear his brand and collar, I’ll kill him.”

Ketrick glanced at my hand, then at me. In over three hundred years, he must have met ten thousand women -- or a hundred thousand. It pleased me that he looked puzzled, as if I were a new species.

“I will not force you to become my slave, Tyra,” he said at last.

“Good.”

Over the next two weeks, I found my needs balanced at about three hours a day in the slave club, twice a week. That was actually less than some of the other serum girls. I no longer needed Tisa to come with me, speaking the key word to myself to begin the fantasy, and using the bondage mistress’ own phrase to exit when she said, “Thank you for visiting The Slave’s Dream.”

Ketrick continued to train with me once a week. He showed me a two-handed technique I’d never seen before with a light sword that emphasized speed. I doubted that I would ever defeat a competent warrior with a sword and shield using it, but I practiced every day, ecstatic that I no longer felt clumsy with an edged weapon.

In the meantime, my lessons continued with the “skills that all women must possess,” Mother had prescribed for me. Alone in my room late one morning, bored practically to insanity from knitting with the seamstress, and with Tisa busy with the accounts, I acted on an urge I’d resisted for the last two weeks.

The sitting room downstairs had windows facing south. Standing in the shadow, I had a good view of the men practicing without a chance of being seen in return. I felt like a coward. Other women rested in the shade outside and watched the warriors openly. One of the cook’s helpers, a pretty blonde, leaned against a tree, her arms folded under her breasts, and stared, spellbound, as Resh flexed his muscles. Two maids sat in the grass giggling together behind their hands. One pointed to men squaring off with sword and shield.

I didn't quite sneer. The warriors were handsome men: I understood the maids' desire, but it wasn't what I wanted. Being a warrior was a part of me. Why should I not, now that I was in no danger, watch my old mates at practice?

Tisa had encouraged me to let go and forget that I was ever a warrior.

Mother had insisted:

“In time, Mother, I will give up thinking of the old ways,” I'd said the day before, not really meaning it.

“There is nothing left to give up thinking about,” she’d snapped. “It’s already over. It is for you to acknowledge it!”

I attached my veil, stormed out of the room, and out the front door. The women were only a few dozen yards ahead. Ron wouldn’t like me being there, but if I didn’t make a scene, he wouldn’t say anything. The men might be uncomfortable, but Tyr t'Pol, the warrior, had irrevocably died in the hall that first night. They would honor that.

All I had to do was join the women and pretend to be like them.

I spun on my heel and headed for the rear entrance. By the time I was on the streets I was near to tears. I walked for miles, staying in the shadow of the Fortress most of the time, avoiding the market traffic, until I was at the northernmost point in Batuk, by the docks extending into the Undine River. Mother would be angry with me for missing lunch, but it was too late to return. I found a small café that overlooked the water and sat, ordering siolat and stew.

I noticed the man following me by accident. I’d chosen a seat that was hard to see from the street except at certain angles, and saw him looking back. I hadn’t met him, but he was one of the new warriors Eagles had hired in my absence. I waved him over.

“You might as well have some lunch with me,” I said.

He was nonplussed at being caught, but handled it smoothly with a smile. “Thanks. I was hoping to get something to eat. My name is Jess t’Arita, Miss Tyra l’Fay.” He motioned to a girl, who came and took his order.

I decided that I liked him. “Call me Tyra. I have no status in the family worth mentioning. You're my escort, then?”

He shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. The Commander asked that I stay close to you.”

“Good. Then I can take off this damn veil.” I unhooked it and put it aside. Pointed my fork at him, I said, “I hope you’ll tell Ron that I was in no danger,” I said, injecting a trace of sarcasm into my voice.

“Your brother takes his responsibilities seriously. He thought that you left in some distress.” He grinned. “How is he supposed to know that you were going to have lunch and not jump in the river and drown yourself?”

I snorted. “Ron goes too far. I don't need watching.”

“I regret that you saw me — you weren't supposed to know.”

“He shouldn't have done it,” I repeated, but I wondered if that were really true. It brought a jumble of emotions, that he cared enough to send someone after me, and that he thought that I, his former older brother, might need to be protected. Of course, if the rhadus would just talk to me....

Jess brought a necklace out from beneath his tunic and showed it to me. It was the kind that women like to give men to mark them as taken. “My wife says that women are too complex for mere men to understand. She says that she allows for that.”

I smiled, liking, for some reason, that he was married. “Tell me about your wife, Jess.”

We talked until we finished lunch, and then talked more on the way back, mostly about him. I stayed to his right, the woman’s place where the man protected her from street traffic. He did it so unconsciously I didn't realize it until we were nearly back, only that I was comfortable where I was.

I stopped outside the gate and looked up at him, not quite ready to go back. “Except for Ketrick, you’re the first man outside of my family I’ve spoken with who’s known who I was before.”

“Is that important?”

“The men who knew me as Tyr — well, you know, facing them again…” I glanced down at my feet, feeling like a fool that I’d brought it up.

Jess took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I saw nothing except a woman today. I suspect that the men you knew would see you as a woman, too, unless you forced them to see you otherwise. I don’t recommend it. You might see everything differently because the entire world has changed around you. Their world hasn’t changed, just the piece with you in it.” He gave my hand a pat, a comforting gesture to a woman. “Be well, Tyra.”

“And you, Jess,” I replied automatically.

***

Weeks went by. I saw little of Ketrick unless he helped me train. I missed our friendship, but he made no secret to me that he wanted me to wear his collar. Occasionally, I passed him in the corridor. It was like a game: We spoke, he tried to determine if I was losing my battle with Ruk’s Serum, and then he would move on.

The fantasy became a well-traveled road; I needed less of the drug and could maintain a fantasy longer, a relief, as I had no desire to stake my freedom on the availability of a substance. I envisioned a time when I didn’t require the drug at all.

One ordinary morning, I walked to the slave’s club and paid my complements to the bondage mistress, who was slowly becoming my friend. I disrobed and received the slave stamp on my thigh. Saying the entry word, I passed into my slave fantasy...

This time, my name was Neesa l’Shay, a young woman stolen in a foreign city and sold in the slave market. Once again weeping at my fate, the man from the Guild of the Slave Trainers dumped me into a room where my first master would bend me to his will.

When I recovered to my knees, I looked up in terror at a tall man, very strong and handsome in a rugged way. There seemed to be no give to him at all. I would have to try, though, for my sake and my family honor. “Please, free me! My family is rich and will make you wealthy!”

I thought his reaction was unusual. He seemed to know me and, on some unknown level, I knew him, too. I dismissed the thought. I waited, hoping against hope that he would be kind and let me go home.

“What is your name?” he asked.

I gave him the humiliating slave name the Slaver had given me. “Lisa, Master,” I answered, lowering my head in shame. “If it pleases you, of course,” I quickly added.

“Where do you come from?”

It was a ray of hope; perhaps he would let me go!

“Batuk, Master. My father is Ral t’Ulens and my mother is Shay l’Hera. Maybe you’ve heard of them?” I asked hopefully.

He nodded and regarded me with a hand on his chin. “Remarkable. I will call you Tyra,” he decided, and my hopes died. “You will make a superb slave,” he said confidently. I began crying again.

He brought me to my feet and gazed down at me, boring into mine with incredible energy. “Tyra, I believe you will remember this later. There is nothing finer than the complete domination of a natural slave by a powerful man. It is the equal and other side of the coin that the natural slave submits totally, freeing her true self to be dominated. Once in a great while, the master and the slave make a natural pair. I believe that you and I are such a pair.”

I had a bare second to stare back before he gave me a master’s kiss. He gave me no chance to fight, no room to move. I tried to resist, but was completely helpless with my arms secured. I doubt that it would have mattered; he was far too strong.

He tore his lips from mine and looked down with the utter surety of a man who knew himself -- and me.

“Don’t fear the master’s kiss,” he said, his black eyes gleaming like my soul staring back. “It is a conduit to the core of who you are. Accept it; let it fill you, and I’ll feed your emptiness that hungers for a man. Surrender to me, Tyra. Dare to be the complement of my domination. Submit to me, my little slave.”

His lips acquired me again and I pushed towards his muscular chest, rubbing my swollen points of pleasure like any slut in heat. Gods! I didn't know why, but I wanted him! I relaxed, finding it easier not to struggle and, to my increasing horror, his needs did fill me, his mastery spreading like waves of fire to places hot and wet. I wanted to give in completely. His body and will were overcoming my own. I was losing!

He broke the kiss, smiling; he had felt it too.

“I will never submit to you!” I screamed furiously and launched a hard kick to his suren, a kick he dodged with some difficulty.

He laughed delightedly. “Tyra, you are strong! Even now, knowing you are a natural slave, you fight me!”

He took my chain and led me like a dog to the bed. Tossing me to the pelts with practiced ease, he placed me precisely where he wanted, spreading my legs. I tried everything I knew to fight back, but could do little on my back with my hands tied. When his face descended on mine to kiss me again I smashed his nose with my head. He grunted in surprise, and winced, but then he shook it off and smiled, if anything, more delighted than before.

Even I didn’t know why I was fighting so hard. My body ached to be possessed. My nipples begged for his touch and my saer, my traitorous saer, leaked lubrication and lay luridly open, longing for something large, long and attached to a man to wrap around like a starving vice. I risked the rack and a serious whipping, if not worse, for resisting like this, but something told me I must. I screamed when I could do nothing else.

I hated it. I loved it. He caressed my nipples and breasts with his tongue and mouth until I wept. I couldn’t deny that I wanted him. Then he finally filled my desperate emptiness, and much of the fight deserted me. Certainly there were worse things than to be taken by a strong man. I felt his pleasure, his burning passion to possess me. I lay shivering, and helpless. There was nothing I could do. If he wanted me he could take me any time he wanted. A slave girl could take pride in such a strong master.

These were the thoughts of a natural slave, but I didn’t care anymore. This is where I wanted to be! This was the master I craved. Wave after wave of powerful slave orgasms rolled through my body, and I screamed in wild ecstasy as I ignited. For the first time, I completely and utterly surrendered.

My Master had amazing stamina, and I was forced to please him many times in varied ways, but I was such a slut, I was sure it had been a strain, even for him. Hours later, thoroughly satisfied and spent, I knelt at my master’s feet, my hands crossed in front of me. “I love you, Master,” I wept. It was his arms, his passion and twyll I desired. He said nothing, but the gleam in the depths of his black eyes spoke for him. As I knew him as my true Master, so did he know me as his slave.

The man from the Slave Trainers Guild returned, his leathers and whip not as threatening as before, and dragged me from the room and down the hall, weeping. He tossed me through the door.

The bondage mistress said the words that released me from the fantasy. I stood, stunned and sickened as the last three hours came back in a rush. It hadn’t been me, I told myself, but I couldn't deny the greater reality: my body had completely submitted to a man I’d trusted. I wanted to kill him.

The hot flame of my hate cooled to burning coals during the shower. After I dressed, I said, as calmly as I could, “Bondage Mistress, I will not accept the man who was with me today ever again.”

She made a notation in her book.

“Was he cruel to you?” The Slave Trainers Guild did not encourage sadism. Their business was one of discipline, not torture.

“No, he was not cruel,” I admitted. He had been a dominant male in a serum girl club; I could not blame him for that.

“Ah,” she said. She nodded, understanding. “As you wish. If he returns, he will be told you are unavailable.”

“Thank you,” I said tightly.

I walked swiftly away from the club, sparing only a few backward glances to make sure that I wasn't being followed. I was fortunate I wore the veil, for tears streamed from my eyes. Once back home, I found Tisa and cried again, trying to explain what had happened. Not couldn't understand it all, but she was my sister, gave me her shoulder.

I didn’t speak to Ketrick or acknowledge him in the corridors after that, rebuffing his attempts to communicate with me. He had known my wishes in the matter, and his motives, whatever they were, went to my deepest desire. Most of all, I was bitterly disappointed. I had lost my best friend.

I recovered. I studied accounting with Tisa, and, after time, worked with her. I found it boring, but I wasn't bad at it. I managed to do the family’s entire accounts one day with Tisa there only to watch. With some hard work, I felt that I could even support myself someday.

Then came a change when a visitor knocked on my door after dinner.

“Who’s there?” I asked, not willing to go to the door if Ketrick were calling. I still had nothing to say to the damned rhadus.

“It’s your brother, Tyra.”

I put down my treatise on Batuk business law, a dreadful reference that I had to learn if I wanted to do professional accounting, clipped on my veil, and answered the door.

“Hello, Ron,” I said, the first words I’d spoken to him since that morning in the hall.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” I opened the door wide and let him through.

He found a chair, and I sat on the bed. “Tyra, it’s been two months since the change.”

It was true, so I said nothing.

He looked at me strangely, trying to read me. I was used to it looks like that; it was the veil. “So, how are you doing?” he asked. “Is the serum giving you difficulty?”

I laughed. That was like asking if the dagger in one’s side was causing distress. “I’m doing as well or better than I’d hoped. The effects are formidable, but I’m controlling it; I’m the same as I was a month ago.”

“I’m extremely glad to hear it. Both Tisa and Ketrick say the same.”

My brother was no fool. He knew the steps serum girls took to stay free. Likely he already knew, but I wanted this out in the open. “Ron, I’ve had to do ... certain things to relieve my needs.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need to know the details; they aren’t important. I’ve been wrong about you. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m proud of you.” He rose to his feet and beamed down at me with something like the old grin. “Go ahead, take off the veil. You’ll never have to wear it for me again.”

He didn’t need ask me twice. I ripped it away and flashed my finest smile. “Ron, it’s good to see you,” I said with a crack in my voice. Then I rushed into his arms.

He hesitated at first. I had been his older brother, after all and my breasts against his chest may have been disconcerting. Tough. They're here to stay.

“Tyra, I’ve missed you.” He brought me into an embrace that I absorbed for all I could. It wasn’t the same, nor did I expect it to be. He was second at Eagles now, and I was a woman, one of his and Father’s responsibilities to protect, but I was his sister, and we were family again, and that was enough. “Tyra, about Met. I’m sorry…”

I shook my head rapidly. “No! Don’t even think it! It wasn’t your fault. Met is a sly bastard. Even I have no idea how he did this to me.”

“You go too easy with me. I might have…”

I reached up with my finger and touched his lips. “No. The Gods have decided. Met is in exile, and I have accepted who I am. If I wish anything from you, it is that you do the same.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. “Then I will. You know, you smell nice, better than Tyr.”

“I look better, too. Come, sit down and talk to me.”

We spoke for an hour, a strange conversation of two people relearning each other. At times, I know I seemed a stranger to him, at others, a memory, and rarely, a clear glimpse of who I used to be. I let him work out the details and come to his own conclusions. I was who I was.

Ron wasn’t the same either. He was still my brother, but more than before, a man with responsibilities and obligations that weighed heavily upon him, a man to respect and support, as I, his sister, should and would.

He asked me after a time, “Is there a problem between you and Ketrick? He wants to meet with you and says that you're avoiding him.”

“We have -- philosophical differences. Did he say what he wanted?”

“He said it was important, something you had discussed before, and you would know he was talking about. Is this something I should know about?”

“I don’t think so, but it makes me curious.”

“Curious enough to talk to him? He was adamant.”

I sighed. “All right, little brother, I'll see him.”

It had to be about the upcoming war, anything less, and I'd seek revenge.

After Ron was gone I went down the hall and knocked on Ketrick’s door. Wanda answered and let me in. She'd been expecting me, which made me suspicious. Ketrick lay on a divan with an arm around Angel, fondling her breast. She clearly enjoyed the attention.

“I’m here. What do you want?” I asked.

“Wanda, get Mistress Tyra a siolat,” Ketrick said.

“Yes, Master,” she replied. She brought me a glass. I took a quick sip to satisfy etiquette then planted it on the table by my side.

“Wanda, Angel,” he ordered, “leave the room. Go to the slave quarters and return in an hour.”

They left immediately, leaving us alone. “What do you want, Ketrick?” I asked again, this time impatiently.

“I need your help to save Batuk.”

“Oh, is that all? And here I thought you were going to ask me to submit again.” I struggled against asking the question, but he wasn’t about to say anything, testing my resolve, no doubt. Damn the man! Saving my city was too important to play stupid games! “All right! If you have a better plan than what we talked about then tell me.”

“Answer me this first, do you think stationing a few independent guards at the last minute to watch the grain and water supplies in the Fortress will save Batuk?”

“I don’t know. It’s better than nothing, and the best we can do without some kind of solid evidence.” But I couldn’t let that stand, not and be honest with myself. “We might get lucky, but probably not,” I sighed. “It’s too easy to destroy. An open vial thrown into in the well would kill our water supply. A few pots of oil thrown through a window with a match following would wipe out half the food. We might stop the obvious threats, but if there are saboteurs in the Fortress, they'd likely have contingency plans.”

“I would if I were in their place. I don’t think you can stop them here, but there might be a way to stop the war before it starts -- at the source.”

I folded my arms and leaned back against the wall. “I’m listening.”

“The only way to defeat Tulem is from within. I plan to start a war between the two royal families within the valley. I need a woman who is intelligent, imaginative, brave, strong-willed, and has the skills of a warrior and assassin. I know of no one better than you.”

This was more or less in line with some of my own thoughts. I simply had no idea how to implement it. “And why in Hades should I trust you after The Slave’s Dream?”

He sighed, but he must have been expecting the question. “I was -- overzealous.”

“Ketrick!” I shouted, leaping to my feet. “By the Gods and Overlords, you arrogant bastard!”

He lifted both hands gently. “Tyra, please. This is difficult for me. I’ve always preferred slaves. I’ve never bothered to accustom myself to freewomen.”

I was not impressed. Being over three hundred years old, he'd had ample opportunity. “So, your defense is that you aren’t used to freewomen? Doubtless, this impelled you to make me your slave, avoiding the ‘problem’ of having to talk to a woman who could say no!”

He shook his head, but his shifting wasn’t due to a full bladder. “That’s not it at all. You were in no real danger of being a slave and you know it.”

His demeanor thawed my heart somewhat. When he looked at me now, I could tell he took me seriously. I could also feel his desire. The combination must have been churning his insides. I smiled and tossed my hair, a feminine gesture Tisa had taught me. I'd had no reason to use it — until now. “Please continue, Ketrick.”

“Errrr,” he growled, a low, frustrated sound pleasing to my ears. “I’ve haven’t wanted anyone more than you for a hundred years. I was sure you would come to me afterwards, realizing that you would be happiest being owned by me. I would have taken you with me to another city to satisfy your family’s honor. Truly, I had no idea how strong your feelings for being a freewoman were.”

“Horseshit. I told you. I thought we were friends and you betrayed me.”

“I was wrong. I’ve never known a man with a strong libido to stay free as a serum girl for any length of time. You hinted that you had a way, but I didn’t believe it would be so effective. I was only trying to help speed up the inevitable.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “Frankly, I was tired of waiting for you to break down and come to me,” he explained.

I rolled my eyes. You unbelievably arrogant…

“I don’t think I broke any code of honor in the ‘Dream.’ I thought of it as a service, providing you an option -- a comparison of men. I’ve reluctantly concluded that you're more of a freewoman than serum girl. With your remarkable method of keeping your urges in check, slavery is not inevitable and, despite you being a natural slave, I’m forced to treat you as a freewoman.” He shot me a direct stare, its intensity making it certain that I would be busy in my quarters that night. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I have offended you, and I’m sorry.”

I regarded him wryly. “I accept your apology. Considering your history it was an understandable error -- barely -- and I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” he said in relief. “As much I’d like to own you, I won’t force you to submit. However, you would need to impersonate a slave to be effective in Tulem.”

I suddenly liked this plan less. “And who would be my Master?”

He grinned tentatively. “Me, of course.”

Disgusted, I began walking towards the door.

Ketrick rose quickly to block my way. “I know how it sounds, but how much is Batuk worth to you? What price are your family’s lives and the Batuk's freedom?”

I paused reluctantly. This was emotional blackmail, but there was more than me to think about. “All right! Tell me your plan and I’ll consider it.”

“This war is nothing more than a way to get rid of excess aristocrats by giving them Batuk. Our more amicable solution is to rid them of their excess ourselves. This can be done in two ways. Assassination and misdirection might create a civil war. Failing that, killing enough of them outright would be sufficient. I can’t be precise. We’d have to play it out as opportunities present themselves. I believe we still have a few months to set it up and execute.

“With your distinctive talent, you can go places I could not, gain intelligence and take action, things a real slave would find difficult or impossible. This is possible, Tyra. There aren’t that many nobles, and the families have hated each other for centuries -- not a bad combination. With a few carefully chosen assassinations, the war could be over.”

“And you’ve done this before?”

“As war leader of a weaker city, I used assassinations and tricks to defeat a greater foe. I’m not proud of all that I did, but playing by another’s rules puts you at a disadvantage. Here there is less of an ethical problem. Tulem has, without a doubt, planted saboteurs and assassins in Batuk for use when the time is right.”

“This has to be extremely dangerous. Why do you want to do this, for Batuk?”

“Partly for Batuk. It’s a fine city and its citizens are better than most.”

“And the other part?”

He approached until he towered over me. “I’m doing it for you, Tyra,” he said in a low, resonating voice, teasing my ever-ready urges enough that I began to leak. “You’re right: this will be dangerous. Once Batuk is saved, I want you to cross your wrists to me. You and I should be together as love-slave and love-master.”

I retreated a couple of paces to catch my breath, and shook my head in open-mouthed disbelief. “Would you ever consider just asking me to marry you?” I asked in sheer exasperation. “Slaves are nice, but they have their limitations. You speak of us being love master and love slave. Could you ever be in love with Tyra, freewoman, wife?”

“You want to be my wife?“ he asked in amazement.

What in the ten levels of Hades am I saying? I was as astonished as he, but I refused to back off. “If you and I save Batuk, I would marry you. I would … I would take care of our house. I’d cook, clean … whatever in Hades a wife does…” What am I saying? He doesn’t have a house! Even if he did, he has Angel and Wanda to take care of everything. What could I possibly give him that he doesn’t already have?

I saw something I had never seen before: Ketrick was dumbfounded — and that infuriated me.

“By the Gods, Ketrick, don’t look at me like that! You admitted that you want me, and I want you. You could even keep Angel and Wanda. It wouldn’t bother me that much.”

“Gods, Tyra! You are surprising!” He looked at me for a long moment. “You would actually consider me a potential mate?”

It was a shock to me, too, but I knew what my body wanted. I also had the advantage of knowing him from many points of view. Once he committed to something he was honorable, and I was sure that I could love him. “Well, if you want me, I … I think I could be a good wife to you — in time.”

He spoke softly: “With your needs, I wouldn’t have much energy leftover for a slave. I’d be obligated to you as a husband, to provide you, by myself, with enough satisfaction to stay free. That would be difficult.”

By now, I expected it, but his rejection was stinging, nonetheless. “All right. If you don’t want to marry me afterwards, fine. We’ll go our separate ways. But I will never agree to be your slave!” Oh, Gods, this is about my city. I put my hand over my eyes and began again. “It's my duty to defend Batuk, but there is no honor in this. If a magistrate knew all the facts, would he say that the 'agreement' to submit was entered into without coercion? You know what he would decide. I wouldn’t be the slave, you would.”

He frowned. “You would use a legal argument to deny me my fondest wish?”

“Hades, yes, if it keeps me out of the collar.”

He shrugged. “Very well. If we survive, I’ll ask you afterwards.”

Another test? “Ketrick, you incontinent spawn of a she-ape!”

He grinned. “This is what I've planned: We’d leave in two weeks. Before you leave you must be disciplined and trained. While you're doing whatever it is you're doing, you're a convincing as a new slave, but you wouldn't pass for long. Your walk, your mannerisms are all wrong.”

There were camps for free serum girls that simulated slave training. I could imagine what that would be like. “Gods. What else?”

“You would have to be branded.”

Naturally. I took a long shuddering sigh. The temporary mark at the slave club left me wanting to address free men and women as Master and Mistress. What would the actual brand do to me?

“I’m truly sorry. The effect of a brand on the psyche of a natural slave is profound at first, but it doesn’t last. Don’t worry. When we finish, a physician could remove the vaec and no one would be the wiser. Unfortunately, the brand is essential. You'd have to be completely convincing to everyone, including Angel and Wanda.”

“What? They’re coming, too?”

“It’s part of the concealment. If they accept you as a slave everyone else would, too. I could still use Angel and Wanda in useful ways: watching, monitoring, gathering information and so forth, just not telling them exactly what they’re doing.”

Saving Batuk had priority over everything, including my life. “How would we explain our disappearance? Everyone would assume that you abducted me.”

“That assumption would have to stand. It’s important that Batuk thinks that I’ve made you my slave. It would make my appearance in Tulem more believable.”

I held my head, shaking it back and forth. “My family would mourn me as one dead. If I lived to return, I’d be in disgrace.”

“I am sorry for that,” he said sympathetically. “This isn’t for glory. Your name and mine would never go on Batuk’s roll of the honored. We’re stopping an invasion that Tulem would never admit they were planning.” He moved a chair closer to me and sat. “Someday your family would know what you did. They would understand and be proud.”

I must have looked stricken; I certainly felt that way.

“Tell me, Tyra, do you feel the urge to go on the road, to travel to distant places and seek adventure?”

“Not as much as before.”

“So, you wouldn’t enjoy adventure in strange places, taking a chance now and then?” He seemed disappointed.

“I didn’t say that. I realize that I can’t do it by myself now. There are too many dangers for a lone woman outside her city’s walls. With a strong man by my side, though, I would feel safe enough. I’m more than a pretty girl; I would stand with him with spear and sword when necessary.” Unlike a slave, I didn’t need to mention. It was common knowledge that slaves were practically worthless in a fight.

“You were a great fighter. I was first in Gerras with the long spear and you were one of the toughest opponents I’ve ever faced.”

I shrugged. “You defeated me, though.”

“It was the extra strength that made the difference. Your skills were as good as mine.”

“Do you think I might need those skills in Tulem?”

“It’s possible.”

“I really have no choice, do I?”

“Unless I’ve misjudged you and your sense of honor, no.”

“If necessary, I will die to defend Batuk from her enemies.”

“You swore that oath when you were a man. Many would say that you shouldn’t be held to it; that you are entitled to the woman’s protection.”

“I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

He reached his arm forward and I took it, forearm to forearm, although next to his, mine was ridiculously slim and smooth. He took no notice of the incongruity, however, and faced me without a trace of a smile.

“I will not doubt you again, Tyra l’Fay.”

He started to withdraw, but I clung to his forearm, holding it fast. “And will you stop trying to make me your slave, Ketrick -- forever?”

He grinned. “Well, forever is a very long time.”

***

The mind is an amazing thing. Given no option, it can concentrate to the exclusion of all else. I had to rid my dependence on afkal and extend the times of my fantasy. To do this, I ignored everything, including Tisa’s lessons on accounting and the family business, which disappointed her, and I couldn’t tell her why, which compounded the injury.

By working several hours a day for a week, I managed the state without the drug. When I did it three times in succession, I decided that I was ready.

I knocked on Ketrick’s door. Wanda answered in a sheer pink slave tunic and ushered me inside. I motioned towards the slaves. “We need to talk,” I said.

He nodded. “How long do you need?”

“Five minutes.”

After he dismissed Angel and Wanda, I said, “I succeeded in creating a fantasy without the help of drugs, and I need to test it. How long do you figure I’d need the fantasy in Tulem?”

“Twelve hours to be on the safe side.” He looked at me strangely. “You used drugs to do it?”

“Yes, but it’s mainly a mental process.”

“I wondered if it wasn’t something like that, but it’s still amazing. Can anyone do it?”

“I doubt it. Even with the drugs it was hard enough, and, without any false modesty, I’m very good at it.”

He stroked his chin for a moment. “I know a tavern owner in the northwest side. You could be a siolat girl for a day. Could you manage that?”

“A siolat girl? I suppose so. If I get a strong man after it runs out, I could be in trouble. You’ll have to be there to make sure I don't start crossing my wrists.”

“Out of curiosity, how do you know I wouldn't allow you to become a slave, and then take you for my own?”

I touched my hand to his face and smiled. “How could you be sure I wasn’t faking it? If you tried it and I caught you, I’d slit your throat.”

He grinned. “Well, there is that.”

I laughed. “You’re resourceful. If you really wanted me, you would have taken me by now.”

“I wish I had your certainty. Can you arrange to have tomorrow free?”

“Yes. Tisa is getting worried about me, wondering what I’m up to, but I suppose there’s little help for it.”

***

The Siolat Well was a fairly run-down tavern in Northwest Batuk far enough from Eagles to be safe, and the owner, a casual friend of Ketrick’s, didn’t mind punishing an arrogant serum girl by forcing her to serve siolat naked for a day. This last didn’t thrill me, but it was a test with added pressure, the kind that might occur in Tulem.

Ketrick and I walked to the Siolat Well in midmorning, within sight of each other but separately, to avoid being linked on the off chance there were any witnesses. On a street close to the Fortress, it was still in shadow when I arrived. While quite run-down, it was rough, built with whatever was handy at the time, a tapestry of mostly mismatched black and gray stone. Someone had cleaned the glass indifferently, smeared as it was with cooking grease and dirty lamp oil, and serviceable bars set in stone kept the thieves out. Despite the overall slovenly appearance, business seemed good, mainly tradesmen in leather and tough cotton.

Ketrick motioned to me to an alley. I crossed the street when no one was looking. Once it was clear, I removed my freewoman’s clothes and hid them. Underneath my shift I wore one of Angel's slave tunics, long enough to preserve modesty if I didn’t bend over too far. Ketrick had already stamped me with the vaec earlier. While I shivered, he snapped the lock of a black slave collar around my neck, and attached a chain.

“Ready?” he asked me.

I nodded my head rapidly. My bare feet were freezing. “Let's do this.”

“Tulem's Gate,” he said, and with that ...

I was Danielle and had displeased my Master by being insolent and pouty. He had beaten me already that morning and was now following through on his promised punishment, serving naked in public. Doubtless, I would learn humility today, I grumbled. He led me by the chain, barefoot on the cold stone street, through the door and into the warm, smoky tavern, and then dragged me towards the counter, where a grinning thickset man with a hairy face appraised me. I held my head proudly: I was a beautiful slave girl and men wanted me.

“Hester, this is the worthless slut I told you about.” My master jerked my collar. With a cry, I lurched forward all the way to the counter.

Hester took my face in his greasy hand and twisted it from side to side. I cringed from his breath, a foul mix of garlic and stale siolat. “Hmm, she is a pretty one,” he judged. “I’ll take her off your hands for you if the price is right. I have a way with arrogant slaves.”

Suddenly, I was afraid. If my Master was really displeased with me, he would sell me. I dared not protest. It was pleas and whining that led me to this point. I could only look at him in silent appeal and pray.

He looked dispassionately at me for much too long. “No, I don’t think so, not today. If she persists in her behavior, I will reconsider.”

I sighed in relief — and with a measure of pride. He would have sold me if he had wanted and bought another, but he wanted me.

“Are you sure you don’t mind? This one is untrained and may offend a customer through clumsiness.”

I sniffed. I was not clumsy!

“If that happens, she'll be beaten. Don’t worry, my friend. She will serve well.”

I glanced around the room. Several were already watching me, no doubt in anticipation of my use. I regarded them. They were all fine, strong men. I would not mind being used by such as they.

Hester laughed suddenly. “Look at her! She’s already measuring their twylls. What a slut!”

I blushed, but it was true. The heat was upon me and I desired their touch. Already my skin was more sensitive and my breathing deeper. I wanted to be among them serving siolat, and much more, if they wished.

My Master grinned. “Hester, I believe you’re right. Remove your clothes, Danielle.” I lifted my slave tunic over my head, feeling its length across my swollen nipples, and turned to him. “She’s yours for now. I’ll retrieve her when I’m satisfied.”

Hester assessed my flushed face and eyes. “I’m not certain this will be a punishment, but she will work today.”

I worked. A siolat girl’s life is not easy; after all, she must move through crowds of men bringing cups of siolat to customers. Her arms are usually full, and she is helpless to defend the hands and arms upon her. Then, when a customer desires, she must provide a willing receptacle for his needs. The man touches, strokes and brols her for the price of a drink. Often, he demands much.

Yet after the first hour or so, when my nakedness ceased to cause me embarrassment, I barely thought about it. I was a siolat girl receiving affectionate touches and squeezes from men who did as they wished. Every caress, both soft and sometimes rude, was made because I pleased them. They affirmed me, a slave, beautiful and desired. When they brought me to an alcove to satisfy their needs, that I had created, I wondered if they could possibly imagine the pleasure I felt when the man’s passion and strength was satisfied within me. There were one or two who took their pleasure with pain, but fortunately these were few and reviled by all.

The other girls resented my easy association with their customers, as well they might. I was popular. Too bad! I caught a blond girl in a black slave tunic pressing her hip and brushing her arm casually over one who was already interested in me. When he chose me to go to the furs in the alcove instead of her, I may have shrieked a little louder than normal.

I worked through the lunch hour, going hungry as punishment. As a new girl, I drew attention with the busy lunch crowd, which took me repeatedly, allowing me little time to serve drinks and food. As the day wore on, I grew more tired, although not as tired as most of the other girls, having spent more of the day on my back.

The entire time, my Master sat at a table, sipping at siolat, then eating lunch then supper. When I had the chance, I caught his eye. Twice I approached him. I didn't liked his measured glances, but each time he waved me away impatiently.

After the supper hour, the pace continued as a new set of customers arrived. By now, I was tired, having been on my feet, mostly, for half a day. And that’s when it happened.

It was on the third trip to a table of three inebriated masons. The shorter brown-haired man had me earlier. He stroked my left buttock and thigh where my brand was, urging on his taller friend. As I set the tray down, I felt a moment of disorientation. The tavern was still real, but not the same — as if I saw the room through different eyes. I noticed the tables, details of the tapestries on the wall. The men leered, and the one touching my flanks disturbed me. I blinked at the scene: leather and mail of warriors, loose leggings and thick tunics of workmen, a few scholar's robes in the corner. Abruptly, I realized that I was a naked woman in a sea of men.

Not right! A man at the table took my arm and pulled towards an alcove to the sound of laughing and applause from his two companions. He pushed me inside. I went onto my back in a daze. He spread my legs apart, and it came back to me. I was Tyra l’Fay, and I was about to be brolled in a siolat tavern. The man wasn’t bad looking. It would have been better if he weren’t so drunk, but I didn’t know him, didn’t want him and had to suppress a powerful impulse to kick him in the suren.

This is real. I bit my tongue when he entered me. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good, it did, in a way. My slut instincts were still around, although less than they were twenty men ago. I just didn’t want him. Worse, I had to make it seem good. I forced my body to move in synch with him, trying to relax as a slave would and move to her Master's dominating rhythm. I wasn’t too successful, although being drunk, the man didn't catch on until late. I squeezed, wanting to end this as quickly as possible. Finally, his huffing turned into a series of grunts, and warmth spurted into me.

There was no way my fakery could have compared to a hot serum girl. I covered it by holding him, calling him master, but he wasn’t fooled.

He looked down at me in disgust. “You were nowhere near as good as advertised, slave.” He left me dripping on the furs.

I cleaned up in a hurry. Ketrick would be watching for me. I still had to make it through the tables without attracting too much attention. I tried to imitate a slave based on my memories, attempting to recreate that submissive love for a man’s touch, where every movement is casual and erotically conscious of men. I wasn't very good. Ketrick was already on his feet and moving towards me before I could get halfway to him. He reconnected the chain to my collar and led me out, jerking it to conceal my awkwardness. He waved goodbye to Hester at the door and brought me outside into the cold darkness.

There were few people on the streets, thankfully, and we went directly into the alley.

Ketrick was pleased; the starlight in his eyes gleamed like tiny points of silver. “That was slightly longer than twelve hours. What brought you out of it?”

I held up my arm to stop any questions, bent over and threw up. I spit a few times to get rid of the taste and put on my clothes after Ketrick removed the collar and the temporary vaec.

I sighed. “I was just tired, mentally exhausted. I didn't have the strength to reestablish the fantasy.”

“Why did you throw up?”

I glared at him, angry that he had to ask. “I was forced to brol a drunk as myself. He was my first without the fantasy. On top of that I had to pretend to love it. I just want to go home now.”

“We could do that, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’d like, we could get something to eat, and then we could get drunk.”

At first I was inclined to reject his offer, but then I reconsidered. “It has been a difficult day,” I admitted.

“I would think so, from your point of view.”

“Under the circumstances, I would like to get drunk with you. We haven’t done this in some time. I forget the reason.”

He laughed. “Come, let’s try the Das t’Gar Tavern. It’s close to the estate.”

It was a good choice; free women frequented it because it had privacy walls around some of the booths, and it was a place where I could remove my veil. We left separately, me first with Ketrick following behind, still making sure we weren’t seen together. The stars were fully out in the crisp, cold air, covering the sky, save for the black outline of the Fortress. The lights and sounds from the taverns and houses I passed by comforted me and made me proud. This was my city and, serum girl or not, I was a part of it.

He met me in the back of the tavern in a warm, quieter part of it place with a pair of musicians providing entertainment. Ketrick ordered a bottle of Tiresian wine. It seemed rather expensive if the intent was merely to get drunk. We talked. I told him of my hopes to become an accountant or some other occupation where I could remain free with honor in a place outside of Eagles, and after I'd had two or three glasses of wine, I tried to give him the sense of what life was to me now. I man can ever really understand what it means to be a serum girl until it happens, but he paid attention. He told me of my old friends in Eagles, and some amusing anecdotes of Wanda and Angel. We laughed together and I drank too much.

I remember getting to my quarters that night, leaning on him in the corridor and fumbling with the key to my rooms. I remember Ketrick helping me out of my outer clothes, and another, dimmer memory of being carried, and the impression of a large hand caressing my cheek. When I awoke, I was under blankets in my shift, holding onto my pillow. I had a slight hangover, but I felt good until I remembered what I still had to do.
 
 

 
I love comments. I know this story is a bit from the regular TG fare, and long, and introverted, but I'd love to see, good or bad, what you think. :) ~Aardvark