11 comments/ 8877 views/ 7 favorites Slathaar: Invasion Ch. 01 By: funinthesungirl19 Author's Note: A couple of notes on the world-building and mythology. If there is an Earth parallel, the islands of Slathaar would be the Nordic countries. The mythology is loosely Norse, with Arsu heavily inspired by Odin. Arianne would be closer to feudal Europe. Samarra is very loosely based on the Middle East. I've kept this story in BDSM because the sex, where it happens, will be strongly BDSM-flavoured. (Also, selfishly, that's where my readers are.) But this could be in Sci-Fi/Fantasy as well. There will be bits that are more appropriate to Group Sex in future chapters, as well as bits that straddle the edge of consent. I'll note these as they happen, but none of it should be too extreme. I am struggling with paid work, so updates might not be as frequent as I'd like. But I will finish, because I really, really want to write this story. And as always, much gratitude to my editor. *** Slathaar: Invasion Chapter 1 Mariam: "Kneel, Mariam." The voice is level. There is only one man in the realm who would dare to ask me to kneel. No, not ask. This isn't a request. This is an order. I am Mariam. During the day, I am the Second-in-Command of the Armies of Slathaar. And at night, I am the mistress of the Overlord. Gareth. Overlord of all Slathaar. I am in his tent right now, and my Overlord has voiced an order. I kneel. I wait. "Shall we discuss troop movements, Mariam?" Aah. The sound of his voice. When Gareth speaks, even in council, every muscle in my body clenches in arousal. Gareth never raises his voice in anger. I've heard him sound amused. Mocking. Sarcastic. And cold. But always in control. Gareth is more in control than any man I've ever been with. "If the Overlord wishes," I reply, my eyes on the floor. I am naked. My knees are spread as far apart as they will go. My cunt is shaved naked, and earlier this evening, before I was summoned by the Overlord, I rubbed fragrant oil over my mound. I can smell that perfume now, mixed with the juice my cunt produces in copious amounts when Gareth is near. "The Overlord?" There is danger in those words, and I curse inwardly at my thoughtless phrasing. "I beg forgiveness," I whisper. "If my Overlord wishes." "That's right, Mariam. Let's not forget who you belong to, shall we?" He doesn't own me, of course. Because we are in Slathaar, where there are laws against slavery that have been set in stone for thousands of years. Slavery of sorts is practiced in Arianne, and in the hot desert reaches of Samarra. But never in Slathaar. The concept is repulsive to my people. No. His words are a prelude to an evening of play. The slight sense of danger is imagined, not real. But a very real frisson of fear cuts through my body, one that comes with a large helping of arousal. "Let's discuss troop movements, Mariam." His voice mimics mine from the council meeting earlier today. "Gareth, don't be a fool. You can't go south with such a small force. You are Overlord of Slathaar." If for a second I thought that I couldn't speak freely in council, I would resign my commission and take up farming or knitting or something else. But I'd known as I had spoken those hot words in council that Gareth would use them in our play. There'd been an amused look in his eyes as I'd spoken. "I beg my Overlord's forgiveness," I reply. I try to keep the snide tone out of my voice. Gareth just laughs aloud. "How you lie to me, Mariam," he says. I can see his feet as he walks closer to me. My eyes follow his path as he moves to my side, and then he walks behind me. I keep my eyes lowered as my Overlord examines me. "Do you know what I think of troop movements, Mariam?" Gareth's voice is even. I couldn't give a flying fuck, Gareth. I keep that thought hidden. I am impatient for our games to begin, and if Gareth even senses a hint of impatience, he will keep me at the edge of orgasm all night before sending me away. I have learned to hide certain emotions from my Overlord. He chuckles. "Let me guess, Mariam. You don't give a flying fuck. Isn't that the expression you always use?" I make eye-contact and my lips curve into a reluctant smile. "Damn you, Gareth," I mutter. "You know me too well." Except the one secret. I know he doesn't know my one hidden secret. Because if he knew, I wouldn't be in his chambers. He inclines his head and smiles back. "As tempting as it is to keep you on edge the entire night, Mariam, tonight isn't the night for that. We have a hard, perilous voyage ahead of us. Tonight, I seek comfort in your softness." It is words like these that have the power to wound deeply. Because the words are so close to the ones I crave from Gareth but will never hear. For three years, I have loved Gareth with an intensity that overwhelms me. And with an awareness that he does not reciprocate my feelings. He likes me. He cares for me. But he has not surrendered his happiness to me the way I have done to him. I have never told him. Because I know that the instant my Overlord knows the depth of my feeling for him, he will cut off my access to his bedchamber. Gareth is only cruel when he is dominating me. He will not inflict cruelty otherwise. And, caring for me, he will think that the best thing he could do is to send me away. He would be correct in this. The best thing for me would be to end this thing with Gareth. But like the addict who craves her next fix, I find myself unable to speak the words that will start the process of healing. Instead, I reach once again for the knife, and I slice open a bit more of my heart. "I am yours to use, Overlord," I whisper. I don't look into his eyes. My emotions are a turmoil, and I need a few seconds to collect myself. I can hear Gareth move, and eventually, I compose myself enough to look up. He gathers a flogger. Rope. A blindfold, for which I give inward thanks to Arsu. A candle. "Are you ready, valiant defender of Slathaar?" There's no trace of mocking in his voice. Just an indulgent good humour. It is because of things like this that I find myself unable to walk away. When you find someone who gives you what you crave in bed, and who respects you unstintingly during the day, how do you leave? He does not love me. That's why I should leave. I nod my readiness, and he fastens the blindfold. His lips brush against my neck as he moves my hair forward to lie over one shoulder. My hands are drawn behind my back and tied together, elbows pulled tight, the knots holding my arms together from elbow to wrist. "Too tight?" he asks, ever solicitous. "Not yet," I reply. He backs away. I hear his footsteps recede. I wait again, my knees parted, my breasts pushed outward by the rope tying my arms together behind my back. My Overlord wills me to stay perfectly still, and I comply. I smell the candle an instant before the hot wax drips on my jutting breasts. I hiss as the heat sears my skin for an instant, and I can feel Gareth come closer to see if I've been burned. I haven't. He knows what he is doing. The wax drips steadily, covering my breasts, my nipples, my chest. I flinch slightly, but I stay in position. I fight to remain still, and while I hiss, I don't speak. The candle moves lower. Now, the wax runs down my abdomen. A trickle cascades down my inner thigh, and at that, I whimper, fearing where the wax might flow next. Gareth knows my limits well, and I trust him. And at this moment, I fear the drop of wax on my hard nub, and I crave it at the same time. He chuckles. "Mariam," he laughs at me. "If I let that wax drip on your clitoris, you'll be sore for days. Not ahead of a long journey. I do need my Second-in-Command to be somewhat effective. I pout slightly. He sounds amused, and I can get away with a bit of sulking. "Damn it," I mutter. "Did I say you could talk, Mariam?" His voice is suddenly dangerous. I shake my head, suppressing my aroused full-body shiver. The flogger now. The wax has hardened on my skin, and the tails of the flogger will strike my skin and scour it off my body. I hear the tails whistle, and then the flogger strikes my skin, each tail bringing a little sting. I hiss again. This is the only noise I will allow myself to make. My own private battle. I will keep silent. The Overlord will not make me scream in pain. Three more swift strokes, and I'm gasping, biting off the screams. Another stroke cuts down on my parted thighs, and I jump and move and scream. "Back to position, Mariam." His voice is even. Then, he adds, and this time, I hear the humour in his voice. "And for Arsu's sake, keep the screaming to a minimum, sweet one. I don't want our play interrupted." I roll my eyes, grateful for the blindfold. "You should try the flogger," I mutter sarcastically, and he laughs, and helps me back in position. "That tongue of yours," he says. There's amusement laced with danger, and I know what happens next. I get gagged. Partly for the screaming, partly for the snide words. And mostly because it will amuse and arouse Gareth to hear me whimper behind the gag. His hands are gentle on my face as he gags me, and then he brushes the back of his hand against my cheek. Every inch of my body shivers in response, and inwardly, I tense. Because this is a shiver of something more than simple lust. There is love layered in with my arousal in the way I respond to Gareth. But the Overlord's mind is elsewhere. The flogger swings again, and yet again, and I finally groan loudly through the gag as the last bits of the wax are flicked off my skin. His hands are quickly on my gag, removing it. The blindfold follows. "Are you okay, Mariam?" he asks. I nod. "That last one stung," I say ruefully. "Your thighs? Spread them, let me see." He kneels next to me, runs his fingers. "A welt. No broken skin. But let's take a break from the flogger. Come." He helps me up, guides me towards his bed. My breathing catches. My cunt has been weeping for his touch ever since I entered his tent. No. Before. My cunt had started dripping as soon as I received his summons. "What do you want, Mariam?" "Please fuck me, Gareth," I beg. I hear the barely controlled desperation in my voice. The ache in my cunt is painful in its intensity, and I can't think in the face of my need. "Gareth, please." He watches me with a slight smile on my face as I start to unravel. He slowly removes his shirt, then his trousers. His cock springs erect as he slides his undergarment down, and I openly lick my lips. He smiles at that reaction, and his eyes are appreciative. "Ah, that never gets old, that reaction from you, Mariam," he says. He gets on the bed next to me. I am kneeling by the pillows, and he lifts me up and slides me down his hard length. I have managed to keep mostly quiet through the wax and the hard flogging, but as I feel him slide into me, hot and hard, I moan, unable to silence myself. He laughs, a breathless sound. One hand smacks my ass, and I begin to ride him, my knees gripping the side of his hips to steady myself as I raise and lower myself on him. His hands move to my breasts, pinching them and pulling them, sending delicious, throbbing pain pulsing through my nipples. Full armour is going to be a bitch tomorrow, I think wryly for a second. The metal rings will press into my breasts, and I will ache all day. Those are the problems of tomorrow. In this moment, there's only the feel of his hands on my breasts; the hot gaze of his eyes on my face; the grateful fullness in my cunt as my Overlord claims me for his own. One of his hands moves to my clitoris, and I whimper. "Please, Gareth," I beg. I hurt in this moment with sweet, painful anticipation. His fingers find my nub, and he circles it slowly, drawing out the pleasure. I groan, but I do not protest. I wait, and he smiles his approval of my patience, his fingers pressing just a bit harder at that throbbing, pulsing spot. I incline my hips, and grind against him, moaning out my pleasure. I can see the heat in his eyes as he watches me move against his body. His thumb strums my clitoris steadily, and that motion -- that steady, repetitive movement of his fingers pushes me into climax. His fingers stay where they are, and his eyes are intent. "Keep moving, Mariam," he warns. I obey, biting my lip as the sensations overwhelm my body, like an overfull goblet, till everything threatens to tip and overflow. He holds my hips steady as I come again, moaning his name. "Gareth," I sob. "Please, I'm too sensitive." My clitoris feels huge and engorged, my passage is tight and puffy, and he is still moving in me, and I feel every inch of him now in my satiated body. He slides me off his body. "Get on your knees," he orders. "Shoulders on the bed." I assume the position, biting my lips in anticipation. He will be hitting the bottom of my cunt in this position, and hands tied behind me, I have no leverage to ward him off. But I also know my body well. For the first three hard thrusts, I will balance between pleasure and pain. And then, I will fall into pleasure. It is always this way. And it is this way today as well. Gareth holds my thighs in his grips, so tight that I will have bruises on my legs tomorrow. He slams into me and I whimper, but my hips thrust back into him. Again, my body pleads silently. He obliges, pounding into my body, reaching under and rubbing my clitoris again, until I come again, screaming this time, and as if the sound of my long-quieted scream was a signal to him, he shudders in orgasm as well. *** "Lie back," he says finally, once the rope is untied. His strong, calloused hands massage the ache in my shoulders, and restores the blood flow to my hands. "How's that feel?" "Sinful," I reply honestly. I lean against Gareth, and his hand curves around my waist as he kisses my forehead and strokes my hair. We lie in silence for a bit, and then I stir. "I should go," I say to him. My voice is reluctant. But I have the troop movements to plan; the same troop movements that provided Gareth much amusement earlier. We'll need to load enough supplies into the ships to last us our long ocean voyage. Defensive formations must be selected. There is a lot of work to be done, and staying here in Gareth's warm arms is an indulgence for which I will pay later. "Stay just a while," he asks. Now that we are done with the play, at least for the moment, the tone in his voice makes it clear that this is a request, not an order. "Is it madness, Mariam, do you think? What I do?" There is a pensive note in his voice. "No, Overlord," I reply. "I have no hesitation in calling folly when I see it, and this isn't folly." He chuckles at that. "Indeed Mariam, you have no such hesitation." He winds a strand of my hair around his fingers, and then unwinds it. "I change the course of my people tomorrow, Mariam. I am not arrogant enough to do it without second-guessing myself." "We have no choice in what we do, Gareth. The High Priestess has foreseen the flooding." And there is Kanata. I don't say it, but we both know what I've left unsaid. Kanata, where the tidal waves came, and destroyed the town completely. The army was sent in to clean up. One hundred thousand Slaathan dead. I will never forget the bloated, distended bodies of men, women and children washed up on the shore. We are Slaathan. Haf roars in our blood. We sail before we walk. But we never forget that we are mortals, and that the sea, the great and powerful Haf is unmindful of our trivial concerns. Haf gives and Haf takes. No Slaathan would ever pretend otherwise. And the High Priestess has foreseen more. More tidal waves. More destruction. The less religious of us had doubted the visions at first, until Kanata. After Kanata, we listen. She speaks with the voice of Arsu. Even we soldiers who typically believe only in the sharpness of our swords now mind her words. In the morn, three Slaathan battle-ships will set sail from the shores of Temra, the capital city of Slathaar. Our destination is the continent of Arianne, composed of a dozen kingdoms ruled by petty, squabbling kings and queens. Before the autumn, we will need to conquer and control Arianne. Once a safe passage has been established in Arianne, we will head further south to Samarra. In the hot desert reaches, we will attempt to carve out a second home. And then, we will send for our people. In the morn, we will set forth on a path that will end in us abandoning our ancestral homes to Haf. Ruined Kanata. My hometown of Palatha. Temra. Sloanne. When we are done, every single Slaathan island in the North Sea will be systematically stripped of people, and we will allow Haf to reclaim what has always been his. I shiver as I contemplate the finality of that action. And though I am not in the slightest bit religious, I whisper the First Prayer softly in the night, with the Overlord next to me. Arsu protect us. Arsu watch over us. Arsu grant us fair skies. Arsu, let us journey in peace, and when our hearts grow weary, let us return home to happiness. In the dark, I can feel my tears fall unbidden, and as Gareth's fingers lace in my own, I sense that I am not the only one in tears at that moment. *** Ormr: It is the dead of night. I cannot sleep. My mind is restless in the face of the journey that faces us in the morning. And so, I walk among the encampments, and I hear a soft footstep. "Speak," I order. I am reluctant to fire my gun, sight unseen. We are in Slathaar. The footstep could be either friend or foe. A soft voice speaks. "It is I, Mariam." I hear a certain pride in her voice that she would be embarrassed by, if pointed out to her. Mariam of Palatha. Every single man in Slathaar is slightly in love with her. But sadly, she only has eyes for one. My cousin Gareth. Who has no idea how much this beautiful woman loves him. This is not my business. I shine the lamp I hold in my hand in the direction of her voice, and I hear her breath exhale. And I watch her hand leave her sword. We are a cautious people. Even in a friendly camp, our hands are never too far from our weapons. "Ormr," she greets me and I can see her smile. "You startled me. Why do you prowl so at night?" I could ask her the same question, but she has obviously returned from Gareth's quarters. "I can't sleep," I answer instead. "I leave home tomorrow. Perhaps forever. And my mind is not ready to rest." In the light of the lamp, I can see her nod. "I am similarly restless, my friend." The words come out in a rush, unbidden from my mouth. "For Arsu's sake, Mariam. Can you not convince Gareth to take a larger force with him? He is our Overlord. The idea of him so exposed to danger is making me gray with worry." Her lips compress in a wry smile. "Ormr, do you think I haven't tried?" Her voice is weary. All around us is stillness and night. If there are those who listen to our conversation, it is those who have escaped the detection of Mariam. In other words, no one is listening to our conversation. "I have tried," she continues. "His mother has tried. The High Priestess has tried. Arngeirr has tried. He has listened to all of our counsel, and he has made his decision." I have to ask. "Do you agree with his decision, Mariam?" She pauses, and when she answers, it is an indirect reply to my question. But a reply nonetheless. An indication of why Gareth has eschewed greater protection. "What is Slathaar, Ormr? Is it Gareth, Overlord of Slathaar who represents our land? Or is it Haf who curls on our shore? Is it the green of our fields ahead of harvest? Is it the sound of children singing in the fields as they cut the grain?" "The Overlord believes that he is less than Slathaar," I say, as the meaning behind her words becomes clear. Slathaar: Invasion Ch. 01 "My Overlord believes that Slathaar is greater than him," she corrects. A slight shift in meaning. But an important one. "And he will not leave Slathaar unprotected in his absence." I draw a deep breath. Tomorrow morning, we leave for a mission that is critical to the survival of my people. We leave with a force of soldiers that is far fewer than any military commander would advise. I know this. I have heard Arngeirr in council, as well as Mariam. Both of them have advised a greater force. Gareth has listened, and chosen the opposite. And so we sail, dangerously undermanned, with the future of our people at stake. "You know what, Mariam?" I heave a sigh. "I find myself in need of a drink right now." She smiles. Mariam, Second-in-Command of the Armies of Slathaar, can outdrink any of us. I know this from experience. "I know an establishment that will serve us at this ungodly hour," she laughs. "Shall we drown our sorrows, Ormr?" She is the most beautiful woman in all Slathaar. And she doesn't even know it. What she does know is futile love. And tonight, she needs a break from it, and the company of a friend. Truth be told, I've been a little bit in love with Mariam from the first moment I laid eyes on her. But tonight, I nod and smile, and gesture for her to lead the way. Because sometimes, when you are in love, it isn't about what you want. Sometimes, your role is to just be there. To provide comfort. *** Kari: I kneel in my tent, and I pray to Arsu. There are more specific invocations that I can use, but tonight, I speak the words of the First Prayer. Arsu protect us. Arsu watch over us. Arsu grant us fair skies. Arsu, let us journey in peace, and when our hearts grow weary, let us return home to happiness. Let us return home to happiness. But where is home? Ingrid, my High Priestess has foreseen the destruction of our nation. Tomorrow, the Overlord sails to find a new home for our people. I will go with him, Arsu's representative in the godless lands he travels through. Arsu protect us. In the temple, those of us who have dedicated our lives to serving Arsu above all often laugh at the First Prayer. Because Arsu isn't a benevolent God. Arsu is a thread in the fabric. Sometimes, this thread can weave a beautiful tapestry. At other times, this thread is wild, tangled, nothing other than random chaos. Arsu watch over us. May the souls of those who perished in Kanata nourish you, Arsu. There is bitterness in that thought. Before I took up service in Temra, I was from Kanata. I lost relatives and childhood friends to Haf. Arsu received a rich offering of blood that day. May it be enough. Arsu grant us fair skies. We are a tough people. Our children learn to sail and fight as they learn to walk. It is the utter steel in us that even allows us to entertain what we need to do to protect ourselves from Arsu's twin brother Haf. We must hope that the brothers are not working together to plot our destruction. Arsu let us journey in peace. A three month sea voyage to reach Arianne. Then, a six-month perilous overland journey through the constantly warring kingdoms of Arianne to reach the desert that separates Arianne from Samarra, if a peaceful passageway can be arranged. And finally, negotiation with Samarra to cross their land. Our bravest sailors bring us rumours of uninhabited islands in the Southern Sea. We will cross the world to get there, but there, we will make our new home. When our hearts grow weary, let us return home to happiness. I quiet my mind. I restart the prayer. Arsu, protect us. Slathaar: Invasion Ch. 02 Author's Note: Right. When you write a story with only the broadest idea where it is going, you will occasionally screw things up. So, the first correction. In the first chapter, I mention that Ormr has a gun in his hand. Let's back away from that one. This will remain a pre-gun world. Haven't read the first chapter? Please do! This story won't make much sense otherwise. Also, I will have a glossary on my blog, www.taracrescent.com if you are struggling with my Viking names and figuring out who's who. This chapter is kind of slow. It's basically setting up the characters and their respective backstories, and also setting up one big cause for future conflict. There'll be more action in the next chapter. Really. I'm still struggling with paid work, and writing this story, in the midst of the other work I should be doing constitutes an act of rebellion. Updates will happen, but the paid work does get prioritized. As always, much gratitude to my editor, who both provides valuable feedback and ego-stoking compliments. Please comment, and when the world-building doesn't make sense, point it out! ***** Gareth: I hear Mariam and Ormr depart for a tavern in the city, some distance from our encampment. For a moment, I wish I could join them. Laugh with friends in the warmth of a tavern, with a pretty barmaid bringing us cold tankards of ale. But I am Overlord of Slathaar, and such things are not for me anymore. Not until my people once again have a home. My duty is clear, and I don't flinch from it. Mariam had spoken the words of the First Prayer earlier. I have no use for religion, but prayer is more than faith. Prayer is enduring memory of who we are as a people. Memory that will be tested in the journey ahead. I sink to my knees in the dark of my tent, the candle extinguished, and I speak the words of the War Prayer. For in the morn, we set out to battle. I see the blood of the enemies I have vanquished. I see my ancestors, and they greet me with pride. I see before me the path that leads to the Halls of Rest. Let me journey there, Arsu, and let me remain there until the end of time. *** Aldis: In the morn, we leave for a foreign land. Six months ago, I would have stayed behind, like my eldest brother Ashalf. I would have been planning my wedding, spending the quiet hours of our long winter evenings in front of the fireplace putting small stitches in garments that would have served as my wedding trousseau. My betrothed Hagan would have been watching me with a slight smile on his lips. Six months ago, my life had been filled with laughter and happiness. And then, Kanata. We never found Hagan's body. Take your seat among our ancestors in the Halls of Rest with pride, my love. One day, and the course of my life had changed. And so, when the soldiers were being picked for this arduous, dangerous journey to the South Seas, I had volunteered. Gareth had studied me with that thoughtful look in his eyes. And then he had nodded assent. Gareth goes south as obligation to Slathaar. He is Overlord; he will not shirk his duties. My brother Ormr goes to seek adventure. And I? The rolling green hills of my land are no longer any comfort. There is an ache in my heart that hasn't dimmed in the last six months. I am not coward enough to kill myself; I would not anger Arsu thus. And so I journey to forget. *** Gareth: The sun rises early in the North Sea this time of the year. The early days of spring have passed, where it rains constantly, and ice is almost as likely as a warm breeze. Now, there's a firm promise of summer in the air. The rolling hills are covered in green. It is not quite past four in the morning when the flap of my tent pushes open, and two people walk in. I half-rise in bed, shield my eyes against the first morning light, and squint. Then groan. "For Arsu's Sake, mother," I grumble. "You have heard of knocking, I hear it?" She raises an impatient eyebrow. "I need to dress," I say. We both smile slightly as we hear the tone in my voice. I'm thirty years old, and I sound like a petulant teenager. My mother has a habit of doing that to me. "I have seen you naked before, Gareth." Her voice is dry. "I did give birth to you." I grab a pair of pants from the spot by the bed where it was tossed last night. The other person who had followed my mother in was Sigururr. Slaathan Spy Master. I need a clear head for this conversation then. "Could you send for some coffee please?" I ask the guard outside the tent, who has heard most of the conversation inside, and is struggling not to laugh. "Of course, Overlord," he says, making a credible attempt to straighten his features into something resembling seriousness. I don't bother to get annoyed by the amusement. I would have laughed outright in his place, and besides, if Arngeirr and Mariam have chosen him to guard my tent, his competence and loyalty is beyond question. I walk back into the tent, and take a seat at the small table. Sigururr is already unrolling maps and parchment on the table. We go over the latest information. Arianne alliances are written in sand. They shift frequently and mean nothing. We can conquer towns quickly, but we won't be able to hold them with just three war-ships. We'll have to form alliances, either by peace or force. Force is Sigururr's polite way of saying kidnap some royalty and keep them captive. I hate this plan, yet I know that if it comes to it, I'll follow it to the letter. The survival of Slathaar is at stake. My soul is a small price to pay. And then Sigururr speaks again, and both my mother and I whiten as he reveals the scrap of information that he has come by. "We have some new intelligence," he begins without preamble. "Something the Arianne have kept very, very quiet." He tells me, and I recoil in shock as I hear. "This is not who we are," my mother says finally, her voice an appalled whisper. I don't speak for many minutes. The survival of Slathaar is at stake. Finally, I raise my head. My voice, when I find words, is immeasurably bleak. "Ormr and Aldis need to hear this. And summon Draef as well. He will provide wise counsel." *** Ormr: Everything hurts in the early morn, and of course, I get summoned to Council. Thankfully, there is a steaming pot of coffee. I help myself and groan as the throbbing in my head intensifies. My aunt Brenna looks mildly disapproving, but I am practiced at placating her. I wink, and she laughs before turning serious. All eyes are on Gareth. "As we know," he begins, "there are three nations in Arianne that we wanted to focus our efforts of alliance or conquest on. The ones with the easiest passages to Samarra. Carliss, Ersan and Rizzolo." We all nod. "Coincidentally, these three nations are also the ones with the most despotic rulers. Rizzolo's citizens starve in order to pay their taxes. Carliss and Ersan, where a single crop failure can result in the farmers being sold as bond slaves for three years." Bond slaves is a curious and reprehensible custom of the Arianne. The entire continent practices it. Any man or woman can be sold into slavery for a set period of time, depending on the offense. Bond slaves have some rights, but short of major maiming and murder, their masters can do as they will with them. Ever since I heard Sigururr's first report, I have tried not to think about it too much. Because to dwell on it would have been to hate the Arianne, and hatred wasn't a useful emotion in the journey we were undertaking. But Gareth continued, and I realized that hatred was going to be impossible to hold back. "Carliss, Ersan and Rizzolo - their alliances are somewhat transient and marked by treachery. But certain alliances seem to hold. Sigururr has just learned why. Sigururr, why don't you tell us?" There is a look of distaste on Sigururr's face, which is odd, because Sigururr usually never betrays any emotion. I've played poker with the man, and he is the devil to play with. He has no tell. None at all. "The marriages of Arianne royalty has always intrigued us," he starts. "Because they don't use the same words we do. No wife. No husband. They refer to their partners as consorts. But then, we found some references to wives and husbands." He stops. The look of distaste has intensified to revulsion. Gareth's voice is harsh as he picks up where Sigururr has left off. "The title of wife or husband are Arianne words for blood slaves. Slaves for life. They enslave their daughters and their sons to secure lasting alliances. The only way to escape Arianne treachery is through an alliance secured by slavery." He looks at me and at Aldis. "Ormr. Aldis. As Slaathan royalty, you knew we might be required to marry to secure alliances. Carliss, Ersan and Rizzolo all have eligible offspring." I interrupt, shocked at what Gareth is implying. My voice is harsh. Disbelieving. The ache in my head is so intense I don't think I can withstand it. "No. Absolutely not. We are Slaathan. We do not enslave." Gareth's face is tight with anger. "Do you think I contemplate this lightly?" he snarls at me. "Do you think I want this? This is what it means to rule, Ormr. You don't get to make the easy decisions. Everyone doesn't win and live happily ever after." No. Arsu, no. I cannot do this to some innocent young woman in the name of an alliance. "And you would ruin the lives of people that have done us no harm?" I snap back. The tension is thick in the room. I watch Brenna look from Gareth to me, and she takes a deep breath. Gareth and I are like brothers. We are kin. And I have never been angrier with him. She is going to interrupt, but Aldis speaks first. She has been so quiet since Hagan's death. So withdrawn. But her voice is firm. "Enslaving three Arianne royalty. Or saving a million Slaathan men, woman and children. I agree with Gareth." I glare at her as well. Haf took Hagan to the Halls of Rest, and she sees only to save our people from Haf's wrath. But there is a deep unease in me. This is it. This is the slippery slope upon which we start to tread and lose all honour as a people. We are Slaathan. We do not enslave. Brenna speaks, and her voice is soft and strained. "Ormr," she says hesitantly. "Do you really believe that Gareth wants this?" It is the use of his name that finally calms me. Because while I don't know what the Overlord will do for Slathaar, I do know my cousin Gareth. Gareth is the most honourable man I know. Gareth will hate this. And he will do everything in his power to prevent this. We look silently at each other. Finally, Gareth speaks. "I loathe this," he says quietly. I sigh as the tension drains out from both of us. "My apologies, Gareth," I say. I take out the knife I carry and I slice open my palm, and Gareth, seeing what I do, does the same. Our palms touch and our blood mingles, and I speak the words of fealty. Because I know my cousin. He will do the right thing. "My sword is your sword, Overlord. And my blood is your blood." He nods. His voice is very quiet, and his words, though addressed to me, are spoken to all in the room. "I pray I don't abuse your trust, cousin." Gareth rarely smiles anymore. Aldis has retreated into herself. I have sworn fealty to a man who will do what he needs to do to save our people. Kanata has changed all of us. *** Mariam: There is a ceremony, of course, because it isn't possible to send off the Overlord and a small force in a quest for a new home without ceremony. First, the High Priest of Haf prays, as is the protocol ahead of any sea voyage. I wince as my head throbs, and I hear Arngeirr snort next to me. "Perhaps Mariam," he says, his voice dry as toast, "you will rethink the timing the next time you get the urge to visit a tavern." Arngeirr, First-in-Command of the Armies of all Slathaar. I'm going to miss his dry humour, his friendship and his counsel. "Thank you, Arngeirr, that is very useful advice," I hiss back. Please. Arngeirr's drinking exploits are something of legend in Slathaar. He snorts again in amusement. The High Priest finishes, and I kneel, outwardly respectful. In this journey, I command the warriors of Slathaar that accompany us. My lack of faith does not worry me. But the people need to believe that we will be successful in this journey to find a new home. They will seek Haf's blessing. I kneel accordingly. Haf is Arsu's twin brother. The Sea God. You would think in a sea-faring nation like Slathaar, Haf would be our primary God. And he isn't inconsequential, of course. But Arsu dominates. Arsu is the Sun. Arsu is War. We are a people used to war. After the High Priest of Haf is finished, Ingrid, High Priestess of Arsu steps up the makeshift podium. An immediate hush descends on the assembled gathering. For Ingrid has prophesised the destruction in Kanata, and it has come to pass. The Overlord kneels before her. She hands him his sword, blessed by Arsu. His sword will now seek blood as a gift to the High One. Finally, Gareth speaks the words of appointment in front of all assembled. He names his mother Brenna Protector of Slathaar. Ashalf, Second of Slathaar will stay home to protect our people, as will Arngeirr, First-in-Command of the Armies. Then, we are done. Six hundred strong to try to conquer a continent. The wind blows, the three square sails on the ships are raised, and we leave home. I tell myself the moisture on my cheeks is just the spray from the water. *** Gareth: The Barden is beautiful. She skims over the water, and as I feel the gentle undulations from the waves, I put aside the conversation from this morning with difficulty. Enslaving the Arianne is repugnant to all of us. I pray it doesn't come to that. As the sea spray hits my face, I feel the headache from this morning recede slightly, and peace fills me for the first time in a long time. I am Slaathan. Haf is in my blood. I take a look at Mariam, who is talking to Ardef, Barden's captain. They are probably talking about rowing rotations; how the crew will be quartered, and other such mundane but essential details. When their conversation winds down, she makes her way to me, and I suppress a grin. Up close, she looks terrible. She is always slightly sea-sick at the start of a voyage. Plus, if I am any judge of it, she is hung-over and hurting. "I should have the men do a drill, don't you think? Full inspection? We need to make sure everything's ship-shape." I work really hard at keeping the laughter out of my voice. She'll have to bust her ass for a full inspection, and I'll wager that all she wants to do right then is to go back to sleep. "Of course, Overlord." She tries to keep the dismay out of her voice. I just laugh. "Damn it, Gareth," she mutters, smiling briefly. "Yes, I richly deserve this hangover, but gods, I'm going to be sick all over the side of this ship." "Please don't be," I say hastily. "Ardef will be very unhappy with you. Go to my quarters, there's some travia essence in my coat pocket." "Oh, thank Arsu," she says fervently. "Gareth, you are a life-saver." *** The Barden has two hundred Slaathan warriors. One hundred rowing benches, fifty on either side. In addition to the warriors, travelling with me on the Barden are my inner council. There's Braed, who is Assistant Spy Master. He is a small man, possessing the ability to completely blend into his surroundings. It is a formidable skill; I'm in awe of that man. He's also our expert on Arianne. No Slaathan warship has set out to Arianne's shores for over three hundred years. Odd merchants here and there, and our spies have always kept an eye on their ever-shifting alliances, but Arianne has largely escaped our scrutiny for many generations, as we have dealt with threats from East and West. There's Draef, my Chief of Staff, and my personal nemesis. Draef runs my life and ruthlessly schedules every minute of my day. I trust his counsel unreservedly. And of course, there's Mariam, who commands the Armies in my name. Finally, Kari, Priestess of Arsu, who Ingrid has hand-picked to accompany us. I don't know Kari at all. On the Visund is Ormr, Third of Slathaar, with two hundred hand-picked warriors. And finally, on the Ormen is Aldis, Fourth of Slathaar. Ormr's sister. With her own complement of warriors. It is a small force, but the six hundred warriors have been hand-picked. They are the best of Slathaar. If I go into battle, I go with men and women that I trust completely. *** Once we are well underway, I head towards Meagan. Healer. We had tried arguing with Meagan about coming on this journey. She is old. Healer to my father before me. Her journey to the Halls of Rest approaches. But she'd snorted in disdain as Draef had carefully suggested that someone else come on this journey. I had watched her speak scathing words to him, and I had repressed a shudder and a grin. "Healer," I start respectfully as I approach her. I had tried to suggest that she take my quarters instead of sleeping on the open deck, and had received my allotment of Meagan's sarcastic tongue lashing for daring to suggest that she wasn't sturdy enough for this journey. Draef had laughed openly at her words, and then the two of us had retreated to a tavern to nurse our wounds. Meagan looks up at me. "Damn fool boy," she grumbles. "I suppose you want something for your palm." The oath is designed with intent, not to be entered into lightly. Both Ormr and I will feel the pain for months as we grip our swords. I don't wonder how Meagan knows about Ormr's oath of fealty. Meagan knows everything. "Yes, Meagan," I say meekly, extending my palm towards her. The cut had healed slightly, but any movement opens the wound. It is bleeding now. She looks at me disapprovingly. "Inconvenient time to swear fealty," she says. She takes out a small bottle from her chest and opens it, and smears the lotion over my palm. Immediate relief flows through me, and I gratefully mutter my thanks. She rolls her eyes at me. "Take the rest of it," she orders. Meagan has been healing me since I was a boy. Scrapes on my knee. Cuts in my side from battle, both real and staged. She is as family to me. She's also the most talented Healer in the North Seas. I smile at her, and her eyes soften for a split second. My smile widens to a smirk, and then she laughs. "Silly child," she chides. "Go." *** Palm taken care of, I head to my quarters. There's only two small quarters on the ship. Most everyone will sleep on the deck under the open skies. But as Overlord, I have a small, private chamber that Meagan refused to take. And the other chamber is reserved for Kari, in accordance to her rank as Priestess of Arsu. I supress a smile at the memory of Ardef's muttered cursing when he realized he had to give up his chambers for the Priestess. It hadn't been very respectful at all. Perhaps she'll share it with him though. I saw Kari give Ardef an assessing look as she had boarded the ship, one he returned in full. It is a long voyage. One must seek pleasures where one can. Talking about seeking pleasure where I can, I eye Mariam. She has taken her clothes off in bed. She is very naked, and very beautiful. She opens her eyes sleepily at the sound of my entry, and she smiles at me. She also looks slightly guilty. "I didn't use up your entire supply of travia essence, did I?" Slathaar: Invasion Ch. 02 I eye her. Mariam does not take her responsibility lightly. For her to go drinking the night before we set out is highly unusual. But the stress of what we all undertake is crushing, and she's coping the best she can. But there's still tension in the set of her shoulders. In the slight unravelling of control in the back of her eyes. As it happens, I know how to provide stress relief. We've been together for three years, after all. I pull my belt from its loops, and look at Mariam. She sighs softly, and her lips form a soundless yes. "Hands and knees, Mariam," I instruct, and she obeys wordlessly. "Don't scream," I warn her. "There's only so much noise the sound of the oars will mask." There's the usual noise there is on the warship. The sound of the wind whistling through the sails. The drum beats providing the rhythm for the rowing. The steady up-and-down slap of the oars. The muttered chatter of two hundred people. Ardef's voice shouting instructions. She nods, and I bring the belt down on her naked ass. A red welt immediately rises on her fair skin, and she stifles a moan, pushing her hand in her mouth to keep from making noise. I'm entirely unfazed. I know Mariam's limits well. The belt falls again, and she makes a small, whimpering noise this time that makes me want to drop the belt and gather her in my arms. That's not what she needs. There's no logic or rhyme or reason for the things we need; the things that arouse us. To Mariam, this punishment with the belt will free her of tension for the moment. It will remove the weight of being responsible for the safety of six hundred, at least for a little while. And with that will come the fire of lust. Mariam's pain doesn't arouse me. It's the whimper. It's her willing submission that is an aphrodisiac for me. And she moans, and wriggles her ass as the belt descends, and I can see her juices begin to gather. The scent of her wanting fills the air. I smile to myself. Not long now. Sure enough, four swift strokes later, Mariam gasps, and moves. "Please Overlord, stop," she grits out, and I stop and move in towards her. "What do you need, Mariam?" I ask her, my voice ragged with the lust that I have held in check. "I need you to take me hard," she says, looking at me. "Lie back," I tell her. "Spread your legs." I take her brutally hard. Her face contorts in pain for my first few strokes, but her body responds, and her grip on my arms tighten, and she moves her hips with me, rocking me deeper and deeper into her body. She groans softly as I slam into her, again and yet again. But her eyes are open, and their message is clear. Again. More. I oblige. My fingers move to her clitoris and she whimpers in helpless lust as I force her to a quick climax. I feel her clench around me, and my fingers keep moving, relentless, till she gasps out a no. "Are you refusing me your body?" My voice is dangerous. She shakes her head quickly. "My apologies, Overlord," she says. She laughs, a pained amusement that ends in a whimper as I rub her clitoris hard. She comes again, in clenching waves around my dick, and I grit my teeth and hold back my urge to erupt. Not yet. I want her to come once more for me. Her nails dig into my biceps, and she makes a soft, keening noise as she grinds into my fingers. "Don't stop," she begs, and I laugh. "I wasn't planning on it, sweet one," I assure her as I pull out and slam back into her body. She bites her lower lip, and curves her legs around my hips, holding me in her body. I shake my head, and smack her thighs hard, and she grins and pulls them back, laying splayed open for me to take. She winks at me. "Your will, Overlord," she says sweetly, and I growl at her words, and I move within her, and as she arches in climax one last time, I join her. *** "You know," she points out, wincing as she lies on her stomach, and lacing her fingers in mine. "You refused to pour wax on my clitoris last night. Something about needing me effective. I can't see how beating my ass so hard that I'm going to have difficulty sitting down isn't doing the same thing." I raise my eyebrow. "You really must have more faith in me, Mariam," I chide. I show her the little bottle of lotion that Meagan has given me for my palm. "Don't tell Meagan though, I'll get in trouble," I tell her, reaching over and massaging a tiny bit of lotion into her sore, red ass. There's healing magic in that cream. Mariam's discomfort will fade by the morning. "What did she give you the lotion for?" she asks me. The ingredients for Meagan's potion are extraordinarily difficult to get, especially now as the island nations that are Slathaar's neighbors are massing in war against us. I show her the cut on my palm silently. "Who?" All Slaathans know that the cut signifies an oath of fealty. "Ormr," I say, my tone slightly curt. I don't want to talk about why Ormr swore fealty. I don't want to think about the Arianne. Not now. Right now, I want to draw this beautiful woman into my body, and forget the cares of the world for a little while. Her brow furrows at my tone, and she has every right to be irritated at me. But she smiles lazily, and moves into my body. She knows I'll tell her about it soon enough. For starters, because I trust her implicitly. But also, she is a member of my inner council, and as the Second-in-Command of the Armies of Slathaar, she has earned her right to know of matters that are important to the realm. "I should go," she says. "I've neglected my responsibilities for long enough." "Stay," I tell her. "Things seem to be in order, and we don't reach Neavis for another two days." Our boats will dock on land where we can. If nothing else, so that the soldiers can sleep under shelter. We can choose a more direct route to Arianne, and reduce the journey by a month, easily, but a two-month journey on the open seas, with no shelter from the elements will sap our strength. Though I itch at the delay, the longer journey is the better journey in the face of what lies ahead. *** Aldis: I dream of Hagan that night. In my dream, I go to my tent, and he is there, and I unpin my hair back and shake it loose, and I frown and relay the words of the Council to him. About how any possible marriage alliance with the Arianne would likely involve enslaving my betrothed. Hagan isn't listening. His eyes are on my body. "It has been a while, Aldis," he says, his eyes intent. I smile at him, a trace of shyness in my gaze. I have been away in Temra for nearly a month, while Hagan guards Kanata. I have missed my love. "What does my beloved want from me?" I ask him softly. His mouth curls in a familiar wry smile. "For starters, you could take off your clothes," he suggests. He lies back on the bed, propped up on one elbow, and watches me as I slowly take off my gown. In my dream, my gown is crimson red. The colour that a bride would wear on her wedding night. In my dream, his hands travel all over my body. In my dream, he worships me, and I worship him, and we exult in each other. In my dream, as he erupts in me, he leans close to me, and he looks deep into my soul. "Can you truly enslave someone, love?" In my dream, I see the tears gather in my eyes. "I do what I have to do for the good of our people," I reply softly. He shakes his head at me. "The first and deepest loss is the loss of one's soul." And then he fades, and I am left bereft once again.