2 comments/ 12191 views/ 18 favorites Chieftain Ch. 01 By: MasterOfShe ----- (Author's note: This is the first entry in what is planned to be a much longer tale. This chapter features no sex, but establishes characters and settings for future entries, including the intentionally nameless hero. Influences are many, but I have read much before writing, and it is my sincere hope to offer something at least novel, if not unique. I am certainly open to all feedback. Thank you, and please enjoy.) ----- The chieftain rode into the clearing on a strong black steed, flanked by his two most trusted warriors. He wore well tanned leather armor, with a fine sheepskin about his shoulders. At his side hung the short, single-handed sword once wielded by his father. He was what the empire termed a barbarian. But of course, having no knowledge of more civilized lands, he held the highest office and esteem known to his people. Not yet middle aged, he was still in his physical prime, with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and proud, experienced eyes. He saw the emcampment for the foolishness it was. These people clearly had no idea how to survive in this wilderness, and would likely be gone before year's end. Still, he was here to do his duty as the leader of his people. He was un-challenged by any guard as he rode towards the lavish tent at the center of the encampment, though he knew he was being watched from many an angle. These people were fools, yes, but they were not stupid. The chieftain knew that these were not the same thing. Perhaps he could bring them into the tribe, with a little guidance. "Greetings, outlander," he spoke to the single guard at the entrance of the large, finely ordained tent, "I am here to speak with your leader." "She will see you now, but your weapons must stay here," the guard responded. "She?" the chieftain asked in disbelief. He looked to his warriors, who erupted with laughter. "Kirtuk, stay outside with the weapons." The elder warrior stifled his amusement, "Aye." The guard simply nodded, as the chieftain dismounted, removed his sword, and entered the tent, followed by his lone remaining companion. Inside the tent, he was taken aback by what he saw. Perched atop a high dais were two richly crafted chairs, covered in jewels such as he had never seen. One of these chairs was empty. The other was occupied by an undeniably beautiful woman, clothed in fine silk that left her belly bare. She wore no shoes as she sat straight, arms resting on the arms of the chair. Her dark hair was long and straight, cascading over her shoulders as she looked down upon the chieftain. He was equally shocked by the girl sitting not in the second, vacant chair, but on the ground at the other's feet. She was completely nude, save a metal collar locked about her neck, and she was gorgeous. Her breasts were firm, and her body was toned. She had dark hair as well, cut short above her shoulders, and piercing blue eyes, though she only met those of the chieftain for an instant before averting her gaze. He could not help but notice that there was no hair between the girl's legs. The woman in the dress spoke, "You are come before me, Sakara, daughter of Lune, the one true Emporer." "You are a guest in our lands," the chieftain replied. This was a customary greeting among his people, and afforded this foreigner great honor, though as a woman she scarce deserved such. Sakara did not respond. Rather, she stood, and slowly descended her dais, one step at a time, until she stood opposite the chieftain. He could see now why she needed a stage. She was shorter than he, and must have trouble commanding men without the aid of theatrics. "I think the barbarian needs to see a map," she said over her shoulder. The nude woman stood and quicly scampered to do as she was bid. She brought a roll of parchment which was spread on a side table before the chieftain and his one remaining warrior. "I assume you are unable to read," Sakara stated. There was no question in her tone. The chieftain was unfamiliar with the very concept, and so only grunted in reply. "Where we now stand is here," she said as she leaned over the map and pointed, "This is the Westernmost Territory of the one true Empire. As an imperial subject, this at least you should know." She paused, then continued, "It is customary to kneel in the presence of the very high born." The chieftain's remaining warrior chuckled, "Woman, you forget yourself. This man is chieftain of these lands. Where is your father?" "My father is in the Imperial Capitol. For the way you just spoke to me, you should pray you never meet him, barbarian." Sakara turned her gaze back to the chieftain. "Perhaps I should find another to sit the high throne of governor in this territory." With her eyes she indicated the chair adjacent to the one in which she herself had been seated. "You offer me a chair?" the chieftain asked. "I have many chairs." "I offer you honor, and authority among our people," she answered, "You are a simple people, and perhaps do not understand the might of the Empire. Our armies number greater than you can imagine. Our reach extends across the known world. How many tribes do you command in these lands?" "We are one tribe." "One? Truly. How many warriors?" "Do not answer her, my chief. She is a woman. Could she even understand such matters, this is not wise to discuss with a potential enemy," the warrior interrupted. "Silence, Karvol. I will speak as I choose," the chieftain snapped back. Sakara spoke, "We are not your enemy. I have come here to treat with you, and offer you power. We know little of these lands. We need a governor who knows the land and the people. Now, how many people might that be, my chief?" She afforded him the title of his people. It was a title of respect and authority, and yet there was little of either in her eyes. "We are hundreds ten over," the chieftain answered. "Thousands. My chief, as governor, you would command not just your own warriors, but an entire legion of imperial soldiers. You would have a vote on the regional council, to determine affairs across the entire Empire. How could a simple chieftain achieve such as that?" "My sword is strong." "I'm sure it is," she said, and for the first moment she seemed sincere as a smile graced her lips. "Yet I don't see it presently." "It was left with Kirtuk." "My guard tells you to disarm, and you obey? A simple guard has disarmed the might of your entire people." Karvol spoke, "My chief, she insults you." "I do not, truly," Sakara answered, "I merely point out the benefit I offer. Your sword is nothing, my chief. Power sits upon that throne." She gestured to the dais once more. "You speak of power, but your camp is poorly organized. Your people are going to starve and freeze," Karvol replied. "Help us to live, and we will lift you up," Sakara said, "Or do not. If you refuse, you are free to return to your villages. An experienced man will be brought from the Capitol to teach you the ways of the Empire. But you will be afforded no special recognition. You will be as commoners." "We will wipe you from that map," Karvol said. His eyes narrowed. "That would be unwise to attempt." The chieftain strolled away from the map table and gazed up at the dais. "I do not require an answer today," Sakara said. This encampment will remain for a fortnight before my messengers return to the Capitol." "Very well," said the chieftain, "You are welcome." Karvol grew tense, but did not speak. "I offer you gifts to return to your people," Sakara said, "Outside you will find a wagon stocked with provisions, and a team of horse to pull it." "We can feed ourselves. You keep the food. You're the ones who-" Karvol started. "I said, silence!" the chieftain roared. Karvol was quiet. Sakara was pleased. "That is the authority of a governor," she said. "I offer you also the leash of Ata, this slave." Karvol had nearly forgotten the nude girl. The chieftain had not. She came and kneeled before him, knees spread wide, head lowered. "I do not understand," the chieftain said, "What is a slave?" Sakara grinned, genuinely amused. "A slave is an obedient animal, in the body of a person," she said, "The slave will do whatever her master commands." The chieftain looked down at the girl, Ata. "But why would she come with me?" he asked. "Because she now belongs to you," Sakara answered, "She is your property. Beat her, fuck her, do as you wish with her. She will obey." "This is wrong. My chief, you cannot-" Karvol began again. The chieftain simply looked at the warrior, and he was silent once more. The chieftain considered the girl at his feet. "She is a woman," he said, "She can be another of my wives." "No," Sakara said, "She is a slave. We have many male slaves as well. It is a station irrespective of gender." The chieftain thought this over. The people in this camp were clearly not to be trusted. That much was sure. But Karvol was himself just as much the fool as they, for he would lay bare all his thoughts and intentions. If this Empire was as powerful as hinted, the tribe would do well to ally with them. But if this were a ruse... At this point, he could not be sure of anything. But he would not leave a naked and helpless girl at their mercy. "She can ride with me," he said. "Magnificent," Sakara said, "Then it is done." With a clap of her hands, the guard from outside the tent entered. He bound the girl's wrists with a leather thong, and none too gently, grabbed her upper arm to drag her from the tent. The chieftain, Karvol, and Sakara followed. "Ata," the chieftain said, trying the girl's name. "Yes, Master," she replied. Kirtuk was waiting with the company's weapons, as ordered. "New friends!" he said, laughing as he saw the slave girl. "I was not expecting to bring anyone back with me. This is all I have to offer," he said, removing his sheepskin and draping it around Ata. "Master is kind," she said. "Too kind," Sakara spoke, "But that is for another time. I will hear from you in a fortnight...Governor." "You will hear from me," he said, strapping his sword once more at his side. Chieftain Ch. 02 Author's note: I highly suggest reading Chapter 1 of this story before continuing here. As before, there are elements of non-consent and slavery, though in a primarily fantasy setting. This chapter is an attempt to further develop the characters and setting, rather than advance the plot, necessarily. Comments are welcome. Thank you. ***** Ata had been a slave for as long as she could remember. But the Empire didn't raise children as slaves. Indeed, she had been born free, as was everyone under Imperial rule. But her life before now was lost to her. She was now a different being entirely from that long lost free woman. Her survival depended on this dissociation of identity, this compartmentalization within herself; so thoroughly had she been broken. That free-born woman was gone. She...was a slave. As such, she couldn't remember the last time she had been on a horse. Her hands had been lashed to the saddle, so she was far from being in control, but her new master seemed quite the lenient sort for even allowing her to ride. His sheepskin was still wrapped around her shoulders, and she could feel the strength in his one arm that held her before him, while the other guided the reins. She felt a sense of security in his grasp. He would keep her safe. But his was an unfamiliar world. Thankfully his people spoke the common tongue, but their culture was foreign. The younger of his two companions, the one called Karvol, seemed to strongly disapprove of her presence among them, while the elder, the one called Kirtuk, seemed mostly amused. She wondered what it would be like when they came to his village. She had been told it would be at least one day's journey after this. ... The girl...the slave...was suprisingly quiet before him in the saddle. This was not out of the ordinary for barbarian people, yet the chieftain had expected more from this outlander. She had asked no questions, and seemed content to simply be taken wherever they were going. The Imperial guard had insisted on binding her to the saddle, if she were allowed to ride at all. Sakara had wanted him to make her walk behind the horse, but the girl was barefoot, and this would have surely slowed their progress. He thought of how strange a place this Empire of theirs must be. The girl...the slave...was slender. He could have crushed her tender frame with the one arm that held her, but instead felt the need to protect her. She was truly a victim in this game they were playing, and Karvol seemed to lack the sympathy to realize that in accepting her as his property, he was freeing her from oppression. The men of the tribe did not own their women. They took care of them, with sharply divided gender roles, but the concept of a person as property was a whole new idea among them, even if Sakara had said that she was not truly a person at all. It was clear that Karvol did not like it, but Kirtuk was almost too enthusiastic in his amusement. The chieftain had to be sure to be careful, even among these, his most trusted warriors. "We should make camp," Kirtuk declared, "No need to press on, and darkness will be upon us soon." Karvol's horse rode behind Kirtuk, without its rider, for Karvol was behind the others, driving the wagon of provisions sent by Sakara. After riding for a few more minutes, they came upon a rocky outcrop in the hillside, forming a natural shelter underneath. Small hunting parties used the spot often, and it was littered with the scorched remains of old camp fires and the bones of discarded meals. The chieftain slid from his saddle as Karvol set to unhitching the horses of the carriage team. "Kirtuk," said the chieftain, "We need a fire." "Aye," the grizzled warrior replied. "I can make a fire, Master," Ata said. It was the first she had spoken. Kirtuk smiled. "Very well," said the chieftain. ... She was surprised when he cut her bonds rather than untying them from the horse. How was she to be bound again? But it was not her place to question. Ata slid from the saddle, and set to gathering wood for a fire. They were travelling a well worn path...not quite a road...at the edge of a thick pine forest, and fallen limbs were not hard to come by. She dragged several loads back to the outcrop. It was hard work, and left her with many small scratches, but she moved hurriedly to beat the ever-fading daylight. Her feet had not seen shoes for many a day, yet still she stumbled on the pebbles under the outcrop. The sheepskin fell from her shoulders as she lost her balance, and she dropped her load of lumber on top of her already smarting feet, causing her to cry out. She nervously looked towards the barbarians, but they paid her no mind. She was naked once more aside from her collar, though she scarcely noticed. This was a natural state for her. She arranged the wood for the fire. Then she picked up the sheepskin and carried it with her as she kneeled once more before the chieftain, knees spread wide, back straight, head lowered in submission. She was well trained. "Master," she said, "May I beg use of flint and steel?" The chieftain seemed startled. He had been helping Karvol hobble the horses, and had not seemed to notice her approach. "What is flint and steel?" he asked. "For the fire, Master," she said. "You said you could make a fire," Kirtuk said. "I...I can, sir. I...I just need the right tools." She dared not look up at the warrior. He did not seem pleased. "Here," Kirtuk said. He dug in his pack and threw a pile of wood on the ground in front of her. There was a curved piece that looked like a bow, as well as a long...was it an arrow? Then there was a flat piece... "Master..." she said, her voice hesitant. Her face grew red... A chill built in her chest, and she felt felt light headed... Her chest rose and fell with her increasingly heavy breaths... She was going to be punished, certainly... Her voice broke, "...I do not know what this is." "It is a bow drill," said the chieftain, "Karvol, show her how to use it. They must make fires differently in the Empire." ... In the end, it was Karvol who started the fire. Ata had made many an earnest attempt, but use of the bow drill required more strength and stamina than she was accustomed to. The chieftain had erected a travelling tent found on the cart, with Kirtuk. It seemed as though some of these provisions would be useful, afterall. Perhaps it was foolhardy to dismiss the Empire. It was now decidedly dark, and the fire presented a warm and welcoming glow. The chieftain picked up his sheepskin from where Ata had left it and approached the fire with Kirtuk by his side. It sounded as if Ata were actually speaking with Karvol. But as soon as she heard the footsteps behind her, she was silent. Her demeanor changed entirely, and she behaved in a most unusual fashion. She got on her hands and knees, as a dog or small child, then lowered her head and forearms to the ground. Her knees were spread wide, with her back arched, presenting her ass. Her voice shook as she spoke, "Forgive me, Master! Please, your slave deserves to be punished!" The three barbarians were shocked. It was Kirtuk who broke the silence...with a roar of laughter. "Surely, this is a jest!" he boomed. He clapped the chieftain on the shoulder as he shook with laughter. "What do you expect me to do? And why?" asked the chieftain. "Beat me! Whip me, Master! I have failed you! Your slave begs forgiveness!" Ata cried. Kirtuk's laughter continued. "Is this about the fire?" the chieftain asked, "If so, I see no failure. There is a fire before me." "Karvol started the fire, Master. I could not." Ata seemed truly frightened. She did not move as the chieftain left the sheepskin and paced around her to squat by her face, turned to the side and pressed to the dirt. Still, she averted her gaze. "Look at me," he said. "Yes, Master," she said, and she moved her eyes to meet his. Her body remained in position. The chieftain realized that this was the first command he had actually given his slave, and she had obeyed, instantly and submissively. As he looked into her eyes, he saw wetness on her cheeks. Tears. For a brief moment, he saw into her, and despite any rational judgment, he felt a surging in his loins. He owned this girl, and they both knew it. She was his. Her breath slowed. "Ata, get up," Karvol said, "No one is going to beat you or whip you just because you didn't know how to start a fire. The bow drill takes practice. Even I have trouble at times." Ata did not move. Her eyes remained fixed on the chieftain. Realizing that she had ignored Karvol's command only made him harder. ...But he was the chieftain of his people. He was in charge, here, and he had to lead. "I am not going to punish you for so trivial a fault," he said, "I was in truth returning the sheepskin for your warmth. Surely you are cold." "The fire is hot, Master," she said. "And yet you are made of flesh and blood," he said, "Gather the sheepskin and warm yourself." "Yes, Master," she said, "Thank you, Master." She scampered to gather the sheepskin, and returned to the fire. He felt himself throbbing. ... The light from the fire danced on their faces. They shared food and drink, laughter and song. Throughout, Ata was silent. It was her place to serve, not to celebrate. She was far from home, and her mistress had recklessly given her away. She had been discarded like the useless slave she was. And it was no wonder. She had failed at the only task she had attempted to perform for her new master. And yet there had been no punishment. Why was he treating her so? "Ata was telling me of the Empire," Karvol said, "She does not know the ways of the wilderness, but she says she walked for countless days to reach that camp. They have been there for a ten day." "I'm sorry, Master," Ata said, "I should not have spoken to him." "Don't be ridiculous, girl," said Kirtuk. The chieftain regarded her, "Ata, no harm will come to you here. I am a virtuous and honorable man, as are all of my people. You need not supplicate yourself so." "I am your slave, Master," Ata said. "So I have been told," he replied. "Karvol, take first watch. I fear I must retire." He rose with sore muscles and turned toward the tent. Ata followed. "I will warm your bed, Master," she said. Kirtuk patted his lap. "I don't know, girl," he said, "This fire is burning low. I could use some warming myself." Ata regarded the chieftain. "It will be as Master commands," she said. "This is too much," said Kirtuk. The chieftain paused. "Do as you wish," he said, "I have told you. You are among friends." He continued toward the tent. Ata was left standing by the fire, wrapped only in a sheepskin. Kirtuk leered. "I must go to my Master," she said, and she ran towards the tent. Within, she found him removing his armor by lantern-light, his back to the entrance. She saw the muscles of his back as he stretched. He was the essence of masculine pride. She let fall the sheepskin, leaving her naked once more. She walked toward him slowly. "You have told me that I am among friends," she said. She pressed herself against his back, her breasts compressed by his muscle. "And I have told you," she continued as she reached into his breeches, "I am your slave." She felt the weight and the warmth of his sack, and the heavy meat of his manhood as it swelled within her grasp. "Allow me to please you, Master," she said. He sighed as she began to stroke his length from the rear. He had girth and length, and felt as a rod of pure heat and power within her hand. Had she been a less experienced woman, she might have been intimidated. But Ata was well trained. "Your slave begs to serve you, Master." Abruptly, he turned. He grasped her upper arms in both hands. She felt a chill of fear that she had again wronged him. She looked away. "You will look at me," he said, "And you will serve me." She looked into his dark brown eyes. "Yes, Master!" she said. She sank to her knees before him. As she removed his breeches, she noticed he was uncut, like a true man. In the Empire, circumcision was one of many marks of shame carried by male slaves. She took him in her mouth, using her tongue to lick his underside as she guided him in and out. He moaned above her, and while she used one hand to hold him, the other found its way between her own legs. Her breathing increased as she sucked and slurped. Slobber mixed with his fluids dripped from her mouth and rolled over her breasts, pooling in her navel. Then she felt his hand in her hair, roughly. He pulled her back. She stopped pleasuring herself, and panted as she looked into his eyes. Her flung her backwards with ease, and she landed with a thud on the ground beneath her. Then he was on top of her. She spread her legs like the bitch she was. She felt him poised at her entrance. He paused, and his face contorted with thought. Who was this man? Then all thought was discarded. He plowed into her with force. She felt him deep, his length pressing at her cervix. Then again. And again. He was not gentle. He was a man in rut, and she was helpless beneath him. "Master!" she cried. He slowed. "Master, tell me your name," she said. "I am-" he started. Just then, Karvol entered the tent. "My chief!" he exclaimed, startled at the debauchery before him. The chieftain, startled, pulled out of his slave, just as he reached his climax. His seed shot forth, covering her from face, breasts, and belly. She arched her head backwards to see Karvol behind her, and licked her lips as she panted. She did not know his name, but she did not care. She lay in his drying wetness, content. She had pleased her master. Chieftain Ch. 03 Author's note: As before, I recommend reading previous chapters before continuing here. Also as before, please know that the story contains elements of slavery and non-consent, set in a fantasy setting. Comments and ratings are welcome. ***** The center of the barbarian tribelands was before them, with its magnificent hall rising on the lone hilltop in an otherwise level plain. Smaller huts and tents spanned outward in every direction, making for the closest thing this region had ever seen to a city. "That is the Hall of the Ancestors," said the chieftain to his naked slave seated before him on his black steed. All she wore, save a simple metal collar about her neck, was his fine sheepskin draped about her shoulders. Since their night in the travelling tent, he had become more comfortable with the idea of owning her, using her, and ordering her to do as he wished. She was likewise more comfortable with him, as this was the way in which she expected her relationships to function. Karvol, the chieftain's young right-hand of a warrior, did not approve. He had made this opinion known when he stumbled upon them in the tent. What if the girl was a spy, sent by the Empire? She was obedient and pleasing, yes, but some things were too good to be true. Karvol was likewise suspicious of the woman Sakara. "We should raise the strength of the tribe, and rout their encampment from our lands before their strength grows!" he had shouted, "But look at you! Instead of preparing for battle, you are bathing this slut in your semen! I tell you, my chief, she will be the death of you!" The chieftain had simply stood, silent and naked, considering the warrior's words. Finally, he had spoken: "You and Kirtuk, sleep outside by the fire," was all he had said. Karvol had left in a fury, and Ata, still lying on the ground, still covered from face to crotch with his fluids, had smiled. Now, they were come to the heart of the strength of his people. ... The first of the barbarians came to greet their returning chieftain. There were women and children among them, the first Ata had seen. They were dirty and ragged, but they looked happy and strong, too. These were not a starving people, barely managing a meager existence from the land. No, they were strong and proud, and their power could only grow. She could not imagine sadness or defeat among them. They were darker skinned than the people of the Empire, with dark eyes like her master and his warriors. She would stand out among them. More and more of them came forth as the small party of warriors returned, driving a cart and bringing a stranger. The men were mostly shirtless, but wearing simple breeches and thick boots. The women wore leather skirts and simple tops that left their arms, shoulders, and bellies bare. Some of them wore boots, like the men, while others were barefoot, or wore simple sandals. One of the women was topless, nursing a naked baby at her breast. Nudity was certainly not a taboo among them, and yet still they gaped at her. She thought it was her blue eyes, until the chieftain lowered her from the saddle to stand among them. They were not staring at her eyes. They were staring at her sex. Had they never seen a slave? She lowered her head, her face flushed with shame. She thought she had known all the shame that was possible to have forced upon her. She had been spit upon, forced to wallow in her own filth, dragged through the streets of the Imperial Capitol like a dog. And yet now...why would these people regard her so...? Involuntarily, she pulled the sheepskin closer about her. With her old mistress, she would surely have been punished for such, but her new master was a kind man. Perhaps he would permit her this relative modesty. "My chief returns!" cried a woman as she ran forward through the crowd. "Leila!" cried the chieftain. Her took her strongly in his arms and spun her about him. "What is this, woman?" asked Kirtuk, "It has only been five days." "And yet I see you have much to tell," Leila said. She indicated the wagon, and waved to Karvol. "Who is this?" she asked, gesturing towards Ata. "Her name is Ata," said the chieftain, "Ata, this is my first wife. Leila, my one true love." He smiled at the woman. Ata instantly sank to her knees. She let fall the sheepskin, and spread her knees, revealing her nakedness, and the nakedness of her sex. "Mistress," she said. Leila eyed the chieftain. "There is much to explain," said the chieftain, "Ata, stand up. Let me show us to the Hall." "Yes, Master." ... "A slave...?" Leila asked. They were standing alone together, on the great stairs of the Hall of the Ancestors, looking out over the domain of the tribe. The chieftain had removed his armor, and was now dressed as the other men of the tribe. He wore no shirt, but his prized sheepskin now once again adorned his own shoulders. "Yes. She is not even truly a person. She exists only to serve and obey," said the chieftain. "And is that something else this woman told you?" she asked. "Sakara. Yes," he said. "My husband," she said, walking closer towards him. She took his face in her hands, "You are a fool. All is not as it seems." The chieftain sighed, and turned his gaze towards the far hills. "That is what Karvol said." "Karvol is a smart and cunning warrior," Leila said. She moved her hands from his face, and reached between his legs, grabbing him firmly. He looked back to her. She had his attention. "I didn't marry you because you were smart or cunning." He pulled her closer. "Of course not. You married me because my tribe plundered your village, woman." "A lifetime ago," she said, "We are one tribe." He kissed her, and his hand grabbed her backside firmly. "Now please," she said, still in his embrace, "You can't take advantage of that girl." The moment was ruined. He pulled away. "And what am I to do? Send her back? If I had refused her, it would have been an affront to the Empire." "What is the Empire?" Leila asked, "All you know is what you have been told. You have seen but one encampment. By your own judgment, they will not survive the winter! And you are ready to do their bidding!" "No," he said, "They give me power." "You are already powerful," she said, "Look at your land! All of this is yours." She gestured outwards. The sun was setting, low in the sky, painting the clouds a brilliant red. Children played among the huts of the village. The sounds of music and drumming floated up from above. He could smell the scents of the kitchens and hearth fires. "It is all yours," she said, "You cannot give it away. But that it what they are asking you. They want you to sell it, my chief. For a chair. Look at me." She removed her top, slowly, untying the knots behind her neck and back, revealing the fullness of her breasts. She was older than Ata. It was not much, but she was decidedly a woman. "I am yours." She removed her skirt, undoing each button with care. "And I am not a slave." He could see that plainly. Her bush was prominent between her legs. It was the way he knew all women to be, and yet at this moment it only reminded him of his slave, waiting within the hall. He could see that his wife had noted his dissatisfaction. "Am I too much a woman for you?" she asked, "Or do you now prefer pre-pubescent girls with breasts? Why doesn't Ata have hair, my chief? It is unnatural." "She is a slave," he said. "Now I understand," his wife replied with mockery. She gathered her clothing, and stormed within the hall. He stood and considered the far hills, the huts, and the people below. Leila was right about one thing. This was his land. His decision was made. But first, he must do one thing. He turned and strode within. ... Ata sat, obediently waiting. She should be doing something more useful, she knew. But she had been told to wait, and wait she must. Her back was against one of the many large wooden pillars within the hall, her knees hugged to her chest. Once her master was Governor of this land, this is surely where he would place his throne. Currently, this room seemed used simply for dining. There was a long wooden table with many chairs to her rear. Behind that were two great doors. She had not yet ventured through them. Just as she was thinking this, her new mistress strode past her in a hurry. She was naked, carrying her clothes. Had she just coupled with the master? If so, Ata was confused as to her purpose. How was she supposed to serve? She had not even been acknowledged. Was she supposed to follow the mistress, or wait for the master? She stood up, just as he entered from the same direction. "Master," she said. She kept her head lowered. "Come with me, slave," he said. It was the first time he had addressed her as such, and because of this, like the people in the village, it brought with it long forgotten shame. A day prior, the word had been alien to him, much less the concept. Now, he had taken to its usage with all the contempt and disregard as her former mistress, the lady Sakara. Perhaps she had misjudged his kindness. Perhaps she was now bound to a new kind of ruthlessness. Whatever the case, she knew she had no choice in the matter. Her only joy could come from pleasing him, and she aimed to do so. "Yes, Master," she said. Taking a torch from a sconce on the wall, he led her to the great doors on the other side of the dining hall. With a strained push, he opened them both, swinging them wide to reveal the true treasure of the village. This...was the Hall of the Ancestors. The hall was twice as high as any normal room, and long, stretching back beyond the reach of the light behind them, and there were no windows. On either side stood great stone statues of warriors, monuments, she assumed, to those gone before. "These are my ancestors," said the chieftain. He strode within, and she followed. "Reaching back before the time of my grandfather's grandfather." He closed the mighty doors behind them, bathing them temporarily in darkness as their eyes adjusted to the limited light around them. The chieftain led her further forward. "They are the keepers of memories, and the treasure of my people. What do you think of them?" "They were surely fearsome and mighty warriors, Master," Ata obediently answered. It was what she thought he might want to hear. She was still studying him, learning how best she might serve and please. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor with the sound of his boots. It was a noticeable difference from her own, silent and barefoot. The floor was cold, but she dare not complain. "No, slave," he said, as he continued walking. They passed many a megalith of sword and shield, spear and arrow. They were all men, of course, bearded and broad of chest, some wearing helmets or cradling them beneath their arms, others shirtless like her own chieftain. "Master?" she asked, "Have I caused offense?" "They are fearsome and mighty warriors, slave. Not were." "I am sorry, Master." "Are you?" he stopped walking and faced her. They were far from the outer hall now. "You do not understand. I cannot sacrifice their wisdom for gain. They are the heart of my people." He was right. Ata did not understand. But she could tell he was angry. She had begged for punishment at their camp because she could not start a fire, and he had forgiven her weakness. But here...had she not simply misspoken? A familiar chill came over her, not from the cold. Her words caught in her throat as her heart pounded. She could not answer him. She sank to her knees. "Forgive me, Master," she said. "No!" he yelled. It caught her attention. She was caught off guard, and raised her eyes to look at him. They were dilated with fear, her mouth open in surprise. "I will not betray my first wife! I will not betray my warriors, Karvol or any other! I will not sell my people for something I already have!" Now she understood. He meant to refuse Sakara. What had Leila said to him? "Master, that is unwise! The Emperor will-" Her words were cut off as he backhanded her. She was thrown sideways to the floor. "Do not question me," he said. Tears welled up in her eyes. She struggled to lift herself from the cold floor. "No, Master! I'm sorry, Master!" she sobbed. "Stay down," he said. "Yes, Master!" she lowered herself back down. Her work in the tent was undone. He was not pleased. How could she please him? "Beg for punishment," he said. "Yes, Master!" she cried, "Please punish me, Master! Your ignorant slave dared to question you, and the might of your ancestors! She deserves to be punished, Master!" She heard a rustling above her, and then his rough hands upon her sides, rolling her over to her stomach. The floor was cold. He pulled her back to her knees, then kicked them apart with his feet. So, he meant to- He thrust into her violently, and she cried out. Had his anger made him larger than before? This was- Again, she was wrenched forward by his thrust. She was not ready. This hurt, and tore. She would surely- He pulled her back. She could not escape. The torch was beside her on the- It hurt. It hurt so much. It was cold, but she was sweating. And he- "Master!" she sobbed, "Master! Please! Mercy!" Her cries echoed off the stone walls. The ancestors looked on. Did they see? Were they also punishing her? The light flickered on their cold faces. The chieftain only picked up his pace. More and more. Harder and harder. She was lost. And then she felt him inside her, spilling out, running down her legs... ... Without a word, he stood up, leaving the girl crying on the floor as his juices leaked out of her. He was still hard and twitching. He felt uncomfortably satisfied. What was this girl doing to him? He had just raped her in the Hall of the Ancestors. He had just reduced her to a ball of tears and cum...it felt good, and he was disgusted with himself. This was not right. "Stand up, he said "Yes, Master," she sniffled. She stumbled to her feet. "You understand what I said to you, just now, do you not?" "Yes, Master," she said, staring at the floor, "You mean to refuse the Empire." "That means I must refuse their gifts, as well," he said, "No slaves will walk these halls while I am chieftain." She raised her eyes to meet his. Her lip was swollen from his blow. Had he been so harsh? "Master," she pleaded, "You cannot send me back. I will please you, I swear! I will do whatever you command! Anything! But Lady Sakara will kill me if I return without you!" "I do not mean to send you back," he said. She lowered her eyes once more. "I am an ignorant slave, Master. I am sorry, but I do not understand." "Come with me," he said. He picked up the torch from where he had dropped it in his lust and rage. She gathered his clothing, and he wrapped his arm about her as he led her back towards the entrance. Only then did he notice what she had done, and that he had not stopped her. This girl was dangerous. ... "Master, you must understand," she pleaded. She had tried. He did not understand. The craftsman was stitching the final knots of her new top and skirt as they spoke. "I will dress, or not, as you command. But you cannot free me." The craftsman's shop was made hot by the fire before them, as they stood in what was at this hour a quiet corner of the village. The moon, a waxing crescent, was at this point high in the sky. They could hear drumming and nightly festivities drifting from the distance. The chieftain did not answer her. He simply stood, watching the craftsman finish his work. "In the Empire, a slave must free him or her self. They must escape, or subdue their own masters. That is obviously very rare. Most slaves, are slaves for life. If the master is displeased with a slave, he might sell her, or give her away, as did the Lady Sakara with myself. But the master cannot free the slave. This is the law. It is to stop former family, lovers, or friends from purchasing slaves and then releasing them. You cannot free me." "This is not the Empire," was all he said. The craftsman was done with the clothing. He handed it to the chieftain for inspection. "This is yours," he said, handing it to Ata. "Yes, Master," she said, "Shall I wear it now?" "Soon," he said. "Yes, Master." "You are to stop referring to me as master," he said, "You are now a woman of the tribe. If you wish, I will take you for wife." "Does a woman of the tribe not make her own decisions? Is she not free?" asked Ata. "She is free," said the chieftain. "Then as a free woman..." Ata started, her face flushing. This was not easy for her. So deeply was her obedience ingrained, defying her master in this way was not in her nature. Her breath was heavy and shaking as she spoke: "As a free woman, I choose to remain your slave, and name you Master." "You are no longer a slave." "I am, Master! Do you not see the collar around my neck?" The chieftain regarded the craftsman. "Have you tools to remove this?" he asked, indicating Ata's collar. "I do. Heavy shears should do the trick," he answered. The craftsman was an old man, bald save for a strip of white hair that still clung to the back of his head. He was stooped from years of labor, but still had wiry, strong muscles. "No!" Ata panicked, "Master, please! Do not!" "Get your shears, old man," said the chieftain. He grabbed Ata by the hair, yanking her head back. He kicked at the back of her knees, lowering her to the floor instantly. Her hands flew to her throat. "No, Master!" she cried. Her eyes were wide. She could not remember another life. She had told him true. She was a slave. He was about to take even that from her. Roughly, he threw her forward, grabbing both arms and pinning them behind her back with one arm, before using the other to once again grab her hair and pull her head back, exposing her neck. His muscles flexed, refusing to let her fight. Tears streamed down her face as the old man approached. "This is who I am," she said. It was a quiet protest. She was all but resigned to her fate now. It was too easy. There was no struggle, no straining. The craftsman simply cut her collar in two, and it fell to the floor. As she looked upon it, she was briefly confused. Was it raining in the hut? Flashes of memory flooded her mind. A grassy hilltop. The grass high. She could touch it with her hands. Soft on her feet. Something wet on her back. Hair? Her hair had never been that long. Had it? It reached down to the small of her back. Why was it wet? She was not cold. The waterfall. She heard it behind her. Swimming? Is that why she was naked? Get your shears, old man. They were going to cut her hair! No! No! She would do as they said. She would obey. The hair fell all around her. They had butchered her spirit! She was powerless! Powerless! Waterfalls. Moonlight. Tears. They fell from her eyes, splattering the metal that had been the symbol of her servitude, splattering the dust of the old man's shop. There were no more sobs. No more cries. These were silent tears, of a second life wrenched from her. Hers was a story of loss, loss, and more loss. No matter how much she acquiesced, how much she surrendered or submitted, there seemed to always be more that could be taken from her. They had taken something from her. What was it? She couldn't remember now. Thank you, Mistress. May I have another? Moans and sighs. He was so big. She had to pleasure him. But she had to ask permission for her own pleasure. They tried to run away. This was what happened when you tried to run away. They tried to fight. This was the price of defeat. Never resist. Submit. Yield. Obey. The chieftain released her. What he did not realize, was that as he had so thoroughly dominated her this day, he had only made her more of a slave. What he did not realize, was that she was coming to love him for it. He had hurt her and taken from her, but she was conditioned to revel in hurt. It was how she survived. And so despite her tears, she smiled. Chieftain Ch. 03 ... He had done the right thing. She had protested, and she had fought, but now she was smiling. Now, she was free. It was the first step in the message he meant to send. Still kneeling on the floor, with tears on her cheeks, she looked up at him, and smiled. In that moment, he loved her. "Come," he said with kindness, "Get dressed, and let us dance around the fire, to the drums of our tribe." "Yes, Master." Chieftain Ch. 04 [Author's note: This is the fourth entry in an ongoing series. The story will make more sense if read from the beginning. Themes of slavery and non-consent are present, though in a fantasy setting. Comments are welcome. Thank you.] Ata was running, running! Her long, wet hair whipped behind her as she dove for cover on the side of the embankment. She was naked, her dress discarded on the rocks by the falls. If she could get back to the falls, she could show them who she was. They would know why she was here. They thought she was a common tribal wench. Her feet and lower legs were covered in mud from running. But she was noble born. She could show them! She waited as the slaver's horse came to stand just at the top of the embankment, obscured from view by mere inches of rock and grass. She stilled her breathing, and took a moment to wipe her brow. Unfortunately, all this really accomplished was to spread dirt across her forehead, mixing it with her sweat. Now she really looked like a common tramp. They raided often in these lands. It was part of the agreement with her father as governor. Men and women. She knew it didn't matter. And if she couldn't somehow show them... They would never believe her! And then it would be too late! The horse turned, and she heard it retreating into the distance. She waited. And then she was up again, running as fast as her feet could carry her. She could hear the falls, the water crashing on the rocks below. It wasn't far! She was going to make it! Her feet hurt as she scrambled over the roots on the path, but it didn't matter. A smile broke out on her face for just an instant...before she saw the other horseman blocking her path...and he was holding her dress! She stopped running and looked at him. She was caked in mud from hiding under the embankment. Her hair was still wet. Her breasts heaved as she tried to catch her breath. This was not good. "That is my dress!" she called out. The man did not answer. He was dressed in dark robes. His hood was brushed back from his head, but his face was obscured by a mask covering his nose and mouth. The other slaver came up then from behind, blocking the path back up to the hillside. Ata turned to face him. His was similarly masked and robed, with a whip and a coil of rope at his side. She turned back to the man with her dress. He was armed with a heavy, curved sword. He still did not speak. She looked back and forth. "I am Ata, born of Feylar, Governor of the East," she said, "You are holding my dress." "Ye don't look like any noble woman to me, wretch," said the man with the whip, "Just look at ye. Dirty. Like a commoner. Yer feet tough, girl? Ye'd like to run like it." "I..." To be true, her feet were bleeding and sore from trying to escape. Why was he saying that? "You knew this to be by the falls, girl?" asked the man with the sword. He didn't give her time for a response. "You thought you could assume the identity of the governor's daughter? After you drowned her?" "What?" Ata asked. Then she realized... They knew exactly who she was... And they didn't care. Her heart fell like a boulder from the falls. She stood transfixed with new fear. "Listen, ye wretch," said the man with the whip, "Just kneel right there. Yer done. Life's about to get real diff'rent. Not so bad. Ye'll see. Fetch a high price with those eyes... Those... Tits..." Ata felt him looking at her. She didn't like it. They were blocking the path. What was she going to do? The man got down from his horse and uncoiled a length of rope. She ran. Not down or up the path. She tried to go straight up the bank, but as soon as she started, she knew it was laughable. She clawed and fought, but then his hand was on her ankle. "Fightin' bitches is more fun anyway," he said. With force, he yanked her from her attempted climb. She fell to the path with a painful thud. Immediately, she tried to rise again, but he was on her. The rope ran around her chest, above her breasts, and she fought. It ran around again under her breasts, and she fought. Her arms were pulled tight behind her, crossed at the forearms. The rope ran down around her neck then, painfully pulling the lower loop up. Her breasts were thus painfully bound, but also the instrument of their own binding. She knew that was how this tie must work. Had she been a smaller woman, the rope would have now simply slid up her chest. But instead, it constricted and lifted her breasts upward. It hurt. Her arms were useless behind her. She was forced to her knees. She screamed and tried to thrash out, but the knots of the rope bit painfully into her skin. She screamed again. Then the man grabbed her jaw in his hands, forcing her mouth open, and looked into her eyes, now filling with tears. This was shame. She had been high born. Now she was tied, kneeling in the mud before a common slaver. The hurt ran deepest not from the rope, but from her desperate heart. "Slave," he said, "Yer gonna suck my cock and make me happy. Later, ye can make me rich. But first, yer gonna make me happy. And listen here, slave..." He spat the word in her face. The tears spilled down her cheeks silently. How could they do this? Her father was going to think she'd been drowned by some common wench, conveniently sentenced to slavery for him! No! "Ye even think about bitin' me, and I will fucking kill you right here. Ye understand, slave?" What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? Her resistance slipped. She nodded. He didn't like it. He stepped back, and in one motion, he uncoiled his whip and struck her across the chest. The pain seared through her. She screamed, bound and on her knees. "Ye say, 'Yes, Master!' Ye hear?" The whip came up again. She didn't think. "Yes, Master!" She cried openly then, as she heard the words from her mouth. She didn't even know his name! The other man slid from his saddle, and both of them removed their masks. They knew now she would not escape, and so did she. The man with the sword spoke. "Much better, slave. Now, you are going to do exactly as you were commanded. But first, I want you to crawl to him on your knees. You will then take his cock in your mouth, and please your masters." This was too much. She made to do so, then gained her footing, and began to run. She made it a few steps before she heard the whip. It wrapped around her ankle, stopping her short. Her arms tied behind her, she fell full on her face and belly. She was knocked dizzy, then felt herself being dragged backwards towards them. The ground scratched and stung. Then his hands were on her, and she was again kneeling before him. "Ye went the wrong way, slave." The man with the sword walked behind her. "You are going to be a good slave, or you are going to be a dead slave. Either way, nothing changes what you now are." She knew this was how it started. The Empire's methods were honed from experience. They knew how to break a person. She knew they could break her. "You know what he wants? Answer correctly, or taste the whip." Walls crumbled within her. Please...some part of her had to survive this! "Y...yes..m...m..." She was quivering with fear. She was stuttering. She couldn't say it. She'd already said it! What more did they want? "Say it, slave!" "Yes, Master." Her knees slid across the ground as the man removed his already hard cock. He liked her like this. She could see it on his face. "Ye don't look at me! Ye focus on yer work!" She moved her head forward and started to open her mouth. She couldn't believe she was going to do this. These men were beneath her! His hand suddenly and roughly grabbed her hair, pulling her backwards. She looked up, confused. "I said...ye don't...look...at me! Answer me, slave!" Slowly, she lowered her eyes to his manhood, throbbing in front of her. "Y...yes...m...Master," she said. "Good. Now suck." "Yes, Master." She took him in her mouth. She had never done this before. It was vile, but she didn't have a choice. What choice did she have? This was pathetic. Shouldn't she be fighting more? But there were two of them. They would kill her. She sucked, and they laughed. ... Torches blazed in the night of the hall. Ata stood outside the chieftain's bedchamber, her hands folded over her skirt. She wore now the attire of a tribeswoman, but she would never truly be such. He might dress her, and remove her collar, but she would always be a slave. She lacked the courage to attempt escape, or to overthrow him. She aimed only to please. Karvol approached, his footsteps echoing down the Hall of the Ancestors. He was adorned in armor, a longsword at his side, and his hair tied back in a braid. He was younger than the chieftain. In truth, he was closer in age to Ata, and had she been free to think so, she might have found him attractive. "Where is the chieftain?" he asked. "Within, with the Lady Leila," she answered. "I must speak with him," he said, as he started towards the door. "Sir, I believe him to be...indisposed," she said. "Nonsense," Karvol said, "He asked me to bring word. I must." He threw open to doors to the chamber, and entered. Leila rocked her hips in undulation as she rode her husband. Behind Karvol, Ata saw Leila's back and ass working hard atop him. Her hands held her hair, and she moaned in rhythmic pleasure. The chieftain's large, strong hands held her sides as they moved together in the large, ornately carved wooden bed. "My chief," said Karvol. Leila did not stop making love to her husband. She looked over her shoulder towards Karvol, and smiled, continuing her ride. "I...will wait outside," Karvol said. He closed the doors ... "This is an important matter," Leila panted. She moved her hands to the chieftain's rippling stomach, and continued fucking. "He can wait," the chieftain said. He effortlessly flipped Leila over on to her back. Her feet flopped helplessly in the air above them as he pounded into her, grunting and sweating. She screamed his name as his pace quickened, and he collapsed upon her. ... "You wait without," Karvol said to Ata, "Are you not now counted as honored wife?" The barbarians did not keep wives separate from each other. Often, husbands would share one bed with many wives, simultaneously. "So I am told," she said, "But Leila is first wife. I will not challenge her or cause her jealousy. So I...choose...to wait." Choosing anything was not comfortable to her. She was his slave, not his wife. The doors opened. The chieftain leaned beckoned them both within. He was still naked, as was Leila, lying exhausted on the bed. Nudity was not taboo among them. "I have delivered the message, my chief," Karvol said. "And what was the response?" the chieftain asked. "Sakara was pleased to hear that you have accepted her offer of governorship. There is to be a party sent from the Imperial Capitol in a fortnight, bearing your throne to this hall. You are to present them with a tax offering of grain from our stores." "As I expected. She expects us to bow, scrape, and pay for her titles. Thank you, Karvol," said the chieftain. "I will gather men then, as you previously instructed?" Karvol asked. "Aye", the chieftain said. Karvol nodded, and strode from the room. A silence passed, as Ata waited for the chieftain. Finally, she spoke. "May I sleep now?" she asked. The chieftain eyed her closely. Leila slid over in the bed, and bade her join. Ata made to lay down. "Ata," Leila said, "We are as sisters. Remove your clothes." "Yes, Mistress," Ata said. She did as she was asked, and lay on the edge of the bed, turned away from the chieftain and his wife. "I really wish you wouldn't say that," Leila said, "I have welcomed you to my bed as a sister." Ata did not answer. "My chief. My husband," Leila said, "Tell her this is folly." "You and I have both told her she is a free woman among us," the chieftain said, "She may speak as she chooses. Give her time." He did not speak to Ata herself. What was this new life of hers? And what had just happened? She thought him to have refused the Empire, as he refused her...as he continued to refuse her...to deny her. And why was he so calm about Karvol's message? He was comfortable enough, clearly, with Leila, with Karvol, and even with Ata herself. Something was amiss. But it was not her place to question. ... By the passing of the allotted fortnight, Ata had discerned the chieftain's plan. She thought it unwise, though she would never be so bold as to question his authority. She watched from the great steps of the Hall of the Ancestors as his host of warriors rode forth from the village. "I fear it is too many," Leila said, behind her. "Mistress?" Ata asked. She was confused. But it was not her place to think. "Who will protect the village, I wonder," Leila mused, "And will these people from the Empire not be suspicious of so large a welcome?" Ata understood, or thought she did. She knew little of war strategy. But she knew the Empire. "It is not enough," she said. ... The large caravan was visible, many leagues in the distance, as the road wound past the pine forest. So great was their number. They were more numerous than expected, but not enough to change the plan. The chieftain waited astride his black horse, donned in full armor, his sword at his side. Kirtuk was with him, along with a small number of his household guard, all on horseback. "Are you certain of this, my chief? They are many, and they are strong, and they are not fools," Kirtuk said. "I am certain. Karvol's men are in position?" "They are. But we follow your lead, my chief. Your course can still be altered. I urge you to caution." "Come, my friend," the chieftain said, "Where is your spirit? This is a great day for our warriors." Kirtuk's eyes watched the approaching caravan. "Aye," was his only response. Then, "Karvol is pleased." "Yet I have you by my side," the chieftain spoke. "So you do." As the caravan drew near, the chieftain rode his horse forward to meet them. He was a lone rider, face to face with an army. Kirtuk was right. They were many, and they were strong. The sun, high overhead, gleamed off of the fine plated maille of their foot soldiers. Their shields covered seemingly an entire man, from eyes to ankles. Such giants moved slowly and fell hard, he knew. Their outriders carried lances tipped with black banners. Before them was a litter born by four men, all naked and collared. The chieftain now immediately knew them to be male slaves. He noticed that unlike Ata when they had first met, the men were not shaved between their legs, though their faces were. This was highly unusual in the tribe. The chieftain himself wore a closely trimmed beard, but others, such as Kirtuk, wore their beards long, and sometimes even braided. Something else was unusual about the slaves' manhoods, but he hadn't time to consider this. The litter the slaves bore carried only a single ornate chair, with no passenger. The chieftain knew that it was intended for him to sit upon it as these men carried him back to the village. A single man astride a pale horse rode in front of the litter. His blonde hair was cut short, and his face was also shaven. He was younger than the chieftain, but not so young as Ata or Karvol. The chieftain did not like his face. The man drew to a halt, and raised a gloved fist. Behind him, the marching column stopped. There was no faltering, no hesitation. Every man in unison simply brought his heel to the ground, and stopped. Many tons of armor made a single clanking sound of organized discipline. "You there!" the man called. The chieftain did not respond. He looked the man in the eye, judging his caliber. These people were not only well armed, he could tell. They were well trained, and he could see they had never lost a fight, for the man's eyes blazed with an arrogant hubris. Such would be their undoing. "Are you the governor of these people?" the man asked, indicating Kirtuk and the others. "No," said the chieftain. He took a breath. The man leaned forward in his saddle, impatient to hear an explanation. The chieftain drew his sword. "I am their chieftain." His sword had been the signal. At that moment, an arrow caught the man in his side. His horse reared as he twisted, and in a moment, another arrow had knocked him from his saddle. The soldiers in their plate maille paused, confused, for too many a moment. From the forest and the hills, the barbarians poured forth. The chieftain caught sight of Karvol, cleaving his way into the foe's flank. Kirtuk and the other chosen warriors moved forward. "Spare the slaves, if you can," said the chieftain. He raised his sword high, spurred his horse, and with a battle cry to echo through the centuries, he charged. ... Again, he rode into the Imperial encampment unchallenged. He was alone, but his warriors were not far afield. Given his plans and his appearance, Karvol had objected. They had stood beside the burning flames that engulfed the bodies of their foes, along with the throne of the governor. "My chief," Karvol had said, "It is madness. After today, they will know your true face. Send a messenger. I will go in your stead." "Some day, Karvol," the chieftain had said, "You may be chief. This is not that day. This is for me to do." He was bathed in blood and sweat, his hair matted and his boots stained. He had clearly just emerged from battle, but there was not a wound upon him. Karvol had flustered. "Let him go, Karvol," Kirtuk had said. His smile had then returned, "The worst they can do is kill him." He had laughed. He always laughed. It made the chieftain uncomfortable. And so, the chieftain now rode into the encampment. There was no sign of commotion or concern. Rather, when he reached the lavish tent at its center, he was welcomed with open arms. Sakara emerged to greet him, a smile upon her face, and her arms spread wide. She had charm, he could admit. He also noted that they were in opposite positions from their first meeting. Now it was he that was lifted high upon horse, and she, barefoot as before, walking in the dirt. And yet still...she was not diminished. He was not accustomed to women in positions of power. "Governor! A pleasant surprise! Were you not greeted by Harka, the Imperial tax collector? I hope you did not take different paths." As she spoke, he watched her face. She was nothing but a mask...and then the mask faded. He watched it happen, as her eyes moved to the smoke on the horizon, and then back...to the blood smearing his face. She lowered her arms, and her voice changed. "Governor?" she asked, "Where is Harka?" Her eyes narrowed. The chieftain reached into his pack, and withdrew the severed head of the Imperial messenger. He held it aloft, and then threw it at her feet. Her face grew red, and she shook with rage. "We are one tribe, bitch." He turned his steed, and galloped away to the west. Of course, they were fast upon him. But he was the chieftain of his people. He was the fastest. He was the strongest. And despite what his wife might say, he was the smartest. He was the best of them. And so he rode like a drop of water in a rushing stream. Arrows soared past him with childish aim, and he left their fastest riders in his wake. He reached the edge of the pine forest, leaping a great boulder, and disappeared into its shadows. The soldiers from the encampment were not far behind. They drew up before the woods, for they could find no trace of the man. However, ordered by their superiors, the cautiously crept within. So began the second slaughter of the day. The barbarians appeared from shade and tree to kill, then vanished again with the flutter of an owl's wing. The heavily armored soldiers of the Empire were not equipped for this type of combat, and fell easily. The chieftain watched from the edge of the wood, to where he had circled behind the fray. Strategy and cunning was his role in this fight. His warriors would do what they did best. Chieftain Ch. 04 And so this is how he saw Sakara. Just as he thought she might, she rode up behind her force. She scanned the forest edge, and then she saw him. Their eyes locked for a moment, but then she turned from him. The sounds of steel and death echoed from the battle in the trees. She dismounted her horse, and walked to the boulder at the edge of the wood. She had found what he had left for her. It was Ata's collar, sheared in two.