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Spoils of War Ch. 02

By: HammerGod



[Author's Note: Well, some folks wanted a second chapter, so here it is. And a plot slowly begins to form. Hope you all like it. Please feel free to leave me your feedback.]





Part II: Amongst the Elvaran





I cannot walk the next day. Rather, I am uncomfortable doing so. Apparently, being carried by my captresses was meant to be some sort of luxury. Now that I've so displeased them by trying to escape, I am made to walk, my arms firmly gripped by two Elvaran guards, even though my hands are securely bound behind my back. But the beating Alma gave me last night has rendered me even weaker and more sore than I already was. I dare not complain, as I overheard some of the women discussing the prospect of castrating me in retribution for my attempted escape, and I'd rather not do anything to speed along that thought.

 The day draws on and we stop only once for a break. At that time I am fed, though my rations are meager. The anger of my captresses seems to have cooled a bit, for they'd threatened not to feed me at all earlier this morning. As we march on, moving ever southwestward, I notice my guards loosen their grip on my arms. This makes things a bit more comfortable for me, though I'm not so foolish as to try and run again. My weariness also plays a large part in making that decision for me.

 I am in fact so tired, my hips so painfully sore, and my legs so weak, that I start to stumble in the afternoon. I've never had the occasion to walk so far or so quickly, and the exertions of the day and the night prior are taking their toll. At one point I trip over nothing in particular and blunder into the Elvaran in front of me; a red haired, green eyed woman of considerable height and strength. Her musculature is clearly defined upon her ivory skin, as if chiseled thereupon. She looks down at me while I hasten to right myself and apologize to her in a stuttering stream of words, lest she take my stumbling as an attack. The whole raiding party looks on, waiting to see what she does.

"Good Goddesses above," she proclaims in a fair, mirthful voice, "our poor boy is walking himself to death. Come here, little one."

 Tentatively, I step closer to her, only to be swept up in her powerful arms and cradled against her ample bosom. She is so strong that my slender body seems almost weightless in her grasp.

"I think we forget how fragile men are." she addresses her sisters. "And I think he's learned his lesson after Alma's discipline. Haven't you, boy?"

"Yes ma'am." I shyly murmur.

"And look how respectful he is." she praises. "He'll make a fine servant."

 I can't help but blush from her praise and her melodic, slightly accented voice. When she sees this blush, she squeezes me gently against her breasts which are soft and warm against my bare flesh, covered as they are by the garment she wares, a simple covering made of soft fur. This common Elvaran garment serves to protect, yet also accents the shapely breasts of its wearer.

"Keira, don't spoil the male." Alma chides. "He'll get lazy."

"He'll get killed by his own weakness if we march him to death." playfully counters the woman holding me.

"Very well." Alma relents. "But on your head be it."

 Keira drops back to the rear of the Elvaran unit, keeping a measured pace and holding me comfortably in her powerful arms. The others leave us be, marching constantly, steadily onward. I notice a few more trees starting to grow as we move a bit more directly westward. The change of scenery is a pleasant one from the rugged mountains and thick pine trees I'd come to know. The ground is a bit more level, though rolling hills still abound.

"You, male, are you named?" Keira asks me quietly.

"I am called Sven." I reply in a hushed tone, not wanting to attract the attention of the others.

"Sven." she repeats the name, and her voice makes me shiver in excitement. "I am Keira, warrior of the Elvaran."

"Aren't all Elvaran warriors?" I ask.

"Well," she laughs, "there is truth in that, little Sven."

 She looks down at a particularly prominent bite mark along the left side of my collarbone, left by one of the war-band last night.

"I bit harder than I thought." she chuckles. "Or are you just so delicate?"

"It hurt considerably." I admit and she pats my head comfortingly.

"You're a good little male, a cute one too." she praises. "If I get you, I'll keep you well."

"I uh... thank you, Keira." I respond, not knowing what best to say.

"Rest now, little one," she advises, "you'll need rest."

 Heeding her words, I lean my head against her and almost instantly I am asleep. I only wake when the Elvaran start calling out to others in the distance. We have at last arrived at their outpost, a walled town built not too far from the shore of the ocean. The town's high wooden walls are tipped with keen-edged spears, and imposing guards stand by the gates.

"Awake are you, boy?" Keira asks, smiling down at me. "Welcome home."

 A way outside the walls I see a wooden house. It is very small, with no windows and a door which may be secured by a massive chain. As I watch, a man is pulled toward that shack by two women from the village, who look just like the Elvaran I've already seen; tall and muscular beauties. The man wriggles in their grasp, thrashing about wildly, sweat pouring off his face.

"Please!" he begs. "No! Gods no, don't take me in there again! I beg you, fair mistresses, please not again. I can be good, I will be good! Please!"

"What is going on?" I whisper, involuntarily huddling against Keira.

"Worry not," she soothes, holding me tight, "that is the House of Penance, a place for males in need of more dire discipline."

"Will I be sent there for trying to escape?" I ask.

"I doubt it." she replies. "You may get a whipping, but it was a first offense, and you are yet untamed, so it is almost negligible."

"Oh." I'm somehow not comforted.

 The man doomed to the House of Penance screams his pleas for mercy. Those pleas turn to curses, scorning his captresses, then back to begging for mercy as he's roughly hauled inside. The door slams shut and then there is a momentary silence, followed by a horrific metal clanging, like the rachet of chains or gears, and then a long, drawn-out screech like that of an animal in mortal agony. I cover my ears and bury my face in Keira's chest. Gods, what fate is befalling that man? And what will be done to me?!

"It is okay." Keira murmurs when I uncover my ears. "Dry your eyes, my little Sven."

 It's only then that I realize that my fear has reduced me to weeping like some child. I hurriedly wipe away my tears while Keira carries me through the gate and into the village. The houses are all large, accommodating the height and build of their occupants. They are built of wood, thick logs comprise the walls, and angled planks make up the roofs. As far as I can tell, they are built with a bit of space between each, and they all radiate out from a larger home built roughly at the town's center. In the distance I can just see a small lake near the western wall.

 Elvaran bustle about conducting business with each other, as do many male slaves. The males are clad only in cloth pants, light cloth shoes, and leather collars. I shall surely be presented with my own collar soon enough, or so I assume. The raiding party that brought me here is greeted with cheers, praise, and many exchanges of friendly affection; hand clasping, hugging, and even a few kisses are shared. The Elvaran are a lively bunch, fueled by a seemingly limitless energy. My party makes its way toward the largest home, which has a wide clearing before, large enough for the whole group to stand comfortably within.

"Time to stand on your own now, pet." Keira says, setting me on my feet.

 Reflexively, I huddle against her and she tousles my hair playfully. For some reason, this makes me smile. But my attention is quickly drawn to the house before us, which sports an elegant wooden porch unlike its common counterparts. Onto that porch steps a woman, an Elvaran with golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She wears sandals that strap to her legs and the same fur garments as her fellow Elvaran, though her's sport decorative feathers and beads. She is also adorned by a jeweled necklace and several metal bracelets that glint in the lowering sun.

"Hail, chieftain!" the assembled Elvaran cry.

"Hail to my tribe." she replies. "And to a successful raid I assume."

 She notices me and fixes me with an appraising expression. I lower my gaze sheepishly. She, like Keira and the others, radiates a great dominance, though her regal status accentuates this imposing woman's power.

"We claimed many weapons, coins, and stores of food." Alma reports proudly. "And this young man is the sole survivor of our raid."

"A prize catch," the chieftain declares and I blush, "he seems to have taken well to Keira. Do any dispute her claim on him?"

The group is silent until Alma pipes up.

"You should know," she informs her leader, eyeing me bitterly, "that he tried to escape after we had him last night. I caught and beat him, but you may desire a greater penalty."

 Her final words sound almost hopeful. She's not yet forgiven me for my attempt at fleeing captivity. The chieftain mulls over this matter for a moment.

"Very well," she says at last, "Keira may have this new male. But first, Alma will deliver him three strikes."

"Strikes?" I whisper.

"Be quiet, Sven." Keira gently warns.

"Keira," the queen adds, "you will hold him."

 Keira immediately obeys. My bindings are removed and Keira lifts me up by the wrists, holding me well out in front of her and just off the ground. The effort seems negligible for her. The crowd parts, watching excitedly as Alma stalks toward me, a predatory grin on her face.

"Remember Alma," the queen warns, "no permanent damage. I've declared that Keira may keep this male, as he seems quite docile under her control."

 Alma's expression sours, but quickly returns to a vengeful glare. She will still have her repayment for my escape attempt. Without warning she steps forward with her left foot then swings her right foot gracefully forward, her boot connecting with my groin. I groan in agony, my eyes rolling back. I think I'm going to be violently sick. I gag, coughing hard, tears running down my face.

"Keira," I choke out without thinking, "make her stop! Please."

"Hush Sven." Keira warns, her voice stern but not angry. "Two more and you're done."

"Two more?!" I exclaim in utter dismay, pain still shooting through my loins.

 My words barely leave my mouth before Alma's fist connects with my still tender genitals. I promptly vomit. Alma steps back while my muscles contract, my body tensing painfully as I spill bile onto the well-traveled dirt before me. Keira moves me slightly so that the puddle of vomit is no longer in front of me, allowing Alma easy access to me. I'm whimpering now, feeble, pathetic little cries like those of a wounded dog expecting a further beating. Perhaps that is all I am.

"Keira." I moan. "Please, protect me."

"Just one more, do be quiet." Keira bids me, trying to be both stern and sympathetic.

 Another kick nearly sends me into unconsciousness. I go limp in Keira's grip and pray to pass out, to leave this agony behind. But I am still lucid, still aware of the unbearable throbbing between my legs, the pulsing ache which emanates up into my stomach. Keira sweeps me into her arms and holds me tightly, almost possessively, rocking me very gently.

"Take your male to your home." the chieftain says, though I can barely hear her. "Collar him and train him properly in our ways. Well done, to all of you, a successful raid."

 My vision and senses blur while Keira carries me away from the others and toward a modest home near one of the city's walls. I'm aware that I'm groaning almost ceaselessly, but I can't make myself stop. My pulse pounds in my head, my lower extremities throb brutally. I want to be asleep or unconscious. The cabin has a few amenities, a table and two chairs, a hearth with a hole cut in the roof above to let out the smoke, a barrel for holding water, and a soft bed made of animal pelts. It is on this bed that Keira gently lays my body. She takes a moment to get a bit more comfortable, removing her boots and socks, before turning her attention on me.

"Sven," she says in a calming tone, "I'm going to have to feel you where Alma struck you."

"No!" I yelp, curling into a ball. "It hurts."

"I know, my pet," she coos soothingly, "I just need to check you for damage. Okay?"

"No, please."

"I have to."

 I am powerless to resist her strength, but she is as gentle as she can be. I want to stay curled up in a ball, protecting my wounded body from any physical contact. But Keira pulls me to a more exposed position, easily holding my legs apart. My breathing becomes rapid and ragged when her fingers move over my scrotum. She warns me to be still, yet I cannot cease my quivering and yelping as she probes the tender region with her fingertips.

"There will be swelling," she tells me, releasing my body from her grasp, "you will be very sensitive in that region for a while, more so than usual. But nothing seems permanent."

"Why did you let her hurt me?" I ask timidly.

"Little Sven," she sighs, laying beside me, "you tried to escape. There had to be retribution, it is our way."

"It hurts so much."

"I'm sure it does," she says, stroking my hair, "just sleep now. It's over. You are mine now."

And with those words in my head, I sleep.

 I awaken the next day in the early morning. Keira lay's beside me, beautiful and naked under a fur blanket. I snuggle closer to her, craving her warmth, her comfort. Only now, when things are calm, do I begin to grasp the gravity of my situation. My people are dead. My father who raised me alone, my friends who so loved to drink and sing old songs of our folk, and all of the others I'd come to know. The man who sold hot bread every morning, the woman who sold cooked meat and wine, and that unscrupulous fellow who would take people's money in exchange for more difficult to procure items. They're all dead, all gone, and I'll never see my home again. That, along with the continuing ache between my thighs, causes warm tears to spill down my face. I normally would not cry nearly so much, if ever, but this is all so much to handle.

"Why do you weep, my little prize?" Keira asks quietly as she awakens.

"Everyone I know is dead." I whine, lowering my eyes in shame. "I'm a captive in a place I don't even understand. I'm just in pain and scared and alone."

 Keira makes soothing sounds as she cradles me close to her ample chest. I nestle my head against her and slowly calm myself down. She lightly wipes away my tears and kisses my forehead tenderly. She is so gentle and so kind to me, it's hard to imagine that she was one of the warriors who had their way with me just two nights ago.

"Why are your people this way?" I wonder aloud.

"What way?" she asks. "Big and strong? Warlike? All female?"

"Well yes," I answer, "but why are you so controlling of your males."

 Keira ponders over this for some time, a bit perplexed at that.

"Men need our authority," she says at last, "we protect them from themselves and keep them in line. We do battle and raid, they tend to the home and hearth, and we keep them humble and in their place."

"Why?"

 Keira tells then of the Elvaran history, how the powerful females and their weaker male counterparts struggled in a harsh landscape to survive. One day, one of the Elvaran goddesses came to the women in their dreams and gave them the call to take charge, to teach subservience in their males, and thus to prosper, for it was only the females who were truly of Elvaran blood. The Elvaran trained their men, somewhat forcefully when needed, to serve them and to worship women as the vessels of the Goddesses' power and beauty. In this way, their society pressed forward, males humbly at the feet of their mistresses. Thus the Elvaran came into prosperity.

"So then I shall be a worshipful servant, sitting at your feet like a dog?" I ask.

"And a cared for lover," she adds, petting my head, "beloved by me and cherished like a precious treasure."

"That part sounds nice." I had to admit. "You are very gentle with me."

"You're so small and breakable," she laughs, "I must be gentle with my little Sven."

 Keira leans in and presses her lips over mine, kissing me firmly. I relax in her arms, relishing the warmth of her lips and the exciting feeling of her tongue invading my mouth. At last she parts from the kiss, leaving my lips moist and my heart racing.

"No more excitement until you recover." she advises. "Then I will have fun with my little treasure. All night long."

"I uh... okay." I stammer awkwardly, fidgeting at the thought of another night of love-making with even one of these amazonian women.

"But now," Keira says, "you must go gather water from the lake with the other men. This will be a daily chore."

"Am I to have clothes first?" I ask.

"Ah, of course!"

 Alma rummages through a trunk I'd not noticed before and produces a bundle of clothes. Cloth pants, simple cloth shoes, and a leather collar.

"At an Elvaran's coming of age," Keira explains, "she is given these garments for her first future slave."

"First?"

"Some have many men." she replies. "I only want one."

 I put on the pants and shoes. The material is actually quite soft, very comfortable. Good garments for tending the home, rather than going adventuring in the wild. But I hesitate at the leather collar, which has a small lock to hold it shut.

"It goes around your neck, dear." Keira explains with a playful tone.

"I know." I mutter with considerable trepidation.

"Put it on please, Sven." there is a warning tone in her voice.

"Keira, no. I don't like it." I counter, standing defiantly in front of her.

"Sven, sweetheart, don't fight me on this." she warns.

"I can't wear a collar like a dog."

 Lightning fast, Keira steps in and takes the collar, locking it around my neck without any effort. Equally easily, she spins me around and firmly swats my backside.

"No more," she barks firmly, "Sven, no more. I don't want to hurt you, but please be a good boy."

"You hit me." I say flatly, stepping away from her. "I thought you liked me."

 Keira moves forward and engulfs me in a warm embrace, patting my backside gently in an effort to alleviate some of the pain.

"I love you, my little treasure." she assures me. "But you can't be so obstinate. Please, for me?"

"I guess... okay." I relent.

"Good boy." she praises, lifting me up and kissing me eagerly.

 I feel embarrassed. Debased at wearing this collar, humiliated at being spanked by my captress, and yet comforted by her kiss. I hug her before she sets me back on my feet again.

"Now," she informs me, "it is customary for the male to kneel before his mistress and kiss her feet before leaving or entering their home."

 I, quite naturally, do not like the sound of this, and my distaste is evident.

"But we'll start that particular ritual tomorrow, love." she says, ruffling my hair and sending me on my way.

 The means for gathering water is interesting. The barrel is set upright on on a small platform with rudimentary wheels on it. Along with the barrel comes a large bucket. I am to wheel the barrel to the lake side, fill it with the bucket, and wheel the full barrel home, thus providing my mistress and myself with fresh water for household tasks. A simple enough task, so I set out on it, eager to distract myself from the thought of my slaughtered folk and my lowered societal status. Plus a chance to observe the Elvaran as something other than their war-prize will be intriguing. I must look on the bright side of things if I am to get by.


Spoils of War Ch. 02



In the slowly growing morning light I behold the village waking up. Men, mostly, are out on the dirt roads, all with barrels like mine, headed toward the lake. I fall in step with a brown haired man a few years older than I am. He meets my eyes and smiles. I return the smile and add a friendly wave.

"Morning." he says casually. "Get a good night's rest?"

"A bit unpleasant, I must admit, but better than the night prior." I respond.

"Ah! You're the new guy, right?" he observes. "I saw Alma working you over in the town square yesterday. I've been down that unpleasant road before. My sympathies."

"Thank you." I reply, pleased at this casual, friendly conversation. "I am called Sven, by the way."

"Sven," he repeats, "nice to meet you. I'm Luke."

 We clasped hands briefly before resuming our trek toward the lake, until a sudden sound catches my attention. On a side path between two rows of housing, a man cries out in pain. Luke and I turn to look and see an Elvaran holding a man by his hair while he squirms in pain. On the dirt before him is an over-turned barrel, its water pouring onto the dirt.

"I'm sorry!" he insists. "The wheel caught on a rock and I couldn't catch the barrel in time."

"You clumsy little fool," snarled his mistress, pressing him against the outer wall of her home and holding him up by his neck, "that's the third item you've knocked over or spilled this morning alone!"

"I'm sorry!" he chokes out weakly.

"You will be." she snarls.

 The first blow strikes him square in the face and I hear his nose break. Luke tugs at my shoulder, urging me to move along.

"Don't jet involved." he whispers. "Not our business."

"That isn't right." I counter, louder than I intend. "He just spilled some water. She'll kill him."

"It will be handled." Luke growls urgently. "Come on."

"Handled?"

 No sooner have I asked than two Elvaran come out of adjacent houses and pull the woman away from her male, who slumps against the wall, his face a bloody mess.

"For the Goddess' sake, Maria," exclaims one of them, "you've got your male so scared he can't do the simplest tasks. You're going to kill him."

"We control men for their own good," adds the other, "not to torture them to death."

"Go inside and cool off." the first commands the one called Maria. "We'll send you your male later, once he's recovered."

 Maria grumbles angrily but does not challenge her neighbors. The two women help the battered man up, murmuring soothing words.

"There there," coos one of them, "it's all over."

"Come with us," the second chimes in, "we'll take care of you, little one."

 The man, who looks perhaps a year younger than me, follows the women into one of their homes, and at last Luke manages to guide me away. I must admit I am surprised that anyone intervened. I relay this to Luke.

"Why wouldn't they?" he asks. "The man didn't do it deliberately."

"But the Elvaran enslave us." I counter.

"Fair enough," he agrees, "but, though they discipline harshly, if you are well behaved and stay within your social role, they won't harm you. Control over men gave them their prosperity, not aimless violence and torture."

"I suppose."

"Some get a bit out of hand," he admits, "but they're not an evil folk, no worse than any other raiders. I've heard of cultures that treat women as we are treated by the Elvaran."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Nor do I." he agrees.

 We make our way down to the lake, where other men are dutifully filling up barrels of water. Some are young boys, children of Elvaran and their mates, others are far older than myself. They talk casually amongst each other, and I sense no atmosphere of terror amongst them. I am still surprised at this, for I imagined the males would be quite afraid of their status of servitude and submission amongst these warrior women. Yet they carry on casual conversation, talking like any other group of men-folk.

 While we fill our barrels Luke tells me of how he came into the Elvaran culture. Five years ago, he was sailing with his uncle when a terrific storm flung their boat far out to see, disorienting them and damaging their supplies. Luke's uncle, an experienced sailor, did his best to navigate, but the sky stayed black with clouds during both day and night. Luke helped as best he could, but their food rations quickly dwindled. When his uncle took ill and died, Luke realized that the older man had been giving Luke much of his own share of the rations, to prolong Luke's life. Luke had no choice but to cast his uncle's body overboard and, being ill-experienced with ships, he simply floated aboard the sailing craft, ready to die.

 And by luck, he'd come ashore on the Elvaran homeland, and island off to the west. A young Elvaran rescued him from his beached craft and took him home, where she nurtured him back to health and kept him as her own. Luke resisted this at first, but eventually settled into this life and welcomed the comforting guardianship of his mistress.

"So," he tells me, "when she joined the eastward expansion movement, I came along of course, and here we are, back on the land I once knew as home."

"I'm sorry for your loss." I tell him. "I too lost much, though to a raid."

"Unfortunate." he murmurs, then he looks up. "Ah, Sven, here comes Roland!"

 Roland, a man of about my same age, also of a slender build, hurries toward us. He and Luke clasp hands and then he turns to me with a broad grin.

"You're the new one!" he exclaims. "I'm Roland. Good to meet you."

"Sven." I say, shaking his hand.

"I saw Alma punishing you yesterday, you lucky bastard." Roland laughs.

At my confused expression, Luke chimes in, "Roland is our resident masochist. The women punish him by denying him pain, unlike the rest of us."

"How... odd." I awkwardly respond, completely at a loss for words.

"Speaking of odd," whispers Roland, "here comes Magnus."

 I look in the direction he indicates and see a man in his late twenties, with long blonde hair. He is somehow familiar to me, which makes no sense, until I realize I've seen him very recently. He is the man who was sent, just yesterday to the House of Penance. His bare torso shows fresh wounds and old scars.

"Magnus, you're alive." Luke calls out.

"Shut it, Luke." growls Magnus. "I've no mind for your cheer."

"How about my cheer?" questions Roland in an obviously irritating way.

"Both of you can burn," Magnus snaps, "and your new friend there."

 Luke scowls at Magnus.

"Sven's done you no harm." he fires back at Magnus.

 Magnus glances at me and slowly comes closer, his eyes blazing furiously. He looms menacingly before me. Luke and Roland both look ready to leap to my aid, for which I'm grateful.

"You're the new man." he observes.

"I am."

"Poor bastard." he says. "You're in for it, living here with no freedom, cowering at the feet of these wild women."

"Sounds fine by me." chirps Roland.

"You're in for a true misery." Magnus continues, ignoring Roland. "My sympathies are with you."

"Oh, well thank you." I say.

"I'll do what I can," Magnus adds, almost to himself, as he begins to turn away, "I won't give up. We'll not suffer anymore."

 I watch him stalk back to his water barrel, noting the horrific welts along his back. He's been badly whipped. That he's walking around in this state is astounding to me.

"What did he mean by that?" I inquire.

"Who knows," Luke replies, "he's a strange one. Be careful of him, Sven."



Spoils of War Ch. 03



[Author's Note: At last! Part III has come. In response to the comments from Part II, I cannot write male-dom. It's not because of a conflict on a moral level or anything, it's a practical issue. I know nothing of male-dom and can't write it effectively. Sorry if that disappoints anyone. I hope you enjoy this story nonetheless. Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated.] 

*

"You really came at a good time." Roland remarks as he and I return toward Keira's home.

Luke has gone off to check on Magnus and make sure that the moody man isn't getting himself into any more trouble. Roland, having already returned his water barrel to his mistress and thus been given a bit of free time, follows me on my way back to my own dwelling.

"Good?" I ask of him. "Please, explain."

"The Freedom Night is coming in just a few days." he elaborates.

This doesn't really clarify anything for me, and that quickly becomes apparent to my companion.

"It's a night, once each moon-cycle, when a festival is held for us men-folk and our service, as a reward." he tells me excitedly. "Many Elvaran prepare food, drink, and music, and it is just a wonderful time."

I must admit, that does sound appealing. I always did love festivals. Playing songs, singing, and drinking with my friends by the flickering light of a great fire. I remember how my friend Bjorn would always drink too much ale and sing too loud, and how he one time caught his beard on fire and had to be doused in water once we could get him to stop running about in a panic.

"Is something wrong?" enquires Roland. "You don't like festivals?"

I realize now that I've stopped in the middle of the path, my hands shaking slightly, my eyes not focused on anything in particular as I recall the memories of my home. The day of the raid, Bjorn squared off with two Elvaran warriors. He broke through the guard of one assailant, only to have the other slide her thin-bladed sword between his ribs and puncture his lungs. He suffocated on the ground, blood bubbling between his lips while the skirmishing continued around and over him.

"It's a good festival," Roland insists, "it's great fun!"

There are tears in my eyes and my heart feels a bitter hollowness, a cold, heavy sensation that is entirely horrible.

"I'm sorry," I quietly murmur, "I'm sure it's wonderful. I'm just thinking of my home."

"Right, the raided village." Roland acknowledges, serious in tone for once. "I take it you lost many loved ones?"

I nod silently and he pats my shoulder in a weak effort to comfort me.

"Let's get this task done," he says, "then we'll find Luke and you can talk to us both about it, eh?"

"That would be nice." I reply, genuinely meaning it.

I need friends now more than ever. Keira is nice, quite sweet in fact, but she is not like me. Our statuses will likely keep us from relating as I can with fellow men in the keep of the Elvaran. I can relate to Luke and Roland, we share the same lot in life, just as Keira can relate to her sisters. These are our roles, I suppose, and we must do our best within them.

When Roland and I enter Keira's home, she smiles at us, rising to greet us. Roland kneels before her but she bids him rise, much to his visible displeasure.

"You've made a friend, Sven?" she asks, her voice full of joy.

"Two friends... and Magnus." Roland answers for me.

Keira laughs at that and pats my head proudly.

"I knew you would fit in well," she says, "and here you have two friends already."

"I told him about Freedom Night." Roland adds.

This seems to make Keira even happier.

"Are you excited, Sven?" she asks, leaning down to meet my gaze.

"i am." I respond with as much emotion as I can.

To her credit, Keira can immediately tell something is on my mind.

"Roland, leave us for a while." she bids him.

"Yes, ma'am."

Roland hurries away, leaving me alone with Keira. My beautiful, powerful mistress sits in a chair and effortlessly pulls me into her lap. I must say the position is quite comfortable and I relax in her arms.

"What plagues your mind?" she politely inquires. "Will you tell me?"

"I... I miss my home." I manage to say weakly.

Keira strokes my hair lightly, comfortingly cradling me like a child against her body. She smells sweet, like a beautiful flower, alluring and appealing. Given that she's not yet had a chance to bathe after the raid, I marvel at this fact.

"I know you miss your home." she replies, meeting my eyes with an expression of kindness. "Trust me when I say I wish we'd not so thoroughly decimated your town."

I must confess I am surprised. Not at her kindness, but at the notion of an Elvaran regretting warfare.

"We need to expand," she continues, "to spread our people and our way of life. But I don't think sparing a harmless village would have hindered our progress."

I nod in agreement.

"But it was Alma's will." she tells me. "She wanted the village reduced to ash, and so it was done. Our mark has been made, our power made clear for any who would oppose us."

"That it is." I confirm unhappily.

"I am sorry for your losses." she softly states. "Why don't you go out and find your friends? Have some fun with them."

"I'd like that."

Before I go, Keira insists once again on checking on my wounded personal region to see how I am recovering. The area is still swollen and sensitive, but the damage is clearly not permanent, much to both of our relief. And with that taken care of, I set off through the village to find Luke or Roland.

By now the village has come to life with activity. Elvaran hunting parties are setting out to procure more food for the village's collective storage. Men busy themselves hauling firewood into homes or cleaning clothing outside between the houses. They talk amongst each other jovially, not at all in the dismal state that I'd expected when I'd first heard of the Elvaran way of life. I walk past young Elvaran sparring with wooden swords, groups of full-grown Elvaran talking or engaging in some sparring of their own, and the occasional patrolling guard. None give me a second glance. All is well.

I find Luke and Roland standing to the side of a small clearing by the settlement's wall, while a group of very young Elvaran run about at play. The young girls run around, playfully fighting, shouting, and laughing. Luke and Roland diligently supervise this play as parents might with their young. Come to think of it, it's possible these Elvaran are the offspring of Luke, Roland, and their respective mistresses.

"Are they yours?" I ask, coming to join the two men.

"No," Luke replies, "they're just some young ones we've been told to keep an eye on."

"They seem to be having fun." I observe.

"Children of all sorts find ways to have fun." Roland says.

Luke appears troubled, his expression is distant, as if his thoughts are entirely elsewhere. Roland tries to make conversation with him, but Luke seems too distant for even Roland's upbeat nature.

"Luke," I finally ask, "what's on your mind? I assumed you would be excited about the upcoming festival."

Luke sighs heavily and goes to sit on a log which lies beside this cleared space. Roland and I join him, hoping to get some insight into his mood. He looks over to make sure the children are still contentedly at play before addressing us.

"I worry about Magnus." he murmurs.

"The world worries about Magnus." Roland smirks.

I laugh, but quiet myself quickly to hear what more Luke has to say.

"He was greatly troubled already," Luke explains, "taken as a prize from a large conflict. His recent stay in the House of Penance has further soured his temperament toward the Elvaran."

"And?" Roland asks. "A bad mood won't bring down our mistresses."

I must admit I agree. Even if one is dissatisfied here, what could be done about it?

"He's asked me to help orchestrate a revolt." Luke whispers furtively.

Roland and I are silent, stunned. A revolt? We are all here because we were beaten by Elvaran warriors, how could we possibly revolt?

"A subtle revolt," Luke says, "one of intrigue, poison, and knives in the dark."

"No!" Roland snaps, serious for once. "I love it here, I'll have no part in this madness."

Roland makes to rise but Luke puts a hand on his shoulder, settling him.

"At ease, brother." he says firmly. "I want no part in his madness either, but I worry for others that he might draw to his cause."

Luke looks to me very pointedly at that statement. I fidget awkwardly, not knowing why this remark is directed my way.

"Understand that I don't distrust you," he clarifies, "you seem to be a good man. But I can see trouble in your eyes and sense it in your demeanor."

"I've only just been taken from the ruins of my slaughtered village." I snap. "How would you prefer I present myself?"

Luke's expression changes to one of sympathy.

"I am sorry," he states, "I meant no disrespect, Sven. I meant only that you are clearly still shaken at the loss of your folk. Those who are unsteady may be easily manipulated. Roland and I both have content lives here, I think Magnus will realize that. Be wary of him."

I think this over for a moment and nod in agreement. He's right, after all. I'm not used to this life, and a way out could be tempting, much as I do like Keira, Luke, and Roland.

"You're right, I'm sorry I spoke in anger." I apologize.

"Think nothing of it," Luke assures me, "you've been through a lot. I can only imagine your pain."

Suddenly a sharp exclamation startles us out of our dialog. One of the young Elvaran seems to have stumbled and fallen during play, and now lies upon the ground, whimpering in dismay. Driven by some sudden compulsion, I rise and hurry to her, my gait slowed a bit by my injury from the previous day. The little Elvaran looks up at me, her eyes filled with tears. I sit down beside her and very gently pull her closer to me, hoping to console her.

I carefully look her over for injuries. She has no scrapes or bruises. It seems it was only the fall that upset the poor girl.

"It's okay little one," I say quietly, lightly petting her head, "you're not hurt. You are strong, a brave little warrior."

I playfully tickle her sides and the little one's whimpering turns to giggling and squirming. I gently wipe the tears from her eyes and set her on her feet again.

"Run along now, little one." I encourage. "Play carefully."

"Okay!" she giggles, hugging me before hurrying away.

I rise and make to return to Roland and Luke when a firm hand falls on my shoulder. I turn around and freeze, my eyes going wide, my body suddenly cold with fear. Alma the Sword-Cleaver stands before me, her expression unreadable.

"That girl is my niece." she plainly states.

I take a step back, barely able to stand, fear building in me like a tempest. I want to run as best I can away from her, but that same terror roots me in place.

"I did not know that." I stammer. "She was upset, I had to comfort her."

"Why?"

I'm confused at this question. Do Elvaran not comfort their young?

"How could I not?" I respond. "She was upset, she needed comfort and kindness to feel better."

Alma stares hard at me for a while, reading my face for any trace of dishonesty. At last her lips curve into a faint smile.

"You're learning well already." she praises. "That is good. And... thank you, for comforting her."

"You are very welcome." I say proudly.

Alma turns and resumes her journey elsewhere, leaving me in shock. Alma, of all people, has praised me. I feel pride in this, and great confusion as well. Did not she hate me for my escape attempt? Has her dealing of my punishment made us square, no longer at odds? Perhaps that is the case.

"Well done." Luke praises, when I return. "You did exactly what should have been done."

"Thank you." I reply. "It seemed the right thing to do."

We sit and talk a while longer. Both men are excited for the upcoming festivities, and their excitement is contagious. I now look forward to this night, to enjoy singing and drinking like I did at my home. It will be nice, or so I hope.

Later in the day I return to Keira and she directs me in the preparation of a simple meal of meat and potatoes. We eat together at the table and Keira asks me about my day. I tell her of everything, save for the discussion of Magnus, and she is pleased with me.

"I knew you would fit in well." she says with a smile. "Such a wonderful male."

By nightfall, Keira and I lay in our shared bed. She holds me in her powerful arms and gently kisses my neck, which makes me shiver excitedly. Her lips travel up my neck to my ear, and she whispers quietly to me, "You are mine. My little prize."

Her breath, her words, the brush of her soft lips on my ear, it all excites me tremendously. I squirm in her arms, pressing against her beautiful body.

"No no, little one." she chides me. "You and I may not make love until you are fully healed."

"Then why are you doing this?" I moan as she lightly nibbles at my throat.

"I like teasing you." she purrs seductively. "Like a cat and a mouse. Or perhaps a spider with its helpless little prey."

I shudder in her grasp as I realize this teasing will go on for a long while, with no hope of it coming to any fruition. But I am helpless, and thus I lay still and let Keira play with me until she is content and drifts off to sleep. I lay still in her embrace, my head resting on her soft breasts, and I too fall into slumber.

By the day of the Freedom Night festival my injury has healed and I am again comfortable. I've settled comfortably into my routine of gathering water when needed and carrying out other household chores for Keira, before joining Luke and Roland to watch over the little ones at play. I haven't seen Magnus for quite a while, but I'm quite alright with that. Neither Luke nor Roland makes any mention of him. Our thoughts are too centered on the festival tonight. The Elvaran are preparing food, drink, and festivities for us all, and as soon as the sun goes down the night will be ours.

"I think I'll go see if Keira needs anything." I tell the others.

"Alright," Luke responds, "see you tonight, Sven."

I walk home past many Elvaran who are helping to set up provisions for the festival. Keira is at home sharpening her sword. I enter the house and kneel before her, pressing my lips against her feet. Keira smiles and ruffles my hair.

"Glad you've taken well to that aspect of our culture." she says.

"It's not so bad." I admit. "You're very pretty."

Keira beams, sets aside her sword and whetstone, and pulls me up into her lap. I sit comfortably, leaning against her shoulder and inhaling the sweet fragrance of her flesh. Keira lets her hands roam freely over my body, caressing and fondling me while I quiver with excitement.

"Tonight," she purrs, "after the festival... you're all mine."

"Oh my," I chuckle, "will I survive the night?"

Keira growls like a feral cat before kissing me fiercely and crushing my body against her.

"Oh I'll make sure you do," she whispers, "so I can have you every day for the rest of my life, little Sven."

"You're so kind to me." I happily murmur.

"I love my little treasure." she replies, kissing my forehead.

It seems, odd as our relationship may be, she really does love me. She is gentle and kind with me. I think I could grow to love her, despite my status as a mere servant and my longing for my home. Keira and I spend the rest of the day at home, talking of our lives. She tells me of her childhood, her training as a warrior, and her first battle. She has seen much in her life and I can't help but be amazed.

When night falls, I hear the sound of drums beating and music playing. Keira beams with excitement and hurries me away, insisting that she'll meet me later. Outside I can feel the thrill of exuberance in the air, and I follow the sound of voices to the town square. The place has thoroughly transformed. Torches on tall posts adorn the perimeter of the square, casting a great light that is matched by the bonfire at the center of the square. Many Elvaran are playing instruments, singing songs, or casually conversing with men-folk. Great vessels of mead are passed around, and large pieces of meat are roasted on the fire.

"Sven!" Roland calls, running toward me and thrusting a drinking horn into my hand. "Come, join us, friend!"

He turns and darts into the gathering of people and I follow him with haste, jostling my way through the boisterous throng. The sounds of laughter, joyous conversation, and singing are all around me. It feels so much like home, even amongst the rather imposing Elvaran. The gathered celebrators move about so quickly, some already in drunken staggers, bumping into each other and paying no heed to that fact. It is for that reason that I find myself blind-sided by a roaring drunkard plowing his way toward the bonfire. I fall forward and spill my horn of mead directly onto an Elvaran, who is seated on a log near the edge of the firelight.

"I'm sorry!" I exclaim, panic seizing me as I straighten myself up. "Please forgive me, it was an accident!"

The Elvaran whom I've just doused in alcohol turns to look at me and I immediately recognize her face... and the feathers and beads adorning her garments. The Elvaran chieftain, or queen, or whatever these folk call their leader. My mind is too numb with fear to think clearly. The chieftain fixes me with an unreadable stare, and then starts to chuckle.

"A clumsy little one, aren't you?" she playfully scoffs. "Keira must have her work cut out for her keeping up with you."

I try my utmost to compose myself, but I can't quite manage it.

"I uh... yes ma'am... Your Highness." I babble. "I mean no, I'm not normally clumsy. A man knocked me over, I am sorry."

The chieftain extends a fair hand and presses a finger to my lips, silencing my rambling.

"All is well tonight." she assures me. "Calm your nerves. Come, sit with me."

"Yes ma'am." I shyly respond.

"Call me Alania." she insists.

I nod and take my seat beside the Elvaran leader. She is tall, commanding in her presence, and beautiful, like some war goddess descended from the heavens. She notices me staring at her and gives me a playful smirk.

"You're a pretty one," she observes, "Keira must have a lot of fun with you."

"I do." Keira chimes in, making her way through the crowd to join us.

My mistress sits next to me and offers me a fresh horn of mead. I gratefully take the horn and gulp down a large amount of the beverage.

"What trouble have you gotten yourself into?" Keira playfully demands.

"He doused me in mead." Alania informs her.

Keira barely manages to contain a laugh at that.

"Such a naughty one," she purrs seductively, "I'll have to punish you later, Sven."

I gulp nervously, not sure how to react to her words when coupled with that tone.

"I'm only teasing." Keira soothes me, petting my head gently.

I relax and lean against Keira while enjoying my drink. It is then, as my eyes wander around the bonfire, that I notice a discarded lute lying on the ground, in danger of being trampled by the gathered folk. Being a bit of a bard myself, I spring up and retrieve the instrument, returning it with me to the log, where I may guard it.

"You play?" Alania asks, excitement in her voice.

"And sing," Keira tells her, "he has a beautiful voice."

I blush from the praise and try my best to say nothing, my shyness getting the better of me, but the two women will have nothing of it.

"A song!" Alania bids me. "Play us a song."

"Oh, I can't, I--"

"A song!" insists the drunk man who knocked me over, as he sits dangerously close to the fire.

At last I relent to their insistence and pluck a few strings. The tuning is decent enough for me to play. And thus I begin an old folk song, one of my favorites from my home; a moving ballad I learned from my father.




Spoils of War Ch. 03



"Are you going to the banks of the river," I sing over my lute-strumming, "to the shores of the sea, or the lands far beyond? Are you flying away like the cold of the winter? Will you recall me while you are gone?"

My voice starts out hesitant, but I gradually gain confidence, rising to my feet and standing with my back to the fire so I might face Alania and Keira. The drunk man wobbles his way over to the log where the Elvaran sit and flops down in front of it, lying on his back. I continue to sing.

"Are you striding away with the sunset? Are you fading like moonlight wanes with the dawn? Will you return and sit here beside me? Remember this moment while you are gone."

A small crowd has begun to gather, but I hardly notice them. My eyes are bleary with tears, my vision hazy with memories of home. My heart pounds with excitement and sadness. I can only keep singing, I cannot stop my words from flowing, my hands from playing, or my memories from returning. This moment is so like home, yet different in almost every way.

"I have waited many seasons," I sing louder now, my voice resonating in the night air, "I've watched for your ship by the light of each day. You never returned, oh light of my spirit. I'll always remember when you went away."

I finish the song with a drawn-out chord on the lute, letting the notes fade away, backed only by the crackle of the fire. It is then that I realize the whole of the square has gone silent and all eyes are fixed upon me. I stand still, looking about me like a nervous animal, not knowing what to do.

The applause starts first with Alania and Keira, then erupts throughout the rest of the crowd, cheers and clapping rolling like a wave over me. I grin widely, bowing in a deliberately theatrical manner, having fun with my unexpected audience.

"I'll take requests!" I call out. "But only if you request songs I know."

This sparks laughter from the men and women alike. I strike up a more lively tune, a funny song about a drunk old fisherman bickering with a black bear over his latest catch. The song compels everyone, even Alania the chieftain, into clapping and singing along once they've heard the chorus a few times. More applause follows the tune, and the several others I play before I decide to go sit down with Keira and Alania. Keira embraces me passionately and kisses me with overwhelming intensity.

"You amaze me!" she declares, not letting go of me, holding me in her lap. "My little Sven is an astonishing one."

"That was beautiful!" Alania adds. "You are quite a prize for our tribe, Sven."

I can hardly contain my pride. My sadness at the memory of home has, for the moment, faded and been replaced by the euphoria of performance. My heart flutters, my mind is a blur of joy. I am about to rise and play another round of songs when a sharp cry emanates from somewhere in the settlement. A high-pitched scream of mortal agony. A female scream.

Keira and Alania leap upright and I hasten to follow as the crowd tries to collectively move in the direction of the troubling sound. I stick close to Keira, who roughly shoulders her way through the tightly packed cluster of people. When we at last reach the source of the sound, we stop dead in our tracks. The little Elvaran girl, Alma's niece, whom I consoled a few days ago is lying on the ground, her beautiful eyes staring blankly at the heavens. Her throat has been violently gashed open and she lies in a puddle of her own blood. Beside her head, a knife is stuck blade-first in the blood-soaked earth...



Spoils of War Ch. 04



[Author's Note: Well, at long last here it is. The plot comes to fruition. When I started this story I'd only ever intended to write the first part and leave it at that. But your reviews, your praise, compelled me to write more. Never underestimate the power of your words. I may craft an epilog for this tale in a while. Please feel free to leave comments or email me your feedback. It truly means the world to me.] 

*

The festival is over, though the night is still young. We men-folk are ordered back to our respective homes while the Elvaran convene to discuss what has happened. I sit alone by the fire in the home I share with Keira, tending the burning coals as time wears on. I can't get the image out of my head, the image of that poor girl lying sprawled on the dirt. I remember the time I held her to cheer her up after she'd fallen at play. I recall watching her and her friends play together; she was always so full of energy and spirit. And now she is dead, bled out on the soil. Such a cruel way to go.

I can't keep the thought of Magnus from my mind either. He was not seen at the murder site, but I don't recall seeing him at the festival either. He'd spoken with Luke of rebellion, of knives in the dark. Was this what he meant? Killing innocent children, how was that rebellion?! How was that anything other than pure evil? I can't honestly say I know Magnus well enough to know whether or not he's capable of such a thing.

"Sven?"

A voice at the door startles me and I wheel around. Keira is standing in the doorway, framed by darkness, her face unclear in the flickering light cast by our hearth fire. Beside her, standing slightly behind her, I can barely discern Alania and Alma. Keira steps inside and I get a clearer look at her face; she is distraught.

"What's going on?" I ask, rising to comfort Keira.

She pushes me away gently but with enough force to startle me.

"They think you had something to do with the murder." Keira says, her voice cracking with a sob.

My heart nearly stops. I stare at Alma and Alania in confusion and shock. How could they think this?

"Distracting everyone with your songs." Alma growls. "Very clever. While your accomplice slew my niece. She was the last memory I had of my family, you know? Her mother died in childbirth."

I try to stand straight, to look her in the eyes, but my confidence wavers at the rage I see in her.

"Alma, I consoled her when she was hurt," I insist, "I guarded her at play for the past several days. Why would I hurt her?!"

A flicker of doubt appears on her face for just a moment. A moment wherein she looks more human, not like the cold warrior facade she always wears. In that instant I see sadness, fear, and a burning desire for retribution. But the moment passes.

"That's why you did not hold the knife, but held our attention instead." she growls.

Alania, who'd hitherto remained silent at last speaks.

"Sven," she calmly addresses me, "there is some doubt as to your guilt. This is why you still live."

I nod approvingly. Their chieftain doubts my guilt, perhaps this will prove beneficial.

"But if you are guilty," Alania adds, "we must have your accomplice named. You will spend one night in the House of Penance, with Alma exacting your punishment. Come sunrise you will have the chance to name your accomplice."

My legs go weak at the mention of that awful house of torment. That house that drove Magnus to hate the Elvaran, that reduced him to pleas for mercy as he was dragged inside. I cannot speak, can barely draw breath.

"I have no accomplice, I've done nothing!" I shout at last, backing up in a panic. "I would never murder anyone, I didn't even fight the Elvaran raiders in my hometown."

"A liar and a coward." Alma sneers.

I move to Keira's side, holding tight to her hand, pleading with her to protect me. But the hierarchy of Elvaran authority trumps her love for me. Not meeting my longing gaze, she hands me over to Alma, who locks my wrist in her iron grasp and silently hauls me from the room. As I leave, I swear I can hear Keira weeping and Alania comforting her. But perhaps I am only imagining things, hoping for some show of emotion from these typically stoic women.

A bleak, all-consuming fear wells up within me. My heart feels like a pulsating void, throbbing with an emptiness that spreads throughout my body like ice. Only when we pass beyond the city walls and I see the shape of the House of Penance outlined against the starry sky do I begin to panic. I start to struggle with Alma, trying to pull away, to run into the night, but to little avail.

"Please," I beg, "I've done nothing, I swear by the Gods."

"There are no Gods here!" she roars with wrath. "Only Goddesses who will judge you for what you've done!"

I let out a terrified yelp as I'm pulled sharply into the building, the door shut and locked behind us. A single torch illuminates the room, casting an unsteady glow on to the windowless walls. In that glow I behold the instruments of my torment. Many I cannot identify or even guess at their purpose. I see a chair and a long, narrow bench with shackles on its four legs. Another pair of shackles hangs from the ceiling, well above the ground. On the walls hang whips, brands, serrated metal tongues, a small hammer, gloves whose palms are lined with sharp iron studs, wickedly shaped knives, screws, cylindrical metal rods, and a wealth of other horrific tools.

"Strip." Alma snaps.

I strip down hesitantly, compelled to cooperate only by the feeble hope that my cooperation will spark some kindness in her. Soon I am wearing nothing but my leather collar. Much as I initially disliked it, I am now grateful for the simple leather band, which now serves as my only link to Keira, to the world outside this little Hell.

"Lay down!" Alma commands.

I tentatively lay down on my back upon the narrow bench. My ankles and wrists are shackled to the legs of the bench, leaving me vulnerable and petrified with fright. I do not want to cry, to weep like a broken man when no torture has yet been dealt. Yet the very ambiance of this place is maddening.

"At dawn, you will tell all." Alma informs me while she inspects the tools on the wall. "Or you will be returned here, to die."

She moves to the wall and selects a tool, then turns and displays the item to me. I truly cannot ascertain its purpose simply by looking at it. Alma holds it by two wooden handles, but its body is made of metal. The tool vaguely resembles a set of jaws with flat, blunted teeth. Alma squeezes the handles and the jaws shut with a metal clang. When she releases her grip, the jaws come open again.

"W-what is that for?" I ask, my voice shaking.

Alma steps closer to me, looming over me like the shadow of imminent death. But no, I will not die here, I cannot die here, not yet, Alania has forbidden it.

"There are fates worse than death." Alma growls, as if having read my mind. "Do tell me though, have you recovered from the last time I punished you?"

I recall her prior punishment, the vicious strikes to my most sensitive region. The smirk on her face shows me that she too is reflecting on that cruel act of retribution.

"Let us revisit that pain." she purrs, snapping the metal jaws together repeatedly as they move toward me.

I scream as I've never screamed before, and the night has only just begun...

At dawn the door comes open, letting light flow into the dismal room. Alma strides from the room, leaving me crumpled on the floor, unable to stand. I have, in so short a time as one night, become familiar with every wicked tool in this arsenal of agony. My mind is a haze of lingering pain, my throat is raw from screaming. My every breath brings the taste of blood into my mouth. My tongue slides across my lips and I taste more blood.

"Sven!" comes an exclamation from beyond the door.

My eyes are nearly swollen shut, but I can just discern Keira hurrying into the room to collect me. She looks around the room and a bitter cry escapes her lips, a cry like that of a mother bear whose young are suffering beyond her reach. Carefully she scoops me into her arms, but even this gentle gesture causes pain to shoot through me. I moan incoherently as I'm carried back in to town.

"You will be okay." she tries to soothe. "I will take care of you, little one."

But I am not taken home. Instead I am carried to the town square, which has been restored to its normal status, and I am made to sit in a high seat which has been placed before a crowd. I feel near death, beaten and tortured and naked, actually yearning for some sort of release.

"Sven," comes Alania's voice, "on pain of death, tell us who murdered that girl as you held our attention with song."

I try once to speak but nothing comes out. I try again but my throat is so dry I can barely talk above a whisper. Every word scratches like my throat is lined with nails. The crowd presses closer to listen.

"If you've decided I'm guilty," I rasp, "then kill me already. I will never admit to something I did not do, and I would never aid in the harm of anyone, particularly a child. I sang for you, songs from my homeland, that is all I've done, with no ulterior motive. If killing me for that will please you, appease your need for vengeance, then be done with it already."

There is a total silence amongst the Elvaran. Perhaps I've just doomed myself. But at this point I hardly care. Just one night and I'm willing to throw away my life to make the pain stop. At long last, Alania speaks up.

"He is guilty of no crimes," she calls to the crowd, "he played only an inadvertent role in this whole ordeal. Fear of death should have driven him to name an accomplice, even falsely. Yet in the face of demise or torture, he holds to his innocence."

"I am loathe to admit it," Alma mutters angrily, "but he would name no one even when I dealt him the harshest tortures. Even the Rod of Infiltration only brought forth pleas for mercy and claims of innocence, not so much as one admission of guilt, even to spare himself the misery."

There is a collective murmur of ascent from the crowd. Keira steps forward to help me out of my chair. But Alania steps up to me before I can be carried away.

"Little Sven," she whispers, "I am sorry for your suffering. The tribe sought vengeance, this was all I could do. I am sorry it fell upon you."

With that she returns to her subjects to arrange a funeral for the fallen Elvaran child. Keira carries me back to our home and lays me on the bed. Her eyes are full of tears as she examines my various burns, bruises, welts, scars, and lacerations. She washes me gently, weeping silently all the while.

"My little treasure is broken." she cries quietly, her voice quivering. "My little angel."

"I'm n-not broken." I stutter. "I'm still alive."

Keira winces at the sound of my voice, raspy and weak as it is. Not my usual tone nor the resonance from last night's songs. I seem to have only affirmed her claims; I am broken.

"I let them take you." she moans piteously. "I let them do this to my love."

I try to reach a hand up to comfort her, but my arm doesn't want to move. My shoulders burn, throbbing from having been forced into an awkward angle for much of the past night. Keira gently presses my hand down, stilling my effort to raise it.

"Can you ever forgive me?" she asks, pain heavy in her words.

I cannot nod in agreement, as pain limits my movement. Yet it also hurts to speak, but I try nonetheless.

"Keira," I rasp, "this is the way of your people. I don't blame you, my mistress."

"It is wrong." she admits in a whisper. "This is wrong, reducing you to this agonized state. I cannot abide it."

Now I am perplexed. She is speaking against her culture, her very way of life, all for love of me.

"Do not turn against your folk." I urge her.

"I won't, dearest Sven," she assures me, "but I can't let this ever be done again."

"What will you do?" I ask.

She has no response for this, not yet. Instead she goes to get some food, to see if I can eat. My throat hurts, but I manage to eat a small meal and drink plenty of water. Keira feeds me, despite my efforts to try and feed myself. It feels nice to be cared for by her. It is reassuring. In the midst of my torture, I did begin to harbor a resentment for her letting them take me away, but I see now the sorrow it caused her, the emotional pain. I cannot hate Keira. Even Alma, in her own, distressing way, was only trying to seek justice for the murder of her sister's child. Her anger was ill placed, but the feeling is entirely justifiable.

My recovery, at least from the most grievous of injuries, will take time. But I'm soon able to stand up shakily, and can sit upright with negligible pain. Keira excuses me from all chores, and instead tends to me regularly. Meanwhile, the body of the murdered Elvaran is buried in a nice plot of land by the lake. A memorial service will be held, and in a show of good will, I've been asked to sing at this tribal gathering. I must say the irony is palpable, but I'm overjoyed to prove my good intentions and to be a part of this child's memorial.

Due to the nature of this death, that of a child, a special service will be held, consisting of two parts. In the first part, the village children will be kept back, watched over by Luke and Roland at a large hall I'd not yet visited. This would be a time for the adults to grieve and speak at length to the Goddesses and pray for the safety of the child's soul. Then the adults will draw back, save for a few to help guide the children as they mourn the loss of their friend and speak as they will to honor her memory. It is a beautiful concept, I think, and I'm happy to be a part of it.

In the time before the ceremony I try my best to think of a song that would suit the occasion. Nothing comes to mind, no matter how long I think on it. Keira tries to help while she tends to my still-recovering wounds, but most Elvaran songs are about fighting, drinking, love making, or unnerving combinations of those activities. Not appropriate for this solemn occasion, though Keira does manage to make me laugh with her beautiful voice singing those raucous tunes. Ultimately, I decide I will write a song before the ceremony and sing it for the funeral service.

The day of the service comes quickly. I can walk comfortably, though I'm still very weak and quite unsteady. My throat has recovered from the damaging effects of my tortured screams, and I'm ready to sing. As Keira walks with me to the lake side, I notice many Elvaran eyeing my visible scars and bruises with pity in their eyes. It warms my heart to know they don't distrust me, that they sympathize with me for the swift, irrational judgment that was so hastily heaped upon me. Every time I'm granted a new reason to despise this society, it's people manage to change my mind. Though a bit of bitterness does still remain in my heart over the horrific tortures I endured. I can't blame Alma for mourning her sister's child, but her actions toward me were unfounded and sadistic at best.

"Are you hurting?" Keira asks, worry in her tone.

"I'm still sore." I admit. "The welts on my back are still very tender, but I am okay. Thank you, Keira."

We arrive at the gathering where Elvaran and men stand in relative quiet, some of them weeping quietly. To my astonishment, Alma kneels beside the grave, weeping openly. I can understand her sadness, but it is so jarring for me to see that cold-hearted woman reduced to sobbing uncontrollably. Though I may be repulsed by her wrathful temper, I feel compelled to embrace her, but I quell this compulsion and take my place before the gathered mourners. The group's eyes come to rest on me, even Alma looks up from the grave, her eyes brimming with tears. I take a deep breath, and I sing...

"In the harshest of lands, a flower may grow, and the sun will nurse it to life. Even when it stands alone, it shall be guarded from strife. Rain will quench its endless thirst, the winds will join it at slay. The flower will grow and spread its petals wide, to greet each coming day."

As I sing, the crowd falls entirely silent, even the weeping quieted. Pride surges through me; they like my song, my voice, my words of praise for the fallen child. Alma stares at me, and I see recognition in that stare. Her every thought about my guilt has been put to rest. She can hear the love in my voice, the compassion for this tragic loss.

"But a tempest may brow," I sing, "and it's winds may be too strong. The flower will hold fast to its roots, but it cannot hold for long. The land around may feel despair, at the beauty now gone away. But may they always remember how she spread her petals to greet each coming day."

I scan the faces of the mourners while my voice echoes across the small lake. I see many Elvaran I've seen before, and men as well. Luke and Roland are off guarding the young ones, keeping them company and explaining to them the upcoming service. It is then that a sudden realization hits me and my voice catches in my throat.

"Magnus!" I exclaim. "He is not here!"

Alma looks confused, then angry at my outburst.

"What are you talking about, male?" she demands.

"Magnus!" I cry, already making my way toward the crowd. "He wasn't at the festival with us all when this poor child was slain alone in the night, and he's not here now, while the young ones are separated from us."

The looks of horror and realization that sweep across the gathered folk coincide perfectly with the awful sound of children screaming in fear, a sound which rips through the air like a cold steel blade. The Elvaran come to life in an instant, charging toward the hall where the children are waiting. Many of the warrior women shout savage cries, others call out the names of their young. It is a frenzy of panic, a frenzy I've caused. I can only hope Magnus has been held back by Luke and Roland. But he is strong and fueled by blinding hatred. A man may be driven to far greater feats when blind passion burns in his heart. But perhaps it is not Magnus, perhaps something else has happened. Please Gods, let that be the case. Let my fears not be realized.

I am lagging behind the pack, slowed by my injuries and out-paced by the natural physical superiority of the Elvaran. Keira, seeing my struggling, sweeps me into her arms and continues in her swift stride. We come into the town square and all of us freeze. The hall, situated just left of the queen's abode, is still in tact. Inside, the children are now silent, stricken with fear. We can see them through the open door. And in that door stands Magnus, two torches in his hands and a wild gleam in his eyes. 

"Come no closer," Luke bellows from deep inside the hall, "he's doused the outer walls in lamp oil!"

"He'll kill all of the young ones!" Roland frantically adds, also at the back of the hall.

The Elvaran mob stops short and Keira sets me on my feet. I must marvel at Magnus' clever plan. A wooden hall is already flammable, but with the added fuel of lamp oil it will burn hot and at length. How swiftly must he have moved to create a trail of oil around the hall? I'm impressed and horrified.

"You wretched dog!" screams an Elvaran, possibly Magnus' mistress. "How dare you act in such a way? How dare you endanger our young? I've been nothing but kind to you whilst you were in my keep!"

Magnus eyes this woman, who I'm now certain is his mistress, and there is a venomous glare in his eyes. He laughs harshly, a sound devoid of even the most remote shreds of mirth.

"I was a warrior!" he roars, eyes darting about the crowd, watching us all. "I fought with valor, pride, and for great glory. Then in an instant, all of this was stolen away from me! My men were slain and I was taken, abused like some toy in the hands of you savages. You think you were kind to me?"




Spoils of War Ch. 04



He addresses his mistress directly now, his gaze locked upon her.

"You think you were merciful?" he snarls, practically frothing at the mouth. "You beat me every night, regardless of my actions, and when I cry for help you have me sent to that thrice-damned House of Penance. You make me beg at your feet for every meal, as if I am a dog. I spend nights without sleep, bound and propped in a corner of the room, just to amuse you!"

Some of the Elvaran look to the woman in question, who averts her eyes sheepishly. Magnus speaks the truth of her, this is plain to see.

"None of those children had a hand in your torment! Leave them be!"

I am shocked to realize the words just spoken have come from my mouth. I step forward, Keira at my side, moving to the front of the crowd. Magnus turns his eyes to me, fixing me with that envenomed glare.

"Careful, bard!" he warns, moving his torches threateningly.

I halt my advance but stand my ground. I am small, weak, and battered, but I cannot show him fear. I've watched those children at play for days now, and already I have a potent desire to protect them, for they are only children, kind young folk.

"Your plight is fair," I tell him, "believe me when I say I understand your dismay. My mistress is kind, but a life of servitude is not. But we must talk these things out, not act with violence toward the innocent."

Keira nods in approval. Magnus does not look swayed.

"If I set these torches aside," he explains, "these she-devils will tear me limb from limb."

"No, we won't."

This time the speaker is Alania, chieftain of the Elvaran. She stands tall and regal as ever.

"You will be punished." she tells Magnus. "But it will not come yet. Set aside the torches and let us talk, we will hear your grievances. You should not have been treated so harshly. I am sorry for your suffering."

Magnus wavers at that show of kindness, his resolve breaking.

"Please," Keira speaks up, "listen to Sven and Alania. They are not deceiving you, Magnus."

Magnus looks like a confused animal trapped in the sight of its predator. I only want him to put his weapons down before an accidental spark sets the hall ablaze. He moves both torches and the Elvaran tense, ready to surge forward. The torches fly forth and land in the dirt of the square, sputtering out against the soil. Magnus slumps dejectedly to his knees.

"I have no more valor," he moans, "no more pride. I was ready to harm children, the most innocent of beings, only to protect myself. My honor is dead. Do what you must."

His mistress makes to come forth, her fists already clenched. But Alma shoves her roughly back into place. Alma, a warrior like Magnus once was, approaches the kneeling man and offers him a hand. Her posture is still tense, for surely she recalls the murder he committed, but she seems willing to wait to exact her retribution. Magnus places his hand in her's and she helps him to his feet. Her grip is strong but Alma is not hurting him. Not yet.

"Let the children go and grieve as they will." Alania orders. "We will talk, here and now."

Luke and Roland stay behind, letting the children stream from the hall. They move toward the lake side, off to grieve their fallen companion, and relieved to be free from mortal peril. The Elvaran gather around, many still gazing wrathfully at Magnus. But his mistress is catching many a sour glance as well.

"Our way of life," Alania says, "is to be dominant, to guide our males in their lives, so they might keep our home strong as we do battle across the land."

Magnus nods in resignation, but Alania has more to say.

"Violence," she adds, "torment, bloodshed, and death are tools we implement. But they should be implemented against our foes, not our males."

Magnus' face lifts in a slight smile. An idea, a vague notion compels me to speak up.

"Chieftain," I propose, "males serve here to strengthen the home, which is a fair trade, as the women brave great danger to expand the Elvaran realm. Yet, the males only serve in ways that you, the fighters and leaders, see fit."

There is a murmur of confusion amongst the Elvaran.

"My point," I press on, "is that Magnus is a warrior, yet he was being used simply to fetch water, and to fulfill the sadistic whims of his mistress. I am a bard, and I'm happy to perform other tasks as well, but why should I only sing on Freedom Night?"

Luke and Roland add quiet, polite approval.

"I am a cook," Luke tells the crowd, "I cook in my home, but I'd be happy to teach other men to cook, also."

"And I am... I can eh..." Roland struggles to think of something he can do. "I'm... well I'm happy as things are. Carry on."

Some of the Elvaran chuckle at that. A woman, his mistress, ruffles his hair playfully and Roland sits happily by her feet.

"Do you see?" I ask. "Fighting men could be village guards. The rest of us have our uses as well. We would be more content to serve if we were not relegated to areas in which we have no skill or passion."

The chieftain contemplates this notion.

"I see the merit in your words," she says at last, "give us time to consider it, and we will reconvene this night with a decision."

I beam with pride. Whatever will be done, at least we've tried to make a difference without shattering the Elvaran way of life.

"I'm sorry I never got to hear you sing, Sven." Magnus addresses me. "My mistress left me alone, bound like a dog on the night of the festivity."

His mistress lunges in to strike him and is pushed away by several Elvaran. I am perplexed, shocked. Magnus was not free the night of that awful murder?! The hushed whispers of the gathered folk echo my confusion.

"But then, Magnus," Alania asks, "did you not slay that child?"

Magnus looks horrified. Not surprised, but overcome with a sense of defeat.

"She'll tell you I did." he mutters. "She said she'd tell you all today that I'd done it. This is why I acted so suddenly, so violently. I knew all hope was lost. You all think me a murderer already."

Focus shifts toward the woman, Magnus' cruel mistress, who fidgets in dismay.

"Hilde," Alania asks, "did Magnus slaughter that child?"

Hilde nods vigorously.

"He broke free of his restraints," she says hastily, "he attacked her! Send him to the House of Penance, let me visit his doom upon him."

"Lies!" Magnus roars.

His voice is loud yet not as maddened as before. It is strong, full of conviction. He stands unwavering, glowering at Hilde.

"Tell them, Mistress," he demands, "tell them how you threaten to kill me every night, how you hold a knife at my throat and mock my meaningless life. Tell them how you conspire to send me to the House of Penance just to torture me and look noble amongst your folk for doing so! Tell them how you lured that poor girl into the darkness and slew her outside our home, how I pleaded with you through the open door! And how you hoped to blame me so you could justify torturing me to death."

Hilde runs. Her actions are sudden. She whips around and charges away from the crowd. Alma is on her like a shot, tackling the wicked woman to the earth and delivering a savage blow that renders Hilde stunned. Consciousness still holds her, but she is weak now.

"Does the male speak truth?" she snarls.

"Men are meant to suffer," Hilde weakly replies, "I was only doing to him what he deserved."

"Deserved for what?" Alma demands, striking Hilde a terrible blow.

"For living."

The crowd is in an uproar. Hilde is hastily restrained, though she growls and snaps like a wild dog. My mind reels. Magnus never murdered anyone?! He seemed so ready to snap, and snap he did by holding those children hostage. He will have to suffer for that, surely. But the pain he endured, the nightly torture. I pity him. Even a strong man can only take so much before reason gives way to desperation.

The women go to privately discuss the matters of the tribe and many of the men disperse and set about cleaning up the hall. Magnus, Luke, Roland, and I work to scrub away the lamp oil Magnus had laid out.

"I'm going to die aren't I?" Magnus asks.

No one replies for a while. I don't know, but I can't say I'd find it unlikely. He did take the children as hostages, he could have killed them all.

"I don't know, friend." Luke speaks up at last. "You acted foolishly."

Magnus nods, his expression dark.

"It was a great evil I worked," he agrees, "I deserve to suffer for that. But Hilde should suffer too, yes?"

"Yes," I say firmly, "and far worse than you. She committed murder, and tortured an innocent man."

There is a general agreement amongst us all. We spend the rest of the day working in silence until the hall is spotless and the young ones have returned from mourning their friend. Luke explains to them all what happened in their absence. They are leery of Magnus still, but none look overtly hostile.

At sundown, the tribe assembles in the square. Alania stands before them. Hilde is still bound, but she has gone calm. Magnus stands beside Alania, opposite Hilde. The men and women of the tribe stand before the chieftain. Luke stands by his mistress, an Elvaran who is slightly shorter than the others. She has her arm around his shoulders. Roland is seated by his mistress' feet and she pets his head affectionately. And I stand by Keira, who holds my hand firmly in her's. Other men and their mistresses are quietly talking until Alania silences them.

"Hilde," she pronounces, "for the crime of murdering a child, and the crime of physically and mentally torturing your male, I sentence you to suffer in the House of Penance, at the hands of Alma the Sword-Cleaver, until your death."

"What? No! That place is for males!" pleads Hilde. "It is their place to suffer!"

Alma sneers wickedly as she seizes Hilde's bound form and unceremoniously drags her away. More than one Elvaran applauds. I do not pity Hilde, but I do not envy her. The crowd falls silent again, now awaiting Magnus' judgement.

"Magnus," proclaims Alania, "for the crime of endangering the young folk of our tribe, but bearing in mind your suffering and the words of Sven the bard and his mistress, your sentence will be as follows. Tomorrow I will take you into the House of Penance, each device therein shall be used upon you at least once, and then you will be marched outside to watch as that building is burnt to the ground, never to be used on another being again... You cannot escape your deeds without penalty, but you are not an evil man."

Magnus is overcome by emotion, a peculiar sensation it seems, for he knows not how to act. Excitement, dread, elation, and foreboding war for dominance within him. At last he turns to Alania and meets her eyes.

"I understand," he speaks, his voice unwavering, "and I thank you."

He embraces the queen and she kindly returns the gesture before sending him to stand amongst the crowd. But even with torture looming over him, his good mood cannot be quelled.

"Roland," he says as he passes the masochistic man, "tomorrow I will be the last being within that room of torture. Are you jealous?"

The crowd explodes with mirth. Even Alania laughs at Magnus' quip. Roland is of course beside himself with delight, laughing loudly and feigning anger at Magnus and his "good fortune." Or at least I assume he is feigning it. Roland is, by his own admission, quite the masochist, he might actually be jealous of those awful tortures.

"My tribe," Alania loudly calls, capturing everyone's attention, "I have one more pronouncement to make. The Elvaran way is one of dominance, of power, of strength. Our males serve us and this will not change. But for our folk to be strong, we must all be strong. Our males will continue to serve us, but they shall serve to their strengths, that our homes may be strong, and our villages as vibrant as our armies are powerful!"

I am speechless at the tribe's collective decision voiced by its leader. We will still serve, but not like beaten slaves, instead as valued members of this village. We will serve a vital role just as the Elvaran do. I cannot believe my fortune. Yet, knowing Keira to be kind and Alania to be likewise understanding, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

"None shall be forced to kneel in our village," Alania continues, "save for our captured enemies, and all of us in worship of the Goddesses."

"And me." Roland chimes in.

This time even Alania can't contain her laughter to a dignified chuckle. The meeting adjourns in high spirits. Perhaps this is the best way to honor the memory of that poor, slaughtered child, by doing all in our power to make our folk stronger.

"How do you feel?" Keira asks me as we make our way home.

"I am a bit sore still," I tell her, "not fully healed. But I am okay."

"Good..." she purrs, and I shudder at the predatory gleam in her eyes.

Keira sweeps me into her arms and carries me the rest of the way home. That excited, feral look in her eyes doesn't fade. I feel I may be in for quite the night. And I'm rather excited.

"Tell me if I hurt you too much." Keira says as she disrobes me swiftly.

I lay on my back upon our bed and smile up at my beautiful mistress. Today has been a wild ride from mourning to panic to jubilation. And now physical ecstasy. Keira looms over me, glorious and nude in the flickering light of our hearth fire. Her body is pale and perfect, her musculature clearly defined, her breasts full and enticing. She sits astride me, her thighs on either side of my hips. I feel trapped, helpless under her, but I am not afraid.

"Please," Keira insists, "tell me if I get too rough."

"I promise." I assure her.

And then she is upon me, her powerful, beautiful body pressing down on me, her firm breasts pushing into my chest. Her lips find mine and she engulfs my mouth in a fierce kiss, her tongue probes into my mouth, exploring eagerly. She bites at my lips playfully, eliciting a little yelp of pleasure from me. Keira takes this as a good sign and moves her lips to my neck, nibbling softly and licking my skin. I moan involuntarily, my body shuddering under her.

"Don't make me beg." I playfully exclaim. "You're driving me mad."

Keira takes pity on my desperately aroused self and guides my erect member into her warm depths. Her inner walls squeeze tight around my hard shaft as she engulfs me up to my base. My low moan turns into a sigh of pure pleasure as Keira's hips rock back and forth. Her motion makes my whole body move under her and I thrust up to get as far into her as I can manage. Our bodies press together in ecstatic, lustful thrusts. Keira's lips meet mine again and she moans into my mouth as our thrusting increases.

"I love you, my little Sven." she hisses into my ear, before nibbling eagerly on my earlobe.

"I love you too, Keira." I reply, and I mean it truly.

I climax within her hot depths, gasping and crying out, my eyes shutting tightly with the pleasure. My climax subsides after a while, leaving me exhausted and hyper sensitive to the sensation of Keira upon me. I open my eyes to see a particularly devious look on Keira's beautiful face.

"What are you thinking?" I ask. "Or do I want to know?"

Keira spends a moment lightly nipping at my collarbone before she responds.

"A few things," she tells me, "of which you should be aware. One, I didn't get a climax out of that little encounter. Two, you did. Three, you did not look me in the eye as I gave you such glorious pleasure. Four, I will have to have my way with you until you can withhold your climax so our pleasure might synchronize, and you will look me in the eyes whilst our pleasure reaches its mutual apex. I'll just ravish you 'til you get it right."

"Ha, you are so excitable." I chuckle warmly.

But the look in her eyes tells me that Keira is quite serious. She will not truly hurt me, or do anything against my will. I know this of her, I trust her. But I also know she will get what she wants, and that tonight is going to be a very long and exhausting night...