Thrall of the Warrior Witch

Chapter One-3

Again there were nods, and some men kissed their knuckles in what seemed to be a superstitious gesture to ward off misfortune – or evil. Seeing and listening to this, and noticing the way Cor was evading the main issue, made Drake catch the contagion. For a moment his mouth was too dry to speak. Jeff took up the interrogation for him.

“Why do you say she feeds on them – on us?”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably. Cor began obliquely again.

“Must understand. We all slaves, us, you. Slave not person. Property. No worth but work. Mistress or master kill, no crime. Only use what owner need. Jia need life, seed to keep power. Take special slaves. Call them ‘thralls’ in your words. Always kept locked.” Cor pointed to the chastity devices that distinguished the three of them.

“No f**k, no play, no spill, no waste. All for Jia to feed.

“Many go to her bed. None seen again. She stay strong. Thralls…” Again the old man looked both sympathetic and humorously envious as he poked a finger rapidly through his closed first. “Lot of f**k. Lot of hurt, lot of fun. Come and come and come. Too much come. Die young, but smile maybe. Only way for slave gain honor. Me, die shame, rope or drop at work. You think you no lucky. You much more lucky than Cor.”

Some of the others nodded agreement. Most signaled in the negative and a babble arose as the issue was translated and argued over. Was it better to be f****d to death quickly or worked to death slowly? For these fellows the question was academic. As for the Americans, Bill began whimpering again: oh s**t, oh damn, this can’t be happening, et cetera.

Jeff was shaking his head, clearly appalled but smiling a little ruefully too.

Jehovah was obviously in one of his Old Testament moods. Drake already suspected the conflict the novitiate had been praying over was s****l in nature. This rather confirmed it. Obviously struggling with celibacy, homosexuality or both, he’d just been condemned to death by excess intercourse.

Still trying to take everything in stride, still put in mind of wild Shanelle, Drake found himself asking either the obvious or the ridiculous.

“Is Jia good-looking? Pretty?’

Cor broke off his argument to start another. Drake listened close. There were many points of agreement. Jia was undoubtedly beautiful. Jia had great breasts and ass. But Jia was huge and she was muscular, a fearsome warrior. The debate was over whether her size and power negated her s*x appeal. How could a man be aroused by a woman capable of slaying them – as she appeared to do with every male she bedded?

Drake had heard enough. He leaned back against the bars again and closed his eyes.

Shanelle would certainly appreciate the fate he’d been handed. She was always pushing him to go further. Maybe she and Jehovah were both in on this trick. She made him address her as ‘Goddess’ during their sessions after all, a needling about his atheism. Drake just hoped her methods of inducing endorphin overload worked to his benefit in facing that fate.

He sighed, and tried to ignore everything for a time. Calmness, patience and acceptance: it wasn’t an indestructible sense of well-being. But at least it might be within reach. If only he wasn’t so hot and thirsty!

***

Fortunately their route soon left the open fields, where the dust of their passage hung in the air, clogged the lungs and stuck to their sweaty bodies. Being under the cover of trees completely was a huge relief, mosquitoes and all. And after another few miles their column straggled past a large cistern where a forest stream had been dammed. Finally skins of water were filled and liberally passed around.

Drake doused himself and drank until his belly was bursting.

Like the air, the water tasted so sweetly pristine it made the environmentalist him both rejoice in the experience and despair for his own society. Soon enough they were back on the open road though, baking in their cage and watching vast farms give way to sullen little villages. Even at these clusters of homes and shops, forges and hostels, there was little smoke going up. Drake recognized a lot of shiny parabolas, sun stoves in use, and the smells of evening meals being cooked outdoors made his stomach twist even in its bloating.

He had no idea how long it had been since his abduction but it felt like days since he’d eaten. He could hear big Bill’s obviously unaccustomed belly complaining too. Still the ride slogged on, as the sun slowly lowered and the density of dwellings swelled. At last the walls of a huge fortress rose on the horizon.

Well-laid stone, the road led straight to this. As the ramparts loomed ever higher, the villages turned into town and then city.

Wood and stone, even marble replaced mud brick, and fine metal and glasswork were everywhere. The alphabets in use were as indecipherable as the languages haranguing one and all, but sign-fronts and advertisements were recognizable anyplace.

A million delicious smells announced the dinner hour; a hundred vile ones reminded of the benefits of modern sanitation. The declining sun blazed on the face of the huge edifice ahead, a perimeter defense at least a hundred meters tall. As they approached what the restlessness of their fellows suggested was their destination, Drake discerned a switchback route up the front.

Already long rows of mounted troops were on the way up, the vanguard of this army. Oxen-drawn wagons laden with weapons and sundry other goods followed. As their own towed cage approached, Drake noticed the similar slave wagon ahead turning not with the road to begin the ascent but heading straight toward a set of large iron gates standing open at the base of that towering stone-block wall.

Soldiers stood watch, men and women integrated seamlessly it seemed. They passed between swords and spears into and through a long tunnel lit by little torch-sconce versions of the magical fire dishes they’d seen in the tent. Emerging at last behind that massive outer wall they found a wide courtyard before another enormous wall, the gloom of evening in the deep chasm driven back by gigantic versions of the same strange braziers.

The smells of animal s**t and offal indicated nearby stables and stockyard. The clanging of hammers suggested never-ending blacksmithing going on. More iron and wood or merely barred gates in that second wall stood open or closed as convenience or protocol dictated. The slave wagons pulled up to one and halted at last.

One by one the wagons were unlocked.

Men clambered out of cages under the eye of overseers, the occasional crack of a whip punctuating the clanking of chains. Shuffling into place they were hurried as rapidly as their shackles allowed inside. Though their own cage was the second of five, Drake didn’t miss that it was the last to be opened and emptied. Nor was it lost on him that the scruffy overseer had been joined by one of those burly bosomy bald women.

Last out of the wagon were the three ‘thralls’. As they fell into line behind the others, Drake bringing up the rear, that bare-headed-and-breasted, whip-wielding beauty strode beside them. Mindful of the threat to his eyes, but unable to help himself, Drake kept peeking over at her.

Her tattooed skin was bronze rather than brown. The t**s were bigger but remarkably similar. And Shanelle usually used a belt or riding crop rather than an actual whip. Still Drake again couldn’t help but be reminded of his friend from the gym, who’d been introducing him to endorphin highs that blew his mind. Of course those kinky excesses had other effects just as compelling. Dwelling on them next to this truly desirable reminder, with the fate revealed to him in the wagon impending, Drake found that most telling effect recurring. Unbelievable (and extremely unadvisable) as it seemed, he began getting an erection.

The metal cage containing his manhood enclosed his entire genitalia together. The pictures Shanelle showed him online were far more restrictive, often involving piercings or punishment spikes. His cage was roomier at least. Still in a way this worked to his detriment. Without such acute pain to immediately banish his attempt at tumescence, he continued to pointlessly – and conspicuously – throb and swell against the confining bars.

Now it was himself Drake couldn’t help peeking at as they neared the doors. He jumped when the minder beside him laughed and spoke in English.

“Soon, but not so soon, special one. You are saved for last. Tiny morsel, but tasty tidbit. You do not shrivel in fear. You rise eager. Very special, maybe.”

Drake felt a tiny twinge of hope amidst this madness.

He had a few more days at least. And bizarre as it was, it seemed the predilections his kinky workout partner had unleashed in him might indeed increase his worth here. Even if it wasn’t enough to spare him, it might at least ease the horror of his end. Maybe, like Cor said, he could even go out with a smile.