Martin Hengst - The Last Swordmage

“Give me a reason, little one,” he snarled at her. “I own you, from toes to teats and everything in between. I can cut your throat right now and as long as you're wearing that collar, no one is going to question a thing. Do you understand?”

She glared at him in silence. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of an answer and there was nothing he could do to make her. He glowered at her and she stared back. She was getting to him. She could see it in his eyes. If she could push him off-guard, he might slip up and she'd have her chance.

His free hand went to her collar and his fingers slipped under the band. As soon as his fingers were between the metal and her flesh, a burning so intense that she thought her skin was on fire spread from her neck down her spine. She arched her back against the agony, her vision going gray around the edges from the unexpected onslaught. Her stomach churned as her body tried desperately to vomit from the pain. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, and couldn't think. She was going to die.

He ripped his hand from her throat and the pain ebbed quickly. She stared at him through involuntary tears. Tiadaria wouldn't realize until much, much later that the contact had hurt him too, perhaps as much as it hurt her. She gasped for breath, trying to calm herself and settle her still writhing stomach.

“I will walk, Master,” she said in a voice that was little more than a croak.

The man shook his head, frowning. “No, not Master. You will address me as Captain, or Sir. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He stared at her for another long moment and then stood up. He took the chain between her wrists and pulled her to her feet. Without another word, he motioned for her to continue down the narrow street to the cottage beyond. She paused at the gate, which he unlatched and passed through without a glance at her to ensure she followed. He was used to his orders being followed directly, she decided. Captain, then, probably wasn't a nickname.

He certainly had the look of a soldier. His arms were thick with cords of muscle and his gray-black hair was cropped close to his scalp, the better to fit under a snug metal helm. He wore leather scale armor, a thick breastplate that was all too recently stained with rotten fruit, and a pair of breeches woven from some sort of thick, coarse fabric.

He held his dagger like a fighter too. He walked on the balls of his feet, almost dancing as the blade reached out from his outstretched hand, cocked slightly to one side. The blade gleamed in the morning sun. It was recently oiled and had no blemish, no spot of rust, and no sign of any neglect whatsoever. Tiadaria decided then and there that this was a man who deserved to be watched very, very carefully. She would have to bide her time and watch for the perfect moment to make her escape. If she rushed her plan, or erred in its execution, she would be dead. She was certain of it.

Tia passed through the gate behind him and closed it, clicking the latch closed with delicate fingers. She waited behind him as he stood on the step and fished a small brass key from inside his chest piece. The key was tied to a simple length of black ribbon, but there was nothing simple about the key. It was made of brass, and where the teeth on a normal key might have been, there was a strange array of gears, nubs, and depressions. The man slipped the key into the lock and instead of turning it, let go. Tiadaria stepped back involuntarily as the key twisted on its own, a series of metallic clicks and clangs issuing in muted symphony from inside the door.

“Gnomish engineering,” he said, with no further explanation. “It opens and closes with my key and my key only. Don’t get any ideas.”

Tia nodded. She had suffered enough disgrace. She had no intention of showing her ignorance by telling the Captain that she had no idea what a Gnome was, much less why they should be interested in crafting beautiful and complicated doors. There was a click and the door swung inward, the man walked through the open portal.

She wasn't sure what she expected to find after she crossed the threshold, but a simple cottage with plain adornments seemed completely at odds with the marvelous door they had just come through. There was a small eating area, with a basin, a cooking hearth, and a simple trestle table and chairs just inside the door.

The rest of the main room seemed to be occupied by the remnants of some long-fought battle. The table surfaces were covered with maps and parchment that spilled over onto the floor, sometimes landing in other piles that were ankle deep.

There were pieces of armor strewn about, some were plain armor that Tiadaria had seen on guards and soldiers on her brief trip south from the clan lands. Others had obviously been modified for purposes she couldn't comprehend. Still more discarded treasures lay scattered about the room. Daggers and swords were propped against tables, hung on pegs, or in the case of one particularly wicked looking dagger, driven through the body of a book stained with something that looked unsettlingly like blood.

Beyond the eating area was a curtain that Tia suspected lead to the bathing and bedding areas. The man strode to the curtain, pulling it back and motioning for her to precede him.

A cold coil of dread settled itself around her stomach and she knew, with fearful certainty, that her time of being untouched by men had passed. Swallowing against the sudden rise of bile in her throat, she raised her chin and marched through the divider with only a moment's hesitation. If he thought he could take her with impunity, he had another thing coming. A man naked was a man vulnerable.

The curtains lead to a small hallway with three additional doorways that were also covered with curtains. He gestured at the one nearest the main room end of the hall.

“The bathing chamber,” he said with grave courtesy as he pointed at that curtain. Further down the hall, he stopped at two curtains hung opposite each other.

“These are my quarters,” he said indicating the heavy cloth hanging from the doorway. “You are not to enter my quarters unless I expressly request your presence, and then, only after you've announced yourself at the threshold. Do I make myself plain?”

“Yes, Ma…Yes, Sir.”

The old soldier looked at her for a moment and then gestured to the other curtain, far more thin and threadbare than the one that blocked access to his quarters. “That is your sleeping room. You may arrange it as you see fit.”

She held out her wrists and he regarded her thoughtfully before he took a large ring of many keys from his breeches. He flipped through what seemed like an impossible number of keys before he settled on one and used it to unlock the shackles around her wrists. He tossed them through the curtain in the main room. They landed somewhere with a clatter. Now Tiadaria knew why the main room looked the way it did.

She rubbed her wrists, trying to restore circulation. She offered one ankle, stretching it as far as the chain between them would allow. The old soldier laughed without humor.

“I don't think so, little one. I want to hear you coming.”

With that, he brushed the curtain to his room aside and disappeared from view, leaving Tiadaria standing in the dimly lit hallway. She stood there, rooted in indecision, trying to decide if he hadn't found her attractive enough to bed, or if he just wasn't interested in her that way. He was a man, though, and from everything she had heard in her village all men were governed by the brain between their legs. She smiled in silent malice. Well, just let him try. She may still be in leg irons, but he had freed her hands and she was sure that she could make him regret trying to bed her with just those at her disposal.

She pushed the thin curtain to her sleeping chamber aside and slipped into the room. Looking around, Tiadaria decided that the term “room” was being far too generous. Her new living space could be adequately described as a closet without deviating far from the truth. A thin, high window slit allowed a single shaft of sunlight to enter the room, offering scant illumination or life to the narrow space.