Lord of Avalon (10 page)

Symal stood in front of High Priest Kendam, feeling small
and vulnerable, her eyes downcast. Guards flanked her, swords at the ready if
she tried to bolt. The priest glared down at her from his raised chair.

“You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble, whore.” The harsh
word stung her, but she said nothing.

“You’ve turned the head of our Acolyte during a crucial time
in our priestdom’s history. Will future generations look back upon this sun as
the time a Craftsman’s slut brought down an entire priestdom?”

Still Symal held her tongue. She thought the high priest
completely misunderstood. She hadn’t planned to fall in love with the Acolyte,
it had just happened. But she was far too terrified to stand up for herself.

“I should have you beheaded immediately,” he said, obviously
pleased to see her flinch at his statement. He stepped off his chair and
approached her. Symal noticed at once that he was barely a
calabon
taller than she, though much fatter. “But that would displease High Lord
Bandar.” He paused. “At least, for now.” His threat caused another ripple of
fear to pass through her.

“If not for the Acolyte, I’d have you stripped naked and put
in stocks on the main square.” He leaned in. “I would enjoy seeing you
humiliated in front of the townsfolk.”

Tears began to flow down Symal’s cheeks. “M’lord…”

“Silence!” He thundered, his hand slapping her hard across
her cheek. “I did not give you permission to speak! You have nothing to say to
me! You are a slut, a worm, a dirty little cunt that’s gotten herself in
trouble she can’t even imagine.”

Symal trembled as he walked around her. “I know what should
be done with you. By using your feminine charms on the Acolyte, you acted just
like a slave. So a slave you shall become.” Kendam turned to the tallest guard.
“Guard, this slave seems to be wearing clothes! Can you imagine?”

The guard stepped forward and ripped Symal’s clothes from
her body. She screamed and tried to cover up.

The guard glanced up at Kendam, who nodded, so the soldier
swung his riding crop down on her back. Symal screamed again and dropped to one
knee.

“I’ll have the Acolyte on you!” she blurted out in anger and
fear.

Without a word, Kendam grabbed the crop out of the guard’s
hand and began beating her himself. She fell to the ground, writhing and
screaming under the blows. “Slaves don’t threaten their masters,” he said when
he finally stopped, leaving her with several red welts on her back and legs.

He handed the crop back to the guard. “Take her to the slave
pens of Goren. Tell the administrator to soften her up and put her into the
breeding chambers. Let’s see how the Acolyte likes her once she’s heavy with
Warrior child.”

Symal looked up, horrified. “NOO!” she shouted as the guards
dragged her away. Goren was more prison than slave pen. Women didn’t go there
to become mates for Damons, only to serve as the receptacle for the semen of
Laborers and Warriors.”

* * * * *

Rydah couldn’t contain his nervousness as he slowed the
carriage outside the palace wall. His face remained etched with tiredness,
although Jenya had helped him by taking the reins during their journey east,
allowing him to catch a nap while sitting up in his seat.

The palace guard stopped him with an abrupt wave of his
hand. The big, hard-looking Warrior towered over the lord. “Your business,
m’lord?” he said without the slightest bit of courtesy.

“I have a breeder that High Lord Bandar is expecting,” he
said brightly, his face showing a smile he didn’t feel.

The guard raised a bushy eyebrow. “This has been arranged?”

“Yes, of course. Here is my pass.” He thrust a paper into
his hands and held his breath. Having worked with Bandar’s writing and
signature for many
rynes
now, Rydah believed he could copy it in his
sleep. Still, he was petrified that the guard would somehow see through his
deception.

From the way the guard studied the document, Rydah suspected
he couldn’t read. All the better. He hoped the Damon seal would impress him.
“Wait here,” the guard barked and took the document to a scribe waiting inside.

Long
lapars
passed. Just as he was beginning to
panic, the guard returned abruptly, handed him the document, then waved him
through.

Rydah slapped the reins quickly and the carriage leaped
forward. He slowed it immediately, fearful his nervousness might give them
away. He headed the carriage toward the main stables, where he would be
expected to drop it off.

After securing a promise from the stableboy to feed and
water his horse, Rydah took one end of Jenya’s chain and walked toward the
imposing stone palace.

“This had better work, or we’ll both end up in
prison—probably in a cell next to Symal,” Rydah whispered out of the side of
his mouth. He held the chain loosely, and only yanked on it when guards were
present.

“I could think of no other way to get us close to the
Acolyte, m’lord.”

“I know. It is a good plan. I’m surprised a slave would
think of it.” Rydah couldn’t help admire his prize. Not only did she promise to
be an excellent breeder, she had intelligence as well!

He had tried to find flaw in Jenya’s plan, but even as he did,
he began to come up with answers to his own arguments. It was Rydah’s idea to
forge Bandar’s handwriting, but he hadn’t stopped there.

As they entered the castle, two more guards stopped them.

“Your business, m’lord?” The first guard asked. He wore the
Warrior cloak, but with markings that put him at the highest tier of his caste.
He was more deferential than the gate guard, probably because he assumed the
Damon already had passed scrutiny.

“We’re on our way to see Acolyte Lepdar to deliver my
breeder for his seed,” Rydah replied smoothly, handing the man his second
forged document—one using Lepdar’s name throughout instead of Bandar’s.

Rydah had not seen the Acolyte’s handwriting, so he simply
copied Bandar’s again. He hoped the son would have a similar writing style,
including the signature. The guard studied it, his brow furrowed. Rydah was
impressed—the guard could read.

“I don’t understand, er, Lord Rydah. The Acolyte is, um,
indisposed at the moment. He can’t possibly see your breeder this sun.”

Rydah put an edge into his voice. “Really? We made these
plans a few moons ago. Has something come up that would prevent him from
honoring our signed agreement?”

The guard fidgeted. “Um. I’m not able to say, m’lord.
Perhaps if you could come again another sun…”

“But I’ve already driven many leagues to come here on the
Acolyte’s request,” Rydah protested. “I should have been contacted.”

“Yes, but—”

“My breeder is ready for seed this very sun! I insist that I
at least be given a short audience with the Acolyte so that we may clear up
this most distressing development.” Rydah pulled himself up to this full
height. He was a good two
calabons
taller than the guard. He glowered
down at the Warrior, daring him to refuse a Damon.

Jenya stared at the ground, her chain rattling softly as she
trembled. The guard glanced over, taking in her beauty. Rydah could see his
mind working: What would the Acolyte say when he found out this guard sent away
a breeder he had agreed to mate with? The guard hesitated. “Wait here, sire.” He
turned and spoke a few words to a second guard, then trotted off up the
corridor carrying the document with him.

Rydah now could only hope that the Acolyte saw the document,
not Bandar or Kendam, and if Lepdar did see it, he’d remember the name of the lord
who had spoken to him at the old farmhouse. If he was too preoccupied to worry
about a third-tier Damon, Rydah and Jenya would be in the dungeon within the
next ten
lapars
, charged with attempted sedition and forgery.

The wait turned out to be fifteen agonizing
lapars
.
Rydah was really beginning to lose his nerve again when the first guard
returned.

“This way, m’lord.” He bowed.

Rydah felt a wave of relief wash through him. He glanced
over at Jenya to see her eyes widen with relief. Rydah felt a new bond form
between them. She had risked her life to stand by her master. His affection for
her grew.

He tried to act nonchalant as they followed the Warrior
through a series of corridors. The guard stopped outside a door. “The Acolyte
will see you here.”

Acolyte Lepdar stood by the window, looking out. He turned
when he heard the door open and his face creased into a nervous smile that came
and went quickly.

Rydah noticed they were alone. Thank Rand!

“What news do you bring? As you predicted, my father is
holding Symal under house arrest. They won’t let me see her. They say she’s not
in prison, but I fear she will be soon.”

Rydah approached the Acolyte, bowing deeply. “Forgive my
deception on getting into the palace, my Acolyte.”

Lepdar waved his hand. “Yes, yes. Please. Tell me what news
you bring.”

Rydah reached into his bag. “As you know, my Acolyte, I’m a
scribe. I’ve copied many documents from the high priests, including those of
our ancestors. Many
rynes
ago, when breeders were first becoming
accepted in our society, conflicts arose between Noblewomen and Lords. The
Noblewomen objected to breeders, as they felt they infringed upon their rights,
but the priests were adamant that they would solve the problems caused by weak
offspring. A number of edicts were written in the past to smooth over these
issues, most of which have fallen into disuse over the
rynes
as
Noblewomen have seen the wisdom of having fresh breeders among our leaders.”

Rydah stepped forward and handed Acolyte Lepdar a document,
covered in spidery writing. “I came across this several
rynes
ago and
only remembered it vaguely, that’s why I couldn’t speak accurately of it at the
farmhouse. But if you read through this document written by High Priest Nidlet,
I think it might give you the solution to your problem.”

The Acolyte reacted to the name as he accepted the document.
High Priest Nidlet was revered among the Avalonians. He had died more than
seventy
rynes
ago, but his words live on in scrolls and sermons. Even
Bandar had been known to quote him frequently.

The Acolyte read quickly, then looked up. “Is this right?”

Rydah nodded. “This document sets for the terms of a
Repall
—a
marriage in name only. It was named after Acolyte Repall, who found himself in
a similar situation to yours, except he was heir to the throne. He loved a
Noblewoman, but his father had pledged him to a distant princess. The princess,
like Wenelle, also had a man she loved, and she did not want to leave her
priestdom to live here. The Noblewoman and the princess had many allies and
they created problems for the high priests of both regions. So they agreed to
marry the Acolyte to the princess in name and title, but allow them to live
separately.”

Rydah couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “It
fits you perfectly, sire. You said the only reason for the marriage is to give
Syran an excuse to tell his cousin he can’t merge their armies, for it would go
against his daughter’s husband. So you marry in a formal ceremony, witnessed by
many dignitaries, then you go your separate ways. You can take Symal as your
consort and Princess Wenelle can stay with her lover and everyone will be
happy.”

The Acolyte’s jaw dropped. “And this law is still on the
books? It hasn’t been repealed?”

“No, my Acolyte. It hasn’t been used in more than sixty
ryne
and has been largely forgotten, but it’s still on the books.”

The Acolyte reached forward and gripped Rydah by his upper
arm. “By Rand this is good news! I must go tell my father immediately. Please,
stay here for the night, accept my hospitality. I may need you to explain this
document to our own priests.”

“As you wish, my lord.” He bowed, his heart bursting.

At the door, the Acolyte paused. “Oh, and, I’ll be back to
breed with your slave later.”

Rydah looked up, stricken. “Um, my Acolyte. That was just—”

The Acolyte laughed. “Oh, you should see your face! Never
fear, my lord. I see you’ve got an excellent breeder there. Don’t blame you for
wanting to keep her to yourself!”

Rydah looked relieved.

“Oh and one more thing,” the Acolyte said, opening the door,
“I may need a new scribe here soon—to take care of many of my fiefdom’s duties.
Might you be available?”

Rydah’s face reddened and he suddenly felt weak in the
knees. “Yes, my Acolyte. Whatever you desire.”

When the Acolyte left, Rydah turned to Jenya and clapped his
hands. “Did you hear that, Jenya? He wants me as his scribe! We could live
inside the palace walls!”

Jenya’s face broke into a big grin—bigger than the sun she’d
found out she’d been selected by this Damon. Her instincts had been right. Her
lord had turned out to be quite a catch.

“My lord! That’s wonderful news!” She wanted to hug him but
kept her place. Instead, she was shocked when he grabbed her and swung her
around, then planted her back on her feet and kissed her on the lips.

On the lips! A Damon!

It was just as Lady Margeld had told her it might happen, so
many
rynes
ago. That’s why she had made sure the girls learned the
correct technique…

Not long after Jenya had turned fourteen, Margeld had
announced in class, “This sun, girls, we learn how to kiss. Not that you should
expect your master to kiss you—no, far from it. Most will not, for that
signifies a much more personal relationship. No, we learn this simply on the
rare chance that someone requests that you kiss him. You must obey and you
certainly don’t want to disappoint.”

Jenya had known this sun was coming and she was more than
ready. Already, she had experimented with Mavela, a fifteen-ryne-old, after
lights had gone out at bedtime. The lessons hadn’t gone too far because they
both suspected they were doing something wrong—they didn’t feel anything. Other
girls had told them of a tingling in their stomachs or a funny feeling even
lower, but they just felt a little foolish.

Now they were about to learn to kiss the right way.
Jenya’s mind raced. Who would they bring in to volunteer? Craftsmen? Merchants?
Wouldn’t that arouse them too much? Would the men try to mate with them, even
though they were strictly off limits? Jenya wasn’t sure she would know how to behave.

Lady Margeld clapped her hands. “Now, girls, pay
attention! I can see you sun-dreaming there! Now, we can’t very well bring in a
bunch of men to practice with, can we? So you’re going to learn on each other.”

There had been murmurings around the room. The twelve
girls in the class looked at each other, eyes wide.

“I know, I know—it’s not ideal. And it won’t be the same
as a master’s kiss. But it will have to do. Now pick a partner.”

The girls tentatively began to pair up. Jenya saw Mavela
in the back talking to another girl, so she turned to her left and asked
Palava, a cute dark-haired girl to be her partner. Palava blushed and nodded.

Margeld had them first just touch each other’s faces and
bodies and look into each other’s eyes. Stroking Palava had an odd effect on
Jenya. That tingling that hadn’t occurred with Mavela was happening here, all
right. No wonder they had felt nothing. They had jumped right into the kiss
without any stroking. This felt very nice, Jenya decided, wanting to squeeze
her legs together again.

Finally, Margeld told the girls to lean in and just brush
their lips together gently. Jenya felt a little spark fly between their
outstretched lips just before they touched. She giggled and so did Palava.
Jenya inhaled her partner’s sweet breath.

Jenya’s loins tickled her fiercely. She pressed her
thighs together hard.

“Now just touch your lips to each other, making sure you
don’t bump noses!”

Palava sighed softly and tipped her head so they could
kiss a little more easily. The sensation rolled through Jenya from her lips to
her breasts and down to her pussy. Her mind roiled. She wanted to breed all of
a sudden. She wanted something in her to fill her aching need.

The girls in the class kissed and kissed as the teacher
walked among them, giving them tips—

“Thank you, my slave for suggesting that I help!” Rydah
said, snapping Jenya’s attention back to the present. “I’d been ready to duck
responsibility for fear of getting in trouble. I will never forget this.”

“Having your children will be thanks enough, my lord,” she
said, her mind awhirl. The kiss had been very nice indeed. It hadn’t been a
quick peck, nor a lover’s kiss, but somewhere in between. Still, it sent chills
through her.

“Speaking of which, it’s been a while since we’ve been able to
breed, hasn’t it?”

Jenya smiled. “Yes, my lord, what with my injuries and all.”

“Do you think you might be healed enough to perform your
duties?” There was a twinkle in his eye.

Jenya nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes, master!” She had hoped he
might breed with her again—she had missed it so!

“Good. It is time I resumed my lordly duties,” Rydah
couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jenya’s face mimicked his. “Whatever you say, master.”

Their chambers consisted of two rooms—the master’s suite,
complete with large four-poster bed—and the slave’s quarters, which was
essentially a large closet equipped with a cot.

Rydah noticed Jenya staring at the small room. He came close
to her, putting his hands on her bare shoulders. “Normally, of course, you
would be sleeping here,” he said softly, leaning down toward her delicate ear.
“But I may want to breed several times tonight. Therefore, I order you to sleep
in my bed.”

He felt a shiver run through his slave. Looking at the side
of her face, Rydah saw the shy smile appear.

“Come, prepare yourself.”

Jenya moved quickly toward the bed, then paused, as if
seeking permission. He nodded and she crawled under the thin coverlet. Rydah
shook his head: this would never do. He reached down and pulled the cover off
his beauty. He enjoyed seeing her naked. As he watched, Jenya’s nipples became
hard points. Her pussy swelled, then opened like a flower. He could see her
wetness within. If ever he had any doubts about Jenya’s willingness to be his
breeder, they evaporated in that moment.

This slave—this woman—wanted him. He would not disappoint.

Rydah climbed onto the bed next to her and let his fingers
trace patterns on her skin. She shivered again. Her lips parted. He had a
sudden urge to kiss them, and damn convention! No other Damon would know what
went on in Rydah’s chambers. He leaned in. Jenya’s eyes grew wide, but she
turned her face toward him. Their lips met.

They kissed, like lovers. He tasted the sweetness of her for
a long time.

His hand roamed over her breast, exploring the turgid
nipple. Then he moved it down along her hip to the beginning of her leg. He
could feel goosebumps on her skin. His tumescent cock ached for release.

The hand returned, brushing the delicate hairs on her mound.
The kisses became more passionate. When he finally touched her core, she was
wet with desire.

Rydah moved over her. Jenya looked down at her lord’s cock.
He knew she didn’t have a lot of experience with them, and appeared to be
fascinated with it. Perhaps she wondered how they could start out so soft, yet
grow so long and hard!

Rydah almost laughed as she stared at it. He watched her
hand start to reach for it, then pull away. “Go on,” he urged.

She looked up at him, then let her gaze return. She reached
out and gently touched it with her fingertips. To Rydah, it was like the kiss
of the
apalar
, a delicate insect with large wings that lived during the
hot season.

“Put it in you,” he breathed. Her touch made him want to
spill his seed soon. It wouldn’t do to waste it.

She looked startled for a moment, as if that was something
that shouldn’t be allowed. He just nodded. Then she smiled and grabbed his cock
more firmly. She spread her legs wider and placed the tip against the entrance.
For a
lapar
, she rubbed the tip between her labia, covering it with
juices. She let it rise up to stroke her clit and soon found a rhythm there.

Rydah could tell she was pleasuring herself, something no
slave would normally do. He watched, enthralled, trying to hold back his seed
as Jenya began to rock her hips with the rhythm of her building orgasm. When he
sensed she was about to achieve her release, he pushed into her, letting the
shaft of his hard cock press against her clit. He felt his seed erupt into her.

She gasped, grabbed him hard around his chest and exploded
into a powerful release. “Oh Rand! Oh Rand! Oh Rand!” she shouted.

“Oh, my darling! You feel so good!” The words tore out of
him. It was as if, for that moment, Jenya had become his equal.