Lord of Avalon (12 page)

Symal, chained to the floor by her neck, jerked her head
hard, hoping to find a weak link she might break. She had maybe a
capek
’s
clearance, but it wasn’t enough to allow her to move off the thin pad that
protected her aching back from the cold stone floor. All she could do was pull
helplessly on the chain and hope for a miracle.

She looked around desperately. There were just six other
women in the room with her. None seemed as frantic as she did. Most lounged on
their pads, talking to their nearest neighbor or lay back, thighs falling
obscenely open, and simply waited.

Symal believed most were long-time breeders, as they had
lost their shapes. Each of them outweighed her by dozens of
gabons
.
Their breasts sagged like eggplants on their wide chests. Their tangled, greasy
hair did not appear to have been washed in suns.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She’d heard about Warriors
and what they did to women, whether in a conquered city or in the breeding
chambers. They were ruthless, brutal and ignorant. A woman like herself would
appear to be a rare flower to be trampled underfoot. They might kill her while
trying to breed with her.

Her back throbbed, but it seemed the least of her worries
now. The doctor had put a salve on the wounds, easing the sting somewhat. Lying
down didn’t help though. Having a giant rut with her would double the pain.

She heard a noise and startled. Symal squeezed her legs
together, even as she knew it would not stop a Warrior.

The door! She could hear a key turning the lock. Her eyes
were riveted on the coarse wood. The door swung inward and six Warriors
streamed in.

All eyes swiveled to and fro, as if selecting the right
mate. Immediately, their level gazes stopped when they spotted Symal, as if
someone had grabbed each head and gripped it.

The Warriors made a mad scramble toward her. She screamed
and tried to roll into a ball. She felt hands on her, pawing, feet thumping
down beside her.

There came the sound of grunting, fists hitting flesh. She
looked up through her fingers to see all six men fighting over her. This was
not a polite jostling for the right breeder, no—this was a full-fledged battle
for the rights to the tender maiden.

The fact that the Warriors were naked except for loincloths
did not deter them in the least. It was hand-to-hand combat. Fingers gouged
eyes, teeth clamped down on arms, elbows swung at heads. Several times, Symal
felt a heavy foot stomp on her arm or leg as she writhed, trying to escape the
melee.

A thud caused her to whip her head around to see a wounded
Warrior, his face a bloody mask, crash to the floor then roll away. Another man
went down, then a third.

As they crawled away, they didn’t even try to mate with the
other women. They simply sat in a circle around the remaining fighters, as if
waiting for an opening so they could rejoin the battle.

The rejected women stared, mouths agape. They’d never seen
Warriors act this way before.

A fourth man screamed and fell down, narrowly missing
landing on Symal’s legs. She pulled herself into a tighter ball and knew her
time was approaching.

The two largest, toughest, meanest Warriors were clenched,
jockeying for position, each trying to convince the other to quit. There wasn’t
much quit in them. Both had survived many battles and had the scars to prove
it.

One Warrior with a nasty scar on his forehead was younger
than the other, and that, finally, made all the difference. He pushed and
pulled the older man until Symal could tell he was exhausted, then quickly
kicked his legs out from under him. When the older Warrior crashed to the
floor, he did not get up to challenge Scarface again.

Scarface stopped for a moment to stare at the other men in a
circle around him, as if to dare them to try again. After a long
lapar
,
the Warriors stood and moved to the other breeders. No one fought over any of
them.

Grinning, the young Warrior approached his prize. He ripped
off his loincloth, exposing his cock. Symal watched in disbelief as it grew in
girth and length. She glanced up at his face, silently pleading with him. She
knew immediately there would be no mercy.

Scarface climbed over her. Symal kept her legs pinned
tightly together, sobs wracking her body. With barely an effort, the giant
yanked her legs apart, exposing her virgin pussy to his onslaught. She screamed
and the Warrior simply backhanded her, splitting her lip and stunning her to
silence.

He crawled up between her legs and aimed his hard cock at
her entrance. Symal, afraid to speak, could only shake her head as he pressed
the tip to her opening. She bit her lip, hard, and begged Rand to save her.

The door crashed open. Dyson stumbled in, pushed from behind
by Acolyte Lepdar.

“STOP!” He shouted, seeing Symal cowering under the
rock-hard body of the Warrior.

Scarface paid no attention at first. He pushed harder, and
Symal felt the tip slip past her labia. The girl opened her mouth wide and
started to inhale, ready to scream anew, when—

The Acolyte placed the tip of a very sharp sword against the
Warrior’s neck. “If that cock enters her, my sword will enter you,” he said in
an icy voice.

Scarface’s cock deflated immediately. Breeding with this
defenseless girl suddenly lost its appeal. He craned his head around and
appeared startled to see Acolyte Lepdar himself standing over him.

The Warrior climbed off the girl and knelt to the side, his
left foot flat on the floor, his left arm resting on the knee, his head bent as
he had been taught.

“My Acolyte,” he said, confused. “I did not know it was
you.” Emotions played over his features. He appeared confused at the sudden
turn of events.

“Unfasten her,” Lepdar barked to Dyson. The owner, clearly
terrified, rushed to obey. “Give me your cloak.” Dyson hesitated only a moment
before stripping it off and holding it out.

The Acolyte reached down to help Symal up and caught sight
of the whip marks on her naked back.

His head swiveled around like a snake’s. “Who is responsible
for this?” he said, turning Symal so Dyson could see her back for himself.

“Um, my Acolyte, I, er, was acting on orders,” he whispered,
ashen-faced. The cloak slipped from his trembling fingers and fell at their
feet.

“Whose orders?”

“Uh, er,” Dyson looked around wildly. He didn’t know whom he
was more afraid of, the Acolyte or Kendam. He decided the Acolyte was the more
immediate threat. “It was High Priest Kendam himself, sire.”

With a sudden roar, the Acolyte exploded, swinging his sword
in an arc, severing Dyson’s head from his neck. The head rolled backwards
between his shoulder blades, bounced off his ass and thumped to the floor. His
body lost coordination and slumped down to the stone paving stones, spurting
blood from the neck wound.

The Warrior didn’t move from his subordinate position,
though he had been splashed with blood. His stillness indicated that he
expected to be the next to fall.

Lepdar reached down and picked up the discarded cloak. He
placed it carefully around Symal’s shoulders. “Did this man succeed in breeding
with you?” His eyes, full of death, bored a hole into Scarface.

The Warrior kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

Symal hesitated, then spoke in a halting voice. “No, my
Acolyte. He did not.”

Nodding, Lepdar put his arm around Symal and led her out.
Scarface let his breath out in a slow release of tension.

Two guards, standing at the door, snapped to attention.

Lepdar noticed the insignia on one guard’s shoulders.
“You’re the captain of the guard?”

“Y-yes, my Acolyte,” he stuttered. “On this shift.”

“You are now acting administrator. Clean up this mess and
maintain order.”

“Yes, sire.” The guard nodded.

The Acolyte brushed past him, guiding a shaken Symal down
the corridor.

Lord Rydah was sitting with Jenya in a cool, open-air patio
having a cup of
renda
when two guardsmen spotted them.

“We’ve been looking for you.” The captain of the guard said
curtly.

“Oh, really? How may I be of service?” He looked up,
smiling. His smile faded when he saw the stern expressions on the guards’
faces.

“I have orders to place you under arrest, Lord Rydah. Please
come with me.”

Rydah was thunderstruck. “Arrest?! On what charges?”

Had the scribe determined his passes were forgeries?

“That has yet to be determined,” the captain responded. “I
was only told to bring you before High Priest Kendam.”

“What? What nonsense is this?”

Jenya’s head jerked from her master’s face to the captain’s,
not understanding what was happening. They had been so happy, just moments ago!

“High Priest Kendam will explain.” The captain hauled Rydah
to his feet and pushed him toward the door.

“What about my breeder? Who will watch her?”

“She will be well taken care of, for the time being,” the
guard said. Turning to Jenya, he told her she should remain in their quarters
until further notice.

Jenya wanted to protest, to stay with Rydah, but she knew it
was hopeless. Quaking, she headed down the corridor toward their rooms.

* * * * *

Rydah was escorted to a large chamber, where Kendam and
Bandar sat on a high dais. They looked down sternly as Rydah approached. It
succeeded in intimidating the third-tier Damon.

“My priests—” he began, but was cut off with a wave of
Kendam’s hand.

“You have been charged with one of two serious offenses,”
Kendam said. “Both are blasphemies. We must decide which one is true.”

Rydah shook his head—what madness was this? “I don’t
understand—”

“Silence!” He bellowed. He leaned forward. “Is it not true
that you brought to the Acolyte a document claiming to be written by High
Priest Nidlet himself?”

“Yes, I was asked—”

“Stop! You will have an opportunity to explain later. What
we’re trying to determine is whether you are to be charged with forgery of a
church document in order to give Acolyte Lepdar false hope, or theft of an
original document from the church’s own vaults.”

Bandar leaned in close to Kendam and whispered. “I thought
you had already determined it was a forgery?”

“I did, my priest. I am merely trying to discover if Rydah
will admit to one of the blasphemies.”

Bandar nodded, but remained puzzled. Still, he was happy to
let Kendam discipline this hapless fool before him.

Lord Rydah stood there, mute.

“Well?” Kendam demanded. “Which is it—theft or forgery?”

“Neither charge is true.”

Kendam rocked back in his chair. He had an urge to order the
guard to whip this man where he stood. The impudent wretch! “You question the
wisdom of the high court?” His voice dripped with malice.

“I can prove my innocence, my priests,” he said, looking at
Bandar, not Kendam. “With High Priest Bandar’s approval and expertise.”

Bandar was taken aback. “What? My expertise? How can that
possibly help you?”

“Because my priest, I have been your scribe for eight
rynes
.
In that time, I’ve learned that you are quite a scholar of High Priest Nidlet.
I ask that the High Priest examine the document and determine for yourself if
those are Nidlet’s own words.”

“That won’t be possible at this time,” Kendam jumped in
smoothly. “You can save this court a lot of time by just confessing to one of
the two charges against you.”

“My priest, in all good conscience, I cannot lie before such
an august tribunal. That in itself would be a blasphemy.”

“Perhaps a taste of the lash would free your tongue!” Kendam
barked.

“I don’t understand, High Priest Bandar.” Rydah turned
partially away from the underling priest, knowing it would irritate him. “Why
can’t you be allowed to examine this document?”

“Because it’s been destroyed!” Kendam blurted.

Rydah swayed in his stance, stunned. “You destroyed a church
document?”

“It was a forgery!”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because if it had been authentic, I would not have
destroyed it,” Kendam crowed gleefully.

The room grew quiet.

Bandar turned toward his second-in-command. “Then there
really is only one charge before this scribe, is there not?”

Kendam narrowed his eyes.

To Rydah, it was obvious the priest’s ploy had failed.

“Very well,” Kendam continued. “You are charged with forging
a church document. You have Acolyte Lepdar in an uproar over his slut, er, his
concubine. You gave him false hope. I’m sure there are some related charges in
that regard we can come up with, perhaps lying to a member of the Cabal.”

“I did not lie, my priest,” Rydah said with more calm than
he felt.

“I had the offending document in my very hand!” he
thundered.

Rydah shrugged. “I can clear this up if the good priests
will accompany me to the holy vault.”

“You don’t tell us—”

But Bandar already had placed his arm on his subordinate’s
arm. “Wait. I want to get to the bottom of this just as much as you do. Pray
tell, Lord Rydah, why should we do this?”

“Begging your priest’s forgiveness, I’d rather show you than
tell you, if I may.” He hoped to Rand that he could find what he needed.

“You may not—” Kendam sputtered.

“Very well,” Bandar interrupted. “We will accompany you. But
I warn you, scribe, this had better be good or your tenure as my employee will
end at the blade of a sword.”

Bandar rose and headed out of the room. The guards flanked
Rydah as he followed. Fuming, Kendam jumped up and trailed behind.

* * * * *

The holy vault filled a large arched room in the basement
that extended into the first floor. It could be accessed from either level.
Murals graced the high walls, depicting famous events in Damon history. The
vault contained the writings of every High Priest for the last two hundred
rynes
.
Monks worked fulltime to keep it organized, by priest, by date and by subject.

Bandar led the group into the first floor access, then
turned to Rydah. “Upstairs or down?”

“Up. May I, my priest?”

Kendam looked stricken. “Surely, sire, you’re not going to
let this
criminal
root through our precious files.”

Bandar halted for only a moment before nodding. He signaled
a guard to accompany the scribe. Rydah walked around the catwalk, looking at
the files with his head turned sideways until he came to the section he sought.
His hands shook as he began pulling out some documents. For several long
lapars
,
he looked at papers, careful to put back the ones he didn’t need. His heart
pounded. He knew Kendam would not give him much time.

Just a few more lapars! It’s got to be here!

“Enough of this charade! He’s stalling!” Kendam’s voice
startled Rydah. He turned, seeing the mottled face of the priest. Kendam seemed
ready to throw Rydah off the catwalk himself.

Rydah noticed the dour expression of Bandar and knew time
was running out. He felt the sweat form in his armpits as he worked quickly
through Nidlet’s writings. His greatest fear was that the document he sought
would be misfiled, only to be discovered after his execution.

Bandar’s voice cut the tension. “I’m afraid Priest Kendam is
right, Rydah. We can’t—”

Rydah’s eyes raced over the rare documents, trying to focus.
Suddenly, familiar writing jumped into his field of vision. “I found it!” He
held up an old, brittle parchment, then handed it carefully to Bandar. The High
Priest began to read.

Suddenly, Kendam looked nervous.

“It appears Rydah was telling the truth,” Bandar said
finally. “This lays out precisely what he had been saying all along—that a sham
marriage was permitted more than seventy
rynes
ago to solve a political
problem between priestdoms, just like we have presently. High Priest Nidlet
himself drew up the ruling.” He held it out to Kendam.

As Kendam reached for it, Bandar pulled it up for a moment.
“Please don’t burn this one.” He smiled thinly.

Kendam took it, his hands shaking, and scanned the ancient
writing. “But-but, this just proves what I was saying all along! That the
scribe forged a church document.”

“Not forged, copied,” Rydah replied. “I needed a copy in
order to complete my work for High Priest Bandar. What you burned was merely
the scribblings of a lowly scribe.”

“I agree,” Bandar said. “What’s more important is that we
have proof that the scribe speaks the truth. If we can get Princess Wenelle to
agree, I believe we can let my son marry whomever he wishes.”

Kendam visibly paled. His eyes darted around nervously.

“Um. Has Lepdar returned yet from Goren?” Kendam asked.

“I haven’t seen him. But he should be here shortly. I trust
Symal was well taken care of?” Bandar looked pointedly at Kendam.

“B-but of course, my priest,” he said, though his eyes gave
him away. Rydah hoped Symal was all right.

Bandar took possession of the sacred document as everyone
turned and filed out of the vault and into the corridor. Kendam, who had been
the last into the vault, now led the way. They had walked just a few paces
along the stone floor when they heard the approach of a small group of men.

Kendam visibly quailed when he saw who it was: Acolyte
Lepdar, walking with two guardsmen. The Acolyte’s face was a bleak mask. Kendam
cast about for an escape.

Bandar called out to his son. “Lepdar! Did you find Symal?”

“Yes, my father. She is resting.” His eyes never left
Kendam, who faltered now and backed against the wall of the corridor.

With a swift movement, Lepdar strode forward and placed
himself squarely in front of the cowering priest. “Father,” he said evenly, his
hand on the hilt of his sword. “Is your third-in-command available?”

“What? Why, yes, High Priest Tulan is nearby. Why? What
happened?”

Lepdar slid the sword from its sheath and placed the point
against Kendam’s throat. “Because he’s about to get a promotion.”

“Wait! Wait! What is the meaning of this?”

“Your second here ordered Symal to be whipped, then bred to
a Warrior.”

Rydah’s fears for his niece had been justified. His heart
sank.

Bandar’s head swiveled around to lock on Kendam. “Is this
true?”

“Sire! You must understand! Lepdar had to marry Wenelle for
the good of the priestdom! There was no other way. I mean, at that time, we
knew of no other way.”

“So you decided if Symal was sullied, my son would agree to
marry Wenelle and live happily and well? Was that your brilliant plan?” He
turned to Lepdar. “How is she?”

“She is being treated for her whip marks. Fortunately, I got
there just in time, before she could be bred.”

“Thank Rand for that!”

Rydah breathed easier. He couldn’t imagine telling his brother
that Symal been raped. Being whipped was bad enough.

Kendam looked relieved as well. “Yes, that’s good news, my
Acolyte. Now if you’ll just—”

The sword didn’t budge. If anything, it pressed harder into
his throat. “I haven’t decided if I’m just going to kill you now, or have you
whipped first,” Lepdar said.

Kendam’s eyes beseeched Bandar. “My priest! You can’t allow
this! I was trying to solve a difficult problem in the best way I knew how!”

“He has a point, my son,” Bandar said. “Had Rydah not found
this document, you would have been forced to marry Wenelle, just like your
brother married Princess Tymir. The priestdom demanded it.”

Lepdar’s eyes narrowed.

The priest was clearly terrified. A small stain appeared on
the lower front of Kendam’s robe, followed by an acrid whiff of urine.

Rydah almost smiled at the thought that of Kendam so
terrified. He should be scared. He set up Symal to be beaten and raped.

“Father,” Lepdar said evenly. “Will you arrest me if I kill
this man?”

Bandar didn’t want to make that decision. “Wait, my son.”
His eyebrows knitted together as he decided the priest’s fate. “Kendam, how
would you feel about a transfer?”

The priest’s eyes shifted in his head toward Bandar, his
neck still pinned by the sword. “Transfer?” he squeaked.

“Yes, I’m thinking, for health reasons, you might prefer a
warmer climate? Yes?”

Kendam tried to nod. “Oh, yes, sire. Yes, I think I’m ready
for a change.”

“Good. There’s an opening for a priest at Hobsdor.” Kendam’s
eyes widened. Hobsdor, adjacent to the mines of Durok, was rife with thieves,
bandits and corrupt officials. “It seems the last member of the Cabal that I
sent ran off after losing most of the fingers of one hand in an unfortunate
altercation with a miner.”

Kendam’s eyes watered. “Nooo! My Priest!”

Lepdar leaned in. “If you stay another
lapar
, I will
take your head.”

He stepped back, releasing the quaking priest. Kendam
scurried off down the corridor.