Lord of Avalon (6 page)

He turned to face Jenya, her sexual allure completely
forgotten for the moment. “What will probably happen is, High Lord Bandar will
find the Acolyte and order Symal to be imprisoned. He’ll probably have his
henchman, Kendam, do it. He’ll threaten to execute her if the Acolyte doesn’t
marry Princess Wenelle. So they’ll get married, and Symal might then be
executed or simply left to rot in prison. The Acolyte can only do so much. He
can’t defy his father.”

“But say you helped the Acolyte and Symal and did not anger
High Lord Bandar. What would happen then?”

“Helped the Acolyte? Me? Well,” he shrugged, “if I did, I’d
be a hero, I guess.” His mind took that thought and ran with it. It would do
wonders for his career. He might be able to move up in social circles—not that
he cared. But he could afford a larger home.

A larger home, more fitting of a Damon who now owned a
slave. And would soon have many offspring to fill it with. Was it possible?

He caught Jenya’s eye and smiled. “From the mouths of
slaves. You’re right, Jenya. I shouldn’t dwell on the negative. I should think
about the positive. And if my brother is writing to me, he must really need my
help.” He stood still, his mind made up. “I’ll go see him. I can do at least
that much.”

He frowned. “You’ll have to stay here, though. This might be
dangerous. I can’t have you wandering around getting underfoot. Will you be all
right here alone?”

Jenya looked around, thinking fast. She didn’t want to be
left behind. “I don’t know, master. Being a new slave, I might wander off or
get lost. You’d be taking a risk. Someone could even claim me as abandoned.”

He studied her face. Deep down, he knew she wanted to be
with him, despite the danger. He sighed. He didn’t want to leave her here,
either. He had just bought her! If she traveled with him, he could continue
breeding.

“Very well, if you’re not to be trusted, you’d better come
along. We’ll leave in the morning—if I can finish my work in time.”

Lord Rydah, having no transport of his own, had to rent a
small carriage for the journey east. In deference to fair-skinned Jenya, he
rented one with a top to protect her against the harsh rays of the Cyrus sun.

They packed enough fruit, bread and dried meats for several
suns. While they were not traveling far—only about fifteen leagues—Rydah did
not wish to impose on his brother’s hospitality. Guests did not assume they
were to be fed and housed by their hosts, as times often were hard for those of
certain castes. Sometimes, they barely had enough food for themselves.

They set out in the morning, heading east toward the farming
hamlet of Gordax. Rydah had never visited his brother’s home before. The
scandal of giving up his Damon status to marry a commoner cast a pall over the
Fyrad family. To visit him might offer support for his actions.

Fortunately, such scan
dals
tended to evaporate with
time. After eleven
rynes
, few would remember Farda had once been a
Nobleman. Rydah could have visited him anytime in the last several
rynes
,
but never had. Idly, he wondered if he was still ashamed.

The journey east was pleasant. The horse appeared to be a
plodder, but Rydah was not really in a hurry, despite his brother’s urgent plea
for help. He thought he might be going to his doom—why had he listened to his
slave?

She sat next to him in silence, chained to the carriage
rail. He did not feel the need to secure her, but for appearance’s sake, it was
best.

They saw only the occasional carriage—most travelers were on
foot. Few of the high lord’s horsemen seemed to be out, which was strange.
Usually, they rode up and down the roads, patrolling, or collecting taxes.

At the slow pace of their carriage, it took several
huras
to reach the outskirts of Gordax. They passed farm fields, rich with the bounty
of the earth. Grains and maize destined for the cities. Farm slaves could be
seen here and there, toiling under the hot sun, their backs bent over their
labors.

Jenya watched, fascinated. She had never seen the world
beyond her slave compound until she had been sold. Now, in just a few short
suns, she had experienced the city of Blethryn and the world beyond. For some
reason, being here under the protection of her master gave her a sense of
security, of belonging.

She wished, for a fleeting moment, that he’d stop in the
shade of a tree and take her, hard, ignoring the polite smiles of passing
travelers. Her pussy called for his cock. Could he tell?

Rydah wasn’t stupid. He could hear her shallow breathing,
smell her heat. She wanted to breed again! And so soon! He was enormously
pleased.

An idea occurred to him, something he remembered from
Jenya’s training. He looked around to make certain they were alone. While he
wasn’t embarrassed to breed with his slave, he had something else in mind.

“Jenya,” he said, a catch in his voice. “Tell me about your
training.”

“My training, m’lord?” She didn’t follow him.

“Yes. In ways of breeding. Or of pleasing your master.”
Rydah felt a little foolish.

“Oh!” she gasped in sudden realization. Lady Margeld’s words
came back to her now.
Sometimes, a master will want to use your mouth or
your rear passage.
“Yes, of course, m’lord. What can I do to please you?”

Rydah squirmed in his seat, his cock pressing hard against
his breeches. “Free my cock,” he ordered.

Nodding, she bent to her task. Soon, his pole stood up
proudly, swelling in the humid air.

Without another word, Jenya opened her mouth wide and
surrounded the little head. She could still taste a bit of herself from earlier
that sun. She let her tongue wet him and was pleased when he groaned in
response.

She remembered Margeld’s lessons. While the virgins were not
allowed to practice on men, they did learn basic techniques using wooden cocks
that had been expertly carved by Craftsmen. Jenya used her tongue to pleasure
her master, then swallowed him as best she could into her throat.

Moving up and down on his turgid shaft, Jenya was pleased to
discover how much more pliant his cock was than the wooden models they had
used. If only they could have practiced on men, they would have enjoyed their
training so much more!

Rydah let the reins slip from his hands and the horse
plodded on, oblivious. He leaned back against the seat, feeling the eyes roll
up in his head. “Oh, Rand, that’s nice,” he murmured.

Jenya kept up the pressure on his cock, not knowing if she
really was performing her duties correctly. The wooden cocks, of course, would
only stand like statues, forcing the girls to practice until they were
exhausted. Margeld told them their masters wouldn’t last as long, but there was
no way to tell. Better that the girls learned endurance early.

Suddenly, Rydah grabbed Jenya’s hair with one hand, and for
a moment, she thought she had done something wrong. Then a blast of his seed
flooded her throat, causing her to choke briefly. Recovering quickly, she
inhaled through her nose and swallowed the precious fluid. She didn’t want to
risk insulting her master by spitting out his essence.

His cock softened in her mouth. She waited until she was
sure he was spent, then allowed it to slip free. “Was that acceptable, master?”
she asked, looking up at his blissful face.

“Oh, my yes, my slave. That was excellent. You’ve been
trained well. I’ll have to compliment your teachers.” Rydah bent down to pick
up the reins. “Now, I’d better concentrate on the road or we’ll never get
there!”

Smiling, she straightened up, pleased that she had done
well. She noticed that the activity had aroused her as well, making her nipples
hard and her pussy wet. She wondered how long she’d have to wait until her
master wanted to breed again.

Jenya sat, knees slightly apart, smiling to herself, as
Rydah slapped the horse’s rump with the reins and the carriage jolted forward.
The more she learned about her Lord, the more secure she felt with him. She
wondered what other little preferences he enjoyed.

As they approached Gordax, Lord Rydah realized why he’d seen
so few of the High Lord’s men earlier. They were here instead. Groups of riders
thundered past on their way hither and yon. Twice they were stopped and
questioned. Rydah made no mention that he was Farda’s brother, only that he was
traveling to visit “relatives.” Each time, he was allowed to pass.

His anxiety grew with each league. Clearly, the High Lord’s
men were out searching for his step-niece. Farda and Memma must be frantic with
worry.

The main road passed directly through the heart of the
village. Squads of High Lord’s men, armed with swords and shields walked the
streets, looking grim. Villagers gave them a wide berth.

When he turned down a side street to his brother’s house, he
was stopped once again and questioned. This time, he told them he was here to
visit Farda. The soldiers made him wait while Farda was brought forward to
vouch for him.

Jenya, who kept her head down, received particular
attention, although none of the men touched her. That would violate the Damon’s
property rights, a serious offense. Still, they could gaze upon the naked
slave. A few of the soldiers grinned mischievously when they thought Rydah
wasn’t looking.

Farda saluted him formally, then grasped Rydah’s arm firmly
in greeting, rare tears in his eyes. “Thank you for coming, brother,” he said
softly. He appeared to be tired and pale. Rydah was shocked to see how much he
had aged in the last few
rynes
. His chest had thickened, and his hair
was going gray, although his
rynes
totaled just thirty and eight.

Farda walked with them back to his house. Rydah got down off
the carriage and walked beside him, leading the horse by a loose rein. They
didn’t speak, for two of Bandar’s men walked with them.

His brother’s house, Rydah saw, was no bigger than his own,
yet his brother had three children: Symal, Memma’s daughter, and two of their
own, Rapkin and Galena. Rapkin, a boy about nine, and Galena, a girl aged
seven, were standing on the porch, on either side of Memma when they arrived.

Rydah had met Memma just twice, but he hardly recognized her
now. She had been an outgoing, smiling, pretty girl when he’d seen her last at
his father’s house four
rynes
ago. Now she, like Farda, seemed pale and
drawn, worry lines etched on her face and streaks of gray in her black hair.
She wore a shapeless dress that hid her once curvy and alluring body.

Rydah remembered how his older brother talked of her before
he ran off to marry her so many
rynes
ago.

“She’s beautiful, Rydah,” he’d said. “When she walks into a
room, people stop talking and look up, even Damons! She makes the most
wonderful tiles, full of color and detail. She’s got orders she can’t fill
because no one wants her to farm out the work. They all want Memma originals.”

Rydah, who’d been nine at the time, hadn’t understood how
hard his brother had fallen for this woman. When Farda ran off that summer, his
father had been shocked, but Rydah was devastated. He looked up to Farda. He
had counted on him to be there for him, to help him grow up. But this woman had
come in and stolen him away. And a Craftswoman at that!

It had taken
rynes
for their father to forgive Farda.
Rydah wasn’t sure if he had ever fully forgiven Farda himself, given their
scant contact. Now, standing on the dusty street, looking up at Memma, scared
and forlorn, Rydah felt shame that he hadn’t come under better circumstances.

“Rand’s greetings, Memma,” he said softly.

She smiled and for a brief moment, Farda’s words came back
to him. She did light up her surroundings. But the smile faded all too quickly.

“Come,” Farda said. “Let’s go in.”

“Your slave is welcome too,” Memma said as she herded the
youngsters inside.

Rydah nodded, unlocked Jenya and allowed her to come in out
of the heat. The trip had been hot and dusty. Sweat ran in rivulets along the
hollows of her collarbones and down between her upthrust breasts, coating her
chain that hung down to her knees. She made no complaint, however. She
followed, silent except for the jingling of her chain and bell.

Inside, the house was neatly organized. It had the same main
room and kitchen arrangement as Rydah’s, but it had two front windows on either
side of the door. Two tables dominated the room. One held wood carvings and
tools, the other tiles and molds. The only other furniture was a ratty couch.
Stairs led to the loft upstairs, where Rydah assumed they all slept. It would
be crowded, he was sure.

“Forgive me for bringing my slave,” Rydah said, not sure why
he felt compelled to apologize. “I just purchased her a few suns ago and I
wasn’t sure I could leave her alone yet.”

“No need to explain,” Memma said. “Let me get you both some
water.”

“Thank you,” he said, following her to the kitchen. He
startled when he saw an officer, dressed in the red garb of the high lord
sitting on a chair in the corner.

Farda, seeing his brother’s reaction, introduced him. “Lord
Rydah,” using his Damon title, “this is Apnar, liege of High Lord Bandar’s
guard.” The liege, hearing Rydah’s title and seeing his cloak, came to his feet
and bowed.

“Rand’s greetings, m’lord.”

“Rand’s greetings,” he said automatically in return. Taking
advantage of the guard’s deference, Rydah decided to press him. “Why are you in
my brother’s house?”

The liege looked up sharply. “I was given direct orders from
High Priest Kendam to stay in Farda’s house until the Acolyte was located.”

Rydah nodded, realizing that he had just been outranked.
Kendam was Bandar’s second-in-command and was known as a ruthless taskmaster.
Many who dared to challenge him wound up dead, in prison, or simply
disappeared. His ruthlessness allowed Bandar to appear benign, although Rydah
knew all of Kendam’s orders came from the top.

Rydah kept nodding, and before he could think of the right
response, Memma, bless her, appeared with a ladle of water. Rydah occupied
himself with the drink, taking the first ladleful as was the custom before
allowing Jenya to drink.

“Do you think Symal is here?” he finally asked the guard,
trying to keep up his bravado.

“No,” the liege replied, “but the high priest said it is
important that I hear anything that might lead to my Acolyte’s whereabouts.”

Rydah kept his face a mask. He knew his brother would not be
able to talk freely with Apnar nearby. When he set out this morning, Rydah had
pictured sitting down with his brother and Memma and talking about places the
couple might go. Then he and Farda would head out to search. In his mind, it
had been so easy. Now Rydah knew just how high the stakes were in this game.

It was obvious that Bandar was deadly serious about locating
his wayward son quickly, probably before word leaked out to the High Lord Syran
of Farzan. No doubt it would be perceived as a rejection of Princess Wenelle
and that insult might not be overlooked. Instead of uniting the priestdoms, as
the marriage had been intended to do, it could tip the balance the other way,
with potentially disastrous consequences.

Rydah sent Jenya to bring in his stores of food and offered
to share them with his brother’s family. Naturally, they refused and offered
theirs instead. They went back and forth a few times before reaching a
compromise to share all the food.

Apnar sat on a chair in a corner throughout the meal, making
no effort to join in or to leave them alone. A soldier brought him in some
bread, and he ate, chewing noisily, listening to every word spoken. Farda’s two
younger children hovered near their mother and watched the adults with
trepidation.

Rydah, embarrassed that he knew so little of his brother’s
life, asked how Symal had met the Acolyte—they didn’t exactly travel in the
same social circles.