Tales of Erogenia: Episode 2

by L'Espion

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Episode 2: Journey to Jinqua

Chapter 1:  The Mission

Zenaria struggled to escape her bonds, but Cron had taken no chances with her this time.  The silken cords that bound her wrists to the bed frame could not be loosened and her body arched, driving upward as he thrust into her.  "Aaahh!  Aahhh!" she screamed as her body shuddered with the strength of her passion.  She wrapped her long powerful legs around him and strained to pull him deeper within her.  "Oh, by the Goddess," she cried as her loins contracted yet again, her womb reaching for the seed of her lover.  She collapsed backward, her body heaving from exertion; so exhausted she could hardly move.

"Did that satisfy you, princess?" Cron panted, as he rolled to the side of the small cot and softly kissed her nipple. 

"Almost," Zenaria answered.  "I think you can untie me now."

"You're sure?" Cron teased as he moved to pull the slipknot that would release her bonds.  "My back is still sore from the last time we forgot."

"Poor baby," Zenaria said, her fingers stroking several half-healed scratches that decorated his back.  "Would you like me to lick them better?"

"Perhaps later," Cron said, pulling out of her arms and stretching to his full six-foot-six.  He was magnificently muscled and she could not help admiring his impressive physique.  He was the pick of the Snow Leopard tribe and almost a match for her in sexual endurance. 

Zenaria rolled off the cot in a single smooth motion and moved to stand beside him, her unbound ebon tresses falling to the curve of her backside.  Cron placed a hand in the small of her back and then moved it slightly lower to the rounded contour of her right buttock.  She made no move to stop him.  Any woman in the tribe would have willingly changed places with her, but her gaze went through the open window and to the snow-capped mountains that loomed over the stockade of the Snow Leopard tribe.  Dawn was breaking over them and the high peaks shimmered in the early morning light. 

She had once crossed those mountains.  And it was not so long ago.  But now it almost seemed like a dream.  In the eighteen months since her return she had given birth to her daughter and raised her to a healthy toddling infant who had seen a full turn of the seasons.  As was the custom among her people the child would now be raised by the tribe, her birth mother having only a nominal role in her upbringing. 

She took the arm of the warrior at her side.  She was nearly as tall as he, and almost as well-muscled, albeit with an obvious femininity that turned male heads wherever she went.  She was tall and curvaceous, with the large rounded breasts typical of her race.  Certainly no one would mistake her for a man.  But she was also the foremost warrior of her tribe, as several would be challengers had learned to their regret.  Even Cron did not dare challenge her.  He had decided to bed her instead and they had been lovers for almost a moon. 

Zenaria should have been happy, but she was not.  Each time her eyes went to the mountains something twisted near her heart and she found herself thinking of another lover; one who was much shorter than Cron, with deep yellow-gold skin and dark, mysterious eyes.  "One day," she thought.  "One day..."

"Oh," Cron said, interrupting her thoughts.  "There is something I was supposed to tell you.  The queen summoned you to meet with her."

"You tell me this now?" Zenaria exclaimed.  "After rutting with me all night?" 

"She told me I could take my time delivering the message," Cron grinned, flashing perfect white teeth. 

"You wolverine," Zenaria laughed, giving his arm a playful slap.  "I had best get going.  She'll wonder what happened to me."

"Oh I doubt that," Cron said.  "I think everyone in the village knows what happened to you.  You are not especially quiet when you are in the throes of passion." 

Zenaria coloured.  Blushing was a reaction she had never been able to eliminate in spite of her culture's very liberal attitudes toward sex.  "Very poetically spoken," Zenaria observed.  "I suppose I have time for a quick bath before I present myself."

"I'll go with you," Cron said.  "After last night I need to cool off."

The "bath" consisted of splash in the frigid waters of a deep pool where the waters of a stream known appropriately as the Icewater plunged over a steep cliff.  It would have chilled most people to the bone, but Zenaria had swum in the nipple-numbing pool since she was a child and she and Cron spent a good hour splashing about in it before making their way to the shore.  They were not alone.  Many members of the Snow Leopard tribe made a point of bathing in the Icewater each day and no one paid them any particular attention other than to give them appraising looks as they emerged dripping from the pool.

Zenaria dressed, and using a pool of quiet water caught in a rock pool as a mirror combed out her hair and then formed it into the long thick braid that distinguished the Snow Leopard warrior.  Then she dressed in her simple warrior's garb - doeskin boots, buckskin trousers, and a doeskin jerkin.  Around her neck she hung her necklace of lion-spider fangs, a souvenir of her first adventure.  Then she slipped into the harness holding her four foot sword, and with its hilt jutting over her left shoulder, headed toward the stockade and her queen.

Cron did not follow.  Instead he split off from her to collect his bow.  Much of the food of the Snow Leopard tribe came from hunting and when he was not enticing some willing female into his bed he usually spent his time in the woods. 

She did not hurry.  If her mother really wanted her she would have sent a more formal messenger than Cron.  However, her long legs soon had her through the gates of the stockade and moving to the royal quarters.  After what Zenaria had seen in her travels, calling the three story wood and stone building where Queen Cirilia held court a palace would be a bit of an overstatement.  It was not even the size of the Guildhall in the small Kivalian border town of Singleton.  However, it was where Queen Cirilia, Zenaria's mother held court, dispensed justice, and spent a good deal of her time entertaining a never-ending stream of lovers.

Queen Cirilia didn't have to work very hard to attract them.  Still in her early thirties, and tall and athletic, with wondrous dark hair that flowed down to her hips, she radiated both strength and beauty, an unbeatable combination in Erogenian society. 

As Zenaria entered the throne room she rose to greet her daughter, setting down the deerskin leggings she had been working on.  Sitting next to her was Zenaria's thirteen-year-old half sister, Shalandra, who grinned at her knowingly as she entered. 

Zenaria blushed again.  Would Cron have to gag her as well as bind her wrists? 

She was saved from further embarrassment by her mother.  "Have you broken fast yet, daughter?"

"No yet, mother," Zenaria answered, lowering herself to the stool offered by her mother.  Like almost everything else in the room, the furniture was simple, consisting of a few sawn board tables and matching hardwood stools.  Even the twin thrones set against the back wall of the hall were of plain construction although each were carved from the trunk of a single massive oak. 

"Then we will breakfast together," Cirilia said.  She motioned to the single attendant in the room, a young girl of about ten years who regarded Zenaria with large blue eyes.  "Bring us tea," she said, referring to the bitter tea brewed from the roots of a local plant, "and whatever else is available."

The girl almost stumbled as she left the room, her eyes never leaving Zenaria.  It was something Zenaria expected by now, although she was not comfortable with it.  Two years ago she had left her tribe in disgrace and then returned wearing shining black leather armour the likes of which no one had ever seen; a necklace of the lion-spider fangs; and three months pregnant.  She also wore an number of honour scars and had stories of strange people, stranger animals, and cultures no one had even dreamed existed.  It was small wonder that she was regarded with a mixture of fear and awe. 

Soon, Zenaria hoped, her notoriety would die down, but in the meantime she would just have to live with it. 

The tea arrived, along a plate of cheeses, a loaf of hot bread, and a few wildberries picked from the forest.  While they ate Cirilia talked.  "You are now free of your daughter; it is time for you to assume a greater role in the life of the tribe."

Zenaria had been expecting this.  As Cirilia's oldest daughter she would eventually take over the leadership of the tribe provided no one more suitable could be found.  It was not something she was adverse to.  She had already assumed a partial role in training some of the younger warriors in combat and had led a few hunting expeditions.  She wondered, however, just what her mother had in mind.

Cirilia continued.  "I have been thinking over your account of your adventures.  For many decades the Tribe of the Snow Leopard has been isolated from the rest of the world and it is time for us to improve our relations with those outside our margins."

Zenaria nodded her understanding.  One of the lessons she had learned during the last year was when to speak and when to hold her piece.  She knew her mother would get to the point eventually.  "I have decided in light of the fact that you have traveled to lands far beyond anything that any of us imagined that you shall be our first ambassador.  I am especially interested in having you travel to the lands of the Sandakar and establish relations with the society of assassins you spoke of."

Zenaria's heart skipped a beat.  She gave her mother a sharp look.  Cirilia returned her astonished stare with a smile.  "I would be a poor mother," she said, "if I did not notice the way my oldest daughter has looked to the mountains each day since her return.  It is now the second month of summer.  The Ice Gates should be open.  You will leave tomorrow and take Shalandra with you."

"Shalandra?" Zenaria asked. 

"Your sister saw you in a dream.  You were riding with her on a strange humped beast across a treeless waste and she was with you.  It is a sign from the gods and should not be ignored."

Zenaria bowed her head.  Although still a novice in the priesthood of the Snow Leopard, it was known that Shalandra had the gift of precognition.  And although her skills in this regard were still undeveloped she was known to be startlingly accurate.  If Shalandra had seen Zenaria and her crossing the desert on a camel then it was almost certainly something that was going to occur. 

Zenaria rose from her seat and going to one knee bowed her head, glad that her mother had seen fit to believe in Shalandra's gift.  "I will do as you ask, my queen."

Chapter 2:  The Departure

Zenaria's departure from the stockade of the Snow Leopard was without fanfare.  It was not her tribe's way to stage elaborate ceremonies.  However, her fame as a warrior meant that there were a number of people to see her and Shalandra off, and of course, Cron was there. 

"May the Snow Leopard go with you," Cirilia said, offering the familiar blessing of her people.  "And may this venture prove as blessed as your first."

"I'm not sure I want to return carrying a child this time, mother," Zenaria smiled. 

"If the warrior who seeds you be valiant it is an acceptable outcome," Cirilia returned.  "But take care for Shalandra.  She has not yet had her first Moon."

Shalandra frowned, annoyed at being the subject of conversation.  However, she said nothing, honouring her mother's word.  Although only Zenaria's half sister, there was a strong resemblance through their mother.  Like Zenaria she was tall, already standing five-foot-nine inches although she had only seen her thirteenth summer, and she was blessed with the same thick, richly dark hair as her sister.  However, her striking blue eyes came from her father, Shalan, a Wolf Tribe warrior who had ventured into the Snow Leopard lands.  Instead of killing him, as was the norm, Cirilia had taken a liking to him and the result was her youngest daughter. 

Cirilia turned to Shalandra, embracing the younger girl and then holding her at arms' length.  "You are young to be leaving the nest, but you are a warrior of the Snow Leopard and equal to the task.  However, I ask that you obey your sister in all things.  Although you promise to be most powerful as your talents mature you are not her match as a warrior and the path you travel will be filled with danger."

Shalandra flashed Zenaria a quick look of irritation, but she turned back to her mother and gave the ritual answer.  "I will do as you ask, my queen."

Cirilia smiled her appreciation at Shalandra's answer and stepped back.  She would say no more to either of her daughters, but she waited to watch them leave. 

Zenaria took a quick look toward Cron.  She met his eyes and smiled, but it was not the smile of a lover leaving her beloved, but that of a woman who knew she could leave without regrets.  Cron was surrounded by several admiring females, one of whom was already running her fingers over the muscles of his right arm. 

There was just one more goodbye to be said.  Standing to one side was a tall blonde carrying a dark-haired child.  Zenaria took her daughter into her arms and cradled her next to her breast.  "Goodbye Trenaria," she said planting a kiss on her downy cheek.  Following Snow Leopard custom she had named her daughter after the father, taking Tren's name and adding the feminine suffix.  The infant crowed, grabbing at Zenaria's long braid, and she felt a quick tug on her heart, but it was time to go, and by Snow Leopard custom Trenaria was no longer truly hers.  Now she belonged to the tribe and most of her upbringing would be carried out by Zenaria's aunt Darria, the stately blonde who had been holding her.  Reluctantly she relinquished her hold on her daughter and turning her eyes to the road she set out, Shalandra following.

They carried very little gear.  Snow Leopard warriors usually travelled light, but in consideration of the fact that Zenaria was acting as the ambassador of her tribe Cirilia had given her a donkey to help carry their gear.  It was a welcome addition, especially as it allowed Zenaria to take her exquisite brass-studded leather armour with her without being forced to wear it.  However, the donkey proved to be a bit of a mixed blessing.  Shalandra christened the animal "Balky," which about summed up its personality. 

After a number of false starts which Zenaria finally resolved by using the flat of her sword on Balky's hindquarters they finally got going, cheered on by the well-wishers who had stayed to see them off. 

They headed for the Ice Gates, a high pass that was the only way in or out of the land of the Snow Leopard.  It was a steep climb through rugged terrain and it got tougher as they progressed, so they took their time.  There was no point in rushing.  Shalandra's vision had contained no sense of urgency, and so much as Zenaria looked forward to visiting other lands she did not hurry, more for Shalandra's sake than anything else.  She did not want her sister to become discouraged by exhausting her in the first few days' march. 

Although Shalandra would have been considered remarkably fit by the standards of almost any other society, by Erogenian standards she had led a sheltered life, her training in the arcane arts taking her away from the normal athletic pursuits of Snow Leopard life.  Zenaria planned to let her get her wind first before tackling the more difficult terrain near the Ice Gates.

Within a few hours they had trekked several miles from the stockade.  The isolated domain of the Snow Leopard tribe was a region dominated by coniferous vegetation, primarily spruce, but containing a mixture of fir, and pine.  The forest provided shelter from the high winds that often tore down from the mountains, but also contained a variety of dangers and Zenaria kept her senses alert.  Occasionally she stopped and sent out a mental probe.

Highly attuned to nature, Erogenians had a strong connection with the animals that populated the wild lands they had chosen for their homes, but Zenaria had a special connection, one unmatched by anyone else in her tribe.  She called, seeking a link with a mind that only she knew.  She felt a faint tug and then suddenly an animal awareness filled her mind. 

The contact was always startling.  The creature she was bonding with thought nothing like her.  Its thoughts were completely alien; filled with images of blood, fang, claw and animal passion, but underlying all of this was another thought, one of affection and trust.  "Jaree," Zenaria called.  "Come to me."

There was a confirmation, almost like a mental purr and Zenaria smiled.  Her childhood companion, the enormous snow leopard that had bonded to her, had answered.  She turned to Shalandra.  "Keep hold of Balky.  We don't want him making a break for it."

Shalandra nodded.  She knew of what Zenaria was alluding to.  She stepped closer to the donkey and took hold of his halter.  A few seconds later Balky went mad.

Slipping through the trees like autumn mist, a huge ghost-like cat suddenly emerged from the trees.  Ignoring the screaming donkey it moved toward Zenaria and rubbed against her, a low rumbling issuing from somewhere within. 

Zenaria knelt and threw her arms around the neck of the leopard, holding tight to keep from being knocked off her feet as the giant cat tried to rub against her.  Shalandra stared in amazement.  She knew of Zenaria's bond with the huge snow leopard, but like most members of the tribe, she had never seen the animal before.  Jaree came and went when she chose.  Standing four feet tall at the shoulder, the snow leopard dwarfed other members of her species, but was meek as a kitten when her bondmate was present, and Shalandra watched the powerful cat as she attempted to calm the terrified donkey.

Her hand upon Balky's neck, Shalandra called on her training, radiating soothing thoughts into the distraught donkey.  Gradually the animal calmed, although it kept a wary eye on the huge cat. 

"You did well," Zenaria said.  "You have progressed far in your training."

"It is only a small thing," Shalandra replied, but she blushed with pride.  Although she and Zenaria were sisters, there was no rivalry between them; the five year age difference was too great.  However, it was no small thing to receive a compliment from so famous a warrior as Zenaria.

Jaree's arrival seemed a good omen, and Zenaria wondered if this time the great cat could be persuaded to accompany her beyond its normal range.  The wilds of Erogenia were fraught with danger, and although confident that she could handle almost anything that came her way, it was always good to have allies, particular one as impressive as Jaree.  The addition of the big cat also meant that they could proceed more rapidly.  There were few things in the forests of Erogenia that Jaree would not sense first.  By late afternoon they reached the upward climb to the Ice Gates.

"We'll camp here," Zenaria said.  The spot she had chosen was a small clearing screened by trees, and next to a small creek.  It was an ideal spot and it was still early enough that she and Jaree could hunt before night set in.

"You set up camp," Zenaria ordered.  "Jaree and I will see if we can provide any fresh meat."  She strung her bow and sent out an image that Jaree understood.  The flickering images of the cat's reply indicated that she agreed with Zenaria's idea and without a sound she slipped into the forest, moving upwind of Zenaria.

Zenaria moved in a semicircle, allowing Jaree to get into position.  The plan was simple.  Jaree would move a few hundred yards upwind, allowing any game to catch her scent.  The animals would flee toward the waiting Zenaria who would bring them down with her bow.  It was a tried and true method that Zenaria and Jaree practiced before.  Zenaria had no idea how much Jaree was capable of understanding.  The huge cat was intelligent, but their communication consisted of a transfer of images, and Jaree's thoughts were so full of feline violence that it was difficult to hold anything resembling what might be called a conversation.  For hunting the system worked well enough, but Zenaria had another idea in mind for Jaree and she hoped that she was capable of communicating it. 

She reached her position at the edge of a meadow and waited, screened by a stand of alder. She didn't have to wait long.  Her keen ears picked up the sound of something moving rapidly toward her.  She readied her bow and waited.

Bounding across the meadow came not one deer, but two, a buck and a doe.  In a single smooth motion she drew and released, bringing the buck down in mid-leap.  The buck collapsed in a heap, dead before it hit the ground.  Zenaria slung her bow over her shoulder, drew her knife and crossed to the dead animal.  She knelt before it, asking its forgiveness for taking its life and offering up prayer to its spirit.  Then she cut its throat and allowed it to bleed.  Jaree approached and she cut off a generous portion for the leopard.  Leaving the cat to feed, she tossed the remaining meat over her shoulder and returned to Shalandra. 

Shalandra had their simple camp set up by the time Zenaria returned.  Balky was tethered close to camp, but where he could graze on the succulent summer grass.  A fire had been started and Shalandra had set a small pot on the fire to boil in preparation for making tea, the traditional beverage of the Snow Leopard Tribe. 

Zenaria set the carcass on the ground and began the process of gutting and butchering it.  She cut off enough for supper and then set some aside for breakfast the next day.  If there had been a need she would have prepared more, but she knew there was no need.  Game was plentiful and she and Jaree could continue to hunt as they journeyed. 

Shalandra had also gathered a few wild onions and a number of small plants that could be used to season the meat.  Zenaria set a couple of steaks by the fire to cook and then sipped at the tea Shalandra had prepared. 

The meal finished, they prepared places to sleep.  With Jaree nearby there was no need for either of them to stand watch or for Shalandra to set up any wards.  Snuggling down inside the simple shelter she had built both warriors were soon asleep.

Zenaria woke early.  Without disturbing Shalandra she crawled from her shelter, attended to her personal needs and revived the fire.  A yawn from her sister revealed that by this time she too was awake and a few seconds later she joined Zenaria for a breakfast of the remainder of the venison.  A few feet away there was a loud crunching as Jaree too joined in the meal. 

Breakfast finished, they broke camp, and continued their journey.  Both women were alert.  In spite of the presence of the big leopard there were still dangers that could threaten their lives, as was proved just an hour into their trek.

A snuffling sound from their left alerted them to the danger.  Barely thirty feet away a stand of fir suddenly parted and a gigantic horned snout emerged.  As it shouldered the trees aside an enormous brown-haired body was revealed, measuring twenty feet long from the six foot horn on its nose to the tip of its tail, and standing over ten feet tall.  It swung its enormous head toward them.  Downwind, it had clearly caught their scent while its own was masked. 

Jaree screamed a challenge, ready to take on a monstrous beast more than thirty times its own weight.  Zenaria sent out a single command: "Flee!"

Already, and with astonishing speed, the rhinoceros was thundering toward them.  Zenaria let go of Balky's rope and ran for her life.  This was something that mere arrows could not stop.  The eight ton monster shouldered trees aside and tore through thick stands of willows as if they did not even exist.  Zenaria headed for a large boulder just ten feet away, hoping to place itself between her and the charging beast, but the speed of the rhino was so great she knew she was not going to make it.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Shalandra sprinting to safety.  She could hear the steamy puffing of the rhino's breath and feel the ground shake as the deadly six foot horn speared toward the middle of her back.  There seemed no escaping death, but at the last instant Zenaria threw herself toward the base of the large stone and curled her body toward it. 

With a "whuff" the rhino came to a sudden halt, sensing the immovable block of granite in front of it.  Gravel and turf sprayed over Zenaria as she lay under the beast's head.  Dim-sighted but with a remarkable sense of smell, the rhino scented Zenaria beneath it and swung its head back and forth in an attempt to dislodge her.  She curled her body as tight against the rock as she could; hoping that the granite mass would prevent the rhino's huge head from reaching her.  With a snort of frustration the beast took a step back, enabling it to probe at her with its horn. 

Zenaria came out of her fetal crouch and grabbed at the giant horn.  It was a desperate measure, but it was either that or be speared like a fish.  The rhino whuffed in anger and tossed its head, lifting Zenaria like a feather.  She flew straight out from the rhino's horn, her body waving like a flag on the edge of a pole.  It was all she could do to keep her grip, but Zenaria knew that to let go would almost certainly mean her death.  She would be dashed to the ground and then either gored or crushed to death under the rhino's feet. 

The rhino whipped its head back and forth with tremendous force.  Zenaria's fingers slipped.  With a frantic twist of her body she let go just as the rhino lifted its head.  Her body described a high arc and then descended, coming down in the middle of the rhino's back.  Instinctively she clutched at the rhino's long thick covering of hair, digging in her fingers with a death-like grip. 

For a heartbeat the rhino came to a complete halt, and then sensing the unfamiliar weight on its back, it went berserk, crashing through the forest and heaving its huge bulk in an effort to shed its unwelcome burden.  Zenaria hung on with all her strength, her muscles straining as the rhino swept under and through branches, crashing headlong through the forest.  Branches slapped against her face and tore at her arms forcing her to bury her head in the fur of the rhino, but as the beast thundered over the uneven ground each jolt caused her to fly into the air, her heels higher than her head, and then she would slam back down, the impact almost knocking the air from her lungs. 

But gradually the rhino slowed as its frenzied attempts to get rid of the uninvited weight upon its back drove it to the edge of exhaustion.  Finally it came to a halt in the middle of a meadow, its sides heaving like some great bellows and jets of steam shooting from its nostrils.  Battered and bruised, Zenaria released her hold on the beast.  She would get no better chance to escape than this unless she decided to try and kill the beast. 

That she could have done.  She was perched directly over the rhino's massive shoulders.  She could have drawn her sword and driven the razor-edged blade into its spinal cord, but she could not do that.  The code of the Snow Leopard taught that it was wrong to kill without reason, and the rhino had done nothing wrong except to defend its territory against a possible predator.  Zenaria had killed wild beasts before when attacked, but only when there was no other way and there was no glory in killing a helpless animal that had run itself to exhaustion.  She slid off the rhino's shoulders and moved away as fast as her battered body would allow. 

"Zenaria!"  Shalandra's shout echoed through the trees.  The call came again and Zenaria answered, driven so close to the edge of exhaustion she could barely speak.

Shalandra pushed through a stand of willow, her eyes wide and frantic with worry.  Behind her was Jaree who immediately rubbed up against her and began to purr loudly.    "Sister," Shalandra exclaimed, "are you all right?"

Zenaria leaned against a tree, trying to catch her breath.  Gently she pulled Jaree's ears and knuckled the big cat's head.  "I'm fine," she gasped.  "Just give me a few heartbeats."

"You don't look fine," Shalandra said, unslinging her bag of herbs and medicaments from her shoulder.  "Sit down and let me tend to you."

Zenaria did as she was told.  She was too beaten to do much more in any case.  While she sat on a fallen tree Shalandra took out her waterskin and began to wipe the blood from her numerous wounds.

"Hmm," Shalandra said professionally, "not too bad.  I'll just clean you up and put some ointments on a few of the deeper scratches."

"Of course I'm not too bad," Zenaria replied, recovering a little of her wind.  "I told you I was fine."

"I am the healer here," Shalandra said, "and you will let me treat you." 

Zenaria acquiesced.  Shalandra would just keep on nagging until she agreed.  She had the same sort of determination that her older sister had and although she had not yet seen fourteen summers she was accomplished in the healing arts.  With time when her powers came to the full she might even become one of the great healers, but that unknown was before her.  She would know nothing of her true potential until she had her first moon, and from the look of Shalandra's blossoming body that would not be too long.

"There," Shalandra said finally, putting her tools and medicines away.  She had neatly stitched up two deep cuts and smeared pungent and stinging cream on the rest of her scrapes and bruises.  "How do you feel?"

"Like a healer's medicine bag," Zenaria replied, getting to her feet.  It was important for her to get moving.  She could already feel her bruised body stiffening, but with her amazing stamina she had recovered enough that she was able to move off at a brisk pace. 

There was no sign of the rhinoceros and she didn't expect there would be.  She had ridden the maddened beast until it was on the verge of collapse and she doubted that it had the same powers of recovery that she had.  She headed off the way she had come, following the trail of broken trees and crushed bushes until they reached the place where the rhino had attacked.  About halfway back they found Balky.  The donkey was calmly munching on some tender willow shoots, having shed every bit of gear it had been loaded with. 

It took some time to locate the scattered items and reload the donkey, but eventually everything was found, including Zenaria's sophisticated leather and bronze armour which she carefully inspected for damage before repacking it.  Then, the reburdened donkey in tow, they continued their interrupted journey. 

"We're not going to make the Icegate today," Shalandra commented.

"No," Zenaria agreed.  "We've lost too much time.  We'll go on a bit farther and then look for a place to camp.  It's a good thing we aren't in a hurry."

A short time later they found a suitable campsite.  It consisted of a flat area near a large fallen fir.  The tree would provide both firewood and support for a simple shelter.  Also nearby there was a small stream trickling from the rocks.  While Zenaria worked on the shelter Shalandra unpacked Balky and built a fire.  Soon the small pot of tea water was heating and then Shalandra cut up what was left of the venison.  There wasn't much left, Jaree having devoured most of it for breakfast, and they would have to hunt soon to avoid digging into their supplies.  Jaree was not a factor.  Shortly after rejoining the expedition she had disappeared into the forest to do a little hunting on her own. 

Zenaria paid little attention to Jaree's departure.  She snow leopard was a free spirit, not a pet.  She came and went as she wished.  She would return when it suited her.

With the unexpectedly early halt Zenaria decided a short hunt might be in order.  She readied her bow and set out.  Within a few minutes her keen eye and powerful bow had brought down two rabbits and a wood grouse.  She returned to camp and prepared the rabbits, skinning, gutting and spitting them with expert skill.  Placing the rabbits near the fire to slow cook she took out her sword, and placing it across her knee carefully oiled and polished the blade. 

Shalandra joined her, taking out her own sword.  Although a member of the priesthood, all members of the tribe took weapons training, and her younger sister was an expert with the blade.  Their weapons attended to Zenaria went to their gear and took out two maplewood training swords.  There was still a bit of time before the rabbits were ready and Zenaria did not want to stiffen up.  A bit of sparring might help to keep her loose. 

She tossed one of the swords to Shalandra who caught it with a smile.  "Careful, big sister.  Now that you're all crippled up you might get a bit of a surprise."

"Defend yourself, little one.  And I'll try not to lay too many bruises on you."  Raising her wooden blade she moved toward Shalandra.

For the next half hour few other words were spoken.  There was only the sound of wood on wood, and the grunts of blows given and blows received.  Zenaria held back, but soon found she did not have to give her sister too much breathing space.  The girl had improved immeasurably since she had last spared with her and she soon found herself admiring the girl's skills.  "You've been practicing behind my back," Zenaria said, sweat dripping form her body.  She was nicely warmed up and hoped that the stiffness from her wild ride might have been worked out.  It probably would have had it not been for the several bruises Shalandra had laid on her. 

"I hoped to surprise you," Shalandra replied.  "Cron practiced with me when you were working with the others."

"That weasel.  I underestimated him.   Training my sister behind my back.  However, he taught you well.  I will have to give him a beating when I return."  Zenaria lowered her blade.  "Enough for now?"

"One more touch," Shalandra replied.  She raised her sword and stepped forward on the attack and then suddenly doubled up in agony.

Zenaria dropped her sword and stepped toward her sister.  "What is it, Shel?"  She didn't have to ask if her sister was in pain.  Members of the Snow Leopard tribe were stoic in the extreme, and for Shalandra to show any sign of discomfort meant she must really be suffering. 

Her sister looked up, and to Zenaria's surprise she was smiling.  "I'm alright, Zenaria, I have received the blessing of the Moon."

Zenaria took Shalandra in her arms and gave her a powerful.  My sister, you are now a woman."

"I'll be a dead one if you don't stop crushing me," Shalandra gasped. 

Zenaria released her and headed for the tiny stream.  "Do you need water?" 

"No, I took precautions," Shalandra answered.  "I knew it was going to happen soon."

Zenaria nodded.  Shalandra's prowess as a healer had enabled her to anticipate her moon and her bleed had not soiled her clothing.  She continued to the stream and stripped off her clothing.  The stream was glacial, but she thoroughly doused her nude body, washing off the dust and sweat of the day's events.  A short time later, Shalandra joined her and they took turns washing the hard to reach parts of one another's bodies. 

"Hmm," Shalandra mused, running her fingers over Zenaria's back.  "The salve I put on your cuts and bruises seems to have helped.  I see no sign of infection and the stitches seem to be holding.  You should be back to normal in a day or so.  But you are still going to be sore tomorrow."

"I've survived worse," Zenaria replied. 

"I can see that," Shalandra said.  She looked admiringly at the scars crisscrossing Zenaria's powerful body, mementos of her duels and adventures.  Except for the few bruises she had received while sparring with Zenaria her own body was unblemished and she wondered whether she would ever receive such marks of honour.

Zenaria pulled her clothes back on and went to check the rabbits.  They were so well done the meat was falling off the bone and her busy day had worked up quite an appetite.  Sitting cross-legged on the ground she picked up one of the rabbits by the stick she had used to prop it near the fire and began to pull the meat off the bone, leaving the other rabbit for Shalandra.  A few heartbeats later Shalandra joined her and together they demolished the two carcasses.  

Zenaria licked her fingers clean.  It was not yet dark, but they still had the Icegate to traverse.  She might as well get as much sleep as she could.  Before retiring, however, she sent out a probe for Jaree.  She got an almost immediate reply.  The big leopard was nearby and from the sleepy response Zenaria knew that the cat's hunt had been successful.  However, Jaree would return to camp and stand guard as on the night before. 

She crawled into the shelter and was joined a few heartbeats later by Shalandra.  Although it was not cold at the moment, both women knew that cold air would flow down the pass from the Ice Gates and their shared body warmth would be welcome.  Huddled together they were soon asleep.

As before, Zenaria awoke well before dawn.  She was well rested, but as Shalandra had predicted stiff and sore from the beating she had taken on her wild ride.  Ignoring the pain she slipped out of the shelter and soon had a fire going and tea water on to boil.  Shalandra soon joined her and together they prepared breakfast and broke camp, but not before her healer sister had once again inspected Zenaria's wounds. 

"You will live, sister," Shalandra pronounced. 

"I could have told you that," Zenaria replied, pulling her doeskin shirt back on.  Buckling on her sword and slinging her quiver over her back, she picked up her bow and moved off.  The Ice Gates called and she wanted no more delays. 

They had not gone far when it began to rain lightly.  "This is what delay brings," grumbled Zenaria.  The rain would soon make her and Shalandra quite uncomfortable, but it was more than that.  At higher elevations the rain might easily turn to snow.  She had crossed the Ice Gates once before in winter, but it had been a painfully slow ordeal and had taken her two weeks of slogging through deep snow and climbing over avalanches, and it was not an experience she cared to repeat.  She unpacked a pair of elkskin capes from the packs Balky carried and handed one to Shalandra.  The capes would help keep them dry for a little while and hold in their body heat, but eventually they too would become soaked.  However, the only other choice was to seek shelter and wait out the rain; and since it might last for days it was an option she rejected. 

She trudged on, Shalandra and Balky following.  This time Jaree followed as well, although the cat sent out a query as to the wisdom of not denning up when it was raining.  Zenaria was glad of the leopard's presence.  On her first ascent of the Ice Gates she had encountered a creature out of her tribal legends.  In order to save herself she had been forced to kill it and this time with her younger sister along, she hoped that Jaree's presence would keep the huge snow beast away. 

They climbed through the day with the rain falling steadily and then as Zenaria had feared, turning to snow in the higher reaches of the pass.  At that point Zenaria called a halt beneath a large rock overhang.  She wanted a chance to eat and rest before making the final push over the pass.  For the first time they had to dip into their stores of food, having eaten the grouse for breakfast. They had seen no sign of game during the day, all animals except them apparently having the intelligence to get out of the rain, and they had to make do with strips of dried meat and a mixture of dried nuts and berries.  It was nutritious and filling, but not particularly appetizing.  However, the tea they brewed gave them a needed pick-me-up.  After drinking her tea Zenaria went to the pack Balky carried and took out dry elkskins, giving thanks that they had brought the donkey with them. Without it they would not have been able to carry a change of dry clothing. 

Zenaria stepped from their shelter.  "Let's go, and pray to the Moon and Sun that the snow does not get any heavier."

They spent the next part of the day marching through slush.  It continued to snow, but just heavily enough to make them thoroughly miserable without slowing their progress.  By midday they reached the top of the pass.  Miraculously as they crested the summit the snow stopped and the skies cleared, giving them a clear view of the precipitous descent on the other side.  Below them lay Erogenia proper and the lands of the Hawk Tribe, the first stop on Zenaria's mission.  Fortunately what they did not see was any sign of one of the snow beasts that had attacked Zenaria on her first ascension of the pass and Jaree gave no sign that she registered any danger.  Seeking to take advantage of the break in the weather and the absence of danger Zenaria pressed on and they began their descent.

It was Jaree who sensed the danger, the giant cat's low growl alerting both Zenaria and Shalandra.  An image flashed into Zenaria's.  "Urtts," she muttered.  There was no fear in Zenaria's voice, but the urgency in the way she said the word made the hairs on the back of Shalandra's neck stand up. 

Shalandra had never seen the almost mythical lizard beings, but she had heard Zenaria's story of how she had been lured into a trap by a traitor from her own tribe and almost brutally raped.  The traitor had used Urtts to capture her, a plan that had eventually backfired when the Urtts had turned on him and had him for dinner.  But the misadventure had almost ended Zenaria's short life.  Shalandra had her bow off her shoulder and strung in an instant.  She stood beside her sister, an arrow fitted to the string. 

Zenaria also stood ready.  She flashed a mental command to Jaree.  Like a ghost the cat disappeared into the trees on the left side of the trail.  They were at a point in their descent where the pass widened to allow a steep tree-covered slope to their right and a more open area to their left.  It was to the right where Jaree had sensed the danger. 

Zenaria was a little surprised.  No Urtts had dared trespass on Snow Leopard lands in recent memory, probably due to both the isolation and sparse numbers of her people, but here they were, daring the high pass of the Ice Gates to infiltrate her tribal territory.

"Not this time," she muttered.  She owed the Urtts for the humiliation they had forced on her.  It was time to pay them back.  As if on cue the trees thirty feet ahead of her shivered and a green-skinned figure stepped onto the trail, followed by several more. 

They were definitely man-shaped, even wearing crude skins to conceal the region between their legs, but the resemblance was only superficial.  Their skins were covered with green snake-like scales and lank unkempt black hair reached to their shoulders.  Their eyes were blood red and set above a snout-like nose and mouth.  Pointed teeth filled their mouths when they smiled as they were doing now.  They were armed with a variety of weapons, including crude spears, spike-studded wooden clubs, and axes. 

The largest of them stepped forward, his teeth barred.  "Ssso," he hissed, "two femalesss.  Thisss will be fun."

Zenaria waited.  A year earlier she would have plunged unthinkingly into an all out attack, but she had learned a bit of patience in her first adventure and she waited to see just haw many opponents she faced. 

The Urtt leader glanced at their bows.  "Come," he said.  "Sssurender peacssefully and we will not eat you.  You cannot essscape."  He motioned with his hand and the trees behind him seemed to come alive with Urtts.  The two women were facing a full Urtt war party.  

"It is you who will not escape," Zenaria retorted.  "Surrender now and I won't kill every one of you."

The Urtt leader hissed out a laugh.  "Ssstupid human femalesss.  You will regret your desscission when I am between your legsss."

Zenaria let him talk.  She counted thirty Urtts lining up on the narrow trail.  Confident in their numbers they had overlooked one basic fact.  There was only room enough on the trail for them to come at the two Snow Leopard warriors two at a time.  And they knew nothing of Zenaria's secret weapon.

"Get behind me," Zenaria said to Shalandra.

"Sister, I will fight at your side," Shalandra protested. 

"No, I need room to swing my blade.  Stay back and shoot from behind."

Shalandra opened her mouth and then closed it, seeing the wisdom of Zenaria's strategy.  She knew in spite of her success in sparring on the previous day that Zenaria was by far the better swordswoman, and Zenaria had real experience in battle whereas she had not.  She stepped four paces back and readied her bow.

"Now, before the little one esscapess," the Urtt leader shouted, mistaking Shalandra's action. 

The horde of Urtts charged up the trail.  Zenaria loosed her arrow and then tossed her bow behind her, drawing her sword in one smooth movement.  The arrow caught the lead Urtt in the throat, dropping him in front of his charging comrades and tangling up their attack.  An instant later Shalandra's arrow struck true, taking down a second Urtt.  And then they were on top of Zenaria.

They were met by what seemed like a wall of steel.  Zenaria's blade seemed everywhere, cutting off hands, ripping through throats, and cleaving skulls, while at the same time blocking or deflecting every blow aimed at her.  From behind Shalandra chose her targets carefully, loosing arrows at any Urtt that stood back with the intent of hurling a spear or axe at Zenaria.  Within seconds a dozen dead or dying Urtts lay sprawled on the mountain trail. 

Zenaria slowly stepped back, allowing the Urtts to press her back up the trail.  Her retreat was not, however, due to any threats from the Urtts.  She wanted to draw them on, deceiving them into thinking that they might have some chance of winning.  It was not until she gutted the Urtt leader that they realized there was no hope.  By then almost half the Urtts were hors de combat or dead.  As the realization spread over them they suddenly broke.

Screaming in their own language they turned almost as one and attempted to run back down the trail.  "Now, Jaree!" Zenaria thought. 

Seemingly from out of nowhere, the huge cat plunged out of the bush, cutting off the retreat of the panicked Urtts.  A swipe of a huge paw took down one; another's skull was crushed by her jaws.  Completely panicked the Urtts fled any way they could, Shalandra's arrows continuing to impale one Urtt after the other. 

Zenaria reclaimed her bow and emulated her sister, picking off whatever targets remained, until finally the only Remaining Urtts that were still alive were those that had only been wounded.  Zenaria made short work of these, lopping off their heads in grim determination. 

Shalandra watched, her face expressionless.  The adrenaline drained out of her.  She had never seen an Urtt before this, but her sister's cold dispatching of the wounded showed her a side of her sister she had not yet seen.  Still, she did not object.  She had sensed the foulness of the creatures they had killed and knew well the tales of her ancestors.  If anything deserved to die it was an Urtt.  It was what Zenaria did next, however, that had her wondering.

Methodically Zenaria behead even those Urtts who were already dead, and then setting aside her sword, she retrieved an axe from Balky.  Amazingly, the donkey had wandered off only a short distance to graze during the mayhem.  Taking the axe she lopped off the top of a number of trees equalling the number of heads and then trimmed off the branches leaving a living stake.  On top of each she impaled one of the heads. 

Shalandra swallowed as she looked at the gruesome forest of heads.  Expressionless, Zenaria cleaned off the axe, did the same with her sword, and retrieved and cleaned any arrows that were not broken.  She turned to Shalandra.  "I remember a place to camp not too far from here.  We will stay there tonight."

Shalandra nodded dumbly.  Without a word she took Balky's halter and towed the donkey after her.  She knew why Zenaria had set up the macabre monument.  Any Urtts that dared think of venturing into Snow Leopard territory would have to pass by the heads of their brethren.   It would give them something to think about if nothing else. 

She quickened her pace, moving alongside Zenaria.  "That was well done, sister.  I would not have had the courage to carry it out."

"It needed to be done," Zenaria replied.  "But it was a task I did not relish."

Slowly Shalandra reached out and took Zenaria's hand.  Her sister's fingers tightened around hers and then hand-in-hand they proceeded down the trail.

Chapter 3:  The Hawk Tribe

With a flick of his wings Nordag shifted his body into a long slow glide, swooping over the northern approaches to the tribal heartland.  He didn't expect to see much.  Few dangers ever approached from the north, but King Theredin was not one to take any chances when it came to defending his kingdom.  All approaches to the domain of the Hawk Tribe were carefully patrolled, even those from which an enemy had never been known to approach.  As usual there was nothing and he was just about to turn back when a slight movement caught his eye. 

He swooped lower, his avian eyesight zooming in on his target.  He gave a shrill cry of surprise and dropped even lower.  Moving along a narrow forest trail was the strangest processions he had ever seen.  It consisted of two women, a donkey, and a huge cat.  The woman leading the procession was magnificent, standing as tall as most men and she was dressed in shining black armour studded with glittering bronze fastening.  Over her back was slung a sword and a quiver of arrows and in her right hand she carried a powerful bow. 

Directly behind her was a smaller woman.  She was dressed in the robes of a priestess of the Moon, but like the first woman she carried a sword and bow as well.  She appeared very young, probably barely in her early teens, but her ripening body and noble bearing gave promise of great beauty. 

The huge cat confused him.  It appeared to be a leopard, but Nordag had never seen one so large and with such peculiar colouring.  Instead of the familiar mottling of black and yellow this one was as pale as the snow.  It appeared tame as a kitten, but he had never heard of such an animal being tamed before, and something about the way it moved told him that no one was this beast's mistress. 

He was now almost within bowshot, a position he intended to maintain, considering the weapons the two women carried.  He swept over their heads, and then suddenly the younger one looked up and something stabbed into his brain with such intensity he almost fluttered to the ground. 

Almost immediately the sensation was gone and then it returned, but much more gentle this time.  "Sorry," a voice said, "I did not mean to do that.  I am Shalandra, daughter of Queen Cirilia of the Tribe of the Snow Leopard and Shelan of the Wolf Tribe, and I speak for my sister, Zenaria, daughter of Zenar and Cirilia."

 

This time Nordag did fold his wings, coming to rest in the high branches of a great beech.  Never before had he experienced mind-speaking, and the sudden intrusion into his consciousness left him completely disoriented. 

Both women stopped and looked up at him.  "Do you think the bird heard you?" the taller woman asked.  From this position Nordag could now see that her hair was midnight black, and trailed in a long braid as thick as a man's wrist to the swell of her backside.

"I'm not sure," the younger woman answered.  From this more advantageous position Nordag could see that as he had thought, the girl was quite young, but definitely worth investigating.  As for the other, her statuesque figure could not be hidden in spite of the armour she wore. 

Even bewildered as he was, Nordag realized that if he could hear the girl's thoughts then she could probably hear his.  "I hear you," he said.  "I am Nordag, son of Bertold and Elzata, and I welcome you to the Tribe of the Hawk."

 

For a brief instant he considered changing to his human form, but then realized his clothes were back at the guard post.  If he was to appear before these two strange warriors, he wanted to appear properly attired as a warrior of the Hawk Tribe.  "I will take word of your coming to King Theredin," he said.  "Then I will return to greet you properly."  Nordag spread his wings, and gaining altitude sped toward the compound of the King. 

Do you think that went well?" Zenaria asked. 

"I'm not sure," Shalandra responded.  "I know I certainly startled him.  Let's hope it doesn't make him fear us."

Zenaria nodded.  She and Shalandra had donned their finery upon entering the territory of the Hawk Tribe.  It wasn't exactly convenient attire for a long trek, but as ambassador for her tribe she thought it important to be dressed appropriately.  It was now almost a month since they had left the domain of the Snow Leopard and about the same amount of time since Shalandra had become a woman.  During that short time her sister had greatly refined her ability to commune with animals as she slowly came into her powers.  Zenaria expected there was much more to come, but only time and Shalandra's natural ability would tell. 

Her sudden ability to reach out and touch the mind of another living thing was startling in its potential and Zenaria wondered just how far it would go.  So far it seemed that only animals were subject to this power, but Zenaria wondered if it would eventually extend to humans and if so whether anyone would be safe from Shalandra's mind.  There were some things that Zenaria would just as soon keep secret, even from her sister.

The forest they were walking through was quite different from that of her homeland.  The thick stands of evergreens had given way to forests of oaks, beeches, elms, and many other broad-leafed trees.  They formed a thick canopy that shaded the forest floor and shut out the sunlight except along tracks like the one they now followed.  Someone had cleared a way through the forest, cutting down the large trees in order that a crude roadway could be created.  The mark of wagon wheels showed that it was frequently used for transporting heavy goods of some sort, although Zenaria had not been able to determine what that was. 

They walked on for another two hours and Zenaria was beginning to regret donning her armour.  She was sweating like a pig under the thick padding and would have given a great deal to come upon a stream where she could bathe, but no such chance presented itself, and then suddenly there was the sound of hoofbeats from up ahead.  Automatically Zenaria reached for her sword and then remembered that she was supposed to be an ambassador.  The horseman was making no effort to disguise his coming and she could only suppose that his intentions were friendly.  However, she remained alert just in case and a glance at her sister showed that she too was on her guard. 

The horseman slowed a good ten body lengths from them and swung from the saddle.  Zenaria was immediately interested, as was Shalandra.  He stood about an inch taller than Zenaria and was powerfully built with broad shoulders, and a deep chest that was well displayed as he wore nothing above his leather breeches except a harness to support his sword.  His golden blond hair streamed loosely over his shoulders and hung to the middle of his back.  He left his horse and stepped three paces toward them before going down on one knee.  "Greetings, princesses.  I am Nordag of the Hawk Tribe and I welcome you to our domain."

"I believe we've met in a manner of speaking," Zenaria replied.  "I am..."

Zenaria's formal introduction was interrupted by a loud braying from Balky, who at that moment decided to make a break back the way he had come.  He jerked hard on the rope, yanking it out of a startled Shalandra's hand and headed rapidly up the trail.  Shalandra turned, overbalanced and landed on her backside in the middle of the trail.  An annoyed Zenaria sent a mental command to Jaree who immediately bounded up the trail and neatly cut off the escaping donkey, sending the terrified animal wheeling back the way he had come.  Unfortunately, it did not quite work out the way she had hoped.  Balky kept on going, dodging around Zenaria and heading straight for a surprised Nordag who made a grab at the donkey's lead as it tore past him.  Much to the blond warrior's shock the donkey pulled him off his feet and dragged him several feet before coming to a rolling-eyed halt. 

It was not the sort of meeting Zenaria would have preferred, but she could not hold back her laughter at the look of chagrin on the faces of Shalandra and Nordag.  "So much for dignity," she commented as she held out her hand and pulled her sister to her feet. 

Shalandra's face was red with embarrassment as she got to her feet.  Her priestess's robes were torn and dirty and even more shameful, one of her ripening breasts had popped free of its bindings, something that would not have bothered her a month or so ago when they were mere bumps.  However, like any fourteen-year-old, Shalandra was very conscious of her body and having her assets so unexpectedly displayed in front of a handsome stranger had her more than normally mortified. 

Nordag, however, seemed not to notice, or at least he did not let on that he did.  He got to his feet laughing along with Zenaria.  "So much for a grand entrance," Zenaria smiled. 

"And so much for a dignified reception," Nordag answered.  "I hope no one was hurt," he continued looking at Shalandra who by this time had managed to restore her wayward breast to its proper place. 

"Just my pride," the young priestess answered.  "One of these days I'm going to turn that donkey into a toad."

"You can do that?" Nordag asked, his blue eyes widening slightly. 

"Not yet," Shalandra admitted, "but it will be one of the first things I try when I can."

Nordag nodded.  "If you will allow me I will ride ahead and alert King Theredin as to your arrival.  If you will permit me I will take your stubborn little friend with me."  He looked warily at Jaree who was sitting unconcernedly a dozen feet away washing her face.  "Who controls the big cat?"

"No one controls Jaree," Zenaria answered, "but we are bonded."

Nordag rode off and Zenaria and Shalandra followed.  Now better attuned to the nature of the Hawk Tribe, Zenaria considered what she had seen.  "A useful ability," Zenaria thought.  She wondered if all members of the Hawk Tribe had shape-shifting abilities.  If so they would make formidable enemies and powerful allies.  She hoped that she could make a good impression although she doubted that their meeting with Nordag would have much of a positive impact.  Perhaps it was time to have a donkey roast. 

It took the remainder of the morning to bring them within sight of the Hawk Tribe's palisade.  Like that of the Snow Leopard Tribe it was a simple affair of upright tree trunks embedded atop a raised earthen wall and tied together at the top with thick rope.  The earth from which the embankment had been created had been scooped out around the village forming a deep ditch outside of which had been set sharpened stakes.  At periodic intervals along the palisade guard towers loomed.  The entire system created a formidable barrier against the sort of enemies usually faced by the Hawk Tribe, which until recently had been other Erogenians.  However, having seen one of the magnificent cities of the Sandakar Zenaria was not overly impressed in spite of the fact that the fortifications rivalled anything in her homeland. 

Arrayed near the gate were a number of warriors, both male and female as was traditional among Erogenians.  Zenaria's eye was immediately drawn to a striking young warrior who stood front and centre.  He stood about three inches taller that she and was distinguished from those around him only by a magnificent cloak of hawk and eagle feathers that was draped over his shoulders.  Like the other warriors around him he wore a long sword supported by a heavy leather harness that crossed over his chest.  His thick golden hair fell naturally to his shoulders.  He studied Zenaria and Shalandra with piercing blue eyes as they approached.  "King Theredin, I suppose," Zenaria murmured to Shalandra. 

When they were about thirty feet away a man standing next to the king suddenly turned his head and spoke softy to him.  Theredin's gaze immediately flickered from Zenaria to Shalandra and then back again.  Zenaria focused on the man who had spoken and noticed that he was the only warrior present who did not wear a sword.  Instead he carried a gnarled staff and was dressed in the robes of a priest.  Additionally his grey hair spoke of advanced years although he was not in the least stooped by age.  Zenaria marked him as someone who might be worth cultivating if her mission was to succeed.

Nordag suddenly appeared which was a welcome relief to Zenaria as she was not quite sure how to proceed.  This was her first diplomatic mission and she was making it up as she went along.  Her efforts in this first encounter would teach her much about how to proceed. 

"Princess Zenaria; Princess Shalandra," Nordag said.  "May I present King Theredin of the Hawk Tribe." 

"I greet your majesty and bring tidings of peace and friendship from Queen Cirilia of the Snow Leopard."  Zenaria did not bow.  She knew enough about protocol to realize that as a princess she was of equal rank to Theredin, as much as rank mattered to Erogenian society, which was notoriously egalitarian.  "I bring you this as a gift from my queen and as a token of future trade and goodwill between our peoples."  She held out her hand and gave him the one thing of commercial value she had brought with her from her homeland.  It was a armlet carved from a single piece of amber and by sheer coincidence it was perfectly sized for Theredin's bicep.  The golden mineral was one of the few mined in the domain of the Snow Leopard, being found in abundance in the foothills of the mountains bordering the southern marches of the tribal territory.  Other than furs it was the only commodity that outside traders sought after making the arduous journey to the lands of her isolated tribe. 

Theredin took the armlet and held it up to the sunlight.  The amber ring seemed to glow with an inner fire of its own.  "This is an exquisite gift," the king said, "and deserves one in return."  He twisted slightly and took out a jeweled dagger from a sheath at his side.  "I give you this in the same spirit of goodwill and hope that it presages good relations between the Hawk and Snow Leopard Tribes." 

Zenaria nodded.  So far the initial meeting seemed to be going well, but just how well she would succeed still remained to be seen.  Up close she was surprised to note how young he appeared and guessed that he could not be much older than she was.  It occurred to her that Theredin was no doubt thinking the same thing.  "Welcome princesses," Theredin said.  "I have long heard of the legendary Snow Leopard Tribe.  Now I meet two of its representatives for the first time.  I am most interested in leaning more of your mission."

He stepped slightly to one side and motioned that Zenaria was to join him as he moved through the gate.  Zenaria sent out a mental command suggesting to Jaree that the strangers around them were not enemies or food.  The leopard moved forward imposing her bulk between Zenaria and Theredin, however, it was the man in the robes of the priest that the leopard seemed most interested in it moved toward him and to Zenaria's surprise began to purr loudly. 

"A most magnificent companion," the priest said, and then to Zenaria's further surprise reached out and rubbed Jaree's broad head, eliciting an even more pronounced rumble from the huge cat. 

"I am most impressed, Holy One," Zenaria commented.  "You still have your hand." 

The priest looked unsmilingly at Zenaria, but there was a glint of humour in his eyes.  "I am Guntig of the North Wind, Shaman of the Hawk Tribe.  I have no fear of your companion."

"Or anyone else," Zenaria thought.  The shaman exuded the sort of power Zenaria had sensed in Argonna, her own tribal priestess, and could now detect in Shalandra.  Out of the corner of her eye she noted that Theredin was watching her interaction with the shaman and guessed that she had just made an important first step in establishing amicable relations with the Hawk Tribe.

They proceeded into the compound, Zenaria walking beside Theredin.  Behind her came Shalandra, and also Guntig, who had fallen in beside her sister and was speaking quietly to her.  Apparently the shaman had no trouble recognizing a kindred spirit. 

As they entered the gates dozens of dogs barked challenges as they caught Jaree's scent, but then suddenly quieted.  Zenaria supposed that Guntig had probably sent out some mental command to calm them. 

Inside the palisade there was much that was familiar, the links between the Hawk and Snow Leopard Tribes being more than obvious.  The biggest difference was the amount of copper and silver on display.  The Snow Leopard Tribe had little in the way of mining and the neatly stacked copper and silver ingots were an obvious source of wealth as were the numerous silver ornaments worn by the Hawk Tribe's members.  Zenaria now understood what was transported down the crude road they had walked on the way to the Hawk Tribe settlement. 

As she had expected Zenaria was escorted to what passed for the royal court of the Hawk Tribe.  It appeared to be a simple building, very much resembling the one her mother presided over, the main difference being a massive image of a hawk with outstretched wings that loomed over the main door.  It was so skilfully carved that Zenaria almost expected it to come to life, especially as it had been expertly painted to match the colours of a real hawk.  Its enormous golden eyes seemed to glare down at her in warning as she entered the hall. 

As Zenaria stepped through the doors she saw that she had been mistaken about the building.  The spacious interior of the central hall resembled a temple more than the convivial gathering place that she had expected.  At each end of the hall their were twin stone hearths.  Since it was summer there was no fire but it was obvious that during the colder months it served as both a dining and meeting hall.  Each of the huge fireplaces contained large iron spits upon which to turn meat.  However, it was the centre of the room that caught her attention.  Mounted on a massive block of black granite was a magnificent hawk sculpted in white marble that was inlaid with gleaming seams of pure silver.  It faced toward the doorway, its wings angled so that it appeared to be in the middle of a dive; light streaming in from a high window illuminated the statue so that it glowed almost blindingly.  Almost without thinking Zenaria found herself going to her knees.  Only when she was in a full kneeling position did she realize that Shalandra had copied her as had Theredin and Guntig.  The shaman nodded approvingly and Zenaria got the distinct impression that she and Shalandra had just passed some sort of test. 

"The hawk totem," Guntig said, getting to his feet.  "The symbol of our people." 

"It is most is most powerful," Zenaria said, getting to her feet along with Shalandra and Theredin.  She couldn't think of anything else to say.

"That is its purpose," Guntig replied.  "And now I will leave you to our king."  He moved toward the doorway while Theredin turned toward them. 

"As my guests you will stay in rooms upstairs," Theredin said, indicting a wooden staircase that led to the second floor.  "You must be hot and tired after your journey, and that splendid armour looks most uncomfortable."

Zenaria nodded her agreement and pulled off her helmet.  "You are right about that, your highness.  Playing the role of ambassador is more of an ordeal than I thought it would be."

"Call me Theredin," the king said.  "All of this formality is better suited to Kivalians.  We have gone through the formal introductions, but now it is time to get to know one another.  Tonight there will be a feast.  Tomorrow we will talk."

They were escorted upstairs to a small but cozy room.  It contained a bed large enough for two, a large wooden chest, and a copper tub large enough to hold an Erogenian warrior.  A young Hawk Warrior girl had come with them.  She proceeded to throw open the shutters and let the late afternoon light into the room.  "I will fetch water," the girl said as she left.  She stepped warily around Jaree who had plunked her nine foot body in the middle of the room. 

"A feast," Shalandra said, unable to hide her excitement.  "That should be great fun." 

Zenaria grinned at her sister.  In only her fourteenth summer, Shalandra had not yet been to a single adult celebration.  Only adult men and women were allowed to attend feasts and Shalandra had not yet had her first moon before she and Zenaria had left on their mission.  This would be her first feast and she was obviously looking forward to it.  "Let us hope so," Zenaria said.  "Somehow I think the success of our first encounter might hinge upon just how well we enjoy the feast."

"To the stars," Theredin bellowed, raising his large silver flagon high. 

Zenaria echoed his words and gripping her drinking bowl with both hands quaffed a mouthful of the heady Hawk Tribe beer.  She was working on her fifth bowl and was thankful that she had been raised on the much stronger spirits her people distilled from potatoes.  Out of the corner of her eye she kept watch on Shalandra.  Her sister was already showing signs of heavy drinking and Zenaria had no wish for her to disgrace herself by emptying her stomach in front of the King and his court.

Not that anyone would probably notice.  A number of the Hawk Tribe warriors, both male and female had already succumbed to the numerous bowls of beer they had consumed.  For most of them the drinking had started well before the actual feast had begun, and by the time the first large platters of meat had hit the tables they were well on their way to inebriation.  Zenaria had modeled her drinking on that of Theredin, and had drunk only when he did.  As a result she was relatively sober, "relatively" being the key word.  She could definitely feel the effects of the beer and had to constantly hold herself in check to stop herself from breaking into one of her tribe's bawdy and bloody battle hymns.

"To the planets," Theredin sang.  He had a powerful voice and an endless number of things he felt worth toasting.  Zenaria doubted that he would run out before the beer did.  She drank along with him, and then noticing that the King was occupied in an arm wrestling competition with Nordag, who she had discovered was the King's cousin, she took the opportunity to excuse herself and make a break for the privies. 

She took Shalandra with her, grabbing her sister under the arm and dragging her away from the attentions of several young warriors who had drawn her into a drinking contest.  "Wash you do that for?" Shalandra slurred.  "I wash enjoying myshelf."

"Just keeping your hymen intact for a few moments longer," Zenaria said.  "If you are going to give up your maidenhead you will enjoy it more if you can remember who did it."

"His name wash..."  Shalandra finished by mumbling something incoherently as Zenaria directed her toward the latrines.  She had made sure of their location prior to joining the feast, previous experience having shown her that some things were best planned in advance. 

The privies were strategically located over a section of the surrounding ditch into which a stream had been diverted.  It served as a natural sewer although it was nothing like the impressive system for dealing with human waste that she had seen in the desert city of Uhra Don.

A screen of woven willow withes provided some privacy as Zenaria and Shalandra did what they had to.  They had company; a number of other female warriors were also emptying their bladders and on the other side of the partition their male counterparts were doing the same.  Zenaria decided that this might be a good time to retire from the festivities; however, she was not sure that she could do so without insulting the King.

She stepped from behind the screen, partly supporting a Shalandra who was suddenly having trouble walking.  "Shumting wrong wif my legsh," Shalandra slurred.  "I don't feel well." 

Zenaria managed to get Shalandra back into the privies just before she released everything she had eaten and drunk in the last few hours.  Not surprisingly the girl could barely stand and Zenaria rather unceremoniously scooped her up and tossed her over her shoulder.  "Bedtime for you, little sister," Zenaria muttered.  King Theredin would just have to do without them.

She stepped out from behind the screen and almost ran into Guntig.  The shaman nodded approvingly.  "It is well that you are here to watch over your sister," he commented.  "She has much promise, but must first learn some self-control.  If the King notices your absence I will explain it to him."

Zenaria nodded her gratitude.  "I thank you Holy One.  Your kindness is much appreciated."

Guntig waved his hand.  "Think nothing of it.  Your sister is not destined to serve as common warrior's bedmate.  She has a greater destiny waiting for her."

Hefting her unconscious sister, Zenaria carried her away from the revelry of the feast and into the royal residence.  She took a quick glance toward the feasting area and saw that Theredin was now engaged in some sort of contest involving the lifting of several female warriors at the same time.  She somehow doubted that either she or Shalandra would be missed.  Reaching their assigned room she plunked Shalandra onto the bed.  Her sister moaned once in protest and then immediately resumed her unconscious state.  Zenaria removed Shalandra's finery and then pulled a blanket over the sleeping girl.  Then she removed her own clothing and snuggled up beside her. 

Morning came far too early.  "What an ungodly time for sunrise," Zenaria moaned.  Her fur-covered tongue felt double normal size, and there was an exceedingly unpleasant rhythmic pounding between her ears.  She squinted in the early morning night, and sat up woozily.  From beside her came a low groan. 

"By the Moon and Sun, what did I do to deserve this?" Shalandra whimpered. 

"I think it had something to do with the dozen or so bowls of beer you gulped down last night," Zenaria replied. 

"Was it that many?  I didn't realize," Shalandra winced as she rolled out of bed.  She held her head.  "Ooh, I shouldn't have done that.  I need something to make me feel better."

"Well you're the healer.  Dig into your medicine bag and see what you can come up with."  Zenaria rubbed her arms.  She felt greasy all over, but didn't feel like a bath was the solution.  "I need a swim.  And we passed a river on the way here.  I'm going to see if I can borrow a horse."

She dressed hurriedly, not bothering with her armour and headed down the stairs into the main hall.  There she found King Theredin engaged in wolfing down several large slices of ham along with half a dozen eggs.  "Princesses," he said cheerfully, getting to his feet.  "I see you are finally up.  Would you care for a little breakfast?"

Zenaria noted that the King was washing down his meal with a flagon of beer.  Her stomach gurgled.  Behind her she could hear Shalandra gulping and breathing heavily.  "No thank you, Theredin," Zenaria responded.  "What I am really looking forward to is a morning swim.  I wondered if my sister and I might borrow a couple of horses and ride to the river."

"Most certainly, Princess.  I will have Storvic select two mounts for you."  The King motioned a young warrior sitting next to him who immediately got to his feet.  He upended his bowl of beer and then wiping his mouth on the back of his hand strode from the hall, Zenaria and Shalandra following.

"I've never been on a horse before," Shalandra whispered as they neared the stables. 

"Neither have I," Zenaria replied, "but I've been on a camel.  After that riding a horse should present no challenge."

It wasn't quite as easy as she had hoped, but she was right about it being easier than getting on a camel.  And it helped that Shalandra used her shaman's gifts to calm the two steeds Storvic had selected for them.  However, the up and down motion of her mount soon had Shalandra wondering about the wisdom of riding to the river.

"Wouldn't it be easier if we just walked?" Shalandra quavered. 

"We are princesses and represent our tribe," Zenaria replied.  "It would not be proper to walk.  Not after seeing that members of the Hawk Tribe ride."

"Some members of the Hawk Tribe fly too," Shalandra grumbled.  "But I don't see you suggesting that we grow feathers."

"I do what is possible," Zenaria replied haughtily.  She urged her horse forward, hoping that she did not end up falling off and spoiling her display of horsemanship.  Fortunately, she managed to hold her seat.  It would have been embarrassing to fall off in front of the other Hawk Tribe warriors that rode with them. 

Several women and girls, hearing of Zenaria's plan had decided to accompany them.  They formed an honour guard of sort and Zenaria noted that there was not a male among them. 

"Women and men are not permitted to bathe together," one of the women, a tall redhead called Wingard, explained.  "It is felt that it might lead to unseemly acts."

"Yes," Zenaria agreed.  "I can understand that."  She had certainly observed a number of unseemly acts during the feasting.  Apparently Hawk Tribe modesty did not go beyond the act of bathing. 

Reaching the river they dismounted, and tethering their mounts in a grassy area where they could graze, the women stripped off their clothing.  Zenaria was first in, splashing into the slow current up to her breasts and then striking out toward the middle of the river. 

The water was cold, but nothing compared to the rushing mountain streams of her homeland.  More importantly it washed away the effects of the heavy drinking and the stickiness from her skin.  Shalandra too was revived by the cold water bath.  "By the Moon," she gasped, "I needed that.  I felt as if ants were crawling beneath my skin."  She rolled lazily over on her back and let the current carry her slowly downstream.  Suddenly her eyes widened.  "Zenaria," she said slowly.  "There is a very large hawk circling over us."

"I know," Zenaria said.  "It's been there since we stripped.  Is it anyone we know?"

"The shaman," Shalandra replied.  "Guntig of the North Wind."

"Perhaps we should give him a show," Zenaria said.  She swam toward the shore with slow but powerful strokes of her arms, and reaching shallow water stood up and headed toward the bank, water streaming off her powerful and exquisite body.  She heard Shalandra giggle and turned her head to see her sister following. 

The summer months had been more than fruitful for Shelandra.  She had grown at least three inches and now topped six feet, but more importantly she had grown in other areas as well and now displayed a full womanly figure, and although her breasts were still small by Erogenian standards, they were beautifully rounded with upturned rose pink nipples.  With water beading on her fair skin she was a sight to behold as she stepped to the bank and Zenaria was not the least surprised when the soaring hawk seemed to stumble in mid flight and then fluttered to the upper branches of one of the larger trees bordering the river. 

"We seem to have made an impression," Zenaria said.  "Let's dress and ride back to the palace.  I think I can eat now."

They rode back accompanied by their female entourage.  Not surprisingly Theredin was no longer at the table, but there was still some food available.  Zenaria and Shalandra grabbed themselves wooden bowls of oatmeal porridge and drizzling a little honey over the mixture, spooned it down.  

Their breakfast finished they wondered what was to come next.  Fortunately Theredin showed up and solved that problem for them.  "I'm going out on a boar hunt and thought you and Shalandra might like to join me."

Zenaria suspected there was more behind the invitation than just sport.  Theredin wanted to test the mettle of his two visitors.  After all, neither Zenaria nor Shalandra had shown any special properties other that Jaree's impressive presence and Zenaria's ability to drink large amounts of alcohol.  If they wanted the king to respond favourably to the idea of establishing relations with a tribe he had only vague knowledge of they would have to prove themselves.

"We accept," Zenaria said. 

"Do we have to ride?" Shalandra asked. 

"If you prefer you could hunt on foot," Theredin smiled.  "But since the boars run almost as fast as a horse I doubt that you will have much success.  I will ready your gear."

The "gear" turned out to be a long spear with a thick shaft and wide blade.  Apparently the idea was to run the boar down on horseback and somehow skewer it on the spear.  Theredin's nonchalant description of the event hid its real difficult; especially in the case of two novices who were far from expert horsewomen.  However, Zenaria was now committed as was her sister, although the latter's caustic comments left little doubt as to how she felt about it.

"The next time you volunteer to go charging through the forest on one of those beasts ask me first before including me in your plans."  Shalandra grumbled. 

The beasts in question were saddled and waiting for them.  Theredin mounted with the practiced ease of a man who had spent much of his life on horseback.  Zenaria did her best to emulate him and then watched her sister scramble uncertainly onto the saddle.  Several other Hawk Warriors rode with them, divided equally between men and women.  They rode into the forest, the thick trees closing around them.  Theredin stayed close to Zenaria, but the others spread out. 

"I'm after a particular old boar," Theredin said.  "He's been leading raids into our gardens and being generally destructive.  I've been after him for more than a year, but he keeps eluding me.  However, he and his harem have been spotted rooting for acorns a league away.  This time I intend to catch him."

It seemed a bit coincidental to Zenaria that this particular boar was the target of the hunt, but she said nothing, keeping close to Shalandra, and watching to make sure her sister was having no trouble with her horse. 

Shalandra seemed a little more confident, having mastered a few of the basics of horsemanship, although she still had a tendency to clutch at her saddle.  Zenaria remembered her first experience on a camel and sympathized.  Although far from an experienced horsewoman, she felt confident she could keep up with Theredin provided he didn't ride too hard.  And that was the case for the first half league; until one of the scouts caught sight of the boars.  A shout from the lead riders sent Theredin and everyone around him into a gallop; everyone that is, except Zenaria and Shalandra. 

Zenaria tried, digging her heels into the flanks of her horse as she had seen the others do, but she made the mistake of looking over her shoulder to check on her sister.  Shalandra was coming through the trees at a trot, bouncing up and down, and trying desperately not to fall off.  Her attempts were not helped by the fact that one hand waved her boar spear in the air while the other clung to the front of her saddle.  She also had managed to lose one of her stirrups and was kicking frantically with her loose leg, trying to find it. 

Zenaria shouted instructions to Shalandra just as a low hanging branch caught her just below her breasts, knocking the wind out of her and sweeping her neatly out of the saddle.  For what seemed like an eternity she hung suspended, doubled over the branch; then her not inconsiderable weight and gravity took over. 

She hit the ground with a thump, landing solidly on her buttocks, her boar spear flying from her hand.  Behind her, Shalandra's horse reared, in an attempt to avoid her, and there was a sharp cry as Shalandra too was flung from the saddle. 

Shalandra, having had time to react, was the first to get to her feet.  She hobbled toward Zenaria, limping slightly and rubbing her backside, an expression of concern on her face.  "Zen, are you alright?" she asked as she went to her knees by Zenaria's side.

Zenaria smiled as best as she was able while trying to get her lungs to work.  "I'm alright," she puffed, "but I think we've lost our rides."  She watched in annoyance as both horses disappeared into the forest.  Rubbing her derriere Zenaria got to her feet. 
So far using the boar hunt to further her diplomatic objectives had been a complete bust.  Far from proving the value of the Snow Leopard Tribe as an ally it would probably appear to Theredin that he was dealing with complete fools.  It was hardy the thing that alliances were made of.

Chuff!

 

The sound came from the side and Jaree stepped out of the thick undergrowth.  She rubbed up against Zenaria, purring loudly, the weight of her body pushing her to the side.  Zenaria wrapped her arms around the big cat's neck and pushed her face into thick fur.  "I wish things were as simple as my relationship with you," she muttered. 

She got to her feet, and stared into the forest the way the horses had gone.  Perhaps the situation could still be saved.  If they followed the horses they might be able to catch up with the wayward steeds.  By now Theredin was well into the hunt.  He probably hadn't even noticed that the two Snow Leopard Tribe warriors were not keeping up with him or if he had he likely didn't care.  If they could get back on their horses they might still be able to join the hunt before it was too late.  However, Jaree would have to go.  She couldn't very chase after the horses with the huge cat trailing along.  The scent of the big cat would send any animal flying.  Zenaria sent out a mental image suggesting Jaree hunt.  The big cat sent back a series of images – blood, flesh, satiation, and finally sleep.  Zenaria sent out a mental nod.  Jaree had already made her kill and was ready for her usual day-long nap.  The snow leopard moved off to one side and slunk into the undergrowth.

"Come on," Zenaria said, moving in the direction she had last seen the horses, "let's see if we can salvage this situation."  Shalandra followed.  She didn't even grumble, knowing the importance of the mission, but she ruefully rubbed her left buttock as she set out. 

They moved as quickly as they could among the huge trees, listening for the sounds of the hunt and looking for the horses.  Zenaria was not used to hunting in this sort of setting, although her first adventure had given her a sense of the vast forests of central Erogenia.  She felt closed in by the massive trees and thick undergrowth.  There were simply too many places for the hunted and the hunting to hide, and normally she would have proceeded cautiously.  Caution, however, would not allow her to catch up to the hunt and so she hurried through the forest, looking left and right on the chance she might catch sight of the horses.

She never did find them.  What she did catch sight of was a monstrous black shape that burst squealing out of the thick underbrush.  Zenaria caught a bewildering vision of evil red eyes, eight-inch tusks, massive bristle-covered shoulders, and slashing black hooves.  It was far too close to use her cumbersome boar spear or draw her sword.  There was nothing she could do except attempt the first rule she had ever been given by the mother the queen when she had trained Zenaria in melee combat.  "Get out of the way!"

It was too late to dart left or right.  Zenaria flexed her powerful legs and vaulted backward, attempting to lift herself clear of the charging boar and away from the frightening tusks.  She partly succeeded; the head of the boar passed beneath her, but the massive shoulders caught her heels and spun her like a pinwheel.  It could have been fatal.  The huge boar wheeled on a dime and came right back at her, moving almost impossibly fast.  But Zenaria was equally quick.  Somehow she twisted in the air and came down on her feet while at the same time drawing her sword.  She landed on her toes, swinging the heavy blade even as she touched the ground.  The edge caught the boar between the shoulders.  It was a killing stroke, but to her surprise it barely penetrated the boar's thick hide.  It squealed in pain and rage and kept on coming, its yellow tusks aimed to rip her open.  Her weight pitched forward in what should have been a killing blow, Zenaria could not avoid the boar and she twisted her body in an attempt to keep from being ripped open.  And then there was a flash of fire followed by a crack like that of a gigantic whip and the boar was blown ten feet sideways.

Half deafened and completely stunned, Zenaria stared in amazement at the smoking corpse of the huge boar.  The sweet smell of cooked pork filled the air.  "What in the name of the Moon?" she gasped.  And then her eyes found her sister. 

Shalandra was staring also, but not at the boar or Zenaria, but at her hands, each of which was surrounded by a glowing blue nimbus.  Her mouth open in wonder and surprise, she slowly turned toward Zenaria, the blue aura around her hands dimming and then dying out.  "What did I do?" she quavered.

"Shalandra," Zenaria breathed, "you have come into your power.  You are now a true shaman."  She stepped up to her sister and clasped her hands.  "I must say your timing was perfect."

A foolish grin swept over Shalandra's face and then slowly faded.  "But I don't even know what I did," she moaned. 

"Perhaps Guntig can help you," Zenaria suggested.  "He seemed very interested in you." 

"Perhaps," Shalandra answered doubtfully.  At that moment the sound of hoofbeats interrupted and Theredin rode onto the scene followed by the rest of the hunting party.  He took in the scene at once.  "I see," he grinned, "that you have not only killed the boar but roasted it as well.  I think this calls for another feast."

Chapter 4:  The Triumph of Diplomacy

Zenaria kept her eyes on Shalandra during the first part of the feast, but she noted that her sister was sitting with Guntig and Nordag, and felt that she was safe enough.  As the shaman's apprentice Nordag had already mastered many of the skills Shalandra would have to learn, although shape-shifting was probably beyond her.  It was just possible, however, that her sister might be able to master even this ability.  Guntig had commented that he had never encountered so powerful a gift in one so young before.  The lightning strike she had used against the giant boar had greatly impressed the Hawk Tribe shaman and he had promised to help her perfect a few of her fledgling talents.  In any case Shalandra seemed to be drinking in moderation, probably having learned her lesson the first time.  If nothing else, Shalandra was almost doggedly level-headed, a characteristic that suited her well in developing her arcane talents.

Not surprisingly, pork was the main item on the menu.  Theredin and the other hunters had brought down four other boars, albeit not in quite as sensational a fashion as Shalandra.  They were roasted whole over heaps of glowing coals along with a number of other meat dishes, including poultry and other wild game.  There were also fruits and vegetables as well.  The abundance of food was impressive and attested to the wealth of the Hawk Tribe, especially when compared to Zenaria's tribe.  It would definitely make a valuable ally and trading partner.  However, Zenaria was not sure that she was there yet.  How well she and Shalandra had impressed Theredin remained a mystery.  In spite of the success of the boar hunt she was not quite sure that blasting a wild boar into oblivion with a bolt of lighting qualified as a display of her tribe's warrior prowess, and this impression was proved a few minutes later.

Between cups of beer, Theredin turned to her, idly twisting the amber armlet she had given him.  "Is there much of this in your land?" he asked. 

"A great deal," Zenaria replied, "but not much of it is mined at present as there is no established trade route between my tribe and the outside world."

"Tell me of your land," Theredin said, downing another cup of beer.

Zenaria told him and Theredin listened patiently, interrupting only to ask the occasional question in order to clarify certain points.  When she finished he drank again.  "It seems he said, "that where you live is beautiful, but it is also a cruel land.  It is hard to imagine a place where snow lies on the ground for six months."

"It is hard," Zenaria agreed, "but it breeds strong warriors."

"I would like to test that," Theredin said.  He moved smoothly to his feet, and stood looking down at her.  His meaning was unmistakable.

"Now?" Zenaria asked, in disbelief.  "It's almost midnight." 

"I'll have the fire built up.  It should provide us with more than enough light.  And in any case a true warrior should be able to fight under any conditions."

Zenaria saw that he was quite serious and that she was not going to get out of it.  "Alright, what are the rules?"

"Rules?" Theredin asked. 

"Yes, rules.  Or is it a fight to the death that you want?"

"Hmm, yes," he agreed.  "That might not go down well with your sister, and I believe that Guntig has developed an attachment to her."

"Attachment?"

Zenaria looked to where Shalandra had been sitting and noticed that the place was empty.  In addition Guntig of the North Wind was nowhere to be seen.  Right now, however was not the time for Zenaria to go off looking for her sister.  Besides, the fact that the shaman was with her probably meant that she was safe.

"Practice blades?" Theredin suggested.  "That way we probably won't kill each other."

Zenaria agreed to that cheerful suggestion.  Practice blades had the shape and approximate weight of a sword, but being made of wood instead of steel could inflict painful bruises but were unlikely to cause death. 

At Theredin's command several wooden swords were produced.  They were constructed of a variety of hardwoods and were of different weights and lengths to simulate real weapons.  Zenaria made her choice, selecting a blade of maple that approximated the length and weight of her own sword.  It was not a perfect match, but Snow Leopard warriors were trained in a variety of weapons due to the awareness of the fact that in actual battle they might have to make do with what was at hand.  Theredin made his choice as well, selecting a longer blade than Zenaria, but one that also probably matched his own sword.

Their preparations finished, Theredin moved to the centre of the village where most of its population had gathered.  The few that were not there were those who remained on guard, protecting the village against any possible attacks.  Wood had been heaped onto a fire that was already burning in a large pit in and a combat area ten paces across had been marked out in the dirt.  It was a typical Erogenian combat arena and one with which Zenaria was familiar.  The combatants were expected to stay within the marked boundaries.  A combatant who stepped outside the bounds would be considered to have forfeited the match, but could move anywhere inside the large circle. 

Theredin stopped on the far side of the circle and stripped off his harness and feather cape, handing them both to one of his warriors, and then he turned to face Zenaria.  She looked at him.  In the flickering light of the fire she could not help admitting the strength and power of the young king.  His bronzed muscles gleamed in the firelight and he seemed more like some demigod than a man.  As he loosened up Zenaria could not help admiring his broad shoulders, deep chest, and hard flat belly.  She licked her lips and then forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand.  She wouldn't last long if she could not stop thinking of what Theredin might be like in bed. 

Copying him, she removed her own harness and then her doeskin jerkin.  She was left dressed only in her doeskin breeches and deerskin boots and the twin bands of silk that crisscrossed her breasts and provided firm support when she engaged in hard physical activity.  The sheer material was one of the few luxury items Zenaria had brought back with her during her adventure in the desert kingdom of Sandak. 

It was light, strong, soft, and the envy of every female warrior in the Snow Leopard Tribe.  Almost skin tight, it allowed her breasts to be fully displayed while at the same time keeping them under control.  Theredin's eyes were immediately drawn to them as Zenaria knew they would.  It never hurt to have a little advantage during combat.

"Three touches," Theredin said as Zenaria moved toward the centre of the ring.  It was the traditional way to determine a winner.  The first combatant to score three times against the other was declared the winner.  That being said, knocking an opponent unconscious with a blunted blade was also considered proof of victory. 

Zenaria nodded her agreement, her pulse racing as she faced Theredin.  She had to force herself to remain calm in spite of the fact that she had fought in the ring too many times to remember, but she had never faced an opponent as magnificent as Theredin; nor one who exuded his sexual magnetism.  She raised her sword and waited for the signal.

Theredin grinned across at her, fully confident.  "Perhaps we could make this a bit more interesting.  What do you say we place a wager on the outcome?">

"What do you have in mind?" Zenaria asked. 

"Anything you like, princess, unless you are afraid of the risk."

"Afraid?"  That was a bad word to use around Zenaria and she answered without thinking.  "Let us hold the contest and let the winner take whatever she desires."

"You mean whatever he desires, don't you?" Theredin replied, catching the obvious suggestion. 

"We'll see if it is he or she," Zenaria replied coolly.  "Now if you are finished talking, perhaps we can begin."

One of the warriors shouted and the combat was on.  Theredin attacked straight away, obviously confident of his ability, but Zenaria was prepared for him.  It helped that she had heard other members of the tribe mention that Theredin had never been beaten in combat before and she knew that he would probably come straight at her.  "Know your opponent," was a lesson she had learned the hard way when Tren, her first lover and the father of her daughter, had taken advantage of her fighting style and defeated her for the first time in her life.  As a result Theredin's attack found only empty air as Zenaria retreated smartly, avoiding the heavy blade that he wielded as lightly as a toothpick. 

Mistaking Zenaria's caution for fear Theredin moved aggressively forward, swinging his sword in a great arc.  Had she been where the blade passed it would have given her a painful bruise at the very least, but with a lithe twist of her body, she darted out of the way, caught Theredin's blade with her own, slid down the length of his sword and jabbed its blunted point into his chest just below his sternum. 

A touch!  Theredin leaped back too late, a look of chagrin briefly crossing his face.  He knew as did all who watched that if Zenaria had been using a real sword he would have been spitted like a hog.  He immediately composed himself and waited.  By the rules of the combat ring he had to wait until the judge, in this case Wingard, proclaimed the hit.

The tall red-headed warrior raised her hand and pointed to Zenaria.  "A hit for the Snow Leopard princess," she proclaimed. 

Then the combat resumed, and Theredin once again moved forward.  This time, however, he did not lunge in without caution, but instead stalked his prey, his steely blue eyes fixed on his target.  Zenaria moved to the side, keeping her taller, more powerful opponent turning in circles.  Theredin's first movements had told her that he was very quick, but perhaps just a shade slower that she was.  She needed to avoid getting into a contest of strength with him and use her speed to advantage. 

She lured him in, allowing herself to be forced back until she was almost at the edge of the ring drawn in the dirt.  By taking a cautious approach she wanted Theredin to once again underestimate her, and it seemed to work.  Suddenly changing her tactics she lunged forward, engaging Theredin's blade with her own and then ducking under it and delivering a wicked cut at his legs. 

Theredin leaped, Zenaria's sword cutting the air beneath him, while at the same time cutting down with his own blade, but Zenaria had anticipated both his evasive maneuver and his counterattack.  She rolled beneath him and twisted her body, bringing up her powerful legs just as Theredin descended.  Her legs tangled in his, and scissoring her legs she dropped him to the ground.  Scrambling to her feet, she was on him before he could recover, her sword chopping down and striking his right arm just above the elbow.  The blow was delivered with a considerable amount of force and Theredin's sword fell from his numbed fingers.

This time the Hawk Tribe king could not hide his shame and anger, but it was not directed at Zenaria, but rather at himself.  "Well played, princess," Theredin said, rubbing his bruised bicep and getting slowly to his feet.  No one needed Wingard to pronounce that he had been hit a second time.  One more and the contest belonged to Zenaria. 

Picking up his sword, Theredin assumed a defensive stance.  Zenaria was surprised that he could even move his arm, considering the force with which she had delivered her blow.  Zenaria moved in for the kill.  Theredin was painfully injured.  Any attempt to move his arm would result in considerable pain; it was the perfect time to attack.

She swept in; her sword held in a double grip and was caught completely off-guard.  Instead of defending Theredin attacked, deflecting Zenaria's blade with his own and then using his greater body weight to full advantage.  He crashed into her, his massive shoulder slamming into her chest.  The impact lifted her off her feet and dropped her onto her backside in the dirt.  Theredin's sword followed immediately after, cracking across her shoulder with numbing force.  Zenaria's sword fell from nerveless fingers and then agonizing pain swept through her shoulder.  For an instant she thought the blow might have broken her shoulder, but she bit back her cry of pain and struggled to her feet.  As in her two strikes against Theredin there was no need for Wingard to declare a hit, but the tall woman warrior carried out her role and did anyway.  Zenaria realized that she had been guilty of the same sin as Theredin.  He had badly underestimated her and she had done the same with him.  Supposing that he could not recover from the blow she had dealt him, she had exposed herself to his attack and played his game, allowing his greater size and strength to overwhelm her.

Picking up her sword she got slowly to her feet and prepared to defend herself.  She found to her chagrin that her fingers would not close over the hilt and she was forced to switch to her left hand.  It gave Theredin a decided advantage and he quickly pressed forward.

Zenaria fought entirely on the defensive.  Fortunately her training included using weapons with both hands, but she was unquestionably better with her right and Theredin forced her back without mercy, using his speed and agility to force her close to the edge of the ring.  This time there was no escape; his sword batted hers aside and he pressed the blunted point against her belly with enough force to double her over.  Two all.

Zenaria slowly straightened, the sound of Wingard's voice ringing in her ears.  She had been given another lesson in overconfidence; one that was proving painful and embarrassing.  She had squandered a two-nothing lead against a partially disabled opponent.  She was beginning to wonder if she would ever learn.

Theredin moved against her again, but with the score tied, he took no chances.  Slowly he circled Zenaria herding her toward the edge of the circle, intent on running her out of room to maneuver and repeating the attack that had won him his second point.  There wasn't much that Zenaria could do about it.  She simply was not skilled enough with her left hand to ward off Theredin's attack without constantly retreating, but there was one thing she could do and it was her last chance to win.  As she approached the edge of the ring she moved to her left attempting to avoid being pushed into a position from which she could not escape.  Confidently, Theredin moved with her, shifting to his right to cut her off.  He made no error, Zenaria's sword could not reach him, but then she made her move.  Suddenly reversing, she exposed her body to his attack.  If her gamble did not work she would be an easy target.  As she moved she shifted her sword from her left hand to her supposedly disabled right.  Her shoulder still throbbed in pain, but she could now feel her fingers, and she jabbed her arm toward Theredin's unprotected ribs.  The point of the blade struck home eliciting a painful grunt from the Hawk Tribe king. 

He stepped back as Wingard announced the winning hit, and regarded Zenaria with a rueful expression.   "Well, princess, you have won.  Now name your prize." 

Zenaria slowly brought her breathing under control.  Her efforts to avoid Theredin's powerful attack had pushed her close to her limit.  She looked toward the tall, powerfully built figure of the king.  The firelight glinted off his sweat-streaked body, outlining every muscle of his chest, shoulders, and arms.  She looked into his eyes and spoke a single word.  "You."

Theredin looked startled and then a slow grin spread across his handsome features.  "I see you are a woman who knows what she wants," he said.  He held out his hands as if offering them for binding, but his attitude was certainly not one of slave to master.

"I do not want you that way," Zenaria replied, as she tossed aside her sword.  "But I think you know how I do."  She walked toward him, closing the short distance between them in three strides.  Clasping her hands behind his neck she pulled his head down and touched her lips to his. 

Theredin's lips melded with hers, returning the kiss at first without passion, but then with growing ardour.  Around them the voices of the watching members of the Hawk Tribe rose in volume as they offered both advice and catcalls.

Panting slightly, Theredin broke the kiss.  "I think somewhere more private," he suggested.  Stooping he placed one arm behind her knees and the other across her back, lifting her from her feet.  It was an act that Zenaria would not normally have allowed most men to perform, but somehow the action seemed entirely appropriate coming from the Hawk Tribe king.

"Watch out princess," some wag called, as Theredin carries her through the crowd, "he's got a horse's pizzle between his legs.  If he can't beat you in the ring he'll beat you in the royal bedroom."

There were other equally witty comments, but Theredin ignored them, carrying Zenaria toward the meeting house and then under the great hawk and into the central meeting room.  Even with a woman in his arms, however, Theredin paid his respects to the marble totem, setting Zenaria on her feet and going to his knees before proceeding.  As before, Zenaria knelt as well and then rose when Theredin did.  He did not pick her up again, but instead took her hand and let her through the darkened interior of the building. 

In spite of the fact that it was completely dark, Theredin seemed to have no trouble finding his way and as they proceeded up the stairs to the royal quarters, Zenaria felt her senses tingle.  By the time Theredin threw open the door to the royal quarters, she was breathing more quickly and a feeling of warmth flooded her loins. 

Theredin struck a light and Zenaria saw that she was in a room not much larger than the one she and Shalandra had been assigned.  It contained a bed; a small table on top of which was a bottle of ink and earthen jar holding several goose quills; and a large wooden chest; and two wooden stools.  It seemed little enough for a king, but Zenaria was reminded that her mother the queen occupied a room that was similarly furnished.  What struck her though, was the fact that Theredin must be able to read and write, a skill that she had only barely mastered, even though Shalandra was quite literate.  The thought of her sister reminded her that she had not noticed Shalandra in the crowd before, during, or after the combat.  Surely she should have been there.  Her thoughts on that matter, however, vanished when Theredin turned to her.

Abruptly Zenaria's usual boldness deserted her.  Now that she was alone with the king she felt almost innocent.  Theredin seemed to fill the room and he loomed over her, so close that she could smell the drying sweat on his skin.  She was far from a timid virgin, but as he stood gazing at her, his chest slowly rising and falling, her legs almost buckled, and shivers of anticipation ran down her spine.  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came and then Theredin stepped toward her taking both her hands in his and drawing her toward him.

Their lips met again and the king's hands slid up Zenaria's arms, the touch of his fingers sending electric shocks through her.  Her hands settled on his hips, sensing the power in his loins.  The sensation was almost too much.  She had an overwhelming urge to open herself to him and beg him to take her right there, but she waited while he kissed her again, his hands now in the small of her back, drawing her close.  Her fingers swept over him caressing the powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders. 

The kiss deepened, their tongues exploring one another's mouths while Theredin's hands began to move to other parts of her body, stroking her back, arms, and shoulders.  She winced as his fingers touched the massive bruise on her right shoulder, but said nothing.  However, her reaction did not go unnoticed.  "I shall have to have Guntig look at that.  Does it hurt a great deal?" 

"It's nothing," Zenaria lied, ashamed that she had shown any pain.  In truth, her shoulder throbbed agonizingly, but she would not admit that to Theredin.

"I shall try to be more gentle," he replied.  Softly he ran his lips along her shoulder as if that would make her injury better.  Zenaria moved into him, pushing her breasts against his chest.  He bent his head, kissing her collarbone and then going lower, moving downward until he was moving his mouth along the upper curve of her breasts. 

Zenaria forgot all about the pain in her shoulder.  She found the metal clasp holding the silken bindings in place and tugged it free, allowing the material to float to the floor.  Arching her back slightly, she offered herself to him, moaning softly as his lips found her tender nipples.  As his teeth closed lightly over her right nipple she curved her body into him, her hands slipping into the waistband of his deerskin trousers and down over his thighs and buttocks.  She felt his muscles tense and then ripple as he moved.  "Such power," she thought.  To have that between her thighs...

She arched even farther back, allowing him full access to her body, and he swept her from her feet and carried her panting to the bed.  He kissed her nipples again, taking each one into his mouth and sucking slowly, his tongue swirling about each taut rosebud.  Her body quivering with anticipation, her fingers released the ties closing his trousers and found his manhood.  She gasped as she realized that his size had only been slightly exaggerated, her already heavy breathing quickening until she was almost panting.  Hurriedly she helped him as he removed her boots and slid her trousers down her long legs. 

She waited, her breasts rising and falling, while Theredin took the few seconds to remove his own boots and trousers, and then he was beside her, his powerful body pressed against hers.  Their bodies touched, skin to skin and their lips met again.  They kissed softly, holding themselves back and then the kiss deepened until both lovers were breathless.  Breaking the kiss, Theredin began to explore her body with his mouth and tongue.  She could barely contain herself, her legs parting in invitation as he took her beyond her already aroused state.  She licked the sweat from his shoulders and as he bit lightly down on her left nipple, she sank teeth into his right shoulder.  "Ah, you vixen," Theredin whispered.  "I shall have to tame you."

"I'm not so easy to tame," she replied.  Her hands slid behind his neck and she pulled him to her, tasting the salt on his nipples while he nuzzled her ears, biting the lobes gently before moving to her lips again.  Slowly they worked their way into a state of heightened arousal.  For one so young, Theredin was a skilled lover, but then he had supposedly had lots of practice.  Wingard had told her that Theredin had bedded his first women at the age of twelve, and he certainly showed it.  Even so he was not quite so skilled as Tren, but his raw animal power, more than compensated.  Zenaria had never touched a man so powerful.  He moved with the silken grace of a leopard and Zenaria could not help being reminded of Jaree, as their bodies entwined. 

The tip of his heavy phallus brushed against her thigh.  The sensation was electric.  Unable to contain herself her fingers closed around his manhood.  Theredin groaned and then moved between her parted thighs as she guided him into her.  The sensation as his manhood entered her was indescribable.  His strength and muscled hardness filled her with desire and she heaved her body against his, rising to meet him as he penetrated her.  Theredin grunted and Zenaria gasped as she felt something impossibly large moving inside her.  There was sensation of pain mixed with pleasure and then the pleasure won out like a dam giving way as Theredin began to move his body rhythmically against hers. 

She matched his movements with her own, moving in unison to the sweet language of love.  She had never made love to anyone with Theredin's size and strength.  His power thrilled her in ways that her previous lovers had not.  More skilled than Cron, but not nearly as creative as Tren, he was a blend of her previous two lovers, possessing Tren's gentle touch and Cron's barbarian enthusiasm. 

Lost in the sensual cadence of lovemaking, Zenaria and Theredin were oblivious to the passage of time.  They were aware only of the intertwining of their sweating flesh and the grunts and moans of pleasure as their mutual passion slowly increased.  Slowly Zenaria felt her passion mount until her entire body was throbbing with erotic desire.  And then she shuddered as her loins convulsed, a scream bursting from her lips as carnal passion swept over her.  A few seconds later Therein cried out as he too reached his sexual peak and released into her. 

For minutes they lay too exhausted to anything more than hold one another.  Zenaria felt as if she had just spent several hours running up a mountain.  But after a few minutes she managed to find her voice.  "That was wonderful," she gasped.  I have never experienced such power."

"And I have never met a woman who was able to last so long," Theredin panted.  "Most are spent within a few minutes.  I gave you all I could and you took everything."

Zenaria was well aware that she had taken everything.  Her loins throbbed and she knew that in the morning she would probably be very sore, but she did not regret a single second of their lovemaking, and she proved it by having Theredin do it again a couple of hours later.  This time both lovers held their emotions in check, making love in a slower and more controlled fashion, drawing it out for as long as possible.  Finally, sexually satiated, they held on to one another and slept.

Zenaria awoke before dawn, and slipped out of the bed.  Theredin murmured something in his sleep as she left, but did not wake, a not surprising event considering his nightly exertions.  Moving silently she made her way to the privies.  As she had expected her loins burned with every step and she knew it would be a day or so before she was back to normal.  But it was a pleasant discomfort and one she would willingly have endured again given the chance.  More painful was the ache in her shoulder.  The flesh was discoloured by an ugly bruise and she would have to have Shalandra look at it.  

Her morning functions attended to she debated going back to Theredin's bed.  It was more than tempting, but there was something else she wanted to determine first.  Where was Shalandra?  She had a nagging suspicion, but there was only one way to find it out.   She entered the meeting house and made her way to the small room that they had been assigned.  As she had guessed the room was empty, but she had an idea as to where to look next.

Next to the meeting house was a smaller building.  It was modest in appearance, but the carvings on the lintel and door posts left no doubt about who lived there.  Respectfully, Zenaria decided not to enter.  Instead she folded her legs and sat a few feet outside the door and waited.  Time passed, but Zenaria did not move, using the moments to meditate quietly.  Somewhere a cock crowed, signaling the advent of dawn and a short while later the door to Guntig's house opened and Shalandra stepped out. 

Her sister's eyes spotted Zenaria at once.  She said nothing, but her silly grin told Zenaria everything.  In a single smooth motion Zenaria got to her feet, ignoring the pain in her loins.  More than anything she would have loved to soak in a hot bath, but first there was Shalandra.  "Sister," she said, embracing her.  "Now you are truly a woman."

Shalandra returned the embrace.  "It was truly wonderful," she said.  "Guntig was very patient and gentle."

Zenaria nodded; not at all surprised that Shalandra had gone to the shaman for her first sexual experience.  Although probably three times Shalandra's age, the shaman exuded unmistakable power and in Snow Leopard society men and women were not judged on their age, but on their abilities.  Liaisons between older members of society and younger less experienced men and women were not uncommon, especially when the older member was possessed of Guntig's arcane talents. 

"I am glad for you," Zenaria said, remembering her good fortune in having an experienced lover for her first time. 

"There is something else," Shalandra said, toeing the ground with her foot.  It was very uncharacteristic of her and Zenaria sensed that something was wrong.

"Guntig has promised to help me develop my powers," Shalandra continued, "but it means that I will not be able to accompany you on the rest of your journey.  I would have to stay here for at least a year."

Zenaria suspected that there was something else as well and could easily guess what it was.  She was proven right a few heartbeats later when Guntig emerged through the doorway.  Shalandra immediately took his hand and stepped as close as she could to the Hawk Tribe shaman. 

"Of course you must stay," Zenaria said.  She would greatly miss her sister, but Shalandra's life was destined to be different from Zenaria's and she could not stand in her way.  She went to her sister and kissed her on the cheek.  About that time Theredin suddenly showed up.  The king smiled when he saw Zenaria and then looked quizzically at the little gathering. 

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked. 

"Just a parting of ways," Guntig answered.  "Princess Shalandra has consented to remain here and develop her mystical talents under my tutelage."

"It is well that you have made that choice, princess.  You will be a welcome addition to the Hawk Tribe."

Zenaria hid her disappointment at losing her sister by changing the subject, to a topic that would appeal to both her and her sister.  "I would like a hot bath.  Would it be possible to have water brought to our quarters?">

"I can offer you something better than that," Theredin said.  "A half hour's ride from the village there is a hot spring.  I think you will find it better than any bath, provided you are up to the ride."

Having been ridden heavily herself, Zenaria was not exactly in the mood to have a horse between her legs, but she did not want to show weakness and the thought of being able to immerse all of her body in hot water was incredibly tempting.  She looked at Shalandra who nodded her agreement; no doubt realizing that if she was to stay with the Hawk Tribe, learning to ride was not going to be an option.

It took just a short time for Theredin to arrange horses for them.  There were four, with Theredin acting as the guide and Guntig coming along with his new ward.  They rode out slowly, partly due to the fact that no one was in much of a hurry and also due to the knowledge that Shalandra would likely fall off her horse if they went much faster. 

Zenaria was glad of the slower pace.  She wasn't sure in the area between her legs would tolerate much more pounding and by the time they reached the hot spring she was more than glad to dismount. 

They hot spring was actually several springs feeding into a small stream.  Large boulders had been laid across it to dam up the water into a deeper pool, the water flowing over the edge and continuing its journey.  Theredin immediately dismounted, and stripping off his clothes, plunged into the pool.  Zenaria followed as quickly as she was able, her movements hampered by her stiffness.  Bathing nude in mixed company was not unusual in Snow Leopard society, so she had no reservations about appearing unclothed in front of Guntig, and as for Theredin, she could hardly play the shy virgin in front of the man who had touched almost every part of her nude body. 

She entered near the shallowest part of the pool and found the water almost scalding hot and she quickly waded to deeper water where she found the temperature more moderate.  Lowering herself into the water she let out a long sigh as the soothing heat caressed her body.  Shalandra joined her, letting out a groan of pleasure as the water lapped her waist.  By this time Guntig had stripped and was entering the pool, and Zenaria guessed from the look of his anatomy that her sister was probably almost as sore as she was. 

Easing herself in, Zenaria let the water come up to her neck and then sat on the bottom and enjoyed the bath.  After a few moments Theredin came over and sat with her, as did Shalandra and Guntig.  For a number of heartbeats Theredin said nothing, but then he spoke.

"You may consider your mission successful, princess.  I will agree to a trade compact with the Snow Leopard Tribe and will send a trade delegation immediately.  From what you tell me any delay and the passes will be closed by ice and snow.  As for the military alliance that is more difficult, although I have no objections.  However, there is a complicating factor and that is I can make no alliance that goes against the federation of tribes created by Queen Ipola of the Moon Tribe.  To do so would be to break my word to her and would be regarded as a declaration of war."

"I understand," Zenaria said.  She had heard from other members of Theredin's tribe of Queen Ipola, the beautiful and powerful queen of the Moon Tribe, who had through force and diplomacy managed to unite the various tribal factions of Erogenia.  She had realized soon after arriving in the stockade of the Hawk Tribe that she should probably have sought out Ipola first, however, there was no way to do that without traveling through the lands of the Hawk Tribe and so she had made Ipola her next diplomatic mission.  In the meantime, she had accomplished about as much as she could among the Hawk Tribe. 

She said nothing further on the topic, not wishing to spoil the rest of the bath, but she knew that in a few days she would have to leave, in spite of her desire to spend as much time in Theredin's bed as possible.  However, she could not just rush off; it would be an insult to Erogenian hospitality. 

Theredin sensed her mood and moved closer to her.  "Do not worry, princess.  We will make good use of your remaining time and I will give you a token of safe passage to carry to Ipola to show that you have my support."

Zenaria acknowledged his comment by finding his hand under water.  They remained that way until certain portions of Zenaria's skin began to resemble dried apples. 

As she pulled on her clothes Zenaria had a thought.  She held out her lion spider necklace to Theredin.  "Give this to the one you send to the land of the snow leopard.  It will be recognized by anyone who sees it and they will know that I have sent you.  I will have Shalandra compose a message as well."

Theredin nodded.  "It would not go down well if my emissary was to be treated as an enemy."

Zenaria smiled her agreement, but the threat Theredin alluded to was very real.  The Snow Leopard Tribe had been isolated for so long that its members were inclined to treat almost every stranger as a potential enemy, often striking first and asking questions later. 

The bath over, they returned to the village and Zenaria spent the rest of the day with Shalandra making arrangements as to what items of trade would be useful between her tribe and Theredin's.  That night she and Theredin made love again as they did the next two nights.  And then it was time to leave. 

As she climbed on the horse Theredin had given her as a gift, Zenaria wished that she had not drunk quite so much or made love quite so vigorously the night before.  Theredin had insisted on giving a final feast before sending her off but the lovemaking was a mutual idea.  It meant that she had gotten very little sleep, and getting up before dawn to prepare for her departure did not improve matters, however, many members of the Hawk Tribe were there to see her off as were Theredin, Guntig, and of course Shalandra.

She said farewell to her sister last, kissing her on the cheek and then turned quickly away and mounting her horse so that no one would see her tears.  Shalandra was not fooled, nor very likely was anyone else, but Zenaria did not turn back.  She kicked her horse into motion and headed out through the gates of the stockade, wondering what adventures awaited her.  >

Chapter 5:  Trouble on the River

Zenaria kept her pace slow, partly to spare the horse and partly to spare her backside.  In spite of the fact that she had proclaimed her riding ability to Shalandra she was far from a proficient rider as her buttocks and thighs soon told her.  By mid-morning she was quite happy to use the excuse of sparing the horse on a steep hill to get off and walk. 

The journey to the lands of the Moon Tribe and Queen Ipola would take her straight south, and through the lands of three other tribes, that of the Fox, Bear, and Bull Tribes.  However, she didn't plan on travelling the entire distance by horse or foot.  A day's ride or walk would take her to a small port on the River Fuln.  The Hawk Tribe used it as a place to transfer their shipments of finished metals to river barges.  From there the barges traveled to the aforementioned tribes and to the river ports of Normos, Fuln, Dell, and even as far as distant Gost.  After that no one in the Hawk Tribe seemed to know where their exports went.  In spite of the fact that the three closest towns were in lands controlled by Erogenian tribes, most of the trading was carried out by Kivalian merchants, who tended to be rather closemouthed about their trading connections. 

The thought of encountering Kivalians had her thinking about them.  She had met a few of them before and had not been particularly impressed.  After her adventures in Sandak the Kivalian border village of Singleton had seemed crude and rather dull, even though it was much bigger than her native stockade.  She understood that Kivalia boasted much larger settlements and was looking forward to seeing them, but was for another time.  First she had to find her way to the various tribes she had learned of.  Her expedition was becoming more and more extended and delaying her eventual return to Sandak.  However, she wasn't about to give up a chance to see Tren again.  If nothing else he deserved to know that he now had a daughter.

Musing on this subject at length brought Zenaria to the banks of the Fuln and a small landing around which were arranged a cluster of crude buildings.  She was still in Hawk Tribe territory, so the men working on the dock and in charge of most of the buildings were Hawk warriors.  The fact that most of them were engaged in menial tasks did not conceal their obvious fighting ability, nor did it surprise her.  The men and women of her tribe were formidable warriors, but they also had to deal with daily realities such as finding food and mending the roofs of their dwellings.  They gave Zenaria an appraising look as she rode up.

Zenaria recognized a few of them.  Some she had met in the Hawk Tribe stockade, but others were strangers.  None, however, were unfriendly, and there was no reason for them to be when presented with a woman with Zenaria's physical attributes.  Sadly for them Zenaria did not intend to stay long enough for the men to become better acquainted with her.  She went directly to the one of the barge owners and began negotiations.

"I wish to journey downstream," she began, "and take my horse with me."

The barge owner was the opposite of any Hawk Warrior she had ever seen and it did not surprise Zenaria to discover that he was Kivalian.  Barely up to her breasts, he was heavyset and swarthy and clad in a sweat-stained shirt and baggy trousers.  He looked her over almost insultingly before answering.  "You I wouldn't mind takin', but the horse will cost you.  Horses don't usually take well to water and the cost of feed eats into profits." 

Zenaria felt her temperature rising.  She was used to men looking at her body, as a matter of fact most of the time she glorified in it, but the way the loutish bargekeeper looked her over made her skin crawl.  She had seen much the same look when she had been dragged in chains through the streets of the Sandak city of Uhra Don.  Almost unthinking her hand moved upward toward the hilt of her sword. 

The bargeman caught the motion and hurriedly stepped back.  "Course I'm willin' to give you a good price if you don't mind yer horse travelin' with the goats and pay me for my trouble."

Zenaria let her hand drop, but not her intimidating glower.  She needed the Kivalian in order to ease her journey.  Travel by water would be much faster and more comfortable than spending a week on horseback and her thighs and backside needed a break from several days in the saddle.  However, she was not about to let the Kivalian get away with overcharging her, and made that clear immediately.  "I'll pay the going rate and nothing more," she said.  "I'll take the road rather than throw my silver in your direction."

The fact that she had no idea what to going rate was she kept to herself, knowing that almost certainly whatever demand the bargeman made would be about double what was fair. 

"A piece of silver for you and two fer the horse, and I ain't takin' less," the bargeman growled, conscious of the fact that the members of the Hawk tribe who were loading ingots of copper onto his barge were taking in the confrontation. 

Zenaria opened her mouth to reply and then shut it.  Why should she lower herself to bargaining with this surly fool?  Anyway she suddenly had an idea.  Her mouth twitched up with just the barest hint of a smile.  "Alright.  But my cat travels free."

"Yer cat?" The bargeman asked, craning his neck to see around her.  Not seeing anything resembling a cat he frowned.  "Sure.  Bring yer cat.  Maybe it will kill a few of the rats I've got on board."

"Perhaps it might," Zenaria grinned, taking three silver pieces from her small leather purse, and dropping them into the filthy palm of the bargeman. 

The bargeman grinned knowingly at the other men, his smile clearly declaring what he thought of the stupid female barbarian he had just cheated.  But his grin turned to an expression of horror just a few seconds later. 

Zenaria put her fingers to her lips and whistled.  She could just as easily have summoned the great cat through mental contact, but she thought the gesture a bit more dramatic.  There were several seconds of silence, and then the rustle of undergrowth as the snow leopard pushed it aside told of Jaree's arrival. 

"Holy mother," the bargeman sputtered.  He took several steps backward and there was a sudden strong odour emanating from his vicinity. 

"Perhaps you might consider stabling yourself with my horse," Zenaria suggested.  Around her the watching Hawkmen guffawed, although all of them kept a way eye on Jaree as she rubbed up against Zenaria's thigh. 

Recovering slightly the bargeman sputtered a protest.  "You can't bring that thing on board, it'll eat the goats."

"You have my silver," Zenaria replied.  "Jaree travels with me." 

"She has you, Barlenan" one of the warriors roared.  "I bear witness that you took her coin." 

The look of a trapped animal swept over the features of the bargeman, followed almost immediately by one of intense hatred.  Zenaria realized that she had made an enemy, but was not the least concerned that the Kivalian riverman would be able to do anything about it.  In any case, Barlenan was clearly too frightened of the huge snow leopard to prevent her from boarding, and without waiting she led her horse up the ramp and onto the deck of the barge much to the delight and noisy enthusiasm of the watch Hawk Tribe warriors. 

Much to Barlenan's further anger and dismay, after securing her horse among the goats and making sure that it had ample food and water, Zenaria invited Jaree to stay with her in the section of the barge reserved for passengers.  Not surprisingly no one else boarded the barge for the trip south and the frustrated barge owner was forced to cast off from the landing without his usual human cargo.

The trip south occurred in strained silence other than the occasional angry muttering of the barge captain, however, Zenaria felt little sympathy for Barlenan's discomfort.  The riverman's arrogant behaviour had gotten him what he deserved.  She was a princess of the Snow Leopard and would tolerate no insult to her person or tribe.  His own vanity and stupidity had allowed her to humiliate him and turn circumstances to her advantage.  She sat back and enjoyed the journey.

There wasn't really much to river travel.  The current did most of the work and the Fuln ran fast and deep.  All that Barlenan and his crew of five had to do was watch for snags and logs and keep the barge in midstream.   In fact there was so little to do that the bargemen spent most of the day passing around a bottle of strong liquor, which usually had them close to falling overboard by the end of the day.  It was an activity she stayed well away from.  Instead she spent most of the day near the bow watching the country slip by.  At the end of each day the barge tied up at one or the other of the banks and supper was prepared ashore.  It gave Zenaria a chance to stretch her legs and practice her martial skills including her archery.  It also gave Jaree a chance to hunt.  The big cat spent most of the day curled up on the deck of the barge doing what cats did best.  But she became wide awake as soon as the barge got close to shore.

Each time the giant leopard moved off into the darkness Zenaria experienced a little anxiety.  Jaree had never stayed with her this long before and she expected the cat to head off by herself every time she left to hunt, especially as it was more than clear that the leopard did not like the heat of the lowlands.  However, each morning the cat returned, much to Barlenan's continued disgust.  "Cursed animal," he growled.  "I'll be more than glad when yer off my boat."

Two days into the journey the barge tied up at a small settlement, known by the unimaginative name of Treestump.  As usual, Zenaria and Jaree were the focus of much attention, although most of it was rendered from a respectful distance.  As usual Jaree disappeared into the surrounding forest, leaving Zenaria alone for the night, but she was not particularly concerned.  The locals were quite friendly, almost too friendly, several of the men showing more than just pleasant interest in her.  Zenaria knew what they wanted and was careful to offer no encouragement.  She wasn't too concerned, however, with the big cat close by she was fairly safe.  And there was always her sword if any became too insistent.  For most men, one look at her six-foot-four-inch frame and the sword strapped to her back was enough to get most of them to keep their distance. 

She wasn't sure what business drove Barlenan to stop at the isolated river outpost, there seemed very little there other than a few bales of hides.  However, neither he nor any of his men made any attempt to load them.  Instead he and his crew spent most of their time in the shack that passed as the local tavern, knocking back poor quality ale.  Finally, sometime after the late summer sunset he and his men emerged from the tavern and staggered toward the barge. 

From her place on the riverbank, Zenaria watched them, having awoken from her usual light sleep.  She never slept on the barge, being more comfortable finding a place where she could be sure none of the crew would sneak up on her.  She didn't trust Barlenan even half the distance she could throw him and wanted to make sure that the ale hadn't put it into his heads to shove off in the middle of the night and leave her without her horse and gear.  A few minutes later, however, the sound of snoring men told her that it was safe to sleep until dawn.

She awoke a second time to the sound of activity down by the river.  For some reason some of the men Barlenan had been drinking with were shoving off before daylight in a small boat apparently confident that they could find their way on the river even in the dark, or perhaps still too drunk to know any better.  Deciding she might as well get up, she stowed away her blanket and headed down to the barge.  Coincidently, Jaree showed up and she boarded the barge and waited for sunup.    

Not too surprisingly Barlenan and his men were late that morning, not arising until the sun was well above the trees.  Complaining loudly about their pounding heads they cast off while Zenaria watched.  By this time she was having second thoughts about traveling by water.  Although it was easier than riding and spared her horse and backside, she tired of having to keep her eyes on Barlenan and his crew, but she decided to stick with it another day or so.  She could cover more distance in a day simply due to the fact that the barge never stopped moving during the daylight hours, and the route it took was not much more crooked than the roads. 

She had purchased some fruit and roast beef at the small market in the river village and ate as the barge cast off.  After checking to see if her horse was watered and had feed she took up her position in the bow.  From there she enjoyed watching the banks of the river sweep toward her as the barge moved downstream.  Today they were making particularly good time as they had a following wind and were able to raise the sail.  She knew from talking to the crew that another three or four days remained before they reached the lands of the Fox Tribe, but perhaps it might be sooner if the wind kept up.

Up ahead, something was happening.  The river was dividing into two channels as it passed to either side of a large island.  "Island of the Fox," the young boy volunteered.  Alone among the crew members he had offered a little friendship when Barlenan did not have him hurrying about the barge on one chore or another.  "We'll pass to the west.  It is the deeper channel," the boy continued. 

Zenaria smiled.  "Thanks, Harald, it is nice to have a guide."

The boy blushed in pleasure.  Zenaria gathered that he was somewhat smitten, although even by her standards he was a bit young.  But it never hurt to have an ally. 

As Harald had predicted the barge was steered into the channel to the right of the island.  Here the river narrowed a little giving Zenaria a perfect view of the thickly forest land to either side.  The west was especially rugged with broken stone coming right down to the water.  The island side was gentler, but the banks were still higher than on the early part of the voyage and so thickly forested as to appear almost impenetrable.  Always wary of ambush Zenaria watched the banks closely, however, there appeared to be no immediate threat and Jaree remained docile. 

Zenaria watched as the barge followed the curve of the river around a bend, noting that the rocky banks to the west suddenly diminished to a wide spit that thrust out into the river.  To Zenaria's surprise the barge seemed to be heading toward it.  Then she noticed something that aroused her suspicions.  Pulled up on the spit was a small boat.  Almost certainly it was the same one the men who had left in the middle of the night had taken.  Her eyes swept the heavily forest riverbank, but she could see no sign of them.  Nevertheless, she warily eyed the crew of the barge.  Something was not right, but she could not detect it in the crew members who were scrambling to bring the barge into a gentle mooring by the spit. 

Jaree too seemed disturbed.  The great cat was leaning forward, the fur on her body raised as if expecting an encounter.  Zenaria drew her sword and waited, her body tense and ready for the unexpected.  The barge thumped against the shore and Jaree was gone in one magnificent leap.  A flood of feline images poured into her mind.  Jaree was off after something, but what Zenaria didn't know.  She could only determine that the leopard was highly excited, a situation that might lead to the huge cat rushing into something she should not be meddling with. 

She sent out a mental command almost at the same time that Jaree let out a feline scream of rage.  Never had Zenaria heard the cat make a noise exactly like that.  It sent chills down her spine even as she ran toward the sound of the leopard's shrieks and growls.  Casting aside caution she burst through the trees and found herself in a small clearing.  In it were two of the men she had seen Barlenan speaking to at Treestump.  But her eyes were drawn to what the two men were standing beside. 

From the bottom of a pit came the growls and screams of the angry snow leopard.  For an instant Zenaria wondered why Jaree didn't simply leap out and then she saw the reason.  The pit had been dug so that it was wider at the bottom than at the top.  As the enraged leopard attempted to leap out she struck the inward sloping sides and fell back.  Only by jumping straight up would it have been possible for Jaree to grab hold of the edge and the few times the cat attempted that the earth crumbled and she fell back into the hole.  The leopard was also hampered by the fact that the screen of branches that had covered the pit had fallen into the pit, creating a tangle of broken branches that impeded her movement.  Eventually the leopard would have worked her way out, but the two men standing by the pit were dragging a heavy net toward the opening.  In a few seconds all chance of escape would be gone. 

Zenaria had no idea what the men had used to lure Jaree into their trap, but it had obviously been effective.  However, figuring out how Jaree had been trapped was the last thing on her mind at the moment.  Swinging her sword she charged across the clearing, screaming her war cry.  She managed just a dozen strides before the net engulfed her. 

The heavily weighted net drove her to her knees and completely entangled her arms and sword.  Unthinkingly Zenaria fought to escape and simply made matters worse, enmeshing herself so completely that she could hardly move.  Finally realizing what she had done, she dropped her sword and tried to pull her knife from its sheath.  If she could just reach it she might be able to cut her way free.  But she was already too late.

"Well, not so high and mighty now are you?"  Barlenan's mocking voice sounded from behind her.  Zenaria was so hopelessly tangled in the net that she could not even move her head to look at him.  But she was not about to give up.  Her fingers found the hilt of her knife and she drew it free.  However, her captors were not about to let her escape.  Several hands grabbed hold of the net and twisted it so that she was turned onto her back and tightly wrapped in its folds.  Through the mesh she could see Barlenan and the other members of the barge's crew leering down at her.  A few seconds later they were joined by some more of the men she had seen the barge captain talking to at the village.

Zenaria cursed herself for a fool.  She had run blindly into the trap without even thinking about what she was doing.  By now she should have been smarter.  Hadn't she blundered into similar ambushes before?  She was caught and completely at the mercy of her captors.  They could do whatever they wanted to her and memories of being in similar situations before sent a flicker of fear through her. 

"Tie her wrists and ankles," Barlenan ordered.  "And then get her out of the net.  I'm going to have a little fun with the barbarian bitch."

Zenaria had no doubt that Barlenan's words were intended to frighten her.  If so, they failed.  Instead they simply made her angrier at her rashness and stupidity.  However, she was helpless to prevent the men who had captured her from reaching through the spaces between the mesh and grabbing hold of her arms.

Zenaria thrashed wildly as her captors attempted to pull her wrists together so that they could be bound.  Several times she pulled her arms free, until finally the men gave up trying to force her wrists together and settled for tying each one separately.  Then, with two men on each of the ropes they took up the strain and in spite of her struggles slowly pulled her arms out to the side.  At the same time one of the men straddled her, pinning her to the ground, while another looped a rope about her ankles and drew her legs together. 

Now almost helpless, Zenaria's struggles weakened as the strength ebbed from her body.  Her arms were pulled over her head and her wrists bound at last.  Only then did her captors begin to untangle her from the net. 

Barlenan stood over her, his legs wide.  "Thought you could sneer at me with that cat to back you up.  But now I've got you and yer pet and you're both going to fetch me a good price.  The Kivalians find wild animals interesting entertainment and as for you I think there will be a good market for your charms in Sandak.  But first me and my boys are going to have a little fun trying you out."

Zenaria's only reply was an angry growl.  She was almost more enraged at herself that she was at Barlenan and his henchmen, but only just.  Even as they tossed a rope over the overhead branch of a tree and tightened the rope lifting her slowly upwards, she gripped the ropes, bent her body and slammed her feet into the chest of the man closest to her. 

The blow had a result even Zenaria had not expected, launching the startled man over the pit and onto the net that had now been strung across it.  Intended to keep Jaree from jumping out, it held for a few seconds and then broke free, dropping the man Zenaria had kicked into the bottom of the pit.  There was a terrible scream, followed by a roar and a crunching of bone and then silence.

"Barbarian bitch!  She killed Varn," one of the assembled men shouted.  His shout was followed by others in an angry babble as the men raged at her.

Barlenan, who was standing just a couple of yards away, took two quick steps and then drove his fist into her vulnerable belly. 

"Ahh!"  The barge captain stepped back, rubbing his wrist.  Zenaria had tightened her abdominal muscles and the effect was like punching a wall.  "Barbarian whore, you'll regret that."

Zenaria spat her contempt, but made no answer.  Barlenan's blow had hurt even if he had gotten the worst of it.  The barge master was powerfully built and if he had hit her higher he might have broken a rib. 

"Turn her and make sure she can't move," Barlenan growled.  "I'm going to teach her a few manners."  He stripped off his jerkin and picked up one of the lengths of rope that his men had brought with them.  Doubling it up, he tied a heavy knot in one end and then called for Harald.  "Soak this in the river," he ordered.  "Make sure it's good and wet."

Harald scampered toward the riverbank.  Zenaria doubted that the boy really wanted to do what Barlenan ordered, but she also knew he really had little choice.  A few seconds later she lost sight of him as the men holding her turned her away so that Barlenan could approach her in safety. 

Unable to see what the barge captain was doing Zenaria listened as he moved toward her.    "Let's see how you deal with this," he murmured just behind her right shoulder.  Even standing on tiptoe his face would only have been level with her shoulder and Zenaria was stretched out full length with all of her weight on her wrists.  Zenaria could hear him moving behind her and then she felt his fingers grab the neck of her doeskin vest.  There was the touch of cold metal to the skin of her neck and then a ripping sound as Barlenan slashed her vest from neck to waist.

Cool air brushed her naked back and then there was the sound of footsteps as Harald returned.  There was a swishing sound as Barlenan tested his makeshift whip.  "Much better.  This should make a mark," the barge captain grunted. 

Zenaria braced herself for the first blow.  As a warrior her instincts called for her to fight back, but she was at the mercy of her brutal captors.  The terrible helplessness of his situation added to her fear and anger.  And then her self-recrimination was banished from her mind as the bargemaster struck with the whip. 

Zenaria thought she was ready for the first blow, but the pain as the knotted rope struck her back was shockingly painful.  It was not as excruciating as several of the wounds she had received during her life, but it came close.  The heavy knot bit into her flesh like a fist and the coarse fibres of the rope ripped away her skin.  Gritting her teeth against the pain, Zenaria waited for the next blow. 

The fact that she had not cried out angered Barlenan.  He put all of his strength into the next series of blows, striking her so hard that her breath was almost driven from her body.  It was all she could do not to scream as he struck her again and again.  Her eyes glazed with pain and she was sure that several of her ribs had been broken.  Finally, panting from the effort, he threw down the whip.  "The barbarian whore must be made  of wood," he gasped.  "But I'll get a sound out of her."

Zenaria bit back an agonized cry as she was lowered to the ground.  In spite of her stoicism the savage flogging had left her barely able to stand, and although her ankles were untied, she had to be dragged across the clearing.  Her vision blurred with pain, she saw that she was being hauled toward a large log and guessed immediately what Barlenan intended.  She fought against every step she was forced to take, but there was a man holding each of her arms and she was forced up to the log and then bent face down over it.  The man holding the rope that bound her wrists pulled it tight, stretching her over the log while two other men held on to her legs. 

Desperately Zenaria tried to break away from her captors, but the severe beating had taken almost everything out of her.  A lesser woman would not have remained conscious to hear the catcalls and insults of her captors as they crowded around her. 

Barlenan moved between her legs.  "You'll make some noise after this, bitch.  I promise you that."  His fingers released her belt and while she fought weakly to escape, he jerked down her leather trousers.  Sheer terror almost overwhelmed her as she faced the brutal reality that she was going to be raped and probably more than once.  All of Barlenan's hirelings crowded around her, so close that she could smell the stink of their bodies. 

"May the Moon give me strength," she muttered and then Barlenan's hands gripped her hips and she felt his loins moving toward hers. 

"Hold!  Release the fair maiden!"

The command rang out over the vulgar comments of her assailants.  To Zenaria it made no sense until it penetrated her terror-strained mind that someone other than the men about to violate her had spoken. 

"Who in the name of all that's holy are you?" Barlenan roared. 

Zenaria felt a momentary slackening of the hands that held her; enough that she could raise her head and peer toward the object of Barlenan's anger.  For a few moments she had to shut her eyes against the blinding glare.  Squinting, she saw that an otherworldly vision had entered the glade.  Vaguely she could make out the outlines of a rider mounted on a gigantic white horse.  Clad in gleaming silver armour he moved slowly toward Zenaria and her astonished captors.    

"I am Sir Varden," the apparition proclaimed, "Holy Knight of the Silver Order, and thy lives are forfeit if the maiden is harmed."

"Too late for that," Zenaria thought.  "For some completely bizarre reason, perhaps something brought on by her injuries, she found the knight's pronouncement oddly amusing. 

She felt the hands holding her let go and the movement of Barlenan's men as they scrambled to lay their hand on their weapons.  By Zenaria's standards they were not well armed, but they had swords and spears and several of them had bows.  But more to the point there were more than a dozen of them against the single knight.

"Kill him," Barlenan ordered, and arrows and spears flew toward the armoured figure. 

There was the rattle of arrow and spearheads against the knight's armour, and then the knight spurred his charger forward.  "For Saint Brenna," he roared and then he was upon Barlenan and his men in a whirlwind of slashing steel, hammering hooves, and flying body parts.

It was all over in just a few heartbeats.  The few men that remained were running for the river or the forest, leaving Zenaria alone with her rescuer.  As he swung from the saddle she staggered to her feet, but she did not turn to meet him, instead she found a sword amongst the bodies.  Stepping toward the trees on the edge of the clearing she swung the borrowed blade, taking down a sapling with a four-inch trunk in a single stroke.

"Fair maiden what..." Sir Varden began and then he saw Zenaria's intent. 

Dragging the trunk of the felled tree she made it to the pit and then pushed it in before collapsing face down by the edge.  It had taken the last of her strength, but the welcoming roar of Jaree as she clawed her way up the trunk made the effort more than worth it.  During her ordeal the leopard, picking up Zenaria's mental images, had screamed in rage.  Leaving her in the pit would have driven the giant cat to the edge of madness. 

"By the saints," the knight exclaimed as the huge leopard bounded free.  He wheeled his horse to face the new threat, but he needn't have worried.  Jaree went immediately to Zenaria and began to lick her wounds. 

"Saint Brenna be praised," Varden said, "the cat succours the fair damsel." 

Jaree's ministrations roused Zenaria, but she was too badly beaten to do more than raise her head.  Her back throbbed agonizingly, the pain seeming to increase with each heartbeat.  Her head swimming, she watched as the knight swung off his horse and wiped his sword on the body of one of the dead bandits before moving toward her.

A loud growl warned him away and he halted, his sword still in his hand.  "Fair maiden," he said.  "I cannot help thee if thy beast will not let me near."

Zenaria stared toward the knight.  The pain of her injuries made it difficult to think straight, as she struggled to keep from fainting.  The knight's features were still covered by his helmet, making it impossible for her to judge him.  But he had saved her life and he was right about her injuries needing tending.  Without proper care she risked infection and death.  She sent out a calming message to Jaree and the leopard responded, sinking back on her haunches, although continuing to watch Sir Varden. 

The knight approached and Zenaria could now see why Barlenan and his men had been so helpless against him.  He was clad from head to foot in beautifully articulated plate armour.  Few weapons would have been capable of piercing such protection and few men would have walked so easily in it.  In spite of its obvious weight Sir Varden moved as if he was wearing almost nothing. 

He knelt beside her and removed his helmet revealing a fall of dark hair bound up with a headband to keep it out of his startling green eyes.  Just now, however, Zenaria was in too much pain to take much interest in the knight's striking features or his rather strange mode of speech.  "Thy captors have cruelly abused thee.  It was fortunately that I was not too late to prevent them from taking thy virtue."

Zenaria didn't have any virtue left to take, but that fact seemed rather inconsequential considering her injuries, nor was she the least concerned about the subject of the knight's next comment.  "In order to help thee, I am forced to look upon thee, but please know that I intend thee no indignity." 

The words confused Zenaria at first until she realized that there was very little left of her clothing.  Barlenan had jerked off her trousers and had shredded her jerkin, leaving her almost nude.  It was not something that bothered Zenaria, but her nakedness seemed a source of serious embarrassment to the knight.  Removing his cloak he covered the lower portion of her body before proceeding to treat her wounds. 

Sir Varden fetched his wineskin from his horse, and ripping up a shirt one of her assailants had worn he soaked it in wine and then proceeded to clean her wounds.  "Your pardon, fair maiden.  This may prove painful," he said before beginning.  Zenaria's body was already throbbing in such agony, however, that the additional sting of the wine hardly registered. 

She lay quietly while he carefully and thoroughly cleaned the clotted blood and filth from her wounds.  It was a painful process, but Zenaria endured it stoically or rather she lay semi-conscious while the knight went about tending to her.  Finally he tossed down the filthy rag and finished by dousing her wounds liberally with the remaining wine.  Then he did some something completely unexpected.

He had removed his armoured gauntlets while tending to her and now he placed his hands upon her shoulders.  "Maiden," he said, "I am about to lay the blessing of the holy Saint Brenna upon thee.  Thou mayest feel some discomfort, but be not afraid."

Zenaria had no idea what the knight was talking about and was in no position to protest in any case.  Barlenan had flogged her close to the edge of oblivion and only her stubborn will and tremendous physical strength had allowed her to remain conscious.  She lay face down, almost naked from the waist up except for the shreds of her costume and tried to control her breathing.  Every breath she took felt like knives were being stuck into her, confirming her belief that the knotted rope had cracked or broken one or more of her ribs. 

"May the blessed Holy Mother help me," Sir Varden murmured.  He pressed his hands, his fingers outstretched on Zenaria's back. 

Zenaria let out a low moan as a sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced ran through her body.  It started as a gentle heat radiating from the knight's fingers; heat that spread through her body from her shoulders to her toes, and then began to increase in temperature until sweat poured from her body and she was almost certain that the remaining skin on her body was about to burst into flames.  Somehow she did not scream.  Perhaps it was because she was already too weak to utter a sound or perhaps it was because her warrior training forbade so shameful an act, but whatever the reason she made no sound other than the initial moan.  But then she did something that she had never done before – she fainted.  

She awoke to the singing of birds.  Overhead her eyes were shielded from the morning sunlight by a screen of leaves.  She was lying on a bed of leaves covered by a blanket and a similar blanket covered her body.  Beneath the blanket she was completely nude, but more importantly she felt not the slightest pain.  Slowly she stirred and found to her chagrin that she was not even able to lift her head.  She was not aware of having made a sound, but she must have because at that moment a large shape loomed before her eyes, and resolved into the knight who had saved her life.

"Worry not fair maid," Sir Varden said, "the blessing I laid upon thee draws from thy body to accomplish the healing process.  What thou needest now is food and rest and in a few days thou will be completely restored."

"What I needeth now," Zenaria replied imitating the knight's mode of speech, "is to empty my bladder.  Can thou helpeth me?"

To her surprise the knight coloured, his complexion performing a very good impression of a beet, however, he did not shy away from her request.  "I will assist thee fair maid, but fear not I shall close my eyes the while."

Zenaria blinked in astonishment as the knight placed his arm behind her back and helped her to her feet all the while keeping his eyes tightly shut.  Unfortunately for his composure she found herself so weak that she had to lean close to him for support, pressing her nakedness against him.  The position required Sir Varden to place his right arm around her, his fingers supporting her just beneath her right breast, a situation he seemed to find acutely embarrassing.  His left hand held her left elbow in order to better support her weight. 

Zenaria found the knight's behaviour very strange.  She knew that some men did not prefer women.  As a matter of fact there were several same-sex relationships among the people of the Snow Leopard.  Such liaisons were not regarded as particularly unusual, just different, and those who were a part of them were not ostracized or treated any differently from other members of the tribe.  However, she had never encountered someone like Sir Varden.  His behaviour seemed to indicate that he was fully aware of her female charms, but he seemed acutely discomfited by their close proximity.

This made crossing the clearing very difficult as Zenaria was forced to lead the way, the knight's eyes being tightly shut.  Not once did she catch him peeking even thought she checked several times.  However, they managed to make the edge of the campsite without mishap even though the knight stumbled once or twice.  Reaching the trees, Zenaria squatted and did what she had to do and then she was helped back to her bed.  One the way back she noticed two things.  One was that there was a pot bubbling on the fire, from which issued a mouth-watering smell, and the other was that there was someone else in the camp.  There were two horses present; the knight's charger and another more modest mount.  She wondered at the whereabouts of the missing rider until after being settled back in her bed, a boy in his mid-teens entered carrying an armload of wood. 

"This is my squire, Derwald, fair maiden.  Forgive my manners, but I have neglected to ask thy name."

Zenaria followed Sir Varden's lead and gave her full title.  "I am Princess Zenaria, daughter of Cirilia and Zennar of the Tribe of the Snow Leopard."  Her pronouncement was not quite as grand as she would have liked to make it.  She could barely raise her voice above a whisper, and lying on her back in the shelter Sir Varden had constructed for her was not particularly inspiring, but the knight went down on his knees in salute.  "Forgive me, princess for not recognizing thy royal lineage, but it was made difficult when those villains dressed thee in animal hides."

Zenaria did not comment.  There seemed little point in informing Sir Varden that the animal hides had been her normal clothing.  She began to wonder a bit about the knight.  Surely he must have seen an Erogenian before somewhere.  Either he was incredibly unobservant or had led a very sheltered life.  At that moment Derwald came forward holding a wooden bowl full of hot stew.  Zenaria was so hungry that she would have eaten anything, but as it turned out the stew was quite good although she had a little trouble eating from her prone position. 

Eating seemed to restore some of her strength and she asked for a second serving, which she was able to eat sitting up.  Sir Varden seemed impressed by her quick recovery.  "Thou art most strong, your highness.  I expected from thy injuries that thou wouldst barely be able to move for days." 

In truth Zenaria was far from back to normal.  In spite of her surprising recovery from the savage beating she was still as weak as a kitten.  However, she was most curious about her rescuer and could not help asking him about himself.  "Sir Varden why do you speak so strangely and why is it that you happened to come across me in so remote an area?"

"I apologize, fair princess.  The knights and squires of my order live in isolation and are taught to revere the old ways.  We live a monastic existence and spend years in prayer and training.  I have spoken to few people outside the order since I began my training fifteen years ago and use the mode of speech demanded by the knights of my order.  As for how I found thee – err you, that is a bit hard to explain.  You see, I saw you during my prayer vigil."

"Prayer vigil?" Zenaria inquired.  The stew seemed to have restored her strength and she was able to prop herself up on one elbow.  Sir Varden quickly looked away when the blanket covering Zenaria slipped a little, revealing rather more of her impressive bosom than was seemly.  Zenaria wondered a bit about the knight's strange behaviour.  Surely he must have seen a nude woman before.  However, she stifled her curiosity and waited for the knight's reply. 

"A  Knight of the Silver Order spends two days in prayer and fasting before receiving his spurs.  During my vigil the altar before which I knelt seemed to disappear and was replaced by a vision of a woman so beautiful that I thought at first I was experiencing a visit from Saint Brenna, the patron saint of my order."  Here the knight paused and looked at Zenaria almost apologetically, careful to keep his eyes on her face.  "I soon realized, however, that I was mistaken when I saw that she was in dire danger; threatened with the loss of her honour and being brutally beaten.  The maiden I saw being so violated was you."

As he finished the knight once again coloured and Zenaria wondered just how realistic his vision had been.  For reasons Zenaria was having trouble understanding the knight seemed troubled by nudity and if his vision had truly shown what Barlenan and his men were doing to her then he would have seen a great deal of her body.  However, there was something about his story she did not understand.

"I understand the vision, but how did you find me?  Surely your order is not located in so remote a part of the world."

"I was guided by Saint Brenna," the knight replied.  "Somehow I knew the way tho' the journey took me a full month."

Zenaria was familiar with visions.  The gift of second sight was well-known among her people, her sister being a prime example of the talent, but she had never heard of a vision so persistent anyone could follow it to a particular destination.  However, her brief conversation with the knight had tired her and she found it impossible to keep her eyes open.  Lying back on her bed of leaves she closed her eyes and slept.

She awoke considerably refreshed, but with her stomach growling.  From the position of the sun shone she guessed that it was about noon and that she had slept about a quarter of the day.  She sat up, finding that her strength seemed to have returned and that she was ravenously hungry.  Almost immediately Sir Varden was at her side.  "Ah, fair maiden.  I feared that thou might sleep this day away as well."

"What do you mean?" Zenaria asked.  "It's barely noon."

"Noon of the following day," the knight replied.  "I feared that the healing process might rob thee of thy strength." 

Sir Varden's mode of speech was beginning to irk her, but Zenaria said nothing.  After all, the knight had saved her life.  The least she could do was put up with his idiosyncrasies.  "I feel much recovered, thank you," she said.  "But very hungry." 

"You are in luck.  The large cat that guarded thee brought a fine buck and left a portion of it for us.  Even now it is roasting on the fire.  The cat has since departed."

Zenaria received the news about Jaree with a smile.  She knew that the leopard had probably not gone far and the big cat's kill was her way of looking after her human companion.  In the meantime the smell of grilled venison had her mouth watering and she gladly received the generous portion the knight order Derwald to bring her.  "Use this to cut the meat," Sir Varden said, handing her a knife.   "It seems a fine blade."

Zenaria noted that the knife she had been given was her own and supposed that her sword and bow were probably close by as well as she had taken them with her when she had jumped from the barge.  Even her immediate hunger came second to the sword and she asked about it immediately.  "Tell me sir knight, did you find a particularly fine sword as well?"   

"I did," the knight replied, looking at her curiously.  Getting to his feet he strode across the campsite and returned with her sword in his hand.  Holding it hilt-first toward her he asked: "Knowest thou the blade?"

"My father's sword and now mine," Zenaria said, taking it from him and laying it by her side. 

"Ah, the knight said.  "A family heirloom."

"Something like that," Zenaria replied, stuffing her mouth full of venison.  She did not speak for the next little while, feeding her empty belly until it bulged.  While she ate she studied her rescuer.  Her initial impression of the knight was that he was tall and powerfully built and even though he had removed his heavy plate armour this turned out to be the case.  He was about her height with dark hair styled so that although it covered his ears it was cut away from his eyes.  It was a style Zenaria did not find attractive, used as she was to the much longer hair of Erogenian males.  He was also clean shaven, a habit that reminded her of her assassin lover, Tren.  Altogether he was quite attractive and she would have been even more taken with him if it had not been for his irritating mode of speech. 

Finally, tossing aside the last bone with a sigh of contentment, she finished her meal and turned to the knight.  "Now," she said.  "Were you able to salvage any clothing?  I wish to dress."  She was still wrapped in the blanket and out of courtesy to her saviour's sensibilities, she kept herself covered, but now she was not about to stay in bed forever. 

"I have these," the knight answered, dumping a pile of men's clothing near her.  "There is nothing fit for a princess as it appears your abductors carried away your clothing when they fled."

Zenaria knew that the few rivermen who had escaped had done no such thing and sorting through the pile she was able to find her trousers and boots.  She selected a jerkin from what remained to replace the one that had been cut from her body and then buckled on her sword and knife.  In order not to unduly alarm the knight and his squire she moved into the shelter of a grove of trees before dropping the blanket.  Nevertheless Sir Varden and Derwald stood with their backs turned while she dressed.  When she emerged from her hiding place the knight looked at her in something approaching astonishment.  "Thou wearest that sword as if thou knew how to use it," he said. 

"You might be very surprised," Zenaria replied, as she picked up her bow and quiver from the pile of weapons the knight and his squire had stockpiled. 

"Thou need not arm thyself, fair maiden," Sir Varden commented.  "I will defend thee from all dangers."

"I appreciate what you have done for me," Zenaria replied.  "But I can look after myself."

"Pardon, fair maiden," the knight said "but that did not appear to be the case when I found thee."

Zenaria bristled at the comment.  She was already angry enough with herself for falling into so obvious a trap and did not wish to be reminded of it.  "Sir Knight," she relied slowly, "I thank you for saving me, but I am a warrior of the Snow Leopard and need no one to act as my bodyguard."

"I see I have offended thee," the knight replied contritely.  "Please forgive me.  I spoke in haste." 

"There is nothing to forgive," Zenaria said.  "I foolishly allowed myself to be taken prisoner and owe you a debt I probably cannot repay." 

"I expect no payment, fair maiden," Sir Varden replied.  "The Knights of the Silver Order exist only to serve."

Zenaria strode across the clearing to the riverbank and stared across the waters.  She had learned from Derwald that several of the men who had abducted her had managed to escape to the river, taking with them the barge and the skiff.  With them had gone the fine horse Theredin had given her and all of her gear and money.  She sighed, realizing that she was fortunate not to have lost a great deal more than just her few possessions, and she still had her bow and sword.  She had managed before with less and could manage again.  However, it galled her that the fine armour she had brought back from her first adventure was gone forever.  Even if she tried she doubted that she would have much luck catching the men who had fled with her goods.  She would just have to do without them. 

She turned to the knight once more.  "I thank you again, but I must complete my mission.  Perhaps someday we will meet again."

"Fair maiden," the knight replied.  "I do not intend to leave thee.  My vision told me to serve thee and serve thee I will."

Zenaria shook her head.  "I prefer to go alone.  I don't need some clanking monster to frighten away the game."   

"Fair maiden," the knight protested, "surely you don't intend to make your way through this trackless wilderness without any supplies or even a horse?"

"I am not a fair maiden," Zenaria replied.  "As a matter of fact I am not any type of maiden, as you would know if you understood anything about Erogenian customs.  Did your holy order not educate you in the ways of the world?"

Sir Varden seemed taken aback, by her outburst, but only for a second.  "I apologize, fair princess.  I had no way of knowing that you were married."

Zenaria sighed.  Placing her hands on her hips she stared at the knight, suddenly realizing that it was going to take her far too long to educate him and it was time she would rather spend on the road.  "Follow if you wish," she said, "but from now on address me as Zenaria."  Without waiting for the knight's reaction she headed off into the forest.  

Chapter 6:  Detours

Zenaria stalked off into the forest, ignoring the fact that she really didn't know where she was going.  She simply felt an urgent need to put space between herself and Sir Varden and his annoying speech mannerisms.  However, she knew that it was more than just the knight's personality she was running away from.  The knight reminded her of her failings as a warrior in allowing herself to be captured, and his belief that her gender excluded her from martial skills was especially galling.  If not for the fact that he had saved her life she would have given him a quick lesson in manners. 

Thirty paces into the forest she stopped.  She had gone just far enough for the forest to hide her from the campsite.  To her left flowed the Fuln.  Even where it narrowed to pass to the west of the island it was a good bowshot across and the water ran deep and fast.  Just possibly she might be able to swim across, but it was doubtful and in any case she would have gained nothing.  She would still have to cross the thickly wooded island to the eastern branch of the Fuln and then cross that stretch of water.  It would be better to continue to follow the river until she reached a place where it could be crossed even if that meant walking for several days along the bank.  Sooner or later she would come to a settlement where a boat could take her across. 

Unfortunately, she had no money to purchase a passage across, and her splendid armour was gone, denying her the chance of making a dramatic entrance to the Fox Tribe.  However, she would just have to do the best she could.  She frowned as she realized that she had so little in the way of resources that she did not even have a blanket to sleep under. 

"Just have to make the best of it," she muttered.  It would not be the first time she had slept out in the open without the luxury of a blanket.  And she still had Jaree.  Snuggling up to the leopard was a solid substitute.

She sent out a mental probe seeking the cat and got a reassuring reply.  The leopard was sleeping, not an unusual state of affairs considering that the leopard usually hunted at night and then preferred to sleep by day.  Zenaria's tendency to travel by day and sleep by night did not sit well with the leopard, but she graciously consented in order to keep her human companion company. 

Zenaria shrugged.  She might as well move on.  The cat would catch up at night.  She preferred to move with the cat close to her, but she could manage without for now.  "Sleep then," she sent.  "I'll see you tonight."  She was answered by a drowsy purr.  Moving her feet once again she continued her course along the river. 

It was a hot day, and she kept to the shade as much as possible.  However, it was not long before she was dripping with sweat and with the proximity of the river she decided that a cool swim might be a good way to break her trek.  She walked on a bit farther and found the ideal spot where a bend in the river created a sheltered backwater.  Quickly she stripped off her clothing and placing them on a large rock, plunged into the water. 

She found herself wishing that Shalandra had come with her.  If she had perhaps she would not have been captured by the rivermen, and she missed having her sister with her.  She had grown used to the younger woman's lively presence during their journey to the Hawk Tribe.  However, she reflected that Shalandra was where she had to be in order to improve her shaman's skills and who better to teach her than a man like Guntig. 

She splashed around in the river for awhile and then swam slowly over to a large rock and pulled herself onto it.  Warmed by the sun, the rock radiated heat, compensating for the cool touch of the air on her wet skin.  She rolled over on her back and watched the water trickle down her body.  And then she froze. 

"What in the name of the Moon?" she gasped.  Her fingers swept over her body touching places she knew well or thought she did.  Her fingers lingered on her left thigh where a Sandak arrow had pieced her flesh.  There should have been a scar there, but it was gone, leaving only smooth, unmarked skin.  She checked her shoulder where she had gained a scar in the arena and then looked for a dozen other scars she had earned during her short life.  They were all gone. 

She flushed in anger.  What had that accursed knight done to her?  She could remember the incredible feeling that swept through her body as he had placed his hands on her and the power of his healing had coursed through her body.  She had lost all of the symbols of honour she had earned during a life spent in combat. 

She had a sudden thought.  No, that would just be too much, but the knight had continually referred to her as a maid.  She slid her hand lower and muttered a vulgar curse she had heard the rivermen use.  "That pious bastard owes me." she muttered.  She plunged back into the water and swam to the shore and began to pull on her clothing. 

As she strapped her sword on she reconsidered.  Much as she would like to give the holier-than-thou knight a good thrashing she realized that it would gain her nothing.  She owed him a debt of honour, not a beating and she doubted that the knight was even aware that by healing her he had taken away not only her injuries, but had restored her virginity as well.  It would not sit well with the cha to attack the man who had saved her life.  And in any case it was not likely that the knight could undo what he had done.  She tossed her quiver over her shoulder and stepped back onto the path she had been following.  She had wasted enough time.  By now the knight might be trying to follow her and she did not trust herself if they met again.  It was best if she got moving.  She stepped briskly forward.

Half a league on she came to a point where a rocky bluff lay across her path.  It offered only a slight obstacle to someone on foot, but she knew that anyone on horseback would have to detour.  "Let's see that knight follow me here," she said as she climbed the rocky slope. 

Reaching the top she found the ground broken and thick with blackberry bushes.  It was a welcome find, but one she needed to approach with caution.  Bears often frequented such spots and she didn't want to surprise one of them.  A quick check, however, assured her that none were present and she busied herself gathering berries.  Her fingers and lips were soon purple with their juice, as she ate one for every two or three she placed in her makeshift bark bucket. 

The act of gathering berries brought memories of her youth when she had engaged in the same task alongside others of her village.  It was as pleasant then as it was now and she didn't hurry as she gorged herself on the ripe fruit.  It was perhaps for that reason that she didn't hear anything until the creature that was stalking her was right on top of her. 

There was a loud roar as the ogre burst out of the patch of berry bushes where it had been snoozing.  Zenaria had seen ogres before, but not one this big.  It stood half again her height and was probably five times her weight.  And in spite of its enormous size it moved faster than a running horse.  She barely had time to draw her sword before it was upon her.  Unfortunately, her sword made little difference.  The ogre swept one huge paw toward her, catching her blade along with her body and picking her up and hurling her thirty feet into a thick patch of blackberry bushes. 

The barbed blackberry vines saved her life.  If she had slammed into one of the trees or rocky outcrops that were spaced about the ridge top she would probably have been killed.  Nevertheless, she could hardly have been considered to have had a soft landing.  The sharp thorns of the berry bushes shredded her clothes, ripped her skin, and tangled her so badly in their vines that she was almost inextricably caught.  Dazed, she struggled to free herself even as the angry ogre stalked toward her. 

She saw that her sword had done some damage.  There was a nasty cut on the ogre's forearm, but hardly enough to do more than annoy the monster.  It crashed through the berry bushes with the ease of a child crossing a grassy meadow.  Helpless, Zenaria saw death standing before her, but strangely, the ogre made no move to finish her off.  Instead it stared down at her, and growled though its tusked mouth. 

Zenaria had never beheld a more terrifying sight.  The ogre was humanoid in shape, and covered in shaggy, reddish brown fur that covered all of its body from shoulders to its toes.  Only on its chest and belly did the thick fur thin a bit to reveal leathery brown skin.  Its head was covered by a shock of stringy red hair that reached to its shoulders.  Through this thick mat erupted two horns that sprouted from its forehead and then curved inward, almost in the shape of a lyre.  Two bloodshot eyes and a wide fang-filled mouth gave the beast a frightening appearance. 

"You hurt Grock," the ogre growled.  "She-bitch stick long knife in Grock.  Grock should crush you."  The ogre paused, raising a fist the size of a large cooking pot and Zenaria prepared for death, but then it lowered its fist and gave what was the ogre equivalent of a smile.  "No," it rumbled.  "Grock have better way for you to die."  Reaching down it plucked her like a doll from the berry patch and grabbing her by the ankles in one huge hand, dangled her in front of it the way a man might raise a fish for others to admire. 

Almost naked, her clothes torn away by the thorns of the blackberry bush, Zenaria hung helplessly.  Escape from so powerful a captor was impossible as she well knew.  She had been captured once before by ogres and they had held her prisoner until she had been sold to Sandak slavers.  Only the fact that she would fetch a better price as a virgin had kept the male ogre from raping her and she suspected that her present captor might have the same thing in mind.  Swinging upside down her eyes were perfectly placed to take in the huge organ that hung between the ogre's legs and she knew if that was her captor's intent she would probably die most horribly. 

Whatever the ogre had planned for her, it seemed that it did not intend to carry it out right away.  Still holding on to her with one hand, Grock gathered up her sword and bow and arrows in the other, and strode off through the trees.  Zenaria remembered from her previous captivity that the ogres had been just as interested in making money by selling her and whatever else she had as in molesting her and that had saved her from the sort of brutal treatment she might have suffered.  She wondered if this ogre was motivated in the same way.  If so, she could be expect to be sold into slavery, but at least she would probably not be harmed.  It was not the most optimistic hope, but as the ogre carried her like a dead squirrel through the forest, it was all she had except for one thing.

"Jaree," she called.  She filled the signal she sent the cat with images of alarm and fear and got an immediate response.  The leopard was on the way, but would it find her in time?

The only way Jaree could intervene was to follow her trail from the camp, and although she had not gone far the each stride of the ogre took her farther and farther away from the snow leopard.  And the ogre moved with incredible speed, pushing through stands of trees and thick brush as if it were so many weeds.  Even Jaree would have trouble matching that pace and the cat would be slowed down a little as it followed the trail.  And then the ogre dashed even that brief hope of salvation. 

The ogre approached what appeared to be a rock wall blocking their path.  With a growl he set Zenaria down and quickly looped a length of rawhide around her ankles, binding her tightly.  Then he moved to a large boulder and with considerable effort heaved the rock aside revealing a dark hole in the side of the cliff.  Zenaria had no time to untie the knots binding her ankles in the brief time it took to move the boulder and the ogre had carefully set down her sword and dagger too far away for her to reach it.  With the rock out of the way he returned to her, picked her up by the feet once again and carried her to the cave.  Then returning to the entrance he dragged the rock back into position.  It appeared to be balanced so that it was easier to roll back than remove and Zenaria's heart sank as she realized that even if Jaree tracked her, the leopard would never be able to move the boulder. 

Zenaria expected it to be completely dark when the rock was rolled into place, but a faint glow in the distance revealed that there was another entrance.  This was confirmed when the ogre picked her up once again and carried her toward the light.  They emerged into another forested region, much like the one where she had been caught and the ogre immediately began to stride down a well-marked trail. 

The upside down position was beginning to make Zenaria dizzy as the blood rushed to her head and she moved her arms in an attempt to keep her blood moving.  Although she thought the ogre might object he seemed oblivious to her, carrying her the way someone might carry a chicken and ignoring her movements. 

Even upside down Zenaria was able to notice a few things as she was carried along.  One of them was the fact that where the ogre was walking was no ordinary forest path.  Clearly at one time there an ancient road had cut through the forest, and not of the sort of road Zenaria had seen so far in Erogenia.  This was constructed of finely cut blocks of stone that were so well fitted that they had resisted the ravages of time.  Only once before had Zenaria seen such finely cut stonework and that was in the Sandak city of Uhra Don, but that city was known as one of the great centres of Sandak commerce.  The stones the ogre was walking upon did not appear to have felt human feet for hundreds of years. 

The mystery deepened a few ogre paces farther along the road when the ruins of once great buildings came into view.  Whomever had built the ancient city had built to last.  In spite of the fact that most of the stonework was being attacked by mosses and lichens and many trees and bushes had taken root among the once great buildings, the shape of the city could still clearly be seen.  Great pillars marched along the road and the ogre passed beneath several huge arches.  Here and there piles of stone marked collapsed walls, but even the shattered ruins could not hide the fact that a magnificent city had once existed in the middle of what was now wilderness. 

Held as she was by the ankles, a great deal of the splendour of the ruins was lost on Zenaria.  She frequently had to raise her head and twist her torso to keep from being thumped against some lump of stone or dragged through a bush.  But that finally came to an end when the ogre entered what was left of a once splendid building. 

What the building had once been used for was difficult to determine and Zenaria did not know enough about architecture to guess.  To her it was simply a very large stone building decorated with elaborate carvings depicting warriors in various heroic acts.  It might have been a temple or part of a palace.  Whatever it had been, the ogre had converted into a comfortable ogre den. 

During her previous time as a captive Zenaria had learned that the brutish creatures were a bit more sophisticated than they looked.  The cave where she had been held captive had been neatly kept and even had fairly sophisticated amenities like a spring that acted as both a source of water and also served to carry away any waste.  Grock, however, appeared quite different from her previous ogre captors.  The centrepiece of his den was a huge iron kettle suspended on chains from the ceiling.  The fact that the firepit he had created beneath it had destroyed an exquisite mosaic was evidently lost on the ogre, especially given the fact that he had used several pieces of what had once been beautiful statues of nude female warriors as stones to encircle the firepit.  What really caught Zenaria's eye however, was the fact that the floor was littered with bones, many of which still had bits of rotting flesh clinging to them. 

Zenaria was used to bad smells.  Snow Leopard settlements were full of them, especially in winter when bathing was difficult if not impossible.  However, even her nose was offended by the filth and offal that was scattered about the large room.  Grock apparently thought of the entire world as being his privy and the stench of urine and ogre excrement was almost overwhelming.  But all this was lost by the frightening discovery that many of the bones scattered about the tiles floor were human in origin.  Zenaria suddenly realized that Grock's main motive in capturing her was probably as food.  

She had plenty of time to think about his intentions as he carried her to a part of the room just a few feet from the large kettle where a length of chain dangled from a pulley suspended from a wooden derrick.  Attached to the end of the chain were two heavy shackles.  Removing the ropes that bound her ankles, he snapped the iron fetters on her ankles and left her hanging head-down six feet from the floor.  To make good and sure that she could not escape he used the rope that he had taken from her ankles to bind her wrists tightly behind her back.  Upside down and helpless, Zenaria could only watch with growing terror as the ogre went about making preparations for supper.

He began by piling brush under the kettle, and then using a flint and steel he kindled a fire and then piled larger pieces of firewood onto the blaze.  From her elevated vantage point Zenaria could see that the cauldron was already filled with water.  Once the fire was burning nicely the ogre moved across the room and picked up a sack.  Returning to the kettle he reached into the sack and tossed in handfuls of onions along with a number of cloves of garlic and some wild cabbage.  Finally he added a small handful of salt and nodded in satisfaction.  "Good," he growled.  "This make good soup once meat is added."

The way he looked at Zenaria left no doubt what the "meat" was going to be, something that was confirmed just a few minutes later.  After tossing a few dozen parsnips into the kettle Grock moved over to where his helpless captive hung from the ceiling.  Reaching out he ran his hands over her body, stopping at her breasts.  "You be a bit tough, but lots of meat here." 

In spite of the mortifying treatment there was nothing Zenaria could do as the ogre stripped off her tattered clothing; everything but her boots.  Then he went to the beam from which she was suspended and turned the support post, moving her directly over the kettle.  Although the water was only just beginning to steam, the heat from the fire was tremendous and Zenaria had to struggle to get her breath in the rising waves of heat. 

"Soon water boil," Grock grinned, barring his fangs, "then you be part of soup."

Almost suffocating in the heat and smoke of the fire, Zenaria strained at her bonds, attempting through sheer strength to snap the ropes that bound her, but although they stretched a little they did not break.  Desperately, she twisted her body putting all of her strength into the effort.  Grock merely looked at her, the equivalent of an ogre leer on his face, clearly enjoying watching his victim squirm.  Zenaria knew that her efforts were hopeless, but she couldn't just let the ogre lower her into the boiling water.  She had to try something, no matter how futile it was. 

She succeeded only in rubbing her wrists raw and working herself into a state of near exhaustion.  By now clouds of steam were boiling up from the kettle and she knew that her time was running out.  She had no idea how long Grock would let her struggle, but knew that no matter how much he enjoyed the spectacle of seeing her struggle eventually he would tire of the sport and lower her into the boiling cauldron. 

It occurred to her very briefly that there might be some way she could bargain with the ogre, but it was a thought instantly dismissed.  She had nothing to bargain with.  The ogre already had what he wanted, which was her as dinner and she doubted very such she could get him to change his mind no matter what she offered.  All she could do was die as bravely as she could and hope that she would not scream as she was lowered into the boiling water. 

"Now you become soup," Grock said.  He placed his hand on a winch holding the chains that suspended Zenaria above the cauldron and began to lower her toward the steaming surface. 

Bubbles of steam exploded from below her, splattering scalding water over her head and shoulders.  Choking from the smoke and exhausted from her struggles, Zenaria could not help but think what a sad end it was for a warrior of the Snow Leopard.  But she would not beg for mercy.  The only sound was her ragged breathing as she struggled to escape.  Her actions became even more frantic as she was slowly lowered toward the bubbling brew.  Although her situation was hopeless she would not give up.  As her thick braid sank into the soup she bent her head toward her toes in one last effort to avoid the inevitable. 

"Grock like you," the ogre grinned, showing his fangs.  "You fight.  Too bad you look so tasty."  He stroked Zenaria's naked buttocks, his fingers fondling the smooth, rounded flesh before once again placing his hand on the winch and lowering her into the kettle, the ratchet of the winch clicking out her doom. 

At the last instant Zenaria held her breath.  She hoped that she would not scream as her body entered the boiling water.  Horrible as her death would be she wanted to die like a warrior. 

"Hold varlet!  Release that fair maid in the name of Saint Brenna!"

Zenaria could hardly believe her ears.  How could Sir Varden have possibly found her when there was still no sign of Jaree?  It was inconceivable that the knight could have tracked her and the leopard not have done so as well.  But no sound was more welcome than the knight's voice or the sight of his gleaming armour as he rode into the room. 

"Who you be?" Grock asked, more surprised than anything else.  He had no reason to be afraid of the knight.  Even mounted on his stallion, his spectacular plumed helmet barely came up to the ogre's head. 

"I am Sir Varden, Knight of the..." Sir Varden began, but the ogre cut him off.

"You be fool to come here.  I cook you in your metal suit over slow fire.  Will be nice to hear you sizzle as grease runs from your flesh."  As he spoke, Grock removed his hand from the winch and moved toward the knight.  He carried no weapon, but as Zenaria had discovered, the ogre was capable of managing very well without one.  He hunched forward, his arms spread wide to prevent the knight from escaping, and moved toward his intended victim.

In a seemingly suicidal attack, the knight spurred his charger forward, the point of his lance aimed squarely at the ogre's chest.  Zenaria, who had experienced first hand just how fast the ogre could move waited for Grock to avoid the attack and was not surprised when the ogre batted aside the lance before it reached him, but she was surprised by what happened next.  Without changing his line of attack Sir Varden drew his sword and drove his warhorse into the ogre.  It was something the ogre had not anticipated, but it was a tactic the charger seemed quite familiar with.  The huge horse struck out with its front hooves catching Grock in the chest with two blows that struck with the force of twin sledgehammers.  The impact knocked the ogre back, allowing the knight to swerve his mount to the ogre's right and to strike with the full force of his sword arm.

Rising in the stirrups the knight brought the sword down, severing the ogre's right hand at the wrist.  Grock screamed with pain as blood fountained in a great arc from the bleeding stump and clutched at his wrist with his remaining hand.  At the same time Sir Varden jerked hard on the reins, pirouetting his charger around and striking once more. Too late Grock reacted.  A foot of steel cut through his throat slicing through his jugular.  With a gurgling cry the ogre staggered backward, turned in a complete circle and then fell forward with a deafening crash. 

Sir Varden swung off his horse and strode quickly toward the helpless Zenaria.  Reaching the derrick he swung it around so that she was no longer over the boiling cauldron.  Almost overcome by the steaming heat, Zenaria sucked in air, relief and then chagrin sweeping over her as the knight lowered her to the floor and then removed her shackles.  Once again she owed her life to the knight.  Adding to her mortification was that for a few minutes she could do nothing except lie helpless while he ministered to her.

"Fear not, fair princess.  I will care for thee," Sir Varden said as he used a scrap of what had once been her clothing to wipe the sweat from her face.  "Bring blankets and brandy," he shouted to Derwald, who had appeared in the doorway carrying a crossbow almost the same size as he was.  The boy nodded and disappeared, returning a few seconds later with a blanket and a leather flask. 

The knight lifter her under the shoulders and swept the blanket beneath her, in spite of Zenaria's feeble protests.  The ordeal had taken so much out of her she could barely move and she was forced to tolerate the knight's ministrations.  Folding the blanket over her nude body Sir Varden took the flask from his squire and held it too her lips. 

Reluctantly Zenaria swallowed.  In spite of her natural tendency to resist the knight's help she was not so stubborn that she did not recognize the need for what he was trying to do.  The brandy burned as it coursed down her throat, but somehow it helped and in spite of the knight's attempt to hold her down, she pushed aside his arm and got shakily to her feet.  "I can stand on my own," she said gruffly, as the knight moved to assist her.  She instantly regretted her tone of voice, but the disgrace of being captured twice in just two days and rescued by the same man was the ultimate in humiliation. 

"I regret your garments seemed to have been damaged beyond repair, princess," the knight said, as he took her arm.  "But there may be something of mine you can fit into until more suitable garments can be found."

Zenaria was about to shake off his hand when her legs buckled.  Dropping the blanket she collapsed and would have fallen had not Sir Varden caught her.  "Come, Princess," he said.  "Let us get out of this vile place."  Cradling her in his arms he carried her through the ogre-sized door and out into the paved road.  Placing her in the shade of a large piece of broken statuary, he arranged the blanket around her. 

"Build a fire," the knight ordered Derwald.  "I must see to the princess's injuries."

"I'm alright," Zenaria protested weakly, but in truth now that the excitement of her ordeal had worn off she ached all over, but especially on the side of her body where the ogre's hand had struck her. 

"Forgive me, princess, but I must see thee before I can tend thy hurts."  Sir Varden knelt beside her, the bevor of his visor raised so that her could see better.  It left only his blue eyes and part of his nose visible, but Zenaria suspected that he was blushing.  However, whatever his feelings, he moved the blanket aside, exposing her body to the waist.  Zenaria saw now why she was in so much pain.  The entire right side of her body, from her shoulder to her hip was one gigantic purple bruise, the imprints of the ogre's fingers clearly marked by an even darker discolouration.  Not had her left side escaped injury.  Not only was it bruised in several places, but it was also badly scraped where the blackberry brambles had torn her skin. 

Removing his gloves, Sir Varden helped Derwald start a small fire.  While the squire fed wood into the blaze the knight placed an iron pot full of water from a nearby spring on a rock next to the coals.  Once the water came to a boil he dipped a cloth into it and set about cleaning Zenaria's wounds.  She suffered the pain of the treatment in silence and refused the offer of a medication to dull the pain.  However, when the knight was ready to begin the second phase of his healing she was not so cooperative.

"Now, princess," the knight said, "I must once again lay my hands on thee and call on the holy blessing of Saint Brenna."

"No," Zenaria said, pushing the knight away from her.  "I will heal without your assistance." 

"Princess," the knight protested.  "Thy injuries are most serious.  Without my help they may take many weeks to heal." 

"I will do without the blessing of Saint Brenna this time," Zenaria answered.  "There is no telling what changes might take place if I do."

The knight looked at her strangely, but made no effort to use his healing powers other than to bind up her wounds.  He settled her close to the fire and then he and Derwald busied themselves setting up a proper camp. 

It was finally decided to move the camp to another ruined building a short distance from the ogre's lair.  The building selected was not as large as that used by the ogre, but more practical for human purposes being easier to heat and also to defend.  It also was free from the stench of the ogre and the heaps of bones, many of which turned out to be human, that littered the ogre's den.  Zenaria had to be carried there, her body suddenly stiffening from the numerous bruises she had received.  It was an embarrassing situation for the proud warrior, but she knew that she could not have made it on her own. 

"Since thou deny the blessing of Saint Brenna I and Derwald will stay with thee, princess, until thy wounds have properly healed."  The tone of Sir Varden's voice clearly indicated that he thought her somewhat foolish for refusing to make use of his talents.  Zenaria, however, was too tired and sore to care.  She wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep.  But even as her eyes closed a disturbing thought haunted her.  Sir Varden had now saved her life twice.  That would certainly have created a serious imbalance in the cha, a balance she could only restore by doing a service equal to the once she had received.  It would mean that the knight was going to play a major part in her life for some time to come.  With that reassuring thought in her head, Zenaria drifted off into dreamland. 

The next day Zenaria came close to reversing her decision not to let Sir Varden heal her as she did the day after that, and even up to the third day of her convalescence.  She hurt in almost every part of her body and her lungs kept on coughing up smoke from the fire the ogre had hung her over.  It was a painful healing process and it left her so sore and weak that she had to be helped in everything except eating.  Her helplessness grated at her, but she reminded herself that she had brought it on herself in the first place by allowing the rivermen to take her prisoner and then not respecting the cha by staying with Sir Varden after he had rescued her the first time.  Now she was doubly in his debt and she would have to put her mission on hold until it was repaid. 

She spent four days on her back.  She had no choice in the matter.  For most of that period she could barely move and was forced to allow the knight and his squire to wait on her.  It gave her a chance to learn a bit more about him and visa-versa.  The first thing she learned was that the knight had once again been guided to her assistance by a vision.  Apparently this one had occurred while he was riding after her and was so strong he had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame.  He had removed the giant boulder that blocked the tunnel by hitching his charger to it like a common plough horse and then ridden after her, arriving just in time. 

It was a story Zenaria would rather not have heard, but she now realized that for whatever reason her destiny and the knight's seemed to be linked, and until she could repay her debt she was going to have to put up with him. 

They exchanged information about one another's cultures.  Sir Varden seemed to find Erogenia especially fascinating, particularly the status of men and women.  The concept of a society in which the sexes were seen as equals and in which sex was regarded as a normal part of everyday life was something he found very difficult to grasp.  In many ways they were so different that a proper understanding of one another was almost impossible.  "You mean to say," the knight asked, his voice rising in disbelief, "that you exercise no moral restraint when it comes to matters between men and women?" 

"Of course we do," Zenaria replied.  "Erogenians are no more lacking in moral restraint than you are.  The only difference is that we do not hide behind a mask of hypocrisy."

"But in your society men and women copulate indiscriminately.  And what do you mean 'mask of hypocrisy?'"

"That is not so," Zenaria replied hotly.  "I have always chosen my lovers with care.  And as for hypocrisy, is it not true that in Kivalia women are subjected to the wishes of men?"

"That is because women are ..." Sir Varden began.  He stopped, seemingly embarrassed, colouring the way he always did when he confronted by something that confused him.

"Yes?" Zenaria asked.  "Were you about to say that women are not as strong as men?"

"Well," the knight said, "most are not."

"I see," Zenaria said, "and so you favour the rule of the strong over the weak?"

The knight looked at her and frowned.  "I see that you are clever with your tongue as well as your sword.  I cannot match words with you; I am but a simple knight."

"Simple might be an understatement," Zenaria thought.  But she said nothing.  Instead she pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the fact that she was completely nude.  Aloud she said, "Erogenians value one another by their deeds, not by their sex or by who their parents were.  From now on I will care for myself.  I will show you how strong a woman can be."

"But, princess..." the knight began, his face bright red in embarrassment. 

"I am going to bathe.  Perhaps you might join me."  She walked from the camp, Jaree following.  Dumbfounded Sir Varden looked after her, making no attempt to follow.  Zenaria had learned that there was a place where a spring ran into a shallow pool creating a perfect place for bathing. 

As she walked through the ruined city she studied the broken buildings.  There was something about the ruins that made her uneasy, but at first she couldn't place it.  Then as she came across a huge statue lying on its side she understood what it was.  The statue was of a female warrior brandishing a sword in one hand and holding a round shield in the other.  The arm holding the sword had shattered when the statue came down, and lay in several pieces across her path.  But it was the face and hair of the statue that caught her attention.  It was clearly an Erogenian warrior, right down to the fighting braid that hung down the woman's back.  She furrowed her brow at this.  Could it be that Erogenians had built this grand city?  If so, what had caused its fall?  It was something she puzzled over all the way to the bathing pool and then forgot about as she stepped into the water.

She kept her movements slow as she entered the water.  She was still covered with the cuts and bruises she had gained in her encounter with the ogre and moving too quickly brought an instant reminder of her injuries, but it felt good to feel the water washing off the grime that had accumulated on her body during the four days she had spent on her back.  "Tomorrow," she thought as she sluiced water of her head, "I'm going to try and get back in shape.  I've sat around long enough."

The next day she almost regretted her decision, but she knew that the longer she waited the harder it was going to be and so she forced herself into something resembling a normal routine.  Getting up, she ate the oatmeal porridge Derwald had prepared and then picked up her bow and quiver.  Sir Varden watched her in silence and made no effort to stop her as she headed out the doorway of their makeshift dwelling. 

The first thing she did was go hunting with Jaree.  The leopard had turned up the night of the day she had been captured, somehow working his way to her side by a route different from the one the knight had taken.  With the cat to help her, she brought down a buck and hauled it back to the Varden and Derwald had set up.  The knight watched in amazement as Zenaria skinned the buck and proceeded to work on the hide.  All of her clothing except her boots had been destroyed by the ogre and she needed to replace her garments as quickly as possible.  Sir Varden had lent her some of his own clothing, but it was a poor fit and in any case she did not want to be in the knight's debt any longer than she had to.  In spite of the fact that the hide was not properly cured she soon had a serviceable pair of deerskin breeches and a shirt to go with it.  It would have to do until she could reach a settlement and get something better.

It took her a day to create a serviceable set of clothing and the next day she began to work herself back into shape.  Moving to an open area outside the ruined building where Sir Varden had set up camp she began to go though her sword drills.  The knight and squire came out to watch her, at first with amusement, and then with intense interest as they realized that the princess they had rescued did not fit their image of what a princess was supposed to be.  That was made all the more obvious by the fact that Zenaria had stripped down to her breeches and was wearing only the briefest of halters to contain her breasts.  To her surprise, the knight did not turn away but instead sat down on a stone and watched her go through her sword drills. 

After watching Zenaria swing her blade for a short time the knight joined in, but not without bowing to her first.  "Forgive me, princess.  I misjudged thee.  It is now apparent to me that thou art not what I supposed a princess would be.  May I have the privilege of joining you?"

Zenaria nodded and the knight drew his sword and went through his own drills.  It did not take long before each of them noted differences in the other's technique.  "Perhaps, sir knight," Zenaria suggested, "we could spar with one another.  It would quicken my recovery and I am interested in learning something of your technique."

"Agreed, princess.  It appears that I badly misjudged your ability to use a blade and I apologize."

"No need to apologize, sir knight.  It is apparent that you have not traveled widely."  Zenaria could not resist a jab at the knight's comparative lack of sophistication.  Although he was about her age, it was obvious from his comments that he had led a relatively sheltered life.  She raised her sword in readiness and the knight moved to meet her.

Sparring with Sir Varden was exhausting even though it was evident that the knight was holding back.  She immediately felt a surge of resentment, but quickly realized that there was little she could do about it until she fully recovered from her ordeal.  It revealed to her just how badly she had been hurt and she consoled herself that she was making a fairly rapid recovery.  Most of the bruising seemed to be subsiding.  She was now no longer black and blue, just blue; and the numerous cuts and scrapes had scabbed over nicely.  All she needed was good food, rest, and a bit more conditioning.

She didn't spar with Sir Varden every day.  Some days she and Jaree slipped into the forest and hunted.  They were usually successful enough that they didn't need to hunt every day, especially not after the day she and the leopard brought down an aurochs.  The enormous horned herbivore fed them for a week, even with the huge amounts of meat that Jaree consumed.  Just as important, her hunting seemed to impress the knight just as much as her martial ability. 

By the end of two weeks Zenaria judged herself fit enough.  She had made good use of the time, preparing another set of hides to use as clothing.  This time she intended to make sure they were properly cured before making another shirt and trousers. 

More importantly, however, she had a mission to complete, but one that was now delayed due to her obligation to Sir Varden.  Balancing the cha now took precedence over everything else.  However, she was not quite sure what to do.  By rights she should help the knight complete his mission, but the knight's mission seemed to be to protect her, a job that Zenaria regarded as quite unnecessary.  It was a bit of a conundrum and one that Zenaria was not sure how to solve.  Finally, in desperation, she approached the knight and explained her problem. 

"I do not understand this cha," Sir Varden said.  "I simply did my duty as the blessed saints guided me.  Thou owest nothing." 

"That is where you are wrong," Zenaria replied.  "I must repay my debt.  If I do not my life with remain out of balance and misfortune will follow me wherever I go as was shown by my encounter with the ogre."

"Somehow I do not think what happened to thee at the hands of the ogre was anything but an unfortunate happenstance.  It is my duty to serve and I deserve no reward."

"A reward was not what I was not what I had in mind.  I have an obligation; a debt of honour.  If I cannot repay it misfortune will follow me wherever I go."

"I see I cannot dissuade thee from this," Sir Varden conceded.  "Have it thy way, princess.  I return to Kivalia tomorrow.  Thou mayest accompany me."

Zenaria nodded her thanks.  There were no doubt many dangers to be encountered on the road to Kivalia.  Perhaps she could repay a portion of her debt on that journey.  "Tomorrow then," she said.  "I will be ready."

Chapter 7:  Mage

Departure was planned for the next day.  Sir Varden planned to get an early start and as much as Zenaria hated being diverted from her mission she resigned herself to accompanying him to Kivalia.  However, things did not go quite according to plan.

Zenaria awoke to a low rumbling sound.  Jaree, whom she was using to keep her warm, was sitting up, her mouth open and golden eyes glowing with a strange light.  Zenaria was instantly awake, her sword in her hand.  Just for an instant she thought it might have been the moon and then realized that the light was pulsing, almost like the beat of a heart.  Quickly she tiptoed across to the section of the ruin where Sir Varden and Derwald were sleeping.  The knight had positioned himself well away from where Zenaria slept to avoid any hint of impropriety.  From her point of view the knight was entirely too honourable for his own good, but she hadn't commented on the arrangement. 

The knight proved to be a light sleeper and awoke at a touch.  "Princess what..."

Zenaria pressed her finger to his lips.  "Shh," she whispered.  "There is something strange outside.  I think we should investigate." 

The knight threw aside his blanket, for once not letting modesty stand in his way.  He was clad in his cotton underpadding so there was not much to see, but Zenaria could not help but admire his powerful arms and broad chest. 

Together, and with Derwald following, they went to the door of the ruined dwelling that served as their shelter.  The light was coming from a section of the ruins that appeared to have once been a temple.  Huge pillars marched in rows and in a few places a few sections of roof still remained. 

Zenaria had slept fully dressed, and she waited for Sir Varden to pull on his boots, breeches, and jerkin before stepping through the doorway.  Outside the light pulsed stronger than ever, rising and falling like the breathing of some great beast.  Zenaria had never seen anything like it.  The light she was used to flickered.  This strange pulsing glow had her staring in amazement.  Sir Varden was affected in the same way.  "I have never seen the like," he said, his voice tinged with awe.  "'Tis like no normal fire or candle."

Her sword ready, Zenaria stepped toward the light.  "Wait, princess," the knight said, placing his hand on her arm.

Zenaria started, an electric thrill going through her as the knight touched her arm.  Other than when he had healed her and tended to her injuries, it was the first time he had touched her and the sensation was so unexpected that she was temporarily disoriented.  She looked at him, her loins stirring faintly.  It was a feeling she had not experienced since her relationship with Tren.  Certainly she had enjoyed bedding Cron and Theredin, but neither had been more than a passing fancy.  This was definitely different.  She shook off the thought, focusing on the current situation.  "Come on, Zenaria," she thought.  "Get yourself under control.  This isn't really the time."

Sir Varden removed his hand from her arm.  In the strange glow of the pulsing light his face seemed somewhat flushed, but his voice was steady as he spoke.  "My pardon, princess, but it may not be wise to rush toward this strange light like a moth to a candle."

Zenaria nodded, but said nothing.  She stared toward the light and noticed that it was brighter toward the centre, but it was difficult to tell what was causing it as its source was shielded by the huge pillars of the ruined temple.  Zenaria felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she made no move to retreat.  Instead she turned to Sir Varden.  "We must see what this is."

"I agree," the knight replied, "but we must proceed with caution.  This reeks of dark magic."

"It seems more like light magic," Zenaria thought, but she answered with action.  Moving forward she placed her foot upon the bottom step of the temple. 

"Wait, princess," Sir Varden protested, but Zenaria was already forging ahead, forcing him to follow. 

Wending her way between broken chunks of stone, Zenaria climbed the steps, the knight scrambling in her wake.  Jaree moved just behind her right knee and Zenaria noticed that the cat's fur was raised as if it was approaching danger.  That made her a little more cautious than she might have been, however, she reached the top of the steps without incident.  If there was any danger it seemed to be waiting for her inside. 

She had to squint hard against the light.  This close it was almost dazzling.  Centred in the middle of the temple, it formed a perfect hollow sphere about twenty feet across.  "What can it be?" she asked.  Cautiously she moved forward, well aware that what she was approaching was like nothing she had ever seen or imagined.

Beside her she could sense Sir Varden.  The knight was murmuring the same prayer over and over again.  Something about asking Saint Brenna for protection, but Zenaria was too focused on the incredible sight of the glowing sphere to really hear what he was saying.  Slowly she moved forward, almost as if drawn by an invisible string. 

She reached the edge of the glowing sphere.  Through it she could see the floor of the temple.  Slowly she reached out with the tip of her sword, but felt not the slightest sensation as the tip of the blade broke the surface of the sphere.  Mystified, but feeling not the slightest threat, she touched the surface of the sphere with her left hand.  Her hand went right through without the slightest sensation.  She took a deep breath and stepped through.  An instant later Sir Varden followed and then there was an angry howl.

Zenaria's head whipped around.  Jaree was pawing at the sphere, her fur on end and her powerful jaws wide as she snapped at its surface.  For some reason the leopard was treating the surface of the sphere as if it was solid and from the way her blows and bites seemed to bounce away from the surface it seemed that so far as she was concerned, it was.  Even stranger Derwald was pressed against the surface of the sphere frantically trying to follow but held back by some invisible force. 

In sudden apprehension, Zenaria stepped toward Jaree and slammed into a wall.  "A trap," she thought.  "It allowed us in, but now seeks to hold us."  Raising her sword she swung with all her might at the glowing surface.  There was a loud clang and the sword rebounded with numbing force.  Zenaria almost dropped her sword, her arm dead from the wrist to her shoulder.

Sir Varden fared no better.  His two-handed swing rebounded with such force that it almost struck him in the head.  "Princess," he said, turning to Zenaria, "it appears we are caught."

Zenaria was about to answer when suddenly the interior surface of the glowing spheres shimmered.  She was struck with a wave of nausea and the world around her disappeared. 

Zenaria found herself on her knees, trying very hard not to bring up her supper.  Gasping she swallowed as saliva pooled in her mouth.  Beside her she could hear Sir Varden moan, his hand pressed to his stomach as he suffered the same malady.

"Sorry about that.  The effect should pass in a few heartbeats."

Zenaria raised her head and looked about her.  She was kneeling in the middle of an ornamental garden. Beautifully manicured shrubs surrounded her and the air was heavy with the perfume of flowers.  To either side fountains shaped like some combination of an eagle and what appeared to be a large cat spouted water from their mouths into pools filled with orange fish and large floating flowers.  There was also another smell; one with which Zenaria was unfamiliar, but which made her want to sneeze. 

A few feet away sat a strange robed figure.  He was surrounded by a small version of the sphere that had attracted Zenaria and Sir Varden to the temple and she guessed that he was probably safe from anything that she or Sir Varden could do.  In appearance the robed figure resembled Tren, his eyes having the same almond shape, but she could not place his nationality exactly.  His skin seemed a shade of yellow where Tren's had been tanned.  He wore his long dark hair in two long braids around which were woven bands of gold and silver wire.  He sported long mustachios that reached halfway to his chest, and his chin was ornamented with a sharp pointed beard.  He was strangely dressed, wearing long flowing robes made from a shining material Zenaria was sure was silk.  The sleeves were so long that they completely hid his hands.  His feet ended in slippers with curved toes that arched back toward his ankles.  On his head he wore a small conical cap studded with a dazzling array of gems.  He was of medium build, which meant that both Zenaria and Sir Varden topped him by more than a head, but no one would make the mistake of considering him weak.  What was even more remarkable than his bizarre appearance was the fact that he was floating two feet off the floor.  Zenaria suspected that if either she or Sir Varden made any attempt to attack the strange figure the glowing sphere that surrounded him would probably prove impenetrable.

"Who are you?" she demanded.  "And what is this place?"  She held her sword at the ready even though she knew it was probably useless.

"I am Junalongunggolumpaluaman," the strange man replied, "but I doubt that you can get your tongues around that so you may call me Junal.  This place is the garden of my home and you are my honoured guests.  And now that I have introduced myself please tell me who you are."

Zenaria could barely restrain her anger.  For an instant she considered refusing to answer, but Sir Varden pre-empted her resistance.  "I am Sir Varden of the Silver Order and this is Princess Zenaria of the Tribe of the Snow Leopard.  You have brought us here against our will and I demand you release us."

"I apologize for the manner of your invitation," Junal answered.  "It is not something I enjoy doing, but I am in dire need of your help."

Still flushed with anger, Zenaria's curiosity was piqued.  What could Junal possible want with her and Sir Varden?  And where in the name of the Moon were they?  In addition to the sneeze-inducing smell there was a mysterious background sound that she could not place, but which resembled the rhythmic sound of air blowing through the trees.  Their mysterious host had been rather vague about their exact whereabouts. She kept her emotions in check.  She had to find out more about Junal and why he had lured them into a trap.  "What do you want of us?" she asked. 

Before Junal could answer Sir Varden once again interrupted.  It was an annoying habit and one that Zenaria was beginning to resent.  "Where is Derwald and Princess Zenaria's leopard?" 

The question reminded Zenaria that the knight's squire and Jaree had not been able to penetrate the strange glowing sphere.  It was another mystery she wanted the answer to.

"I will answer all of your questions," Junal replied with a slight smile.  "But first would you please make yourself comfortable?"  He motioned to a pile of cushions near the side of the fountain.  He then clapped his hands and several young women stepped forward from places of concealment.  They were dressed in fine clothing that served more to show off their bodies than conceal them, and they gave both Zenaria and Sir Varden nervous glances. 

Realizing that she was still clutching her sword Zenaria sheathed it.  There seemed to be little immediate danger and she suspected that if there was she would probably find herself at Junal's mercy in any case.  Sir Varden, noting her action, followed suit and moved to sit on the cushions.

Zenaria seated herself a few feet from Sir Varden and the girls immediately brought them food and drink.  She noted that the serving vessels were crafted of glass, a substance she had only seen once in her life, during her captivity in Sandak. 

Although it seemed fantastic a sudden thought struck her.  "Jingua," she muttered.  "This place must be Jingua."

Junal looked toward her.  "I see that you are more knowledgeable than I supposed," he said.  "How came you to know of Jingua?"

"What is this Jingua?" Sir Varden interrupted, as he reached toward one of the plates containing a pile of pile of unknown delicacies.  Ignoring the small silver fork that had been provided he picked one up with his fingers and stared at it dubiously. 

"Jingua is the country I call my home, Sir Varden," Junal answered, "and you are currently in it."

"So your magic stole us from where we were and placed us in your power," the knight observed. 

"You may be in my power," Junal said, "but I intend you no harm I assure you.  You are my honoured guests, not my prisoners."

"Then we are free to go," the knight said, getting to his feet.

"Ah," Junal paused.  "Not exactly."

"What do you mean not exactly?" Zenaria said, moving to stand beside Sir Varden.

"Please sit down," Junal said.  "Before we go any further you must give me a chance to explain.  I meant to cause you no alarm.  If you will sit and accept my hospitality I can make everything clear."

"We would be more willing to listen to you," Zenaria said, "if it was not so obvious that you fear us."

"I see that I must do something to reassure you," Junal said.  He motioned with his hand and the glowing bubble around him disappeared.  Slowly he settled to a pile of cushions similar to those provided for Zenaria and Sir Varden.  "Now we are as equals." 

Zenaria doubted very much that Junal had left himself vulnerable, but her curiosity was aroused.  She still bridled at the way she had been treated, however she was willing to sit and listen.  After all, she had nothing better to do now that the cha required she attend Sir Varden.  The knight, however, was not so easily appeased.  "This has the taint of witchcraft," he said.  "I like it not."

"There is nothing to fear Sir Varden," Junal replied.  "I use magic for good only.  I would never use it to harm the innocent."

"So thou sayest," Growled the knight, "but thou brought us here without our say so." 

"Yes," Junal admitted, "I am afraid I did, but if you listen to my reasons perhaps you will forgive me."

Zenaria nudged Sir Varden with her elbow.  "We may as well listen, sir knight, it does not appear that we are going anywhere."

Grudgingly, Sir Varden seemed to relax.  Slowly he sat back down on his cushions.  "Speak then, and I will listen."  Absentmindedly he popped the delicacy he had been holding into his mouth.  Immediately his expression changed and he reached hurriedly for one of the goblets, almost splashing the liquid into his mouth.

Junal raised one eyebrow in what appeared to be mild surprise.  "I am sorry, I did not realize that you were not used to our food."

"Hot," the knight choked.  "Hot."

Zenaria smiled and using the tiny fork placed one of the tidbits into her mouth.  It was indeed hot, but she had grown used to spicy food during her adventure in Sandak and although it was hot it was nothing she found unpleasant.  As a matter of fact the blend of spices was quite tasty and she took another.

Sir Varden looked at her, and this time using his fork took one of the morsels and took a small bite.

"Actually," he said, "it is quite good as long as one does not take too much at one time."

Junal cleared his throat, signalling that he would like to begin and Zenaria nodded.  "Go on.  I am ready to listen."

Junal nodded.  "I will begin with how you got here and then explain further.  First the portal.  The portal was designed with a special spell.  Without going into the complex details let me just say that it was designed to find two people matching your descriptions.  The knight asked about someone called Derwald and if I am correct a leopard.  He looked at Zenaria as he answered and she nodded. 

"You keep strange companions, princess," Junal said.  "A leopard.  I would like to hear more about that sometime, but it can wait until after I finish my tale.  Now, the reason this Derwald and the leopard could not come with you was simply because they did not meet the criteria of the spell I constructed and the reason for casting the spell in the first place requires a bit of telling."

Junal sipped from his wine glass and then resumed his tale.  "I was born a prince.  The last part of my name 'paluaman' indicates that I am a descendent of kings.  Since I was the twenty-third of fifty sons, I was not expected to succeed to the throne so I was able to devote my time to other pursuits.  My brothers engaged in the usual princely activities, hunting, whoring, and training for war, but I had no interest in such things.  As a boy I was fascinated by the clever tricks of the court magicians and I spent hours trying to figure out how they performed their acts of conjuring.  To my disappointment, I soon determined that they practiced no real magic, but the idea of that real magic might actually exist intrigued me and I decided to devote my life to finding out whether real magic could actually be done.  And so I began to explore what were considered the dark arts.  Since I had only a remote chance of rising to the throne I was very much ignored and allowed to pursue my interests without interruption."

"Using my position as a member of the royal house, albeit a minor one, I haunted bookstores, libraries, scriptoriums, and the various merchants specializing in the arcane.  Nothing was denied me due to my position and I soon acquired an impressive library.  Many of the works regarding magic were, of course, completely useless.  But amongst the many manuscripts I found there were a number that revealed what I had been seeking; the power of real magic."

"I found, however, that magic is not easily learned, especially since the ancient magicians who had written down their secrets had made every effort to make their discoveries as difficult to discover as possible.  However, I persevered and bit by bit I learned magic; real magic of the type I have demonstrated to you.  It took me years, years in which I devoted my life to learning all I could.  I don't know exactly how to explain it to you, but when magic takes you everything else becomes unimportant.  Friends and family fade into the background and even personal relationships are sacrificed.  As a result I paid little attention to what was going on around me.  At least not until it was too late.

Immersed in my studies I ignored court intrigue; only becoming aware of it when it finally touched my life.  I should explain that magic in my country is not forbidden, however, many fear the power of sorcerers and there was one among my brothers who took more than normal notice of my studies.  I was unaware of this until the day came when I was arrested and hurled into the dungeons of the palace."

Zenaria fidgeted a little on her cushion, wondering when the magician would get to the point.  However, his story was not without its interest so she remained silent and listened politely while he continued.

"It turned out that I was only the first victim, a victim in a palace coup," Junal went on.  "The older brother by the name of Pulanandmopaluaman or Pulan, who had earned much fame with his military conquests, used the army to oust my father.  He imprisoned any who were considered a threat to him including all of my other brothers and half brothers.  I expect he started with me out of fear of my magical powers."

Zenaria surmised that the country in which Junal lived was one that allowed men to take more than one wife.  It was a concept she understood, having encountered it among the Sandakar.  However, Sir Varden was completely mystified.  "Pardon," he said.  "I do not understand this brothers and half brothers.  And how can you have so many of them?" 

Junal explained, but it was an explanation that hardly satisfied the knight.  "This seems a strange custom.  How can one man satisfy so many women and what happens to those who are without wives?"

"The idea is not for the man to satisfy the women, but for the women to satisfy the man," Junal replied.  "And as for those who do not have wives, they do not deserve them if they cannot afford them."

Sir Varden appeared even more perplexed by this reply and was about to ask another question when Zenaria stopped him.  "Hush," she said.  "Otherwise Junal will take forever to finish his tale."

"I only wanted to ask what he meant by 'afford.'  Surely women are not bought and sold."

"You have much to learn, sir knight," Zenaria replied.  "However, best I explain it later.  Let us listen to what our 'host' has to say."

Angry as she was about being abducted, it was clear to Zenaria that there was little to be gained by continually interrupting the magician.  It was better to let him tell his story and find out what he wanted.

Junal continued.  "At first I was mystified as to why Pulan had bothered to imprison me and my brothers.  It seemed to me that if he wanted power the best way to proceed would be for him to murder us.  It was not until I had been in my cell for over a month that I learned what was going on." 

I should explain that I was imprisoned in about as foul a dungeon as it was possible to imagine.  It was completely dark and the only time I saw any light was when the guard came to serve my daily meal and opened a tiny hatch in the bottom of the cell door.  Other than that I was enclosed in darkness.  The cell was without amenities, not even a bed, and I slept on the cold floor and performed my bodily functions in one corner of the cell.  Needless to say within a short time I was half-starved, filthy, and covered in vermin.  Sometimes the guard who brought me my food would jeer at me, telling me how lucky I was to still be alive.  I learned just how true that was about thirty days into my ordeal.  The guard came with my daily ration of thin soup.  It was so watery that it doubled both as food and drink, but I had no way of getting anything else.  On this occasion the guard laughed as she pushed it through the small opening in the cell door.  'Not many more meals for you,' he jeered.  'Soon you'll join your brothers and sisters in the king's favourite ritual.'

'What do you mean? I asked, but I suspected the answer even before he gave it.

'How do you think your brother the king managed to seize power?  He used the services of a powerful magician to transport his army into the city – a magician who has a taste for blood magic.'

"Blood magic?" Sir Varden exclaimed.  "So vile a practice was outlawed centuries ago."

"Perhaps so in the place where you come from, sir knight, but here it is still practiced, although only criminals are used as providers of blood."

Sir Varden made a warding motion with his hands and muttered something about the saints under his breath.  It was clear that he found the concept of blood magic disturbing.  To Zenaria it was no less so.  During her childhood she had heard about the forbidden practice of sacrificing humans to invoke the power of magic.  It was said to be a most foul practice that completely corrupted the user.

"I see you find this disturbing.  Please know that I have only used blood magic once and only under the most dire circumstances.  If you will listen to the rest of my story I can explain."

Neither Zenaria nor Sir Varden said anything more and so Junal continued.   "As I was saying, the guard revealed that my brothers and sisters were being taken one by one and used as ritual sacrifices for the practice of blood magic.  I could not imagine what sort of spells were being cast, but I feared that they could only be used for great evil.  However, there was nothing I could do except wait until it was my turn.

Now, you might wonder why a magician of my obvious power could not escape and the answer is simple.  I was not yet trained in the ways of magic beyond a few simple spells that were little better than conjuring tricks, and none of them could get me out of the cell.  However, there was one that I had learned that saved my life."  As Junal spoke he gestured and a dazzling light flared out from his hand.  Both Zenaria and Sir Varden gasped in astonishment and not a little pain as they were completely blinded. 

"I apologize for that," Junal said.  "But I thought it might be a bit more effective for me to demonstrate the spell rather than tell you about it.  Do not worry the blindness is only temporary and will wear off in a few minutes."

In total darkness Zenaria got to her feet.  Her eyes throbbed with the intensity of the blinding light.  "I am tired of this," she cried.  "First you lure us into a trap, then you transport us to this dismal dungeon, and now you blind us.  I have had enough of your games.  We are not mice to be played with as if you were a cat.  If you have a story to tell then tell it without such cruel tricks."

"I apologize again," Junal said, his voice contrite.  "It was a stupid and thoughtless act.  But I assure you it was a harmless trick and will cause no permanent damage." 

Zenaria still seethed with anger, but was unable to do anything except sit and hope that Junal's assurances would prove true.  His little demonstration had shown just how much they were in the magician's power.  Composing herself she waited for the rest of his tale.  She had no idea what Junal wanted, but she had a warrior's suspicion of the dark arts.  True her sister, was a shaman, but Shalandra was not a practitioner of blood magic or anything like it.  Magic the way it was practiced among the people of the Snow Leopard was never evil in intent.  Shamans only used their power for good, not to lure people into traps and send them to the-Moon-knew-where or to perform parlour tricks that left people blind. 

"Where was I?" Junal said.  "Ah yes, the spell I used to blind the guards.  I had to wait to use it until the day that they came for me.  There were three of them and they ordered me out of the cell.  I came as ordered but used the spell just as I stepped through the doorway, being careful to keep my eyes closed against its effect.  Blinded, the guards were helpless and I used their own weapons to kill two of them.  The third I had another use for as I was not yet free.

Getting out of the cell was only the first step.  Getting out of the dungeon required the use of a second spell and it is here that I used the blood of the third guard to engineer my escape.  It was the first and only time I have ever resorted to blood magic and it was done only in desperation.  The spell I used opened a portal that allowed me to transport myself to a place far from the reaches of my brother.  I can see from you expressions that you find my actions disgusting, but how different was it from using a sword to fight my way out?  Blood would be shed in any case."

"The sword is an honourable weapon, not some vile conjuration," Sir Varden objected.  "Never would I dishonour myself or the gods by resorting to such a practice."

Zenaria nodded her agreement, but Junal seemed undismayed.  "I understand your point of view, he said, "but you are warriors and I am not.  You use swords; I use other weapons.  And the weapon I used saved my life."

"So," Zenaria said.  "You escaped.  What then?"  Her vision had returned as Junal had promised, but sparks still danced in front of her eyes.

"Yes, I escaped," Junal replied.  "And after that I fled the kingdom and devoted my life to seeking vengeance against my brother for his brutal acts.  What I discovered was that Pulan had worked with a powerful magician by the name of Alzid.  Alzid had used blood magic to transport several dozen of Pulan's soldiers inside the palace where they slaughtered the guards, murdered my father and imprisoned my mother, brothers, sisters and the older concubines.  Then they went even further, using the power of blood magic to discover and eliminate all opposition to Pulan's rule.  Hundreds of innocent young men and women were subjected to brutal rituals and thousands of citizens were arrested, and imprisoned.  Many were killed, their property confiscated, and their families forced into exile.  Others were allowed to go free after submitting to a humiliating oath and paying heavy fines."

Junal's voice was bitter as he described the atrocities committed by his older brother, but he was not yet finished.  "Now my country languishes under a brutal tyranny.  Young women are taken from their families and handed out to Pulan's supporters.  Taxes are levied without regard to the ability of the people to pay.  Any resistance is met by cruel punishment including slavery and public execution."

"I sympathize with you," Zenaria interrupted, "but how do Sir Varden and I fit into this problem?"

"Ah yes," Junal said.  "I was just getting to that part.  Needless to say Pulan's tyrannical regime has made many enemies; so many that Alzid has constructed a magical artefact that creates what amounts to an impenetrable magical shield around the palace.  Any intruder attempting to enter the palace is quickly detected and subjected to defences both human and magical.  In spite of repeated attempts no one has yet gotten beyond the outer defences before being killed or captured."

"I am beginning to see where Sir Varden and I fit in," Zenaria said.  "You want us for a suicide mission."

"Not quite," Junal replied.  "I have detected a weakness in the spell; one that I can exploit."

"You see," Junal continued, "the artefact is tuned to screen out possible assassins or anyone who might be a danger to Pulan or Alzid.  To that end, anyone who enters the palace without authorization is detected and then eliminated."

"Eliminated?" Sir Varden asked.  "How?"

"The spell creates a barrier of fire that immolates any who pass through its boundaries.  By the time the intruder realizes he has been detected it is too late.  I have learned this to my sorrow.  I have sent several agents into the palace but none have survived."

"So it is as Princess Zenaria said," Sir Varden observed.  "It is a suicide mission."

"Not in your case," Junal replied.  "You see the spell I sent to find you was designed to find someone who could enter the palace undetected.  The fact that you and Princess Zenaria were able to enter the sphere means you meet the search criteria."

"And what is that?" Zenaria asked.  "Two fools who are willing to give their lives on a mission that is certain to kill them?"

"There were two parts to the spell.  The first part was that those it sought must have the qualities of a warrior.  I see by the weapons you carry that it found true."

"And the second part?" Zenaria asked.   

"The spell I sent was designed to find only those who are sexually pure," Junal said, "and that is why neither the leopard nor the person called Derwald was able to follow you."

"By Saint Brenna," Sir Varden muttered.  "I knew I should have kept Derwald away from the scullery maid."  He looked sharply at Zenaria and frowned in confusion. 

Zenaria coloured, remembering how she had spoken of her lovers to Sir Varden.  He would now think that she had lied and all because his powers of healing were more than he supposed.  She thought of trying to explain and then snorted in disdain.  A princess of the Snow Leopard need explain herself to no one. 

Junal seemed to notice neither Zenaria's consternation nor Sir Varden's bewilderment.  It is an interesting combination is it not?  A warrior and a virgin.  Fortunately, it allows me to place a spell of protection on both of you."

"Why did it find no one else?" Sir Varden asked.  "Surely there must be more than two of us in the world."

"Perhaps there are," Junal smiled.  "But the spell I sent was difficult and exhausting to construct.  It took all of my power and I was able to maintain it only for a short time.  I was on the verge of collapsing the spell when it found you.  I could always send it out again, but it would take some time to reconstruct and I see no reason why that is necessary now that you are here."

"You are assuming that we will be willing to help you," Sir Varden said.  Zenaria who had been thinking the same thing nodded and waited for Junal reply.

Junal sipped at his wine and then replied.  "Unless I mistake myself, you, Sir Varden are a man of honour.  Do you not feel in any way obligated to help me against so ruthless an oppressor as my brother and his pet wizard?"

"The holy knight might," Zenaria interrupted, "but I don't.  I wish to be returned to where you found me."

Junal gave an insincere smile.  "Perhaps I will let you think on this until tomorrow.  It is a lot to take in and I do not doubt that you might fear going into so dangerous a situation."

Zenaria drew her sword and leapt to her feet in a single smooth motion.  She was moving forward almost before she thought about it.  "You dare insult a princess of the Snow Leopard," she growled.  "You bring me here against my will and then accuse me of cowardice." 

Junal flicked his fingers and she froze.  It was like being held by a thousand hands.  She couldn't move the smallest part of her body.  Beside her she could hear Sir Varden grunt.  Apparently the same spell that had immobilized her also held him.

"That was foolish," Junal said.  He got to his feet and walked completely around her and Sir Varden as if to emphasize his power over them.  "There is nothing you can do to hurt me and it will be wise of you to consider my words.  Tomorrow I will speak with you again.  For now you are my guests.  I leave you to my servants." 

Unable to turn her head, Zenaria did not see Junal leave, but when the spell suddenly ended he was not in the room. 

She gasped as she regained control of her body.  Unconsciously she had been straining against the spell and its sudden release made her stagger.  Next to her Sir Varden did the same. 

"May the blessed saints protect us," the knight exclaimed.  "We have been captured by a demon."

"Perhaps worse than a demon," Zenaria answered.  "Demons can be fought."

The serving girls had not left the room and one of them approached, her wide eyes and bowed low.  It was apparent that she feared that the fierce warriors would take their wrath out on her.  "Please gracious strangers, come with me."

Zenaria sympathized with the young woman.  Barely five feet tall, she and Sir Varden must have seemed huge and menacing.  To be left alone without the protection of their master almost certainly placed them in a terrifying situation.  She sheathed her sword and tried to smile reassuringly. 

Sir Varden followed suit and they followed the serving girl through marble hallways toward another part of Junal's home.

"Home" was perhaps not the best description of the opulent palace the serving girl led them through.  Although not as large as some of the magnificent buildings Zenaria had seen in Sandak, it was big enough to comfortably contain everyone in her village.  Sir Varden, who had seen even less of the world than she had was even more impressed, staring at everything as he passed splashing fountains, beautiful statuary, and rich draperies.  But even Zenaria was impressed by something she had not expected.  They were led across an open terrace that afforded them a view to the area surrounding the palace.  To Zenaria's amazement she could see nothing but water as far as the eye could see.  Large waves splashed onto a wide expanse of white sand and unfamiliar white birds wheeled just above the waves.

"The sea," she exclaimed.  She had heard of it, but was not at all prepared for its blue immensity.  The largest body of water she had ever seen before was a mountain lake in her homeland and she had been able to see right across that.  This vast expanse seemed to have no end and the continual movement of the waves as they crashed upon the beach was almost mesmerizing.  "I never realized it would be so big."

Sir Varden too stood gawking at the ocean panorama, forcing the serving girl to stand politely and wait on both of them.  Finally tearing themselves away from the view they followed the girl across a courtyard garden and through a wide arched doorway.

"Here are your quarters.  Refreshments will be brought immediately.  Is there anything special you would like?" 

Zenaria looked around the room.  It was large and well lit.  One wall contained windows of expensive glass that afforded an incredible view of the ocean.  In the centre of the wall was an arched doorway led to a wide tree-lined terrace.  The room itself was sumptuously furnished with furniture constructed of dark woods that Zenaria did not recognize.  In the middle of the room a small fountain tinkled musically and overhead large leaf-shaped paddles rotated slowly, helping to move the humid air.  She wondered how it was done, but supposed that a sorcerer of Junal's power could probably arrange for some magical spell to power the fan. 

There were two beds set well apart, which Zenaria supposed, was a not so subtle hint to preserve the virginity of the two "guests" that Junal thought so important.  Several young women bowed before them as they entered the room. 

Zenaria noticed that the presence of so many nubile females was having the effect of making Sir Varden quite nervous.  The knight, as she had already guessed was not impervious to female charms although he controlled his urges well.  He had not so much as touched her other than when she had been injured, but she had caught him watching her when she thought she didn't notice.  She had, however, no intention of attempting to seduce the knight.  She had never done that with any man, and right now there were more important things to consider, such as how they were going to deal with Junal. 

Apparently Sir Varden was thinking along the same lines, at least a far as dealing with the magician, because he spoke first.  "It seems, Princess that we are captives even though Junal calls us guests.  What thinkest thou?  I fear if we do not agree to his demands then neither of us will see our homelands again."

"I think the same," Zenaria said, taking a seat by the fountain and selecting a grape from a large bowl of fruit held by one of the serving girls.  "We have no idea where we are other than the fact that we are in Jingua.  However, where that place is I have no idea.  I do note that it was night when we were swept her by Junal's spell, but we arrived sometime in the afternoon.  I do not understand this, but I think we may have traveled a distance greater than it is possible to return unless he desires it."

"I have thought on this a little," Sir Varden said.  "I do not see why it would take two of us to do this thing he wishes.  Tomorrow I will tell him that I will do the deed if he sends thee home."

Zenaria dropped the date she had been about to place in her mouth.  She hardly knew how to reply, but she managed to force the words out between clenched teeth.  "Sir Knight, I tire of your assumed superiority.  I need no protection from a man who knows so little of women that he thinks their only duty is the warm a man's bed and tend his children."

"Twice I have rescued you," Sir Varden replied, calmly, "and yet you insist that you can look after yourself.  Somehow I think that you overestimate your abilities.  A woman with a sword is still a woman and no match for the dangers of the world as you have clearly shown."

Zenaria found the knight's calm manner infuriating.  "We shall see just how much of a match I am," Zenaria said, drawing her sword.

"You challenge me?" Sir Varden said, unbelieving.  "This hardly seems the time or place.  Besides I have no wish to humiliate you."

Zenaria motioned toward the terrace.  "I will wait for you outside.  I have no wish to stain the floor with your blood."  Without waiting for a response she turned on her heel and walked onto the terrace.  Outside the sea breeze swirled her hair.  Quickly she gathered it up and twisted it into a knot to keep it out of her eyes.  As she finished Sir Varden stepped onto the terrace. 

"This is foolish," the knight said.  "We should be considering our actions regarding our situation, not duelling with one another.  It will do our cause little good if one of us is injured." 

"We have no cause if there is no trust," Zenaria replied.  "You think by virtue of your sex that you are better than me.  We will resolve this now.  If I defeat you then you will accord me the respect I deserve.  If you defeat me I will act the compliant female."

Sir Varden sighed resignedly, as if to say "What am I going to do with this stupid woman?"  But he drew his sword and moved it to the guard position.  "What will decide the winner?" he asked.

"The first one to ask for mercy," Zenaria replied carelessly.  Her lips were a hard straight line, reflecting her barely restrained anger.  The challenge she had just thrown out was deadly in the extreme.  It meant that the duel would not end until one of the two proud warriors either surrendered or was too badly injured to continue. 

"That is a foolish answer," Sir Varden said, "but one I would almost expect from thee.  Very well then, I will try not to hurt thee too badly."

"Look to you own safety, Sir Knight," Zenaria replied.  As she spoke she attacked.

She almost won the duel in the first few seconds.  Sir Varden was obviously not expecting her to be much of a challenge.  Kivalian women had no tradition as warriors and in spite of Zenaria's height and impressive musculature he was not prepared for the ferocity of her attack.

His training and reflexes saved him, but not before Zenaria's blade sliced through the meat of his breast opening him up like a slab of butcher's meat.  The knight grunted in pain as he staggered back, blood streaming from his wound.  Zenaria did not wait for him to recover, but pressed the attack with a vicious downcut that would have cut through his thigh if the knight had not stepped back.   But Zenaria did not let up, striking again and again at the knight, each blow intended to maim or cripple. 

Somehow despite the whirlwind attack Sir Varden managed to survive, but not without suffering a half dozen nasty wounds.  Zenaria continued her attack, but now the knight fought back, striking into openings created by Zenaria's assault.  Although none of the counterattacks landed, it forced the Snow Leopard princess to step back, giving her opponent a few heartbeats to recover. 

"I see I underestimated thee," the knight gasped, his chest heaving.  He was bleeding badly from wounds to his chest, arms, and a nasty gash across his thigh.  "Thou are indeed a warrior."

Zenaria crouched, ready to continue the duel.  "Do you yield?" she asked. 

"I've not yet bled enough," Sir Varden replied.  His intense blue eyes were focused intently on Zenaria and it was impossible to read anything in them other than grim determination.  "Saint Brenna will aid me," he finished and then attacked. 

Zenaria was not caught unaware, but even so the ferocity of the attack forced her onto the defensive as blow after blow came at her.  So powerful was the knight that he was able to alter the angle of his blade in mid-swing, forcing her to constantly adjust to the attack.  Back and back he forced her until her back was pressed against a stone wall at the edge of the terrace, and then he drove in for the kill.

Zenaria waited until Sir Varden's sword was descending before ducking away from the blow.  Twisting her body she reversed their positions and thrust at the knight's chest.  It was a killing blow, but somehow the knight managed to block it in spite of her surprise escape.  He cut back and this time he managed a hit.

"Mmpph!" Zenaria grunted as the tip of Sir Varden's blade slit the top of her deerskin shirt and cut through the skin of her left breast from the collarbone to the nipple.  It also cut through her breast binding opening a wide expanse of female flesh to the knight's eyes. 

Sir Varden's eyes widened.  For the briefest of moments he hesitated and Zenaria drove her fist into his jaw.  She was still gripping her sword and the blow had all the weight of her body behind it and the reinforced weight of the hilt behind her fist.  The knight staggered and his eyes rolled up into his head.  Then stiff as a statue he fell forward. 

Zenaria caught him as he fell, cushioning him as she lowered him to the terrace.  "I guess that counts as a win," she muttered.  She got to her feet and moved back into the room just in time to meet Junal as he came through the door.  Ignoring him, Zenaria spoke to the cringing serving girls.  "Help me carry the knight to the bed."

Junal looked on impassively as the girls hurried to do her bidding.  Ignoring her own wound, Zenaria took the knight under the arms and lifted his torso while the girls took his legs.  As they set him on the bed Junal spoke.  "I will send for my physician.  I certainly hope that you have settled your differences.  You cannot help me if you are dead or injured."

"I have not said that I will help," Zenaria said.  She wiped her sword on a fragment of her torn shirt and sheathed it over her back. 

"As I said," Junal replied.  "We will discuss it tomorrow.  Provided, of course, that the knight recovers."

"He has only a few scratches," Zenaria said.  "He'll be fine."

Junal stared at Zenaria's bleeding breast.  "Your definition of scratches does not match mine.  We will see just how well you both are tomorrow."  He turned and left the room.  A few minutes later a man of middle years with the same drooping moustaches as Junal entered the room.  He was dressed in long white robes that reached to his feet, and carried an elaborately jewelled case. 

The man set the case on a low table and then moved to the unconscious form of Sir Varden.  Rolling back the knight's eyelid he surveyed him critically.  Then he placed his hand on the large vein on his throat.  "Strong pulse," he said in a high clear voice.  "And his wounds appear to be superficial.  A few stitches and some sleep and he should be back to normal."  He moved to the jewelled case and opened it, revealing a gleaming array of surgical tools. 

The analysis did not surprise Zenaria who had surmised as much herself.  But one thing caught in her mind.  "How is it that everyone speaks my language?"

"Actually," the doctor replied, "no one here speaks your language.  Master Junal has cast a spell that enables you to understand ours."

"That is powerful magic," Zenaria replied, watching as the doctor threaded a needle with fine filaments of catgut. 

The doctor finished stitching Sir Varden and then washed away the blood before applying clean linen dressings to the wounds.  Then he turned his attention to Zenaria.  She had staunched the flow of blood from the wound with her own torn shirt and he removed the bloody deerskin and surveyed the wound.  "Hmm, a clean cut.  But it will have to be washed.  I will give you something for the pain."

"I need nothing," Zenaria said.  "Clean the wound and then stitch me up.  I have suffered worse."

"As you wish," the doctor replied.  He took the same flask he had used to treat Sir Varden and poured a clear fluid onto a piece of clean linen.  Then he dabbed at her wound. 

Burning pain accompanied the touch of the clear fluid, but Zenaria had expected it.  She did not so much as flinch as the doctor cleaned away the blood and fragments of skin and flesh lining the edges of the wound.  Nor did she respond when the edges of the wound were stitched with more proficiency than she had ever known. 

"There," the doctor said.  "That should heal with hardly a scar.  Now I suggest you refrain from fighting with your companion and have something to eat and drink and then get some rest.  I expect you are going to need it."

Zenaria nodded.  Much as she would have liked to disagree, it appeared she had little choice but to do what Junal wanted.  She was trapped in an alien world, incredibly far from her home and with no way to get back unless the magician sent her back.  As the doctor left the room she lay back on her bed and in spite of the throbbing pain of her wound was almost instantly asleep. 

Chapter 8:  The Spell

The crying of sea birds woke Zenaria.  She immediately noted that someone had removed all of her clothing and that silken sheets had been placed over her.  The sword wound in her breast throbbed painfully, but she ignored it and threw back the sheets just in time to see Sir Varden staring across at her from his own bed.  The knight immediately went bright red, but Zenaria was heartily tired of that act.

"Grow up, Sir Knight," she growled.  "I am a woman.  I have breasts and a cunt.  Get used to it.  I'm not going to change and I'm not going to hide my body to satisfy your prudish attitudes."  

The knight opened his mouth as if to make an angry reply, but at that moment several of the young serving girls rushed into the room carrying food and drink.  They had been apparently been waiting close by waiting for them to awaken.  Just now, however, there was something else Zenaria needed to do.

"Where is the privy?" she asked. 

"This way, honoured one," one of the girls said, bowing.  She led Zenaria through a doorway and into a room containing a stream of continually flowing water.  Mounted over it were seats whose function was more than obvious.  Zenaria nodded her thanks.  She had seen similar facilities in the palaces in Sandak and knew that she was not witnessing more of Junal's magic.  Finished her waking rituals, she headed back into the room to find Sir Varden coming toward her.  The knight was limping a little, testifying to the damage she had done to him in the duel.  She noted that he was dressed in a flowing robe and he stared straight ahead ignoring her nudity as she passed.

She entered the room and sat herself beside the food and drink that had been provided.  She ate slowly, selecting among the many different dishes provided.  Much of it she did not recognize, especially the spices used on the meat dishes and the various strange fruits.  However, she found most of it tasty.

A few minutes later Sir Varden returned.  He said nothing, not even commenting on the fact that Zenaria had not bothered to put on a stitch of clothing.  Instead he sat with head turned away and ate in silence.

How long the two of them might have sat there, with Zenaria stubbornly trying to annoy Sir Varden neither of them were able to discover, because as the knight was finishing his meal Junal entered the room.  "So today you have decided to act like spiteful children instead of angry animals.  I should have refined my spell a bit more to eliminate barbarian stupidity."

He looked directly at Zenaria running his eyes over her body in a manner she would have taken either as an insult or an invitation if it had been any other man.  She suddenly found herself wishing she had put something on. 

"I have come for your answer," Junal continued.  "Will you aid me in ridding the world of Pulan?" 

"I will go," said Sir Varden quietly, "If Princess Zenaria will do me the honour of accompanying me."

Zenaria looked up, startled, but the knight was still not looking at her.  "And," he continued, "if she will consent to wear some clothes."

Junal looked at Zenaria and she nodded slowly.  Then she got up and pulled on a light robe.  "When would you like us to leave?"

"I was hoping today," Junal replied.  "But in light of the damage you have done to one another a short delay might be best.  I can use some of my powers to hasten the healing, but you will still need a few days to recover."

"Sir Varden has the power of healing," Zenaria volunteered. 

"Alas, I cannot use the power on myself," the knight said, "but I could heal the Princess."

Zenaria was about to reply that she needed no healing, but realized that it had taken some effort for the knight to humble himself.  "I would be glad of that service, Sir Knight."

"Let us say in three days then," Junal said.  "The good knight can work his healing powers on the Princess and I shall use my magic to speed his healing.  It will take me some time to prepare the spell to transport you into the palace in any case." 

Zenaria wondered what she had just committed herself to.  It was all very well for Sir Varden to run off to save the world, but she could think of reason for her to do so.  And there was something decidedly wrong about Junal's story.  However, it was something she could not quite put her finger on.  However, having made her choice she would stick with it.  The magician was the only one who could return her to her homeland and she expected that if she did not cooperate her chances of seeing it again were very slight.  "Three days," she thought.  She would just have to wait and see. 

As it turned out the three days were well spent.  Junal did not know the exact location of the artefact powering the spell that protected the royal palace.  Zenaria and Sir Varden spent several hours studying maps of the palace looking for likely locations for the artefact.  Fortunately Junal's intimate knowledge of the palace narrowed it down to just one or two places, both heavily guarded.  However, the magician was certain that the element of surprise would give Zenaria and Sir Varden all the advantage they would need. 

"They will not be expecting an attack," the magician explained.  "They think me dead and would not suspect me of having the powers I have even if they knew I was alive."

"What should we do with this magical device when we find it?" Sir Varden asked.

"The artefact cannot be destroyed by normal means," Junal replied.  "Signal me using this magical charm and I will return you here.  Bring the artefact with you and I will destroy it."  He held up what appeared to be a medallion with a large ruby in its centre.  "Press the ruby just so and it will tell me that you have succeeded."

"And this artefact.  How will we know it?" Zenaria asked. 

"It is well that you asked," Junal replied.  "I would be able to identify it by its magical emanations, but you will have to rely upon sight.  It has the appearance of a large golden orb about the size of a man's head.  It is studded with large diamonds, rubies, and emeralds and will probably be set atop a golden stand designed to hold it.  The presence of armed guards should also help.  The artefact is guarded day and night."

"Now before you go, I have something for you.  Please follow me."  Junal led them to a tower that overlooked the sea on one side and his magnificent palace on the other.  From its height Zenaria could see that the palace was located on an island and that there was no land in sight in any direction.  It confirmed her suspicions that without the magician's help neither she nor Sir Varden had any hope of returning home. 

Junal opened a large cupboard.  "This should help you on your mission.  I think it will fit even warriors of your dimensions."

Zenaria and Sir Varden beheld two magnificent sets of armour.  It was in a style that was unfamiliar, but beautifully made and seemingly contoured to fit their bodies.  Zenaria wondered how Junal had managed have such armour prepared for them in so short a time, and guessed that it probably had something to do with his magical powers. 

"It is from this tower that I will cast the transportation spell," Junal said.  "As soon as you are dressed in your armour you may leave."

Several of the many young serving girls had followed them to the tower.  Zenaria had learned by speaking to them that they were what she had suspected, slaves, sold into service by their parents while still children.  They had never known any other way of life.  The thought of so many young women doomed to a life of slavery was repugnant, but Zenaria decided challenging the custom at this time made no sense.  Best to get the mission over with first and then talk to Junal about it.  She doubted that she could do much about it in any case, and all of the girls appeared well cared for.  Perhaps they were better off the way they were although such a life would not have appealed to her.

Although differently sized to suit their physiques, the armour was similar in appearance.  It consisted of a boiled leather cuirass reinforced with brass fittings, and an open-faced helmet with a metal crest that ran from front to back.  Contoured leather and brass protected the legs and was cunningly fitted at the knees to allow maximum flexibility.  The armour appeared to have been designed on the principle that it allowed the warrior wearing it maximum mobility.  It fitted in well with Zenaria's fighting style but not Sir Varden's, however the knight did not object.  Some armour was better than none and Zenaria knew from experience that he could handle himself well in a fight.

"This is beautiful," Zenaria said as the last piece of armour was fitted to her arms and strapped in place.  It was a more than adequate replacement for the fine armour she had lost when she had been kidnapped by the bargemen. 

"It will do," Sir Varden said.  "Now when do we go?"

"Now," Junal said.  "Night is upon us and it will take me some time to work the spell.  You should arrive close to midnight.  I will begin now.  Remain in the centre of the tower."

Zenaria and Sir Varden held their places while Junal disappeared down the stairs.  He would work the spell from directly below them.  Junal had told them what to expect and that the process was quite involved so they waited patiently for the spell to be cast. 

Slowly a golden glow suffused the air around them and a sphere similar to the one Junal had used to transport them from the ruined temple began to form.  Accompanying the glow was a low humming that gradually increased in volume until the very air around them seemed to vibrate.  Zenaria saw that the armour she and Sir Varden wore was glowing with a strange violet light.  She and the knight tensed, sure that at any heartbeat they were going to hurled through space to their destination.  But nothing happened, the spell seemed to take forever to cast.  Just when Zenaria began to be sure that somewhat was wrong there was the same disorienting, stomach-wrenching jolt and the tower disappeared. 

An instant later they found themselves in the centre of a very large room.  Unfortunately it was literally the center of a room with a high domed ceiling.  They materialized fifteen feet above the floor and went crashing to the floor.  It would have been a very rough landing had it not been for the fact that they landed on top of three guards.  There was a thundering crash of metal as they slammed the unfortunate guards to the marble floor.  Two were knocked unconscious immediately and the third lay moaning until a blow from Zenaria's gloved hand shut him up.

They got to their feet, swords drawn, certain that they must have been heard, but apparently they had taken out the only guards within earshot as there were no cries of alarm and no sound of running feet.  "Where are we?" Zenaria asked looking around the room. 

Sir Varden frowned, apparently concentrating.  "This must be near the central hall.  It is surrounded by four domed rooms like this."

"Then we go that way," Zenaria pointed, directing the knight to a large arched doorway. 

Sir Varden nodded and Zenaria began to move off.  So far they had been lucky.  Landing on top of the three guards had been pure chance and she wanted to take advantage of their good fortune.  If they struck fast and hard they just might pull off the mission Junal had assigned them.  They rushed through the archway, trying to move quickly but quietly.  Their armour made total silence impossible, but fortunately the area beyond the archway was covered with a thick red carpet that muffled the sound of their movement. 

They found themselves in a long wide corridor that led toward an even larger archway.  The corridor was lined with what were probably priceless works of art, but other than an incidental glance, neither Zenaria nor Sir Varden paid the slightest attention to the furniture.  Their eyes were locked on the men beneath the large arch that even now were moving toward them. 

They wore armour similar to that provided Zenaria and the knight by Junal.  Their helmets were topped with a magnificent green crest that added a good foot to their height, but even so they barely topped Zenaria and Sir Varden.  Zenaria, however, was not deceived by the size of their opponents.  Her first lover, Tren, had barely reached her chin, but his skill with the two swords he always carried matched hers and she expected that men placed to guard the artefact would be of a similar calibre.  Moreover, there were six of them and they had already drawn their weapons.

Since there was no point in remaining silent, Zenaria screamed her battle cry: "For the Snow Leopard!" 

"For Saint Brenna and the Holy Mother!" Sir Varden shouted, and then they were upon them.

There was a clash of steel as they encountered the first of the guards.  Zenaria would have preferred to use her skill to defeat her opponent, but this was not the time for finesse.  Outnumbered three to one this was the time for brute force. 

She caught the first guard's blade on hers and without slowing her forward momentum, slammed full into him driving him back into the two men behind him.  Her charge took her right though the six men, three of whom were attempting to surround Sir Varden.  It was no time for honour in combat.  She pivoted and drove her sword into the back of the man facing the knight and then returned her attention to the first three soldiers. 

They had recovered from her first assault and came at her swords raised.  Relying once again on her strength, Zenaria brought her blade down in a great arc that smashed through the guard of the first man and split his helmet open.  The strike left her open to the other two men, but she drove her foot into one, sending him flying across the room and ducked to the side to avoid the attack of the other.  She then stepped forward and used her armoured elbow to smash him in the face. 

She turned to help Sir Varden who had managed to kill one of his opponents and was driving the other two before him.  With Zenaria at his side he quickly dispatched one of his opponents by taking off his head while Zenaria batted aside the guard of the other and drove her fist into his face. 

Neither warrior waited to finish off their stunned and bleeding opponents – those at least that needed finishing off.  Their mission was not to kill as many of the guards as possible, but to seize the artefact and they were now through the second arched doorway. 

The room that they entered was patterned after the one through which they had entered the palace.  It also was dome-shaped and larger than the first, being about fifty feet across.  There were three other entrances to the room and at each of the arched doorway soldiers were pouring into the room. 

Zenaria knew they were in the right place.  The first room had been lit by large lanterns, but this one needed no light.  In the centre of the room was the object Junal had sent them to find.  It was situated on a circular dais about four feet high and ten feet across, and was a jewel-encrusted golden sphere about the size of a man's head cradled in a bowl-shaped stand about three feet high.  It glowed with a strange and powerful light, the many gems sending multicoloured rays about the room. 

Zenaria and Sir Varden didn't wait for the soldiers to arrive.  They charged toward the dais, Sir Varden with one hand on the medallion Junal had given them and Zenaria with sword in hand.  She dashed past the dais, her raised blade momentarily slowing the encroaching soldiers who were now just yards away.  Sir Varden leaped onto the dais.  Quickly but carefully he lifted the artefact from its cradle and pressed the centre gem on the medallion.  There was a blinding flash of light, a loud popping sound, and the artefact was gone.  Sir Varden, however, and Zenaria remained.

"We have been betrayed," the knight said in disbelief. 

"Why does that not surprise me?" Zenaria thought as she swung her sword at the closest soldier.  Aloud, she shouted to Sir Varden.  "We must retreat to the outer room.  There are too many here to fight all at once."  She was backed against the dais, a dozen swords trying to reach her while even more men rushed into the room. 

With a roar Sir Varden leaped down beside her, his sword creating a ring of steel in front of him.  In spite of their numbers the attackers all took a step back giving the two warriors breathing space.  It gave them the chance they needed.  Backing quickly away they reached the doorway through which they had entered.  Standing side by side in the doorway they prepared to defend themselves. 

The guards swarmed toward them, but in spite of the enemy's superior numbers they were able to fend off the attacks.  The narrow doorway meant that the guards could not come at them more than three at a time.  However, Zenaria knew that they could not hold off forever.  No doubt there were hundreds of guard in the palace.  They would keep on coming and she and Sir Varden could probably not kill them all.  And then there was the fact that so far no archers had appeared.  They could fight off swords; fighting off arrows was something far more difficult. 

There did not, however, appear to be any choice.  Attacker after attacker came at them until a mound of dead and injured was piled so deeply on the floor that the attacking soldiers had to pause to clear their fallen comrades out of the way.  They were under attack by over fifty men with more coming.  Escape was impossible.  A heroic death was all that remained.

A heroic death, however, was what every Snow Leopard warrior wished for and in spite of the fact that Zenaria might have wished to see a bit more than her nineteen summers she could not think of a better way to die than with sword in hand.  What Sir Varden thought about the situation she had no idea and didn't much care. 

By now the floor in front of the two warriors was slippery with blood.  It worked to their advantage as they were holding position on the edge of the carpet, but the continual onslaught was slowly wearing them down.  Breathing heavily, and covered in enemy blood, Zenaria was bleeding from a dozen small wounds and Sir Varden was in similar condition.  It was obvious that they could not hold on much longer, but there was no thought of surrender.  She would fight on until her strength gave out and she was cut down by the enemy blades.

Suddenly the wall of men in front of them fell back.  Zenaria expected to see the swordsmen replaced by archers.  If so the time had come to die. 

She stared in surprise as a single figure stepped forward.  She at once noted his resemblance to Junal in the way that he was dressed and in the long moustaches that trailed from his upper lip.  He looked down distastefully at the blood and gore that splattered the floor and then returned his gaze to the two almost exhausted warriors.  "The time has come to end this," he said.  He raised his hand.

Realizing what was about to happen, Zenaria hurled herself toward him.  Remembering Junal's paralysing spell she sought to force the soldiers standing next to the magician to kill her before he could render her helpless.  Above all she did not want the humiliation of being taken prisoner.  But she was too late.  Even as she moved within striking distance the magician gestured.  There was a blinding light, an intense wrenching sensation, as if her guts were being torn out of her, and then brutal pain.  Zenaria screamed and then the world disappeared.

Chapter 9:  Enchanted

Zenaria lay at the bottom of a well of pain and darkness.  Somewhere very far away people were speaking, but what they were saying made very little sense. 

"Just what were you trying to do, Dendar?"

"I thought I was casting a spell of immobility, but something corrupted it.  The result seems to have been to been to fix them in something resembling their true natures."

"I can see that," the first voice said.  "It is a most interesting if not puzzling result." 

"Puzzling enough to keep them alive?" Dendar asked"

"I don't think we have much choice.  The Orb of Power has disappeared.  We need them to get it back."

"I see Junal's vile hand in this," Dendar said.  "He seems to have made sure that even if we captured his hirelings they would not be able to speak."

"Perhaps we can find a way," the first voice said.  "Between the two of us we should be able to think of something."

"I hope you are right, Alzid.  If Junal has regained the Orb of Power he is certain to use it against us at the first opportunity.  We must get it back and these two animals are our only link."

The conversation ended.  There was the closing of a heavy door and then silence.  Something that one of the speakers had said stuck in her mind.  "Alzid."  It was a name she remembered form somewhere.

She opened her eyes.  The first thing she saw was the straw covering the floor on which she was lying.  It was clean straw, which was somewhat reassuring.  What she saw next was less comforting.  Directly in front of her was an iron grid that extended from wall to wall.  Even more unnerving was the sight of a huge cat-like beast that lay regarding her with strange blue eyes.  The fact that it was chained to a stone wall was hardly comforting since she was lying within just a few feet of it.  It watched her with an unblinking stare, but made no move to attack.

Slowly she pushed down with her arms and rose to a sitting position.  It was then that she got the shock of her life.  Her armour and clothing were gone replaced by a tight-fitting garment that covered her body like a second skin.  It took her a few heartbeats to realize that it actually was her skin.

"Brrrowwrr!" 

The sound that erupted from her throat frightened her.  She had heard that sound before, but not from a human throat.  "What in the name of the Moon is wrong with me?" she thought, her gut clenching. 

She ran her right hand over hand over her left arm and got two more shocks.  The first that that her skin wasn't skin; it was fur; and the second was that at the end of each finger, where her fingernails should have been there was now a curved, razor-edged claw. 

She looked again and saw what she should have seen immediately, her entire body was covered with the unmistakable markings of the snow leopard.  Hardly able to believe what had happened she scrambled to her feet and tried to twist around to see what was behind her.  But she knew what she would see even before she saw it.  "Sun and Moon, I've turned into a leopard."  The discovery was so overwhelming she could hardly stand. 

Fearful of what she would discover she reached up and touched her face.  Her fingers brushed against whiskers and then an elongated muzzle.  Moving her fingers to her jaws she touched her long fangs and then moved her fingers higher and traced the outline of her rounded leopard ears. 

It was almost too much.  "I've been turned into a leopard," she thought.  She spent the next few minutes investigating what had been done to her and found that she was more a leopard-woman than a true leopard. 

She still had the body of an Erogenian warrior, tall, shapely, and voluptuous, but she had gained a leopard's tail and pelt as well as a leopard's head.  It explained why she had lost the power of normal speech.  She was capable of making an impressive leopard's yowl, but nothing more.  Her fingers and toes ended in claws instead of fingernails and her musculature seemed to have changed.  She suspected that she was much stronger than before but in the limited space in which she was confined there was no way of testing that.  And then there was the iron collar around her neck and the heavy length of chain that secured her to the wall opposite the cell's only other inhabitant. 

Anger replaced her bewilderment and she unconsciously lashed her tail.  She had been tricked and betrayed and was now caged and chained like some sort of wild beast.  A growl rumbled in her throat.  From the other side of the cell the other cat-like beast returned the sound with a deep-chested rumbling roar of its own. 

She stared at the huge beast.  She judged that it was probably three times her weight with a huge head and large black mane that flowed over its massive shoulders.  It radiated male strength and power.  In spite of its fierce appearance, however, there seemed something familiar about it and she suddenly realized what she had been missing.  She knew those eyes.  "Sir Varden," she muttered, or would have if her leopard's mouth and tongue had been capable of speech.  Instead what came out was "Roowwrr!"

 

The dark-maned beast answered with another growl of its own as if to confirm her suspicions.  The fact that so huge a cat had not attempted to attack her was confirmation of who it was, but it was galling that because of their transformation she and Sir Varden were unable to communicate.  Once again anger and frustration swept over her.  "Junal," she thought.  Junal would pay for what he had done.

But first she somehow had to get out of the cell.  And that was going to present a real problem.  The cell consisted of three stone walls and a heavy barred grill consisting of straps of iron riveted together.  Even if she had been in human form she would have had a very difficult time escaping.  There was no way out except through the iron grill and Zenaria could not even figure out how it was opened.  She couldn't see any hinges or locking mechanism, leading her to suspect that it was probably raised and lowered like a portcullis. 

Now even more frustrated and angry Zenaria prowled back and forth in front of the grill, her pacing resembling that of the cat she now resembled.  Finally, she stopped, realizing that her impatient pacing was getting her nowhere.  She stopped and surveyed the cell, resisting an almost overwhelming urge to lick herself, especially in places that had once been beyond reach. 

From outside came the sound of feet marching toward the cell.   Zenaria sat down, curling her tail around her ankles and waited to see who was coming.  It turned out to be two guards.  They peered through the bars, keeping a respectful distance as they did so.  "The other one is awake," one of them said.  "Tell the master."

The one who gave the order waited while the other guard left.  He said nothing but continued to watch her and what had once been Sir Varden through the bars.  A short time later the guard returned with a man in what Zenaria now knew were magician's robes. 

The magician moved close to the bars and stared hard at Zenaria and Sir Varden.  "It is good that you are awake," he said.  "My name is Dendar.  Can you understand me?  I could get nothing out of the lion."

Zenaria nodded, making the motion slow and pronounced so that there was no mistaking it.  Now she knew what Sir Varden had become, a lion.  She wondered where such beasts lived normally. 

Dendar seemed pleased by her response because he smiled slightly.  He was younger than Junal, appearing to be only in his mid-twenties.  "Very good," he said.  "Now, can you talk?"

Zenaria shook her head and Dendar frowned.  "That is unfortunate.  It will make communication difficult and I think there is much you need to tell us.  However, perhaps you can merely signal yes and no to my questions and that will help a bit.  First off were you sent by Junal to steal the Orb of Power?"

Zenaria nodded yes, guessing that the artefact and the Orb of Power were probably the same thing.

"And you and the lion; you were hired by Junal to steal the Orb?"

Zenaria shook her head no, emphasizing her reply with a low growl. 

"I see," Dendar says.  "That sounds as if you might be somewhat angry with Junal.  Is that correct?

Again Zenaria growled, nodding at the same time. 

"That is interesting," Dendar said.  "You don't work for Junal, but still helped him steal the Orb.  I can only surmise that you were either tricked into it or Junal has some power over you."

Zenaria vigorously nodded her agreement and Dendar smiled.  "Very good.  Let's see what else you can tell me."

Dendar was a skilful questioner.  Question by question he managed to get most of the details of Zenaria's story although the details of her background and that of Sir Varden remained sketchy at best.  Finally he seemed satisfied that he had learned about as much as he could.  "I will return later.  Perhaps Alzid can think of a few more questions to ask you.  In the meantime I have decided to keep you alive." 

He turned to the guard.  "Bring them food and water.  Raw meat I think, and make sure that it is free from maggots."

"Yes, Excellency," the guard said.  He immediately moved off to carry out the order.  Dendar stood looking at her for a few more moments and then he too left.  A short time later the guard returned.  With him were two servants carrying two large chunks of raw beef, complete with bones.  He pulled a lever on the far wall and with a screech of metal the grillwork rose up from the floor about six inches.  It was just large enough for the servant to push the beef under along with two pannikins of water.  As soon as the food was forced through the grill was immediately lowered.

With a growl, the lion that was Sir Varden pounced on the largest piece of beef.  Zenaria wasn't about to argue with him and in any case she wasn't sure she could eat her meat raw.  That concern lasted only a few seconds.  Her mouth watering, Zenaria picked up the bloody lump of flesh and ripped it apart with her teeth.  She made short work of it, even cracking the bones to get at the marrow.  When she was finished she lapped up the water from one of the pannikins. 

Her meal finished she moved into a corner of the cell.  Without thinking she began to clean herself, licking her fur to clean away the blood.  Only when she began to clean her muzzle by licking her hand and wiping away the blood did she suddenly stop.  "What am I doing?  I'm not a leopard."  She looked toward Sir Varden and noticed that he was licking himself in places that would have been impossible in his human form. 

Zenaria felt a sudden sense of acute apprehension.  What if she and Sir Varden were stuck in their altered forms permanently?  They were already acting very much like animals.  Would they continue to become more animal-like the longer they remained in their animal shapes?  It was a worrying thought and one that Zenaria could only calm by using her tongue to give herself a thorough grooming.  "This isn't good," she thought.  "If I keep it up I'm going to have a hairball."

Chapter 10:  Primal Urges

Following the interview with Darden a day passed, measured by the bringing of another chunk of raw meat and more water and the cleaning of the cell by two cringing servants.  The iron grill was raised just enough to let the two men in, and although in obvious terror they swept out the straw and other waste in the cell and put fresh straw in its place.  That was something of a relief to Zenaria.  Neither cats nor humans are keen on living in their own waste and it was much more pleasant to bed down in fresh straw. 

Shortly after the cell was cleaned Darden once again appeared and this time he had someone else with him, someone who immediately caught her attention.  "I am Alzid," High Sorcerer to the Almighty Ruler of the Jinguan Empire."

If Zenaria could have smiled she would have.  Alzid stood no more than a yard tall and was grotesquely ugly.  "High" Sorcerer seemed like a bit of an overstatement, but she supposed that his magical abilities gave him some claim to the name. 

"Raise the gate," Alzid ordered.  "I dislike speaking through metal."  In spite of his small stature Alzid's voice had an air of command that demanded attention and he seemed not the least bit afraid of the two beasts behind the bars.  Zenaria noted, however, that the dwarf was careful not to come within the limits of the chain that shackled her to the back wall of the cell. 

"My apprentice has spoken well of you," Alzid said.  "For some reason he seems to think that you might not be wholly responsible for the carnage you committed among the soldiers of the Emperor.  I have come to find out for myself exactly what your story is.  Tell me, can you write?"

As a woman who would someday be queen of her tribe Zenaria had been taught the runic script of her people.  She was not the most apt pupil, preferring swordplay to book learning, and as a result the ability to read and write was not her strongest skill, but she could read well enough to understand most of what had been forced on her.  She nodded in answer to Alzid's question.

"Good," the sorcerer said.  "I wish to know in detail your every connection with the magician Junal and what he told you about us."

Zenaria could think of nothing Junal had said that should be kept secret, and she was not inclined to protect someone who had betrayed her so badly in any case.  She took the book and what appeared to be some sort of stylus from the servant who brought it to her.  Again she noted that Alzid was not so trusting as to come within her reach. 

"Start at the beginning," the dwarf ordered, "and leave nothing out."

Zenaria held the stylus awkwardly in her clawed hands.  As far as she could see, there appeared to be no ink to dip the stylus in so she pressed its tip against the blank white pages of the book and began to write.  To her amazement letters appeared where the tip touched, but the letters were not in the runic script with which she was familiar but in some completely unknown language.  She was so surprised that she stopped writing until prompted by Alzid.

"The book translates what you write into our language," he explained.  "You will not be able to read it, but I can.  Please continue."

Writing awkwardly with her clawed hands, Zenaria wrote down her story.  The magic stylus helped.  It almost seemed to move by itself, transferring her thoughts to the magic book.  In a very short time she was done. 

"Excellent," Alzid said, motioning for the servant to take the book and stylus from Zenaria.  "I hope you have written accurately.  Your life depends upon it.  The penalty for an attack on the royal guard is death by being slowly roasted alive."  He smiled at that cheery thought and walked away as the grill slammed back in place.

Zenaria watched him go and then began to slowly pace back and forth in the cell.  Something was bothering her, but she was not sure what.  It had been mounting during the interview with Alzid and now the feeling was driving her to distraction.  The more she paced, the more the strange sensation increased.  The feeling was a familiar one, but she could not quite identify it.  In his corner of the cell, Sir Varden opened his eyes and got to his feet with a low growl.

Zenaria lashed her tail.  Something was definitely wrong.  Her fur felt electric and strange waves of heat and cold flashed through her.  And then a powerful sensation began to build in her loins.  "No!" Zenaria thought.  "People don't get these feelings." 

But she was no longer truly human.  Try as she might she could not suppress the urge to open her mouth in a purely feline yowl.  As the primal sound ripped out of her throat the great black-maned lion roared in reply, the thunderous sound seeming to shake the stone walls of the cell. 

Zenaria screamed again, arching her back and rubbing her face and breasts against the bars of the cell.  She dropped to all fours, gripping the bars with her clawed fingers and raised her tail in an unmistakable invitation and one that she was powerless to control.  "No, no, no!" she thought.  "Not like this!"  And then Sir Varden was on her, his five hundreds pounds of raw muscle pinning her to the floor.  Powerful forepaws gripped Zenaria's shoulders and mighty fangs gripped the ruff at the back of her neck holding her while the lion mounted her. 

"Rooowwrrr!" Zenaria screamed arching her entire body in feline grace as she was penetrated.  Cat-like, she continued to scream, attempting to turn her head to bite at the beast that was mating with her.  Lost in the primal urge of mating neither animal was aware of its surroundings, not even when the guards, aroused by the incredible noise of two copulating cats, summoned Dendar and Alzid.

"Well, this is something I hadn't expected," Alzid commented drily.  "I had not expected a lesson in the mating rituals of large cats."

Neither Zenaria nor Sir Varden heard him, however.  Locked in their animal lust, the straw covering the cell floor could have been set on fire and they would not have noticed.  Again and again the lion thrust into the leopard, the latter screaming in feline carnality.

In true cat nature the feline copulation continued.  Midmorning passed into afternoon and the two cats were still at it, their enthusiasm seemingly undiminished.  Zenaria had never felt such incredible sexual awareness.  Unable to control her body she growled savagely while the mighty lion took her again and again, locked into her in wild passion.  Finally, more through total exhaustion than anything else, the lion climbed off her, drank copiously from the pannikins of water and then lay down for a nap. 

An equally exhausted Zenaria also collapsed.  She couldn't recall ever being so completely done in or so sore.  She now had some inkling of why Jaree was always so bad-tempered when she was in heat.  She very much doubted that she would even be able to move for a day or so.  But something more serious troubled her.  There was no doubt that like Jaree she had gone into heat.  And there was only one reason why a leopard did that.  The lion that was Sir Varden had mounted her vigorously enough to insure that she was well and truly pregnant, perhaps several times given the penchant for leopards to have more than one offspring.  With that pleasant thought in her head she closed her eyes.  Within minutes her relaxed breathing showed that she had joined the lion in sleep.

She awoke with a throbbing in her loins that left no doubt about what she had endured.  She doubted that she would even be able to stand up.  Fortunately being caged in the cell meant she didn't have to move very far at all, but even crawling across to the corner of the cell she and the lion used as their privy was painfully difficult.  She managed it, however, and crawled back to her place by the bars.  There was one bit of good news.  She no longer felt the mating urge.  Apparently the one episode had been all that was needed.  Knowing that when Jaree went into heat she often remained that way for days, it was a welcome relief to think that she might not have to suffer through it again. 

She looked over toward the lion.  He opened his eyes and looked back at her with a lazy blue-eyed stare.  A deep rumbling sound indicated that he was purring.  Zenaria grunted in pain as she tried to shift into a more comfortable position.  "That's easy enough for you to say," she thought.  Curling up into a sleeping position she gave her flank a couple of licks and then dropped off to sleep once more.

"I'm glad to see that the spell I cast worked."

Zenaria opened her eyes.  It seemed that she had barely gotten to sleep.  That was something else she noticed about her leopard self.  She was sleeping almost twice as long as normal.  Or at least she supposed she was.  It was hard to keep track of time in the cell.  Alzid was standing outside.  With him were several very muscular looking men holding chains.

"What spell?" Zenaria wondered.

As if reading her mind Alzid continued.  "You and your lion friend seemed to be having quite the good time yesterday.  However, I can't use you if you are continually copulating and I suspect our friend Pulan is not sitting idly.  Therefore, I cast a spell to terminate your mating urge.  It wasn't so very hard once I figured out how to do it – just a reversal of a love spell really.  But I digress.  I have come to take you and the lion to more comfortable quarters.  I can take you by force if need be or use another spell, but you have been subjected to enough magic.  I would prefer that you come quietly and perhaps convince your friend to do the same."

Zenaria looked at Sir Varden.  The lion had been listening to all of this and a motion of his head indicated that he understood and agreed.  She nodded to Alzid. 

"Very good," he said, "then we probably won't need all of these chains.  However, I hope you will not object if we use a few of them just in case.  After all, in your human form you did kill and maim over fifty of the palace guard."

Zenaria nodded her agreement.  After all, what did she have to lose?  Anything would be better than the grim cell she was in now. 

The heavy grill rose, and one of the men entered the room and unlocked the heavy chains that linked her and Sir Varden to the back wall of the cell.  Freed, they stepped into the corridor.  Zenaria moved stiffly, every step reminding her of the lion's more than vigorous lovemaking. 

Once in the corridor the men with the sorcerer fitted more chains to the collars around their necks.  Even with her promise Alzid was taking no chances.  A second chain was fitted to her collar and three more to Sir Varden's.  Then with more than a score of men holding on to them they were escorted out of the dungeon. 

Alzid need not have feared that they would try to escape, at least not so far as Zenaria was concerned.  Every step reminded her that making love with a lion was a very bad idea; even for a leopard.  As for Sir Varden there were six men on each of the four chains that held him and more than a dozen other men armed with heavy crossbows just in case.  And, of course, there was Alzid.  Zenaria had no doubt the magician was more than capable of dealing with both of them if he was forced to.

They moved from the dungeons to the higher levels of the palace, until they finally reached a large courtyard and then they crossed the courtyard to the base of a tall tower in which was set a heavy iron-bound door.  The door was swung wide, revealing a flight of stairs.  "Proceed to the top," Alzid said.  "Forgive me for not going with you, but I find stairs a bit strenuous.  I'll meet you at the top."

As he spoke he began to rise slowly into the air.  The men around her removed the chains from her collar and that of Sir Varden allowing them to move to the staircase.  Zenaria started up, the lion following.  It was a long climb for the still recovering Zenaria but she reached it after three hundred or so steps and entered the top room of the tower. 

She found herself in a room about twenty feet across.  There were several windows in the room admitting light and air, but she noted that they were all barred.  However, the room was certainly better than the dungeon cell.  There were two beds, one that appeared to have been reinforced to accommodate the lion, and a low table on which was set a large bowl filled with water.  The was nothing else but a small stool on which the dwarf magician was sitting.  How he had gotten through the barred windows Zenaria had no idea and even if she was capable of asking she doubted he would tell her.  It confirmed her belief that she and Sir Varden were totally in the power of their captors. 

"Sit," Alzid commanded waving them toward the beds.  Zenaria was happy to comply, climbing on to hers with a sigh of relief.  Sir Varden leaped onto his bed and made himself comfortable, his eyes on the magician.

Alzid began to speak.  "It is time you learned Junal's true nature, just in case you have not already guessed it.  The story he told you was true except for one important detail.  The evil magician in the story was not me or the emperor but him.  It was Junal who used blood magic to destroy his brothers and make himself ruler and it was Junal who created the Orb of Power to maintain his hold over his people. 

He was a bloody and brutal tyrant, using his power to take what he wanted and using his people as if they were so much coinage to be spent any way he chose.  Thousands of his subjects were sacrificed to enhance his spells and render him impregnable.  He made just one mistake."

Alzid paused dramatically and drank from a golden goblet that had appeared out of mid air.  Zenaria growled impatiently and the dwarf smiled.  "As I said," he continued.  "He made just one mistake.  Me."

Zenaria's leopard eyes widened slightly.  "Yes," Alzid said.  "It never occurred to the mightiest magician who ever lived that a lowly dwarf could bring him down and that was his undoing.  He thought me nothing more than a source of amusement, never suspecting that I had a magical talent to rival his own.  As a result I was able to seize control of the orb and restore the last remaining member of the royal family to the throne.  Ironically Junal had kept Pulan as a prisoner in order that he might torment him with the fact that he had completely destroyed his family and all that he loved." 

Alzid paused again.  "And now," he continued, "you have returned to him the artefact that he needs to return him to power.  I suspect that even now he is preparing his attack."

Alzid stood up on the stool, his short legs raising him about five feet above the floor.  "I will leave you to think on what I have said.  Tomorrow I will return.  I will bring the emperor with me.  I have a proposal for you and I think it is best if the proposal come from him."

As Alzid finished speaking he suddenly disappeared, leaving Zenaria and Sir Varden looking at the space where he had been.  She looked at the lion who lowered his head onto his paws.  It was difficult to determine what was going through that huge fearsome head, but Zenaria knew what was going through hers.

If Alzid was telling the truth, and she was beginning to suspect he was, then she and Sir Varden had been tricked into committing a monstrous crime.  Their actions had delivered into the hands of a villain the very thing he needed to reimpose a cruel and tyrannical regime.  "Perhaps I deserve this shape," Zenaria thought, "for being so easily deceived."  But the thought of being frozen forever in a half human-half leopard shape was one she found extremely depressing.  With a sigh she curled up on the bed and waited for tomorrow. 

Chapter 11:  >Dislocations and Revelations

Zenaria awoke long before dawn.  Their tower prison was flooded with light early, but she was forced to wait.  However, it was close to mid-morning when the High Sorcerer showed up.  By that time she had wolfed down the chunks of raw meat that had been tossed through the bars and had licked herself thoroughly clean.  Using her tongue to clean her fur seemed quite natural and she couldn't stop herself from doing it no matter how animalistic it seemed.  Her only concern was that she might cough up a hairball in front of Alzid or the emperor. 

Alzid stood outside the bars.  "You are going to be chained again.  I suspect that you would not do anything rash, but the emperor wants to see you and you may not appear before him any other way.  Please do not resist.  To do so would be most unwise."

Zenaria had not expected anything less.  After all, she and Sir Varden had killed and maimed scores of palace guards.  She only hoped that the interview with the emperor might result in a change in their status. 

Guards entered the cell.  Warily they placed heavy chains on Zenaria's ankles and wrists and secured a heavy metal-studded leather collar about her neck.  Sir Varden was similarly restrained, being hobbled on both his fore and hind legs.  An almost identical collar was placed about his neck with a chain linking it to Zenaria's collar.  Then with more than a score of guards holding chains that served as metal leashes, they were led from the cell. 

Certainly it was a humiliating experience for the two proud warriors to be led through the palace like animals, but after all, now they were animals.  And they would likely remain so unless they cooperated.  That alone was motivation enough for Zenaria to be on her best behaviour and apparently Sir Varden through so too.  Meekly they followed their captors through the complex maze of passages that made up the palace.

It was even more magnificent than Junal's palace.  Every surface was carved or decorated with elaborate mosaics made up of tiny pieces of glittering stone or glass.  It made almost every surface shine brilliantly where the sunlight touched it and the palace was constructed with numerous windows open to the light.  Zenaria found herself wondering about the security problem this created, but noted that there were guards every few yards along every corridor they traversed. 

The Emperor Pulan was seated in an area where the palace opened to a magnificent garden that was fully large enough to have enclosed two of her villages.  It even had a thirty foot waterfall that emptied into a deep pool.  Fortunately her escort moved her quickly along, preventing her from gawking, although with her leopard features, probably no one would have noticed. 

The Emperor was seated beside a stream that flowed from the artificial lake.  Zenaria noted a number of large orange fish swimming lazily in the clear waters and had to fight back an almost overwhelming urge to put her paw, err... hand, into the water and scoop one of them out.  There was a low rumble from Sir Varden's throat and Zenaria guessed that he was experiencing similar temptations. 

Alzid went down on one knee before the Emperor and Zenaria decided that it was wise to do the same even though such a custom was foreign to her culture and as a princess she was ranked almost equal to him.  In his leonine guise Sir Varden was spared the obeisance, however, he sat back on his haunches and assumed a lordly mien.  Zenaria decided that his current guise suited him very well.

Emperor Pulan was very much like what Zenaria had thought he might be.  Clothed in long robes of silk and gold, he resembled Junal and stared at her and Sir Varden with a regal air.  "So these are the two that so decimated our guard and allowed our enemy to seize control of the Orb of Power."

"It is so, my lord," Alzid said.  "However, I believe that they were the unwitting instruments of your brother's machinations.  I also believe that they may be able to redeem themselves by getting it back."

"And why should they be trusted?" the emperor asked.  "They slaughtered the royal guard, and allowed the theft of the artefact that offered our only protection from Junal's power."

"That is so great lord, but I have used a spell of truth to determine their character.  I find that both were misled due to their naïve nature.  They are valiant, but somewhat stupid, their barbarian nature making them particularly gullible."

Unconsciously Zenaria gave herself a quick lick.  Alzid's words described her and Sir Varden with cruel accuracy.  They had been gulled into acting on Junal's behalf, accepting at face value everything he told them.  They could not have been more stupid and the consequences had been tragic.  Scores of men had died, and an artefact of great power placed in the hands of an evil despot.  They had a great deal to atone for.

"We shall rely upon your judgement," Pulan said.  "Can you and Dendar perform the incantation or do you require our aid?"

"With respect, my lord.  The spell is a difficult one and we will have but one chance."

"Then you will have our help," the emperor said.  "Let us proceed without delay.  Every moment increases the danger that Junal may summon the power of the artefact."

He rose to his feet and waved away the servants that started to move forward with a litter.  "The centre of the garden?" he asked Alzid.

"The elements will be well balanced there.  It is a good choice, my lord."

The Emperor led the way, Alzid following and Zenaria and Sir Varden bringing up the rear.  The two captives still wore their chains and Zenaria wondered how they were going to help if they were not released. 

They moved between well manicured lawns and hedges and banks of exotic flowers and shrubs, until they reached a large open space.  It was paved in alternating rings of red and black granite inlaid with polished bronze symbols.  Zenaria realized that it was some sort of very large construction used for keeping track of the movement of the sun and perhaps other heavenly bodies as well.  They stopped in the exact centre and the Emperor and Alzid stepped aside to allow Zenaria and Sir Varden to take up positions next to one another.  Zenaria noticed that Dendar was already there, having no doubt anticipated the Emperor's decision. 

Zenaria noted that the centre of the immense park had not been chosen by accident.  Set in a circle were stones that appeared identical to the stone circle from which she and Sir Varden had been transported.  These, however, were not roughened by the ravages of time and weather, but were finely polished granite.  Alzid motioned that she and Sir Varden should move to the centre and they did so. 

Zenaria wondered what they were supposed to do.  She and Sir Varden were still chained, and had no idea what Alzid or the emperor intended.  Fortunately the diminutive wizard explained.  "It is our intention to attempt the same spell Junal used to transport you to the palace.  Singly none of us possesses anything like his level of power or skill.  Together, however, we may be able to duplicate his spell and send you back to the place in Junal's palace where you came from.  Do not worry about the chains.  They cannot be transported with you.  It is our hope that your arrival will be undetected and that you will be able to retrieve the Orb of Power."

Alzid finished speaking and handed an amulet on the end of a gold chain to Dendar.  The assistant sorcerer placed the necklace around Zenaria's neck.  "If you find the Orb," Alzid explained," use the amulet on the end of the chain to return.  It is triggered by breaking it.  Your jaws should be strong enough to do that."

There was one serious omission in Alzid's directions.  He had said nothing about her and Sir Varden being returned to their natural state.  As much as her tribe worshipped the snow leopard, she was not looking forward to spending the rest of her life as one.  Nor did she like the idea that she and Sir Varden would be transported into Junal's lair blind.  If they were unlucky they might land right at the sorcerer's feet, and he had already demonstrated that he was more than a match for either of them. 

Alzid, however, did not appear to be allowing them any choice.  Already he was moving to the periphery of the stone circle along with Dendar and the emperor.  There was nothing for it.  She and Sir Varden would have to depend on luck and hope that somehow their desperate mission would succeed.

Alzid began to chant, slowly raising his arms as he did so.  Spaced at equal intervals on the edge of the stone circle Dendar and the emperor joined in.  Zenaria felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach as a silvery sphere began to form around them.  It must have been disturbing to Sir Varden as well, as a low growl escaped his jaws and he began to salivate profusely. 

Zenaria felt faint and her body temperature rose until she was panting.  Drool began to drip from her jaws and a steady humming surrounded her, rising in pitch until it became excruciating.  Unable to stand it any longer she attempted to break through the silver sphere that surrounded her and Sir Varden, but it was as if they were enclosed in an iron wall.  A scream rose in her throat and she heard Sir Varden roar; then there was the almost familiar gut wrenching disorientation and the stone circle and the palace garden disappeared. 

She found herself next to the lion on her knees.  Sir Varden was sprawled on the ground, but he quickly regained all fours and looked fiercely around him.  Both of them realized something was wrong.  The place where they had been sent was definitely not the tower where Junal had transported them in order to steal the Orb. 

Zenaria looked around her.  She and Sir Varden seemed to be in a thickly forested area.  Huge trees with strangely twisted roots and covered with thick vines loomed all around them, and overhead massive branches spread out so thickly that the ground was shaded in permanent gloom.  In the branches brightly coloured birds called out raucously and strange long-limbed creatures jumped from branch to branch and chattered down at them. 

It was obvious that Alzid's spell, even with Pulan's and Darden's help had not transported them into Julan's palace.  The question was where had it transported them?  She realized that if the spell had failed they might be anywhere. 

She began to get to her feet when there was a low growl from Sir Varden.  Zenaria looked in his direction and saw that the huge lion was looking straight at her.  A strange but familiar sensation swept over her.  "No!  It couldn't be happening again.  Alzid had put a stop to it."

The lion was moving slowly toward her as the feelings of hot and cold swept over her.  There was an incredible aching in her loins that she could barely repress and more than anything she wanted to get down on all fours and present herself to Sir Varden.  But she couldn't.  She and the knight had more important things to do than engage in animalistic mating.  Taking time out to participate in primal copulation might mean the difference between success and failure in their mission. 

She began to slowly back away from the lion, barring her fangs and flexing her fingers to show her claws as a signal to Sir Varden that she was not interested.  But the lion was not fooled.  He continued to move determinedly toward her, his bright blue eyes fixed on hers and his nostrils twitching as he caught her scent.

At the last second Zenaria turned and leapt for the safety of the trees.  Her body was burning up with primitive passion, but the mission was more important.  She had to escape. 

Her claws caught in the vines encircling the tree and sank into its bark as she scrambled up the trunk.  If she could reach the lower branches she should be safe.

But she had made her move a split second too late.  Sir Varden reached her in one mighty leap, his claws sinking into the fur of her shoulders and his teeth biting at the back of her neck.  He pulled her down and with a roar tried to mount her.

Zenaria fought to escape, but her heart was not in it.  His breathe on her neck and the feeling of his huge and powerful body against hers sent all other thoughts from her mind.  With a leopard scream she submitted raising her buttocks for easier access and stretching her lithe and powerful body before him.  Then she howled as he penetrated her.

The next few hours would be forever etched in Zenaria's mind.  Pure animal passion overwhelmed her and she moaned and growled, her body twisting in feline ecstasy as the lion coupled with her.  Locked with Sir Varden in an inseparable sexual embrace she arched her back, her razor edged claws shredding the bark of the tree in front of her and tearing up the ground.  Her mouth opened wide and catlike yowls of carnal excitement came forth, accompanying Sir Varden's deep growls and louder roars as he plunged into her over and over again sowing his seed deep in her womb.  Only when he was completely satisfied did he finally relax his grip on her and sink exhausted to the forest floor.

Mere exhaustion, however, could not begin to describe how Zenaria felt.  It was as if she had been dragged into an Erogenian longhouse and forced to service every man inside.  Mouth open and her tongue lolling out, and with her heart thumping like drum inside her, she could barely move.  Not even her first round of lovemaking with Tren and the loss of her virginity had left her so sore and completely done in.  She could barely move and wanted only to lie where she was and sleep. 

Day had waned during the mating and the dark of the forest was now even more pronounced.  Even if she had been able to move there was not enough daylight left to determine where they were or to take any action even if it was revealed that Alzid's spell had landed them close to their objective.  Whatever they had to do would have to wait until tomorrow. 

Curling herself up into a ball among the leaves on the forest floor, Zenaria closed her eyes as sleep began to overtake her.  She was hungry and thirsty, but much too tired to do anything about it.  She knew that she would be even sorer the next day, but right now all she wanted to do was sleep.  Her passion was spent and now she would rest.  A few yards away there was a low rumbling.  Sir Varden was purring again.  "Bastard," she thought and then she was asleep.

Oh, by the Moon she was sore.  Even the slightest movement hurt and the area between her legs felt as if it was on fire.  Without thinking she curved her body and began to lick herself. 

It was a calming action, and she could reach every part of her body except her head and neck which she groomed with a saliva-dampened paw.  Methodically she cleaned every limb and focused especially on those parts of her body that were most tender.  When she was finished she lay back and considered her next move.  More than anything she did not want to have to move.  Even the thought of having to get up caused certain parts of her anatomy to ache even more than they already were.  But she was now ravenously hungry and thirstier than she could remember being since her trip across the deserts of Sandakar.  She had to move, perhaps there was water close by.

Sir Varden was no help.  He wasn't even there.  Typically he had left her on her own after ravaging her within an inch of her being.  It did not occur to her to wonder where he was.  For some reason she was quite sure that he was alright and would eventually turn up.  Slowly, and with a groan she got to her feet.  She began to work her way through the forest, heading downhill, guessing that she would be more likely to find water in that direction. 

Her guess turned out to be right.  A short and very painful walk brought her to a small spring.  Greedily she lapped at the water and was still drinking when she heard a noise behind her.

She turned, suddenly alert, her hackles rising and then Sir Varden pushed though the vegetation dragging the carcass of a deer with him.  Zenaria's stomach rumbled.  Without waiting for an invitation or even thanking her gods she pounced on the deer and began to rip apart the still warm flesh.  She growled when the lion moved to take his share, but that did not stop him from ripping off a haunch and retiring a few feet to eat it on his own. 

She watched Sir Varden as she devoured her share of his kill.  She was certain that no normal lion was that well endowed, not that she knew a lot about lions.  She had never seen one before she had seen him, but she expected they should be proportioned similarly to snow leopards and he definitely was not.  She wondered if that was because he was larger than normal in his human guise as well. 

She could not fault him for what he had done to her; she had been as caught up in the predatory passion as he was.  If he hadn't ravished her before she reached the tree, she would almost certainly have given in to him and in spite of her howls of feline protest.  She had to admit it had been an enjoyable if rather painful experience. 

Engorged, she began to clean her muzzle and whiskers.  Having finished her meal she now wanted nothing more than to lie down and have a good nap, but the human side of her was nagging in the background.  Slowly it gained control, brinigng with it the uncomfortable thought that the leopard side of her personality seemed to be taking over.  She wondered how long it would be before her leopard nature completely suppressed the human side and turned her into a complete animal.  Judging from the way she had reacted to the mating with Sir Varden that time was not far off.  

With a groan she forced herself to her feet ignoring the protests from her loins.  Her movement attracted the lion's attention.  Apparently he too was still human enough to remember that there was something else they were supposed to be doing other than copulating and tearing wildlife apart. 

They had to see if they were anywhere near Junal's palace.  It was just possible that Alzid's spell had dropped them somewhere close by even if it had not sent them directly to the tower in the palace.  With no idea of where to start looking Zenaria decided to put her leopard form to good use.  Padding over to the buttress roots one of the forest giants she sank her claws into the bark and began to climb. 

Wreathed with vines, the tree would have been easy to climb anyway, but her claws gave her an added advantage and she quickly worked her way through the canopy to the upper reaches of the forest giant.  It was quite unlike any tree in her native Erogenian forest.  The vines that encircled its trunk from roots to crown were one major difference that made climbing all that much easier and she was soon several hundred feet above the ground. 

Zenaria normally had little fear of heights and her feline form had even less.  Gaining the very top of the tree she perched there completely relaxed and surveyed the surrounding landscape.  A green forest stretched out to the horizon in one direction, but in the other it ended suddenly at an expanse of blue.  "The sea."Junal's place had been beside the sea.  She tracked the coastline and at the farthest limit of her vision something stood out of the landscape.  She would not have seen it except for the high tower, the very one, she suspected where she and Sir Varden had been transported to obtain the Orb.  Its location fixed in her mind, she descended the tree to a waiting Sir Varden.

She had found what she wanted, but how to communicate her discovery?  Being unable to speak to her companion was incredibly frustrating and very inconvenient.  She could probably make him understand that he should follow her, but what would happen when they reached Junal's palace?  Any attempt to infiltrate the magician's palace would almost certainly require some sort of coordination, and if they could not communicate their chance of success would be almost nonexistent. 

A sudden notion struck her as she reached the flaring roots of the tree.  She sent out a mental query of the sort she used to communicate with Jaree.  She got an immediate response, but it was not what she had expected.  Jaree's thoughts had been pure animal, a mixture of savage urges and thoughts completely unlike anything human.  She was always careful just to skim the surface of the big leopard's mind so as not to get caught in that bestial web.  Sir Varden's thoughts were definitely human, and full of surprises.

There was, of course, the astonished response to her mental probe.   That was not a particularly unforeseen reaction considering that she had never sent him or any other person a mental image.  What caught her off guard, however, was the quickly suppressed thought that apparently had been uppermost in the transformed knight's mind.  It was so graphic that she suspected that if the knight had been in his proper form he would have turned beet red.  But more startling was something she had not even briefly suspected.  The knight was deeply in love with her, an emotion that kept on resurfacing in spite of his attempts to hide it. 

Zenaria was caught off guard.  Even despite the coupling she and the lion had engaged in, she had thought it mere animal passion, brought on by their transformation.  She had not for a moment thought that there was anything more to it than pure animal arousal.   The revelation was more than a little disconcerting.  She gave herself a couple of quick licks before she realized what she was doing and then brought herself under control.

"Sir Varden," she sent, keeping her sudden knowledge to herself.  "I have found the sorcerer's palace."

The thought that came back was at first confused, but then steadied.  "Then we must complete our mission." 

Zenaria found herself nodding and then realized that the motion probably didn't translate in her leopard form.  "We will head toward the sea and then follow the beach."  She motioned with her arm in the desired direction.  "This way."  She headed through the trees, wondering how much more complicated her life could get.  She had gone off with the ultimate goal of reuniting with her lover and now found herself wandering through a distant and mysterious forest in search of the palace of an evil wizard whose powers had transformed her and her lion lover into cat-like creatures.   Things just had to get better – she hoped.

Chapter 12:  Atonement

Zenaria found that reaching the sea was not as easy as she had hoped.  The forest was unlike anything she had experienced.  Massive trees dominated the forest but between each of the massive trunks was a tangle of vines and smaller plants that made easy movement almost impossible.  Only the sinuous feline strength that she and Sir Varden possessed made steady movement possible. 

Here and there they found it easier to climb one of the giant trees and advance through the treetops rather than try to force there was along the ground.  Zenaria with her lithe body was quite adept at this, but even Sir Varden was able to climb quite well in spite of his greater bulk. 

Eventually, however, Zenaria caught a tang of salt air and a few minutes later the rhythmic sound of waves as they broke upon a beach.  They pushed through a final tangle of thick brush and vines and found a hill of pure sand in front of them.  The roar of the sea was so close as to drown out all other sounds and together the two cat-like warriors climbed the dune. 

Waves broke majestically on a white sand beach.  Beyond them the sea stretched endlessly to the horizon.  Zenaria had seen the sea before from Junal's palace, but that had been from a distance.  This close she was incredibly impressed by its power.  The continual breaking of the waves was almost hypnotic and for more than a minute she just stared at the surf.  Finally, however, she looked at sir Varden.  "It is time," she sent. 

"Yes," came the simple response.  Perhaps the lion did not want any more of his inner thoughts revealed.  Whatever the reason he turned parallel from breaking waves and moved toward the distant tower.

The damp sand near the water made for easy walking for the first hour and then they reached a place where a rocky headland jutted out into the sea.  The barrier forced them to turn inland and they immediately encountered their first obstacle to reaching Junal's palace.  Facing them was what seemed to be an impenetrable barrier of thornbush and twisted vines.  The incredible tangle seemed a bit too coincidental to Zenaria.  The sorcerer's palace was only an easy hour's walk away, but was guarded by a vegetative barrier designed to rip any intruder to shreds.  There seemed little choice but to either retrace their steps or attempt to clamber across the rocky headland.

The headland seemed the only logical choice.  Zenaria suspected that the thorny entanglement probably extended all around the sorcerer's lair and time was not on their side.  If Junal activated the Orb of Power, he would almost certainly be impregnable.  Zenaria headed determinedly toward the rocks.

The first part of the detour was not difficult.  Zenaria and Sir Varden advanced along a wide rock shelf, but the closer they got to the end of the headland the narrower the shelf became and the higher the cliffs towered about them.  At the same time waves rolling in toward the headland hammered the point, throwing spray high into the air. 

Zenaria and Sir Varden were soon soaked and events did not improve as they forged on toward the point.  Heavy waves thundered against the rocks, threatening to throw them into the sea or slam them against the cliff.  It was apparent that there was no way round the headland by the route they were taking.  They would have to climb.

Retreating a little Zenaria began to clamber up the cliff face.  Her leopard claws were well suited to such activity, enabling her to climb quite easily.  It was a different matter, however, for Sir Varden.  His heavier lion's body struggled to ascend the almost sheer cliff and Zenaria had to stop and help him up by grabbing him by his thick mane and hauling him to her level.  In spite of the pain it must have caused him to be lifted by the scruff of his neck, he did not complain, but the going was slow.  The cliff was several hundred feet high and most of it sheer and slick with water.  And, Zenaria reminded herself, there were still several miles more before they reached Junal's palace.  They would be very lucky to reach it before nightfall.

They had almost reached the top of the cliff when Zenaria heard something that sent shivers down her spine.  The sound was unmistakable.  Low, guttural, and sibilant it was the speech of an Erogenian warrior's most despised enemy.  She crouched low and peered over the edge of the cliff. 

Just a few yards away were a half dozen green-tinged Urtt warriors.  They were armed with typical Urtt weaponry, crudely crafted swords and wooden clubs studded with spikes.  For all their primitive construction the weapons could inflict terrible wounds and Zenaria was fully cognizant of the fact that neither she nor Sir Varden possessed any weapons. 

They were, however, two powerful catlike beasts and had the element of surprise.  In spite of the arduous climb Zenaria felt her fatigue disappear at the prospect of battle.  She sent a message to Sir Varden.  "Urtts.  We will rush them.  Now!"

 

She sprang onto the cliff top as she finished.  Sir Varden, who was crouched on a ledge just below her, followed, gaining the cliff in a single bound and then they charged toward the Urtts.

Their attack caught the Urtts completely off-guard.  The pounding of the waves had covered any sound they might have made while climbing and certainly the Urtts had no reason to expect that anyone would be coming up the sheer cliff at them.  They squealed in fear and ran as the two cats charged toward them.  But a fleeing Urtt was no match for a charging cat.  Zenaria caught the Urtt she had singled out before he had taken two steps.  An instant later her fangs severed his spinal cord.  Sir Varden slammed his prey to the ground crushing it beneath his forepaws and then went on to the next Urtt, breaking its neck with a single blow of one of his paws.  By this time Zenaria had caught up with her second target, leaping upon him from behind and ripping out his throat before he could recover.

That left just two Urtts fleeing toward several large standing stones.  Zenaria and Sir Varden hurtled after them determined that none should escape.  As they followed the fleeing Urtts between the stones they got a bit of a shock.  They found themselves entering a large circular stone formation inside of which was a complete Urtt encampment.  With shouts of alarm dozens of Urtts jumped to their feet and grabbed for weapons.  Outnumbered fifteen to one, Zenaria and Sir Varden did the only logical thing they could.  They attacked.

Claws extended Zenaria slammed into the closest group of Urtts.  She ripped open the throat of one of them, slashed another across the chest, and sent another flying with a backhand blow.  "There's something to being a leopard," she thought.  Her strength was astonishing; nothing stood a chance against her. 

Beside her, Sir Varden was even more savage; his huge jaws and mighty claws tearing apart the Urtts as if they were little more than dolls.  Within just a few heartbeats Urtt bodies littered the area and the few that remained were fleeing for their lives. 

Zenaria and Sir Varden hunted them all down.  The Urtts were running for their lives, but their speed was no match for the speed of the lion or the half-leopard woman.  And Zenaria and Sir Varden were determined that no one should escape to warn Junal.  There was little doubt in either of their minds that the Urtt encampment was part of Junal's security and wondered what other obstacles they would have to overcome before reaching his palace.

Chest heaving, Zenaria halted over the body of the last Urtt.  She ran her tongue over her muzzle and grimaced in catlike distaste.  Urtt blood was foul, or at least she found it so.  At few yards away Sir Varden stood over the body of his last defeated foe.  He was streaming blood and Zenaria realized with a bit of a shock that it was not all Urtt blood.  Then she felt the pain of her own wounds.

She had a nasty gash across her belly; her right arm was slashed open just above the elbow; and she had a multitude of cuts on various other parts of her body, including a painful wound just below her left nipple.  Apparently charging into a horde of Urtts without armour or a weapon other than teeth and claws was not without its dangers. 

Now that the excitement of battle had worn off the wounds throbbed painfully.  It was nothing that an Erogenian warrior could not handle but Zenaria realized that she needed to stop the bleeding and deal with the raw gashes before she went on.  She looked at Sir Varden, wondering if his powers of healing remained, but the lion simply returned a baleful golden-eyed stare.  His own wounds remained untreated and she suspected that in his changed form he had lost his healing powers. 

With no magical solution at hand, she went back to the tried and true.  Her clawed hands were not as nimble as they had been, but she could still hold a needle.  She pawed through the Urtt's scattered possessions and found what she needed, a length of catgut and a bone needle. 

Starting with her stomach she stitched together the bloody edges of the wound and then dealt with the cut on her arm.  Not surprisingly closing the jagged cut just below her nipple proved to be the most painful, but she endured it with true Snow Leopard stoicism then she turned to Sir Varden.

The lion growled a low warning as she approached, but Zenaria merely chided him.   "You big pussy.  Hold still or I'll take you by the scruff of your neck." 

 

Resignedly the lion settled down to wait.  With his innate power of healing she guessed that he had never suffered any normal medical treatment before.  If she had been capable of smiling she would have.  She finished before she ran out of catgut.  It was a serviceable work of first aid even it was not up to the level of the best healers.  At least Sir Varden would not bleed to death in the next few hours. 

The best thing for both of them to do would have been to rest.  Any heavy exertion would probably reopen the wounds, but they did not have that luxury.  They had fought their way onto the headland and the palace was now clearly visible beyond the screen of thick vegetation that crowded the headland. 

"We must go," Zenaria sent.  Sir Varden growled in assent.  Before them there was a path through the impenetrable thorn forest and Zenaria guessed that it probably led to Junal's palace.  However, she had no doubt that it also led to further traps and obstacles.  Given time she would have preferred to find another way into the palace, but every heartbeat gave Junal time to activate the Orb.  They would have to take their chances and hope that their skill and daring could overcome any difficulties.  She stepped forward, heading down the path. 

It was like walking into a green tunnel.  On all sides almost indescribably thick vegetation crowded in on them.  Even in her leopard form moving through the thorn infested forest would have been impossible.  Zenaria felt as if she was being herded, but she kept on, her eyes moving in all directions in search of danger.

The danger when it came was from a direction she might not have seen had she been in human form.  However, the vertical pupils of her cat's eyes were oriented upward and she jumped back just in time to avoid a heavy net woven from some sort of thick pliant vine.  It crashed to the ground just half a step from where she and Sir Varden would have been.  It was weighted with heavy stones and would have been almost impossible to escape had it landed on top of them. 

Her senses tingling, Zenaria scanned the upper branches and her surroundings, anticipating an immediate attack.  In this she was not disappointed.  Emitting shrill shrieks dozens of strange brown creatures leapt at them from above.  In the heartbeat before they made contact Zenaria observed that they were much like the arboreal creatures she had seen leaping through the treetops when they had first arrived in the forest.  There was one major difference; the long-limbed creatures she had seen earlier were not armed with stone knives and wicked-looking wooden clubs. 

The latter were primitive maces consisting of lengths of wood studded with razor sharp pieces of flint.  Zenaria had to jump back to prevent her ear from being removed by the first assailant.  After that her reflexes took over. 

Numbers and the element of surprise were on the side on the attackers, but martial skill and sheer feline ferocity were on the side of the two warriors.  Zenaria batted the first attacker aside with a swipe of her paw, sending it flying back into its fellows.  Using her feline agility to the best advantage, she dodged and weaved blocking blows when she had to and avoiding others while at the same time counter-attacking savagely, using her razor edged claws to rake her attackers.

She was too busy to watch Sir Varden, but every now and then she glimpsed him as the magnificent black-maned lion tore through his attackers.  Every blow of his paws killed, sending the attacking simians head over heels, and his jaws crushed each attacker he got hold of.  The attack lasted only seconds, and then the long-tailed attackers retreated to the treetops, leaving a score of their dead and dying comrades behind. 

"What's next?" Zenaria wondered.  The attack had caused her little physical damage, but had reopened her stomach wound.  Fortunately, she still had the needle and catgut tied in a loop around her wrist.  Stitching the wound closed a second, time she wondered whether or not Junal knew that they were coming and was placing these obstacles in their path.  She decided it didn't really matter.  They were running out of time, there was little choice but to press on.

They continued down the forest path doubly alert after the ambush, but met no more obstacles other than a rain of fecal matter and ripe fruit from a bunch of angry tree-creatures.  It was unpleasant, but preferable to nets and stone knives. 

Finally, angry and considerably smellier than they had been Zenaria and Sir Varden reached the end of the forest trail.  It opened onto the beach once again, but they hesitated to step into the open.  Surely by now they must have triggered some sort of alarm in the palace, or was Junal relying purely on his savage guards to protect his palace from invasion?  They stepped cautiously onto the beach.

There appeared to be nothing at all threatening.  Golden sand sloped gently down to the pounding surf, and green jungle fringed the high tide mark.  A few hundred yards away, perched on another rocky promontory was Junal's palace, its tall tower dominating the sprawling palace complex. 

The lack of apparent opposition did not allay Zenaria's fears.  Certainly there should be something when they were this close, or was Junal relying on the power of his magic to provide protection?  It had certainly been enough before.  Senses alert for danger she stepped out onto the sand, Sir Varden shadowing her, and headed toward the palace.

A movement to the forest side was her first warning of an ambush.  The undergrowth stirred and then moved toward her.  At first Zenaria thought the foliage was being pushed aside and then she saw that it was the foliage itself that was moving toward her.  In complete incredulity she watched as tree-like beings moved onto the beach.  They ranged in height from about five to eight feet and had numerous branch-like appendages. More than anything they resembled walking trees, an appearance that was enhanced by the fact that their limbs sprouted leaves and clinging vines wound about their bodies.  They moved slowly, almost as if they lacked the flexibility of animals, but they formed an impenetrable wall that completely blocked the way.

Zenaria backed away, but as she did so something told her to chance a quick check over her shoulder.  Her hair literally stood on end.  Rising from the ocean waves were dozens of dark purple tentacles, many thicker than her waist at their widest point and armed with nasty hook-like appendages at their tips.  She and Sir Varden were trapped between two evils.  Making up her mind in a fraction of a heartbeat, Zenaria sent out a single command.  "Jump!"

 

She took a single step forward and then calling on all of her strength she released her leopard muscles and leapt toward the advancing plant-creatures.  Her leap took her high into the air and over their leafy tops.  Sir Varden followed a little less nimbly, but his sheer size and power carried him past their adversaries.  They both hit the beach running, or rather, bounding, and headed for the rocks at the base of the promontory.  Reaching the bottom of the sea-cliff they scrambled up the rocks, halting some four yards above the beach and just out of tentacle range.  Above them were another hundred yards of cliff and then the palace.  Zenaria looked at Sir Varden.  "What next?" she sent.  Sir Varden shook his huge head, his black mane ruffling.  The expression was unmistakable.  She looked toward the top of the cliff, and flexing her claws began to climb.

It was an easy climb for Zenaria's leopard body, but as before she had to reach down and grab Sir Varden by his mane in order to pull him up to the next paw hold.  Nevertheless, they both finally reached to top of the cliff and the base of the palace.  But something bothered Zenaria.  "This is too easy," she sent.  "Too easy."  Surely Junal's palace had to have more defences than this. 

She glanced down at the throbbing wound in her belly, reflecting that perhaps it had not been quite so easy after all.  If she could have smiled she would have.  But still, she suspected a trap.  Junal did not seem like the sort of person anyone could sneak up on.  Then again, she and Sir Varden were no longer truly human.  No doubt without their animal form probably neither of them would have made it as far as they had, so perhaps there was a chance after all.  She headed toward the nearest window.

It was a good six or seven yards above the ground, but it had never been intended to keep a leopard out.  She gained it in a single bound and then hauled herself in.  "Wait," she sent to Sir Varden.  Then she looked around her. 

She was in a large room, probably a guest quarters or perhaps a room for a favourite concubine from the look of the furnishings.  It was exquisitely decorated and hung with beautiful wall hangings depicting romantic scenes.  Zenaria tore one of them free and threw it out the window, keeping one end in her grasp.  It did not reach all the way to the ground, but it didn't have to.  With a leap Sir Varden caught his claws in the bottom of the hanging and hauled himself to the top.  Reaching the window ledge he clawed his way in and an exhausted Zenaria let the hanging fall. 

The various wounds she had incurred were bleeding again, but she could not afford to rest long.  They were in the palace and they had to find the Orb before Junal activated it.  Motioning to Sir Varden she headed toward the doorway and into the corridor. 

Outside the corridor was deserted, but which way to go?  They hadn't seen much of the palace when they had been Junal's "guests," but she guessed that the best place to look would be to move toward the magician's tower.  She had a vague idea of its direction and she and her lion companion headed off that way, keeping their eyes and ears open for any of Junal's attendants. 

Whether by good fortune or some other reason they encountered no one, moving from corridor to corridor and closing steadily in on the centre of the palace until all at once they came to a majestic hall.  And there, suspended at its centre, was what they had come to find. 

The Orb of Power glowed with a golden light, hovering some five feet off the floor.  It blinded Zenaria to everything else in the hall.  As if drawn by a lodestone, Zenaria stepped toward it.  She realized at once that she had made a mistake, but incredibly, nothing happened.  By some fantastic stroke of luck the Orb of Power seemed to be unguarded. 

Zenaria bounded toward it, reaching it in a heartbeat.  Her clawed hand stretched toward it and then she slammed into an invisible wall.  The unexpected barrier knocked the wind out of her and she landed in a heap below the Orb.  Sir Varden fared no better.  Even as she tumbled to the floor he launched himself at the Orb and with a crash dropped to the floor beside her. 

Zenaria rolled to her feet and then turned as a sardonic laugh echoed through the hall.  "Well, I must admit I never expected to see you two again, especially so completely changed."

Zenaria looked in the direction of the voice.  At the top of a flight of stairs stood Junal, flanked by more than a score of heavily armed guards.  Zenaria tensed, ready to spring, but she knew that she would probably not get the chance and a second later she was proved right.  With a flick of his finger Junal rendered both of them helpless.  As before Zenaria found she could not move so much as an eyelid, no matter how hard she strained. 

With a sneering grin the sorcerer slowly descended the stairs and then walked around them in a complete circle.  "I must say," he jeered, "that you look a little the worse for wear.  Apparently my outer defences are somewhat effective.  I doubt that anything else could have gotten in."

He stepped forward and ran his fingers over Zenaria's sleek fur, his fingers dancing down her back.  "My," he said.  "You are a magnificent creature.  Perhaps even more beautiful in this form than you were as a woman."

He stepped back and motioned his men forward.  "Chain them.  I wish to release them from the holding spell.  I want to see the princess' reaction when she is able to move."

The guards stepped forward.  Several of them were carrying heavy chains to which were attached thick shackles.  They locked them into place while Sir Varden and Zenaria stood helpless, securing the ends into heavy rings in the floor.  Then Junal motioned with his hand again, and Zenaria felt the spell lift. 

There was a loud roar from Sir Varden as he lunged forward, but the chains held.  The guards had taken no chances with him, placing a heavy collar about his throat and anchoring it on either side, and placing heavy shackles above each of his paws.  He could move no more than a few inches in any direction. 

For Zenaria it was the same, the only difference being that the chains holding her arms were each held by three husky guards, pulling her arms back while four others held two chains that were connected to the collar about her neck.  These men were pulling in the opposite direction, creating a painful tension on her neck and arms and arching her back so that her chest was thrust forward. 

This apparently was exactly what Junal wanted.  He moved back toward her and ran his hands over the sleek fur of her breasts, caressing the taut nipples.  Zenaria struggled in rage, but could not move as Junal fondled her.  Coupled with her anger was a feeling of haplessness and humiliation as she was subjected to the degrading treatment. 

"Yes," Junal said, as he continued to squeeze and stroke her, "I think I may keep you.  You will make a most interesting pet.  I may even see if you are capable of mating with other members of my menagerie."  He looked at Sir Varden while continuing to place his hands in Zenaria's most intimate places.  "Have you tried it with the lion yet?"

Something in the way Zenaria reacted gave away her inner thoughts.  Junal stepped back and smiled.  "Is it possible that you have already mated with your lion companion?  I might have known that a barbarian would find such a union natural.  I thought were little better than a whore the first time I laid eyes on you.  It will be fun to watch what happens when I put you with my tigers.  I expect a simple love spell will put you in the mood."  He gestured again, his fingers describing an intricate series of movements and suddenly Zenaria felt a familiar and unwelcome warmth flood through her loins. 

She made a catlike moan, her body twisting invitingly as the spell took hold.  Much to Junal's lewd delight she tried to go to her knees and present herself for mating.  "Oh yes," the magician crowed,  "I see it will work very well indeed."  His mocking laugh filled the room.

Zenaria's vision clouded.  All of her frustration, anger, and humiliation welled up within her like the eruption of a geyser.  A red haze descended over her eyes with an explosive contraction of her body she wrenched at her chains, tearing her right arm free.  Junal jumped back beyond range of her claws. 

"Hold her you fools," he shouted.  But for some reason he did not activate his paralyzing spell.  That was his mistake.  Zenaria was still held in place, but attached to her right arm was a twenty foot length of chain.  She cracked it forward, using every once of her strength.  It snapped around Junal's neck.  For a brief instant Junal's face reflected surprise and then complete terror as she jerked the chain toward her.  Too late the sorcerer started to raise his hand and then the chain tightened.  There was an audible snap and then the entire world seemed to fall apart. 

With a thunderous crash Junal's palace began to disintegrate.  The great pillars of the hall crumbling, and the high ceiling tumbling toward the floor.  The guards fled, leaving Zenaria and Sir Varden in the middle of the collapsing ruin.  Giant blocks of stone crashed around them sending fragments of stone in all directions. 

Zenaria was certain that she and Sir Varden were going to be crushed, but she would not leave her companion.  She tugged at his chains, hoping somehow that she could release him, but the heavy links resisted all efforts.  Still, she would not give up.  Either she would free her companion or she would die with him. 

To her surprise she did not die.  Instead, covered with small pieces of stone, and choking on clouds of dust, she and Sir Varden survived the collapse of the palace.  As the dust settled she understood why.  In a radius of ten yards from the Orb of Power the floor was clear of any large fragments of stone other than those that had bounced in from the perimeter.  In protecting itself, the Orb had protected them.  Giving up her futile attempts to free Sir Varden, Zenaria slowly approached the Orb.  Her mission had been to somehow return it and there it was, but she hesitated to touch it, remembering the consequences the last time she had done so.  Finally, with a mental shrug she reached out and cupped the glowing sphere in her clawed hands. 

A shudder ran through her body and there was an indescribable sensation as the Orb briefly glowed even brighter and then dimmed once again.  Suddenly too weak to stand, she collapsed to the floor, releasing her hold on the Orb.  Her skin felt as if a thousand beetles were crawling beneath her skin and she had to fight back the urge to bring up the contents of her stomach. 

Through watering eyes she saw that the Orb had not moved, hovering the same distance above the floor as it had been when she had first seen it.  Slowly, she got to her feet.  It seemed that nothing had changed.  How could she retrieve the Orb when it resisted her efforts to acquire it?  Then came a voice from behind her.

"Leave it, Princess, we have done our part."  Zenaria turned, eyes wide, and there stood Sir Varden.  No longer in lion form, he was entirely nude, but displayed none of his old embarrassment at the situation.  "How...?" she gasped, and then realized that she was speaking with her human voice.  For the first time she realized that somehow she had been returned to her human form. 

Sir Varden stepped toward her, his hands outstretched and took hers in his.  "Junal is dead and his palace destroyed.  Leave the Orb to the magicians.  It is theirs to claim."

As if to emphasize his words there was a disturbance near the Orb.  The air shimmered and suddenly Alzid was there, staff in hand.  The dwarf bowed, apparently completely unconcerned that neither Zenaria nor Sir Varden was clothed. 

Confused, Zenaria stared at her nude body.  There was not a mark on it.  Had the Orb restored her and Sir Varden to their natural form or had Junal's death had something to do with it?  There was no way of knowing, although probably Alzid could have told them.  Her eyes went to where the dead magician lay.  If his neck had not been broken when she yanked on the chain he was certainly dead now.  All that was visible were his feet and the red-velvet slippers that covered them.  The rest was hidden by a massive block of stone. 

"I knew the Orb was no longer in Junal's control as soon as you freed it," Alzid said, "and so I used the transportation spell to bring myself to it."  As if guessing what Zenaria's next question might be he continued speaking.  "The Orb cannot be hidden from one such as me.  I can sense its power wherever it is, but it would have been suicide for me to attempt to retrieve it.  Junal would have detected me at once and I would not long have survived his wrath.  It was you and Sir Varden who had to find a way to the Orb and I see that you succeeded."

"What now?" Zenaria asked.  She still held Sir Varden's hand and he made no attempt to let go of hers. 

"With the power of the Orb I can return all of us to the palace.  Junal is dead and his power destroyed.  His minions have fled and I expect his slaves will return to their families.  There is nothing more I need to do here."

Zenaria nodded.  She was very much looking forward to retrieving her bow and sword.  And she wanted a hot bath to clean off the grime that covered her.  After that...  Well, she could think of something.  "Return us then," she said.

"Wait," Sir Varden interjected.  "I do not know about the princess, but I would prefer to find something to clothe my body before I find myself in the Emperor's court.  It seems unseemly to enter like a naked savage."

"Agreed," Alzid said.  "I see that there a number of bodies among the ruins.  Perhaps you could salvage some clothing until something more suitable is found for you."

"It took Zenaria and Sir Varden a few minutes to find clothing that was not too bloodstained or too torn to be serviceable.  None of it fit properly, but it did the job of covering their bodies and soon they were ready.

Alzid touched the Orb of Power.  Unlike what it had done to Zenaria it did not repel him and he chanted a brief incantation.  It was nothing like the transportation spell he had used to send them to the outskirts of Junal's palace.  Apparently the power of the Orb made that sort of elaborate spell unnecessary.  However, there was the same feeling of gut-wrenching disorientation and then they were back in the huge domed room where they had first found the Orb. 

"It belongs here," Alzid said, carefully placing the orb back in its setting.  "However, I will have to improve the security to prevent another incident like the one that brought you here.  In the meantime the Emperor is waiting."

Once again Zenaria and Sir Varden were escorted through the palace.  This time, however, they were treated as returning heroes rather than hired killers or wild beasts.  They were received with thanks, their weapons and armour returned to them.  In Zenaria's case she was gifted with an exquisite suit of bronze armour magically light but enchanted to act like much heavier armour.  All of this was received with thanks and then they endured the usual banquet that went with such occasions.

Normally feasting and drinking was something that would have delighted Zenaria as it would any Erogenian warrior.  But this time there was something else on her mind.  She ate and drank just enough not to appear ungracious and endured the speeches of thanks with proper attention.  When the Emperor finally retired she excused herself, asking that she be shown to her quarters. 

Sir Varden used the occasion to excuse himself also and together they were escorted through the corridors of the palace by Alzid.  "I have taken the liberty of placing you in the same suite," the dwarf explained.  "There are, of course separate bedchambers.  However, if you prefer I can place you in completely separate rooms." 

"No," Zenaria answered, "this will do.  Provided of course that the gentle knight agrees." 

"I am happy with the arrangements," Sir Varden replied. 

Alzid smiled his pleasure at their acceptance and motioned to the guard to open the door.  Zenaria and Sir Varden stepped into the grandest room she had ever seen.  Everywhere they looked there was the greatest luxury and ostentation.  Gems had been set into the malachite floors and walls and glowing crystals threw a magical light throughout the room making the thousands of precious stones sparkle with the light of myriad stars.  Servants, both male and female and obviously chosen for their beauty knelt before them awaiting their command. 

Zenaria looked at Sir Varden, not sure of how to react.  Never in her dreams had she envisioned a room like this and she had no idea what to ask of the servants.  Fortunately, Alzid was a bit of a mind reader.  "The servants will serve you any way that you desire," he volunteered, "Send away any that you do not need.  You can call for service at any time simply by pulling the bell.  I would suggest, however, that you allow them to show you to your bedchambers and perhaps prepare a bath if that is what you want."

"Thank you," Zenaria replied.  "I will do just that.  Perhaps all of the servants could leave except those who are needed to prepare my bath."

Alzid nodded his approval at this suggestion.  He gave a few quick commands leaving Zenaria with just two female servants and two male servants for Sir Varden, having evidently guessed that the knight would not be comfortable being attended by two very nubile and only partially clad young women. 

They were shown to their rooms and the servants helped Zenaria remove her clothing.  The rags they had worn when they had arrived had been replaced with much finer garments, but they had been allowed only a quick wash before the ceremonies and festivities began and she was looking forward to the bath. 

The bedroom and the bath rivalled the living area in opulence and decoration.  Needless to say the attention Zenaria received in the bath left her more than satisfied, but during the entire episode the matter that had been on her mind during the banquet continued to occupy her thoughts.  She cut the bath short and waited patiently while the serving girls combed and styled her hair.  Not being knowledgeable of Snow leopard warrior hair styles they twisted her thick dark mane into an elaborate coiffure.  Zenaria tolerated this simply not to appear ungracious, but she dismissed the two girls as soon as it seemed appropriate.  Then bathed and dressed in robes of the finest silk; and her hair studded with jewels she emerged from her bedroom. 

The living area was deserted except for the two serving girls who had seemingly misunderstood her instructions about leaving.  She ignored them and crossed the room to Sir Varden's bedchamber.  Pushing it open she found the knight dressed in silken finery similar to hers.  He appeared scrubbed, but restless.  His back was turned to her and he was peering out the open balcony doors toward the glowing lights of the rest of the palace, his faced creased in a frown.

"Sir kni..." she began and then stopped.  She would be cursed by the goddess of the Moon before she would keep on calling him Sir knight or Sir Varden.  Not after what he had done to her. 

"Varden," she continued as he turned, "there is something I require of you."

The knight's eyes widened slightly and he flushed, his eyes fixed on hers.  "And what is that, Princess?" he asked, his voice tinged with tension.

"This," Zenaria answered, releasing her hair with a tinkle of falling gems, and untying her sash to let her robe fall from her exquisite warrior's body.

Sir Varden looked at her, his blue eyes wide and a slow smile spreading over his features.  Then he stepped toward her.

Chapter 13: Return?

"Oh, Goddess!" Zenaria gasped.  She was face down on the huge bed, her arms clutching the bedpost and her hips slightly raised by a brace of pillows.  Sir Varden was ploughing her furrow like a farmer with a three horse team.  His stamina was incredible, more than making up for his lack of technique and his somewhat prudish nature, and he had forced her to the edge of orgasmic exhaustion. 

"Your goddess will not save you now, Princess," Varden replied.  He reached forward, squeezed her breasts and leaned back and slammed into her another dozen times. 

Zenaria moaned.  Varden was hung like his horse; another characteristic that helped to make up for his neophyte lovemaking.  The head of his shaft was tickling her cervix, and he had considerably more in reserve.  He pulled out, giving her a brief respite before turning her on her side and lifting her left leg.  Shifting his weight he straddled her right thigh, opening her vulva to still another attack. 

He eased his way in, using her raised leg to hold her steady, and slowly began top move in and out of her throbbing pleasure garden.  He pulled her close, penetrating her deeply while lightly caressing the area just above her nether lips.  Zenaria could not hold back a scream as her body contracted in yet another orgasm.  Then Varden released his seed into her. 

Still quivering, Zenaria settled into Varden's arms.  For all of his strength and energy, he was a gentle and compassionate lover, one who would certainly improve with time and practice; and she fully intended to give him that practice. 

"I could stay with you forever, Princess," Varden said as he stroked her hair, "but we have already been two days in this room and I think it is time we returned."

"I suppose you are right," Zenaria agreed, as she snuggled closer.  "I still have my embassy to complete. 

"Umm," Varden hemmed, "it is another reason I had in mind."

"Oh?" Zenaria asked.  The hesitation in the knight's voice told her that something was coming. 

Varden shifted his position so that he could look her in the face.  "I have broken my vow of celibacy.  I will admit that while in lion form I was not in control of my faculties, but I broke it nonetheless.  And now that we have become intimate there is no going back.  There is only one way I can atone for my transgression."

Zenaria pushed away from him.  "Are you trying to tell me that you are ashamed of what we did?"  Furious, she got to her feet.  "By the Moon and Sun, we have been intimate, as you call, it for two days.  I'm so sore I can hardly walk and you talk about your honour."

"Zenaria, it is not like that," Varden said, his voice thick with emotion.  "I'm just not very good at expressing myself.  Of course I enjoyed our two days together.  It has been the most wonderful experience of my life.  But I cannot leave you like this.  I love you and wish to marry you."

"Love."  That really complicated things the way that Varden meant it.  Zenaria knew enough about Kivalian culture to understand that it meant something different from the way an Erogenian meant it.  Liaisons in Snow Leopard society could be anything from casual sex to very strong love relationships, but that didn't necessarily mean a permanent bonding.  Even children could be raised outside relationships, as was the case with her daughter, children being considered to be the responsibility of the entire community.  The problem was she was quite sure that Varden would not understand any of this.  Somehow she had to find a way to explain to him that lovemaking and marriage were two quite separate things without destroying their friendship. 

"Marriage?" she said.  "I am a princess of the Snow Leopard.  I cannot marry without the permission of my queen."  That was a bit of a stretch, almost certainly Queen Cirilia, Zenaria's mother, would approve any relationship Zenaria chose.  Warriors of the Snow Leopard did not marry for dynastic or political considerations, however, like most mothers, the Queen would probably appreciate being informed of her daughter's choice, and so it was not entirely a lie. 

"Then we must return to your homeland and seek permission," Varden said.  "We should ask Alzid at once."

"I cannot return home until I have completed my embassy," Zenaria said.  "But I see no reason why we should part."

"I think," Varden said, "that you do not love me as I do you."

"I suspect you are right," Zenaria said.  "It would not be candid of me to say otherwise, but I see no reason why we should not remain lovers."

Varden seemed torn, as Zenaria had expected he would be.  Clearly he did not understand her reluctance to commit herself to him.  To him sex was synonymous with love; and love meant marriage.  It would take time, but she was sure that she could eventually make things clear to him.  She still truly loved only one man and that was not the Kivalian knight. 

"It is late," she smiled, attempting to soften the blow.  "And we have made ourselves very tired.  Let us sleep and tomorrow we will go to the Emperor and ask his permission to leave."

Varden held out his arms and they returned to the bed.  They did not make love again, but lay together, their bodies touching.  The next morning they requested an audience with the Emperor.

Pulan agreed to see them almost at once.  Apparently the fact that they were officially "Saviours of the Empire" carried a little bit of weight.  When they arrived in the magnificent gardens that Junal preferred to use as his throne room both Pulan and Alzid awaited them. 

"We expected that you would eventually wish to return," Alzid said.  "Preparations have been made for that eventuality."

The "preparations" appeared to be little more than greetings and gifts to Zenaria's and Varden's respective monarchs.  As befitted a warrior race Zenaria was given a sword of the finest Jinguan steel to give to Cirilia.  It had been charged with magical properties that made it virtually indestructible and insured that it remained razor edged even under the heaviest use.  It was a gift that Zenaria wholeheartedly approved of and her delight was more than obvious. 

Sir Varden's gift was a robe of the finest silk that gave its wearer the ability to instantly replenish the healing powers characteristic of a member of Sir Varden's order.  It was something that would go a long way to buying him absolution for the breaking of his vow of celibacy.

The gift giving complete and the farewells said, Zenaria and Sir Varden were escorted to the hall housing the Orb of Power.  "From here you will be sent back to where Junal abducted you," Alzid explained.   "I expect you can make your own way home from there."

Zenaria smiled, partly  because she was glad to be returning to familiar ground and partly because she suspected that the Jinguans were not particularly comfortable with two such potentially disruptive barbarians in their midst.  No doubt there would be a sigh of relief when they were finally on their way.

Alzid had them stand close to the Orb and began the usual slow chant.  With the Orb's power he needed no help from Pulan or Dendar.  As the chant progressed the Orb began to pulse with power and Zenaria felt herself being drawn toward it like a chip of wood in a whirlpool.  And then there was the almost familiar disorienting and stomach-turning sensation as the world around her disappeared.

Alzid stood looking where the warrior princess and her knight had stood.  "Farewell, Princess," he muttered.  "I wish you and your lover good fortune."

Zenaria stood blinking in the bright sunlight, her sword in her hand.  She did not remember drawing it, but it now seemed like a very good idea.  She and Varden were standing in a wilderness setting of strange thorny trees and tall grasses.  Off in the distance was a large herd of large-horned animals, but it was the bizarre creatures standing just a few hundred feet away that drew their attention. 

They were the size of large huts with huge fan-like ears and two gigantic teeth that curved out and upward from their massive heads.  But most extraordinary was the long flexible nose of each of the creatures that they waved about like a tentacle. 

Zenaria looked at Varden.  "I don't think this is Erogenia," she sighed.