“Take that rag away and bring me some decent clothes!”
Feenix threw the gray gown at the old woman who had entered the holding cell. She may be naked, but she was not going to wear rags on her body.
“I am Lala, chief slave of the royal house. I have been commanded to prepare you for your duties. His Highness has ordered that you wear t his garment,” the woman said as she bent down and picked up the offending dress. “Save yourself a beating. Put it on.”
“I don’t care who ordered what! I refuse to put that thing on my back. It probably has lice and fleas living in it! Find me some clothes fit for a warrior. Something like your prince was wearing will do for now!”
Feenix stood with her fists on her hips and glared at the petite silvan slave. She looked to be about the oldest elf Feenix had ever seen. Wrinkles covered her face and hands, like the cracks of a riverbed in drought. Her wispy white hair looked thin and fine, chopped to just below her pointed ears. A silver band, black with tarnish inside intricate carvings and runes, encircled her neck. Wrinkled folds of loose skin grew around the edges of the metal, and the collar looked to have been there for ages.
A large, well armed guard stood at the door, blocking any chance Feenix had to escape. If she had her own gear, the guard would be no problem at all, but the way things were now, it was best to bide her time.
The holding cell was actually a small stone room without windows, of course, and with a ceiling that reached far above her head. A pallet of straw lay against a wall, and a bucket sat in a corner. Nothing else. No table. No chair. Not even any straw on the floor. Feenix had lived in worse places.
“And what would you do with warrior’s clothing?” Lala asked. “Put the gown on and save me the trouble of dressing you.”
“Ha! You and that ox standing by the door couldn’t dress me in that rage if my hands were tied and my feet nailed to the floor!” She decided to take a gamble. “Come on,” she prodded, “I’ll bet the two of you together couldn’t dress a new born babe!”
“You are a foolish human,” the elf said. “Prince L’Garn is expecting you to be ready when he returns. I have never failed in any job given to me. I will not fail in this.”
“Prepare for disappointment, hag!” Feenix crouched with her arms held out to the side, ready to react to any advance or movement her captors might make.
The old elf motioned to the guard without taking her tired eyes off the warrior woman. The guard swept a coiled length of leather from his side in a blurred movement Feenix couldn’t follow until the last second. The stone room exploded with a pop as the whip set her ears to ringing.
Before she could react, the tip of the whip again reached out and flicked open a wound in her left thigh as long as her index finger.
Howling in pain and rage, Feenix clapped her hand over the blood and backed up, but not in time to avoid the end of the whip once again. This time it wrapped around her right ankle like a stinging clamp. The guard yanked the whip and Feenix fell to the floor in a heap.
As soon as she hit the ground, the little old elf woman jumped on her in a flash, holding a thin wire around her neck.
“Now,” she said to the fallen Feenix. “Let us dress you, shall we?”
Feenix put her hands on Lala’s shoulders and pushed, kicked and hooked her right leg around the woman’s waist, then rolled to the left. Suddenly Lala was pinned beneath the warrior woman, but the wire at Feenix’ throat had begun to cut off her air. A trickle of blood dripped onto the face of the old elf.
Feenix put the heel of her palm under the elf’s chin and pushed upward, bearing down with as much pressure to the ancient throat as possible, trying without success to break the hold. Her other hand fumbled to release the wire around her own neck without success.
Feenix straddled the woman and put both of her hands around her adversary’s throat, intending to snap the old woman’s neck before the wire strangled her. Damn that half-elf’s spell! She still felt as weak as a kitten! Blackness crept over her eyes; her lungs begged to be replenished with air. White and red dots chased each other across her vision, but still she held on to the wrinkled neck of the old slave. Just a little longer …
Crack!
Feenix screamed with agony as the whip landed on her bare back, cutting a line of fire from her shoulder to her waist. She let go of the woman and rolled to the right, trying to dodge another sting of the leather.
As she moved, another guard rushed into the room, tugged her hands behind her, and pulled her long hair so that her head bent back, giving Feenix a wonderful view of the ceiling. She found herself effectively pinned to the floor on her knees, although a voice from deep within exalted over the fact that it took two men to subdue her, even with the lingering effects of L’Garn’s spell. Some time during the fight, the wire had fallen from her neck, and she gulped in great breaths of air.
“That was foolish of you,” the old woman said, rising slowly and rubbing her injured neck.
“You’d be dead right now if I had my own gear,” Feenix ground out through a burning throat, finding it difficult to talk with authority in her awkward position.
“Put the slave necklace on her, and the chains,” the woman ordered the guards.
“I’m no one’s slave,” Feenix yelled, struggling to break the iron hold of the guard.
“You are now,” the old woman answered.
On her knees with her hands bound and her hair pulled back so that her throat lay open to any dagger, Feenix did not have a clear view of the room. She heard the guard by the door shuffle towards her, and watched in horror as an iron ring was lowered to her neck and then clamped in place.
A harsh shove from behind forced her on her stomach while the guard locked the collar behind her neck. Her breasts pushed into the hard stone and her cheek hugged a jagged crack in the floor.
“By the god’s brass bells, get this thing the hell off my neck! Feenix of Port Marcus is no one’s slave! I will kill you all!”
Her struggles were in vain. The sheer weight of the guards, combined with their strength, soon had her dressed and the slave ring in place. Her hands were manacled and a heavy chain was run through the necklace and attached to the iron bands on each hand. The length of the chain prevented her from extending her arms or lowering them past her waist.
“You scum! Do you know who you are dealing with here?” She drew herself up as straight as she could and put as much command and intimidation as possible in her words. “I am Captain Feenix of Port Marcus! If you do not release me immediately, there will be so many warriors swarming through these caverns you won’t be able to turn around without impaling yourselves on a sword!”
“Quiet, slave!” The silvan woman did not seem to be intimidated at all by Feenix’ threats. “I do not care who you were before you came here. From this time forward, you are a slave of Cragimore. You will work and eat and sleep only when told. You will not rest without permission. You will not eat without permission. You will not even relieve yourself without permission. This is the first lesson you must learn as a slave.”
Feenix looked directly into the washed out hazel eyes of the woman. The coloring was wrong. Night Elves had paler skin, and their eyes were not the color of woodlands. The old woman was silvan, but not a Night Elf.
“Go to hell,” she said and then aimed a great glob of spit at the woman’s face.
She had forgotten about the guard behind her. Her sight went black with colored spots before she felt the pain in her head. The stone floor slapped her cold and hard, and then she thought of nothing else.
* * *
Pain exploding inside her head told her she was probably awake. The incessant voice speaking to her wasn’t making any sense, however, so she decided to ignore the pain and go back to sleep. Except the paid wouldn’t go away. Neither would the oddly soothing voice.
“Feenix! Captain Feenix!”
Damn elves, why couldn’t they leave her alone to enjoy a moment or two of rest? The war would wait.
“Wake up, slave!”
This time the words were accompanied by a series of stinging slaps to her face that made the pain in her head feel like it would rip her skull from her neck.
“Damn,” she yelled, forcing her stubborn eyes to open, “get the hell away from me or you’ll find yourself with two black eyes and a broken nose!”
Feenix blinked to dispel the blurry vision standing in front of her. She must be dreaming. What the hell were all these elves doing in her quarters?
Another slap to her face restored her memory.
“Damn. Where’s your bloody prince?”
One of the guards jerked her up into a standing position, and then pushed her back against the stone wall. It was then that Feenix realized she was chained to the wall from the back of her slave collar.
“Like a flea-bitten dog,” she mumbled.
“You will stand in the presence of your betters,” the guard growled.
“Right.” Since she didn’t have much choice, Feenix decided to humor her guests.
“Now that you have rested,” Lala spoke, “you will begin to learn your duties. You will come with me.”
As the guard unlocked the chain that tethered her to the wall, Feenix inquired, “When is dinner? I’m starved.”
“You will eat when your chores are completed. Follow me.”
“Look, Lily,” she said as the guard gave her a push from behind to start her feet moving out the door. “I haven’t had anything to eat in two days. I demand some food.”
The little old elf stopped and turned to give Feenix a look of disgust.
“You can not demand anything, human. You can only obey. I will not tell you again. And my name is Lala.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned and resumed her walk down the stone corridor outside Feenix’ cell. Again the guard pushed Feenix from behind to get her moving. She gave the guard a dirty look, and then followed Lala.
“Well, fine. But I work better with a full belly.”
Her captors ignored the comment.
Feenix tried to memorize her location and where they were taking her, but without any distinguishing landmarks, such as rooms, doors or windows, it was difficult. The corridor seemed to be one long hall carved from the living rock. The stone was pale gray with chips of quartz glistening from its hard surface.
The procession of elves and captive bore no torches, and there were none mounted on the walls. An eerie greenish-yellow light emanated from the floor, which allowed enough light to see. The entire corridor was like walking in a mist-shrouded twilight world. It gave her the creeps.
The same musty, forest floor smell she had noticed w hen L’Garn had first carried her into Cragimore was still present. She thought that a bit odd since the entire stronghold seemed to be made of rock, swept free of any leaves, dirt or other debris, except for the stuff growing on the floor that made the weird light. Maybe that’s what caused the odor.
“Where are we going?”
This obeying stuff was getting on her nerves. She didn’t like walking into something she knew nothing about, and hated not knowing what to expect.
“Silence,” Lala replied without a backward glance.
Feenix noted that Lala’s clothes were of a better quality than the rag she wore, although both were a grayish-mud color. In fact, now that she thought about it, she hadn’t noticed much color on anyone’s clothes. No gold or brilliant blue; no bright yellow or deep red. Even the prince, L’Garn, wore no decorations or color on his clothes. It was as if the people were as washed out and bland as their surroundings. How boring.
Waling with her wrists chained to the ring around her neck was awkward. She preferred to have her hands free and swinging as she walked. Not being able to lower them further than her waist made her feel like she was waddling like a duck.
“How much further?”
She stumbled to her knees as the guard behind her hit her with the handle of the whip. Damn, at this rate her pounding head would never survive.
“No more talk, human,” the guard growled. “Just walk!”
“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” She found it difficult to stand without her arms for balance.
Again the butt of the whip slammed her in the back of her neck. This time she fell to the ground completely, lying on the floor of the hall. Since her face hit the light-giving growth, she learned that indeed the musty smell came from the fungus growing on the path. Close up, it stank!
“Get up,” the guard growled.
Feenix wondered what they would do if she pretended to be unconscious again. She didn’t have long to wonder.
“Pick her up,” Lala commanded the guard.
Feenix felt her attacker grab the iron ring behind her head and haul her up without much trouble. The metal band bit into her neck, and it felt like her windpipe would snap in two.
She tried to stand, but her legs were wobbly, and her head so dizzy she had trouble focusing her eyes. The only thing that kept her from smelling the foul path again was the guard’s hold on her collar.
“Now, move,” the guard ordered.
As battered, sore and dizzy as she felt, Feenix took no orders from any enemy.
“Make me,” she choked.
The guard lifted her off her feet and shook the iron collar like a dog with a bone. She thought the metal would sever her head, and it would roll right off her shoulders. A broken sound – half hysterical chuckle, half groan of pain – escaped her lips as she imagined the sight of her head rolling down the corridor, her long hair wrapping around it like a ball of yarn.
“Enough,” shouted Lala. “His Highness will flay us alive if you kill her. Bring her.”
“I do not care a rat’s tail what the ‘Breed wants,” the guard holding Feenix replied. “I would like to have a go at t his human myself.” She tried to push his groping hand away as he squeezed her right breast painfully. The other guards agreed and someone made a comment about stopping and trying her out.
“Get your filthy hands off me,” Feenix croaked in a painful gruff voice. That damned collar would be the death of her. He merely shook her again and laughed.
“Holdert,” Lala spoke in a mollifying tone. “His Highness wants this new slave in one piece. Let us bring her and have done with the job.”
The guard dropped Feenix to the floor and turned to the little elf.
“I am a member of the King’s Guard. I do not take orders from a slave.”
Lala bowed to him, casting a wan smile his way.
“Of course I would not presume to order you, Master Holdert. However, the prince gave orders to us both to see that the new slave is prepared.”
In a flash, his hand struck Lala across the face.
“I do not need you to tell me my duty, slave!” Lala wiped a trickle of blood from her lip. “The ‘breed will get his slave when I have finished with her.”
“That would not be wise, master. The prince expects you to do your job, just as he expects me to do mine.”
Did the stupid woman not know enough to keep her mouth shut, Feenix wondered? She tried to sit up, racing her back against the wall, but it wasn’t easy fettered as she was.
Holdert took a step towards Lala, and the old slave backed into the wall. “You may be the chief slave, Lala, but your rank holds no weight with me.”
“Easy, Holdert,” one of the guards said. “She holds high favor with the princess.”
“The royal whore, you mean,” he said without turning away from the cowering old slave before him.
Although he stood with his back to Feenix and the gloomy light in the caverns did not allow her to see his face, she knew how he must look as he intimidated his prey. She knew his kind; always ready to take out their inadequacy on the defenseless. The light of power would be gleaming in his eyes; lips pulled tight in a grimace of anticipation while intoxicating strength surged through his blood. With a flick of his wrist, he could kill an old woman like Lala in a second and enjoy the feel of brittle bones snapping. The fear and terror in the eyes of his prey would only fuel the power and prove he was strong and virile.
Feenix’ tired and battered body groaned in protest as she raised her right leg and kicked Holdert in the back of his left knee. Unfortunately she didn’t connect cleanly, and instead of breaking the bully’s knee, she merely bruised it. His leg gave out and he dropped to the ground.
Her victory was short lived as another guard drew his sword and placed the tip, none too gently, at the base of her throat. These elves seemed to have a fascination with her neck and throat.
“You will live to regret that,” Holdert said as he stood with the help of a guard. “Lala is right. You need to be taught the proper behavior of a slave. Pick her up and bring her,” he ordered as he limped down the corridor.
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