1. Prison

Clara shuddered as she listened to the commotion downstairs. By the goddess, the guards had followed

her to Maria’s tavern. She could hear them shouting and Maria’s screamed response. At least Maria

had kept her word but Clara was concerned that her willingness to protect her friend could result in her

being dragged off to the Riverwake Tower and clapped in irons, or worse. The walled city of Irulan

was by no means a safe place, even for an experienced member of the thieves’ guild, but the notorious

Riverwake Tower, was a hellhole. Clara shuddered as she remembered her last stay there, five years

ago, before the subsequent whipping she received in the town square in front of the crowds. She did not

want Maria to suffer a similar fate, but neither did she want to end up there herself. Memories of the

foul, stinking cells, where prisoners were held naked, chained with ankle fetters to the wall, made her

flinch.

She could hear the guards coming upstairs now. Despite Maria’s best efforts, it was clear that she had

failed in her attempts to convince the night watch that no thieves of the guild were staying in her

isolated tavern this night. Clara backed away from the door and began to pull on her boots, slipping a

dagger into one and then making for the skylight in the roof of the garret room.

Doors were being kicked in along the corridor, accompanied by the myriad shouts and screams of

interrupted guests. She opened the skylight and jumped up, pulling herself lithely onto the roof, her

dark hair blown by the breeze outside, just as the door was kicked in and armed men began to enter.

Gasping, she pulled herself onto the roof as the point of a crossbow bolt was pushed into her neck.

“That’s far enough thief!” The sight of three crossbows, wielded by the men on the roof, was enough to

convince her to stay still…

***

Clara and Maria were pushed through the city streets. Clara still wore the blouse and leather trews and

boots, though her hands had been bound behind her back. Maria too had been bound, wearing only the

pale dress and sandals that she had worn in the tavern.

“They…They’re taking us to the Riverwake Tower,” Maria whispered, fearful, her brown hair

cascading around her face. Maria had seen her fortieth summer, around ten years older than Clara.

Shivering now in the night air, Clara could see that she dreaded being taken to the awful prison by the

city wall.

Clara tried to blank out the memories that filled her head as they were taken inside the gates of the

Riverwake.

“Maria,” she whispered. “They will have us stripped, put in ankle fetters in a stinking cell…but…I will

get us out…do you understand?”

Maria, shaking, nodded her understanding. The guards were rough, but knew their place, and had not

interfered overtly with the women on the way to the prison. That they would leave to the Captain of the

guard.

Clara stared at the large man behind the wooden desk, smelling the stench emanating from the spiral

staircase that led to the dungeons below. A scream pierced the gloom and Maria gasped. They both

stood in front of the professional looking officer, as he surveyed them.

“What have they done?”

“This one,” the guard said gruffly, pushing Clara, “…decided to put up a fight when we tried to arrest

her in a brawl. She ran to this one’s tavern,” he finished by pushing Maria, who grunted and almost

fell.

The Captain nodded, eyeing both of the women, rubbing the growth of dark stubble on his chin. He

pointed at Maria.

“Put this one in chains…she’ll probably get the whip…eighty lashes, Innkeep,” he nodded gruffly at

her as he spoke, taking little pleasure in his work. Maria’s gasp of horror was drowned out as he added

with a snarl, “Take her away!”

Maria was dragged toward the spiral staircase, realising that her protests would fall on deaf ears. Clara

could hear the sound of her dress being torn away and her subsequent screams.

Captain Lared looked at the remaining woman in front of him. He had served in the Duke’s army since

he had been a young man and had recently been given governance of the Riverwake.

“You show little fear woman!”

Clara stared at him. “I’ve been here before.”

Lared looked back. “I see…you bear a brand then?”

Clara nodded slowly.

“Strip her.”

Clara made no sound as the guards ripped away her blouse then undid her trousers. She was pushed to

the floor as her boots were removed, her loincloth ripped away.

She slowly stood up, shivering as the guards pulled her by her still bound wrists.

Her bare breasts rose and fell as she breathed, staring now at the Captain, as he in turn studied her large

breasts and the single branded letter that he saw there. He rose slowly and came toward her. Despite

her nakedness she remained defiant, gritting her teeth as she was inspected.

“You have been branded,” he whispered, cupping her right breast, tracing his finger around the letter

that indicated that she had been punished for thievery as she shuddered. “Were you whipped, or made

to ride the horse?”

“I…I was whipped.”

He smiled, then considered her naked form, serious once more.

“How many lashes?”

“Eighty,” she replied curtly.

“And yet you risk more punishment by fighting with the watch and no doubt, remaining with the

thieves’ guild here in Irulan?” He walked behind her now, tracing his hand across the whitening marks

of the lashes that she had received five years past. She writhed at his touch, held fast by the guards.

“It will be the galley for you this time!”

Clara swallowed nervously, betraying her fear for the first time.

“The…galley?”

“Yes. Condemned to row at the oar, amidst the filth and stench of the sweating women. Chained by the

ankles, under the whip.”

“Let…Let Maria go. It’s me you want.”

“Admirable…I’m sure, but she is guilty of harbouring you from the city watch, and will most likely be

whipped herself.”

Clara gasped at the thought that Maria might face the lash and tried to turn.

“I ...can persuade you to let her go.”

“Oh? How is that thief?”

Clara raised her arms, suggesting that she might be untied…

***

Maria jumped in fright as she heard another cry in the semi darkness. The smell of human waste and

filth in the long corridor that made up the dungeon was overpowering. The cells were divided by thick

walls, though only barred sections with doors faced the front. Guards could patrol up and down, simply

checking on the prisoners by looking inside. There was no privacy, indeed, as Clara had predicted, she

had been stripped completely naked by the guards, even her sandals and loincloth removed. Her ankles

had been locked into thick steel fetters, which although rusted, were strong enough to prevent her

escape. The filth and rust that now covered her hands stood testament to her attempt. She concentrated

on staying strong, on not weeping, as she stared across the cold stone floor.

She shivered against the cold, despite the warmth of the climate in Irulan. What straw there was, was

wet and covered with filth or human waste. She noted some piles of waste, where previous prisoners

had obviously, animal like, kept it in a single area. She despaired and feared how long she might have

to stay here. She thought as she shivered, that she could hear laughing upstairs. Perhaps they were

toying with Clara…or worse.

Her thoughts were interupted by the sound of footsteps on the staircase, boots and the padding of bare

feet. Clara!

Maria watched as a naked Clara was pushed along the corridor, trying not to slip on the slime and filth

of the cobbles. The cell door was unlocked and opened with a creak and Clara was pushed inside, only

to have her ankles similarly chained in heavy rusted steel fetters on the wall facing her. The guards left

without a sound. Clara made an attempt at a smile and shivered. covering her breasts with her arms as

she leant against the wall.

“What happened Clara? How long will we stay here? What will happen to us…to me?”

Clara winced as the steel grated at the flesh of her ankle.

“We will be free tomorrow Maria…I hope.”

“What? How?”

“I…I gave the Captain what he wanted,” Clara replied, spitting onto the filthy floor of the cell.

Maria winced.

“Your body?”

“And more. The price of freedom,” she whispered as she looked into Maria’s eyes. “Otherwise, I

would have seen the galley. I didn’t really want to be condemned to the oar for the rest of my life. And

you, would have been whipped. Did you want eighty lashes at the post?”

Maria gasped. “No…I…I’m sorry Clara.” Chains rattled as she moved by the wall. “I’m sorry.”

Neither of the women got used to the stench or the muffled screams in the night as they tried to sleep,

naked, shivering and chained as they were. Eventually, dawn spread its fingers of light through the

small, round barred window high in the wall. Clara watched as yellow stripes of light spread across

Maria curled legs, already grimed from lying even one night on the dank straw and filthy stone. Maria

slept lightly. Clara moved quietly, trying not to rattle the heavy chains as she began to move on her

hands and feet to the corner of the cell, as far as the restricting fetters would allow, in order to urinate

on the floor. She had no option but to let the warm liquid spread about her bare toes as she squatted.

She would have a bath later. At least, if the Captain held to his end of the bargain, they would only be

spending one night in the Riverwake Tower.

2. The Price

Both women rose with a start at the metallic sound made by the steel barred door as it creaked open.

“The prisoners will stand!” A guard with a thick pointed nose barked the order as he entered the cell.

Maria, terrified, began to get up, urine trickling down her leg as she stood, her body shaking with fear.

She felt sure that she would feel the lash in the town square before it was all over. Clara watched her

nod obediently.

“It will be fine Maria, do not worry,” Clara whispered as she too began to stand, more slowly, chains

rattling as she did so, wincing as the weight of the rusted steel grated on her ankles. The guard smirked

as he watched Maria, the midday sunlight, finding its way through the small barred window, now

glinting off her flesh.

“Unchain this one,” he pointed at Maria, as another scruffy guard in leather armour trudged across the

filthy stone floor. Maria gasped, staring at Clara.

“Am…am I to be freed?” she said, staring at the man in the doorway as the thick fetters at her feet were

unlocked by his accomplice

“Yes…your clothing, what is left of it, will be returned.”

“I…won’t be whipped?” she gasped.

“No. You will not suffer the lash, thanks to your friend.”

The guard smiled evilly at Clara, surveying her naked body.

“It’s a pity the Captain wants her to himself,” he grunted, moving further into the cell and running his

sandalled foot along Clara’s thigh. She squirmed away, staring into the middle distance, nodding

slowly at Maria as she moved her lithe body as far from the guard as the ankle chains would allow.

“What about Clara?” Maria asked slowly, hoping that she would not antagonise the prison guards with

her words.

The armoured man walked on into the cell in ‘pursuit’ of Clara.

“The Captain wants to see this one again. See if she might persuade him to avoid the galley.”

“The galley? NO…you can’t send her to the galley!”

The guard spun around, his attention diverted from Clara.

“YOU…will not decide wench, unless you want to take her place at the oar.”

Maria gasped, shaking her head, tears forming as she stared at Clara.

Her friend looked at the floor, at her chained ankles.

“Just get out of here Maria,” she moaned.

“I’m sorry,” Maria whispered as she padded gingerly to the door. “I’m so sorry.”

Clara nodded, watching her escorted by the guard who had unlocked her.

The older of the two remained.

“A pity he wants you intact wench…a real pity.”

He knelt and cupped her breast as she tried to pull away. He grunted and ran a rough hand down her

belly and along her legs.

“Maybe he might change his mind eh?”

As she looked away, he stood and backed off, closing the cell door and locking it. Her heart was

pounding. At least Maria had got away. She wanted to cry now. Damn, she would be whipped again, or

worse – the galley. By the goddess. She closed her eyes, remembering her last stay in this hell hole,

five long years ago.

Her back was still on fire. She had lain here, face down on the filthy floor for nearly an hour now,

which didn’t help the pain in her breast which still ached from the brand she had suffered, even as the

last lashes of the whip had fallen and she had remained bound between the wooden posts in the square.

She moaned as she squirmed. The cell stank, like the rest of the prison, yet to move, to try to sit up

caused her agony. Her head still spun, her heart pounding. They had cut her down and dragged her

here barely conscious. She flinched as the cell door was unlocked, immediately regretting it as pain

from her back lanced through her. She grunted, her breath coming in short gasps as two guards

entered the cell. One stood in front of her head, his sandalled feet shuffling in the remnants of damp

filthy straw. The other was carrying something, she could hear him grunting with effort. She wanted to

turn around and see, but knew that the effort would cause her greater pain.

Then the salted water from the wooden bucket was dumped over her bloody back. It struck with a loud

splash and she screeched madly, trying to assume a foetal position, but restrained by the thick ankle

fetters which held her legs near the wall. The combination of cold salt water and her movement made

her almost lose consciousness as she tried not to move, gritting her teeth, grasping the ankles of the

man in front of her and squeezing in a vain attempt to gain some sort of respite from the red haze of

pain. He kicked her away, forcing further movement as she heard her wretched screams echo through

the cell and the corridor outside.

“You’ll get this every day for the next week, until the wounds heal,” she heard the voice say.

“Then you’ll be released, wench.”

She nodded slowly, still gasping from the agony.

She would make sure never to end up in this terrible place again.

Clara awoke from the daydream with a start. The guards were at the door once more. She tried to

recollect how long it had been since Maria had been released. An hour, two? The older guard

approached with a length of leather.

“Stand!” he announced.

Clara began to get up from her position against the grimy wall.

“Faster Wench!” he barked, kicking her thigh. His earlier ‘affection’ masked now by fear of his master

perhaps.

Clara gasped as she was forced to stand, her breasts heaving with her heavy breathing as he grasped her

wrists and forced them behind her, spinning her around.

“The Captain wants to see you wench, in his private chambers this time. Aren’t you lucky?” He

whispered through gritted teeth into her ear as she tried to turn away.

“Maybe be a while ‘fore you get whipped eh?”

The second guard unlocked the steel at her legs and she was pushed toward the door.

***

Clara, still tied, had been made to stand naked in the opulent chamber. Again she marvelled at how

different it was in comparison to the cell in which she been chained. She realised quickly that the

stench in the room came from her. It did not take long to become one with the foul Riverwake Tower,

she reasoned slowly. Looking down, she realised that she had left filthy footprints on the white painted

stone while being marched into the room. More surprising than the welcome change of scenery

however, was the large sunken pool of steaming water, in a decorated tiled bath, which was the

centrepiece of the apartment. Despite being attached to the buildings of the Riverwake Tower, the good

Captain’s chamber was home to life’s luxuries, despite its proximity to the filthy prison. She wondered

idly how he put up with the smell.

Were it not for the two armoured guards standing behind her at the main door to the apartment, she

might have taken her chances, but bound and naked as she was, she resolved to bide her time until a

more opportune moment.

She scarcely recognised the man who emerged from behind the curtain beyond the bath, though by his

gait he was obviously a military man, despite his choice of more a liesurely style of clothing. As she

approached, wearing a single piece toga, common with the rich in Irulan, she recognised the man who

she had pleasured the day before, Captain Lared. She gasped, unable to hide her reaction.

“Clara, the thief,” he announced.

She stared, then looked past him at the bath.

“Am I to be to put to torment by being forced to watch a bath go cold?” she croaked, surprised herself

by the thin timbre of her weak voice.

Lared’s face changed as he smiled warmly.

“I thought you might prefer this,” he gestured with his hands, “to the galley.”

Clara stiffened.

“So. You want me to be your whore, is that it?” she barked, the mood suddenly changed, struggling in

the bonds as the injustice of her situation struck home.

Lared stopped, not expecting the abrubt reply he had received.

He approached, as Clara backed away, leaving another set of dirty footprints on the clean white floor.

He grasped her chin tightly.

“You would prefer the galley?”

Clara simply stared, leaving the question unanswered.

“Women are used on the cargo galleys. Their ankles chained, sometimes wrists too. Forced to lean over

the wooden bench and shit and piss into the bilge for the rest of their lives. Their heads and cunts are

shaved to prevent lice, their heels dip into the bilge water with each pull of the oar. The stench makes

the Riverwake seem like a perfume stall. Their bodies are lashed to keep the rhythm. Back, thighs,

belly.” He moved his other hand to her branded breast. “…and breasts. Those who disobey ride the

wooden horse, their cunts on the point of an apex, for hours, sometimes days. Is that what you want?”

Clara shuddering now, shook her head, trying in vain to pull her head away from his grip. His voice

softened.

“I have the power to keep you off the hell ships Clara. Let me help?”

Clara’s head fell and she let herself be pulled forward, toward the bath.

3. Release

Clara woke slowly, the sun shining through the window. She was warm and felt clean. She moved

around the bed, gathering the bedclothes with her body, curling inside them. The man who had left her

in the early hours lived in luxury. Yet for all that, he was a good lover, though she suspected that she

would not be telling him that anytime soon. She had luxuriated in the bath as long as she could before

Captain Lared’s attentions had made her finally succumb, her response encouraged by her reticence to

spend another night with heavy chains weighing down her ankles, amidst the stench and filth of the

dungeons in the Riverwake Tower.

She moaned softly then sat up with a start as she realised that she was not alone. Lared had gone, but

the guards remained, staring at her from the doorway at the far end of the apartment. Had they been

here during their night’s lovemaking. By the goddess, had these people no shame? She fell down on the

bed again, smirking as she realised that her stay in prison had perhaps been a lot better on this occasion

than on the last, despite the fact that Lared seemed to be getting the better of the deal. She wondered

however, where the encounter would lead, hoping that she might end up back in the garret room above

Maria’s tavern.

A swish of robes announced Lared’s return. Smiling as he approached her huddled form, he lowered

and kissed her forehead. Clara tried not to smile back, but could not help herself. Despite the fact that

he commanded the worst prison in the western provinces, she was, despite herself, now quite attracted

to him.

He sat on the bed, brushing her hair from her face. Clara had trouble believing that this man had sent

her to the dungeons to be placed in chains, threatened her with being condemned to the galleys. She

turned away.

“What happens now Lared?”

“Now?” he repeated. “Ah Clara, now we…”

“Excuse me Sir!”

They both sat up, Clara still naked, clutching the bedclothes around her.

Lared turned. As he did so, Clara saw the old guard with the pointed nose, who had lusted after her in

the dungeon. She breathed in sharply.

“What is it Mirch?” Lared snapped, annoyed at having his tender attentions disturbed.

Mirch, for first time, took his eyes away from Clara and looked to his Master.

“Sir, the Duke Sir. Duke Farlech is here to see you.”

“I see,” said Lared, suddenly rising as Clara instinctively pulled herself further away from Mirch and

the thoughts that she could almost feel racing through his brain.

“Will I bring him here Sir?”

Mirch suppressed the smile that both listeners knew that he wanted to make.

“No, Mirch. You will not. I shall see him in the guardroom.”

Lared stared at him.

“You will accompany me. See that the guards keep an eye on the lady.”

“Lady Sir?” This time Mirch could not hide the sarcastic tone in his voice. “She is but a …”

Mirch stopped as Lared stared.

“She is a former prisoner, Mirch. If you wish to be a current one, keep talking!”

Mirch swallowed nervously and backed away from the bed.

“As you wish Sir.”

Lared nodded and with a swish of his robe began to march toward the door. Mirch snatched a wicked

glance at Clara as she pulled the bedclothing tightly around her.

He watched her now from the door, after the Captain’s departure, discussing and laughing with the

guards, until they all stared. By the goddess, she did not want to go back to that dungeon now. Better

the warmth of this bed and even the Captain’s touch compared to lying naked in a pool of urine with

chained feet, in those stinking cells.

Clara clung to the sheets as Mirch and the guards stared at her, trying to retain her calm composure in

the hope that Lared would soon return. She almost cried a sigh of relief, when he came back, carrying a

bundle of clothes.

He smiled as he approached.

“Put these on. They are the remnants of what you removed yesterday. You will be freed,” he

whispered. Clara sensed that the Captain did not wish for his men to hear his words, or indeed, the fact

that he was letting her go, without a visit to the whipping post, stocks or the wooden horse. She nodded

her thanks and slowly began to dress. Her blouse was torn, though she was able to tie it together so that

she would not wander the streets of Irulan half naked.

Though he watched her closely, Clara concentrated more on getting the clothes on and getting out of

the Riverwake Tower. She had to admit though, this second visit had certainly been more pleasurable

than the first.

She stood up, dressed now. Lared smiled evilly.

“Come…I’ll take you out.”

Clara nodded eagerly, her last glance at the evil face of Mirch as she followed the Captain through the

main doors. She received curious looks from the guards as he led her to the gate, noting that the Duke,

or whoever Lared had left to see earlier, appeared to have gone.

She reached the main gate, a guard opening it part way to let out the lithe figure of the woman who he

had seen brought in bound but a day or so before. He watched aghast, looking to his senior commander

Captain Lared, for he had never seen a prisoner released in this fashion before. Usually they were led in

chains from their cell to slavery, the square for punishment or as bent old hags who had spent too long

surviving in the prison hell of the Riverwake.

But now Clara walked free. She turned once to Lared as he watched from the small opening in the

black gate.

“Thank you,” she heard herself say.

In answer Lared gave a mock bow.

“I hope we meet again, perhaps under more pleasing circumstances,” he added ruefully.

She nodded.

“Perhaps.”

The gate was closed with a thud and Clara stood alone in the street.

***

Lared removed his boots and sat on the wooden seat, sipping at the goblet of wine. He had to let her go,

he considered. That was the deal wasn’t it? Didn’t he have some small part of him that remained

honourable? Clara had been gone for less than four hours, yet still he could not easily put her from his

mind. He closed his eyes, remembering the rough skin on her back as he had run his hand along it,

flesh that had been sullied by the many tailed lash many years before. Aside from those healed marks

and her ugly brand she still remained beautiful and he tried to think of other women that he had been

with. Still, his thoughts returned again and again to Clara. Was she some witch who had ensorcelled

him with vile magics?

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of heavy footfalls outside the door. The guards had left by

now, staying outside of the lower tower, there being little need for them inside Lared’s apartments

without a naked prisoner to watch.

Lared placed the wine back on the bench as he stood, responding now to the urgent knocking at the

thick door.

“Mirch, is that you?”

A coughed splutter was the only response.

“S..Sir, no sir, it is guardsman Rennet sir. Master Mirch is asleep..s..sir.”

Lared unlocked the heavy door and pulled it open.

“What is it soldier?”

The nervous young man stared back at him, terrified lest the message that he had to deliver might

inflame his master.

“It’s the woman…Clara sir. She’s at the gate. She wants to see you. It’s just…I haven’t been here long

sir, but no one has ever wanted to get back in.”

Lared could not prevent the smile that creased his features.

4. Maria

Clara was brought to Lared’s apartment once more. Even as she entered, he noted the frenetic pace, the

look of concern on her face.

“We don’t often get return visits so soon?” he remarked extending a hand to her.

“It’s Maria,” she blurted. “After you freed her, she did not return to the tavern.”

Lared was silent, considering.

“Irulan is a dangerous place Clara. She was freed. That is all I can do.”

He motioned his hand toward her as she fliched, drawing back.

“I want you to find her,” she snarled.

“She is not my responsibility Clara, I…”

“She had nothing to do with this, it was me you wanted,” she snapped back. “You took my body and I

agreed to it. None of this is her fault!”

“Calm down woman,” Lared spat back, staring wide eyed at her. “If you want me to help at all.”

Clara gritted her teeth, aware that she was slowly alienating perhaps the only man in Irulan that might

help her on this night. He seemed to calm a little.

“I must applaud your courage, at the very least, coming back into the prison in which, you had

previously been held in chains.”

“Please. It was my fault. It was me your men were after not her. If she has been taken, by slavers or

worse, then…” she paused. “I promised that her I would protect her.”

“And why should I, as Captain of the Riverwake Tower accede to you demands regarding your

erstwhile friend. Should I be so impressed that you promised that she would come to no harm? Irulan is

a dangerous city, and I think you might agree that you got off rather lightly. Even now you would have

found your body being chained inside a slave galley, head shaven, body branded, at the mercy of the

lash.”

Clara stared past him. “Do this for me…and you get…a person inside the thieves guild. A…spy, if you

like.” She closed here eyes, regretting the very words, even as she spoke them.

Lared, paradoxically had gained great interest at her comment.

“You would…turn your back on your own guild for a tavern wench you barely know?”

Clara nodded slowly. He reached up and touched her cheek.

“There might be hope for you yet…in my employ.” He smiled. Clara simply stared.

***

Lared had taken a few men with him, although Clara had noted, to her relief, that Mirch was not

amongst them. Even the Captain of the Riverwake Guard, she realised, does not travel the streets of

Irulan alone at night. Clara had helped determine their route, fairly confident of the streets which Maria

would have taken, which she would have believed to be safe.

Lared had enough authority to gain access to the slave pens, and thereby survey the stock. Clara was

reminded of the stench of the Riverwake as she looked at the desperate souls in the cages and pits,

bound for slavery and endless labour, although some of the women would see a worse fate, as pleasure

slaves.

As night descended, the wharf and docks were lit only by oil lamps that the watch had placed to avoid

total darkness.

“She isn’t here Clara. But that doesn’t mean that you…don’t still belong to me,” Lared grunted in the

darkness, cold now and despite the fact that he would never admit it, a little resentful that he had not

found Maria. His men stood by, awaiting commands. Clara sensed their questioning glances,

wondering if their Captain was indeed mad. None of them could remember being dragged out of the

barracks on a hunt for the friend of a mere prisoner…and a thief at that.

The silence of the night was disturbed by the rattling of chains. Galley slaves were slowly being

brought down a gangplank, being transferred from one ship to another. From the talk of the men who

guarded them, the cargo galley that they were leaving had enough rowers. Instinctively, Clara surveyed

the women. Shaven heads, ugly brands on their lower bellies, just above the hair of their womanhood.

Most were filthy, ugly whip welts across thighs and breasts and backs. She hesitated. One of the

women seemed…clean.

“Maria!”

The galley slave looked up, almost stumbling in the coffle as her ankle fetters made walking difficult

and the connecting chain moreso. It was hard to recognise the woman who she had promised to save,

with a shaven head, but even in the pale light, she saw the pathetic slave, for who she really was.

Clara ran across the dock as the slavers drew swords. Lared immediately ran after her, his men, in the

absence of any other command, drawing their weapons and accompanying him. The presence of

members of the city watch was enough to curb any immediate wish to start a fight.

“These are galley slaves. That is all!” one brave soul offered, a hand on the hilt of his curved sword.

“This one.” Lared indicated calmly.

“She was not sold to you, neither did she come into slavery by other means. She was released from my

prison.” He smiled. “That means that she was taken, by force, by you or others and forced into slavery.

Are you aware of the penalty for kidnapping in Irulan?”

The men looked at each other now, a little intimidated by the presence of a Captain of the guard.

“I…We know nothing of that sir…she is merely being transferred to another galley. She is a slave.

That is all we know.”

Clara stared reassuringly at Maria, whose eyes had a lost look, as if this event and conversation were

only delaying the inevitable for her. A life of hard labour at the oar in chains.

“You will not be taking any of my slaves Captain.”

The resonating voice came from the ship, a man bedecked in large portions of armour, his face scarred;

a veteran or mercenary who appeared to be either the ship’s enforcer, or captain. Lared looked up.

“And you are?”

“Jared Kerr, and this is my vessel. I work for the merchant’s guild and report to them only. This slave

has been on board for days.”

Maria looked genuinely terrified as she looked up, then away, as if acknowledging the presence of her

would-be rescuers might be enough to get her flogged, or worse.

“You lie sir,” Lared barked back, his voice emotionless.

One of his younger men looked to his comrades, who even now moved their hands slowly to their

weapons, aware of what was about to happen.

Kerr strode slowly down the gangplank, portions of his metal armour creaking, a gap toothed, evil

smile gracing his features. He reminded Clara of Mirch. She watched as Lared and he, focussing solely

on each other, sized each other up. Her feelings towards Lared concerned her more however and for the

first time, perhaps in her life, she felt…worried that he might lose the fight. Those feelings were, to her

at least, more horrific than anything she had felt in the Riverwake Tower.

***

Even Clara, who had seen her share of fights, though in her experience managed to stealthily avoid

them, was impressed by what had taken place hours before. It seemed that Lared, who outwardly gave

the impression of a brash bastard of the elite officer class, actually knew his way around a sword. The

fight had been brief. He was also skilled with his tongue. Clara smiled at the thought. In more ways

than one, she considered. He had goaded Kerr into drawing his weapon first, before slicing him across

the throat with a single stroke from his thin blade. No matter how many times she replayed the incident

in her mind, she could scarcely believe how fast it had happened. What the hell was a man like this

doing in charge of a rotting prison?

She heard a sound from the nearby room. Maria. Awake so soon? She rushed in to see her bald headed

friend rising from sleep.

“Did...I remember to thank you Clara?”

The tears came again as Clara approached.

“The galley. I thought I would be there forever. The goddess knows how lucky it was that they decided

to move me that night. The goddess only knows…”

Clara held her as she was racked with sobs.

***

Clara had told Lared that meeting at the Riverwake would be dangerous. She had then been invited to

his house on the other side of the city. It too was richly appointed, yet when, as she lay naked beside

him, she would broach the subject of his wealth and indeed his swordsmanship, he would rapidly

change the subject. Clearly, it was a matter which he did not want to discuss. Weeks had passed since

Maria had been freed and Clara had, on a few occasions, met with Lared to discuss his concerns over

the guild. Their relationship had blossomed to the extent that she would even tell him which areas she

might be working in so that he could arrange for the city watch to avoid them. Yet, he had taken so

little in return. She guessed that his intent was simply to contain rather than control the guild, knowing

that their presence could never truly be erased from Irulan. She t nied not to consider that perhaps she

might be the reason for his continued interest.

But on this night, in the rain, her news was too important to wait for a secret invite to Lared’s city

home. She jumped across another rooftop, feeling her toes grip the ridge tile of the warehouse roof

through the soft boots, as she approached the Riverwake Tower.

Aware that the walls were high and the guards good, even for a thief of her skill, she tried her earlier

approach of using the gate guards to relay her presence. As if briefed as to the arrival of a potential

contact, she was allowed to enter, and escorted to Lared’s apartment immediately.

“You were expecting me? I thought we had agreed that I wouldn’t be a known accomplice.”

She looked at him accusingly as he passed her a goblet of wine and ensured that the guards had gone.

“One of my men saw you on the roof of the tavern. Fear not. He alone is trusted. You seem tense.” He

ran his hand along her cheek as she felt herself soften.

“What…news I have could not wait.”

He raised an inquiring eyebrow in response as she downed the wine.

“The Merchant’s Guild. That Man, Kerr, that you killed when you got Maria back. They’re

sending…an assassin, to kill you.”

Lared remained calm.

“Really? And you know this how?”

“Our guild knows…has been asked to help.”

“Dear Clara,” he beamed. “Will you be involved in helping to kill me?”

“Of course not,” she barked as she moved toward him. “You seem remarkably calm. The Merchant’s

guild is powerful here.”

“Many have tried to end me in the past dear Clara. None have triumphed.”

He pulled her toward him. “Now tell me…what else might I do for you this sodden night?”

She laughed quietly.

“Stay away from the Temple of Soras tomorrow night?”

He laughed and pulled her toward the bed.

Mirch had found it increasingly difficult to listen at the door and had moved to a better position on the

roof, near the top of the crenallated wall. He had missed much of the conversation, but had heard

Clara’s final comments. The Temple of Soras. He licked his teeth and rubbed his stubble as the rain

dripped from his helmet. Oh, he’d be there.

.

5. The Temple

Clara had once more been entrusted with one of the guild’s most important missions. She kept having

to remind herself that there would be no city watch in the area that night. Lared had seen to that

eventuality before, and he would do so again. She found herself smiling at the thought of him,

wondering what he was doing. No time for that, she reminded herself as she moved across the rooftops.

She had asked for one of the apprentices to accompany her. Instead, the head of the guild had insisted

that Mila go. Mila was tall, strong and wiry, a striking blonde. Had she not been trained as a thief, she

would no doubt have become a warrior. She was useful in a fight, that much was sure. Perhaps the head

of the guild expected trouble on this night – with scant knowledge of how effective Clara’s

preparations with a senior officer of the watch had been, he would not know any better. She had

thought that Mila was disliked. Perhaps she was finding favour again.

At least the rain had stopped, she considered, dangling by the rope from the wall which surrounded the

temple of Soras. She tugged the rope and Mila began to descend. In the dim light she made hand

gestures to her, receiving a nod in agreement. Clara pulled the rope and grapple free, passing it to Mila.

The guards did not even patrol this far -amateurs. They were asking to have their map stolen. The two

black clad, masked thieves split up, moving to different areas of the temple structure as agreed, far

from the guards at the gates.

***

Clara slid through the dark passageways, making hardly a sound. Mila would guard the back of the

building, where they would make their exit, then they would go back over the wall. The plan was

simplicity itself. She entered the main temple now. The map, held in a chest, was her quarry. She even

knew where they hid it, under the large statue of their goddess, Soras -goddess of justice. No justice on

this night, she thought.

Staying in the shadows, she moved across the tiled floor. A pale light was given off by a few slim

torches, whose illumination helped more than hindered, showing her direction and destination. She

looked toward the altar.

What? She could see something move. Mila…must be. But she should not have entered. She would

speak to her later about this. Clara stopped. Scuffling now, a cry. Mila moved from the shadows,

pulling a guard by the head, a blade in her hand. She threw him to the ground. Another came out of the

shadows and another…dressed in the uniform of…the Riverwake Tower. Had she been betrayed? She

let critical seconds past as Mila slew one, pulling a small dagger and throwing it at another.

She moved. She had been taught to move fast, let her accomplice cover her tracks. She would have

done the same for Mila. If she was not killed, Mila would be put to the question. Though she wouldn’t

talk, not Mila. Clara tried to dismiss the imagined image of Mila screaming, her lashed body stretched

to breaking point on a rack, as she ran through the shadows.

There was movement in front of her. Lots of it. She pulled the daggers from her wrist and waist straps.

Damn, was this a trap? Set by Lared? A crossbow armed guard appeared in to her front and another at

the side. She ducked as their bolts flew past her, skidded into one man and knocked him from his feet.

Getting up, she ran for the door as another crossbowman raised and levelled, and another.

”Halt thief!” a voice cried from behind her, as another crossbowman appeared. They had her. If she ran

on, she would be killed. She stopped, looked to her side, hearing the sounds of fighting diminish behind

her with a loud cry from Mila. Her eyes widened as she watched the now familiar figure of Mirch, a

sword in his hand, emerge from the shadows.

“Think hard thief. You might yet survive,” he croaked.

Clara’s breasts raised and fell slowly as she breathed, looking from one man to the other, daggers in

hand. Finally, she relaxed, and dropped them clanging to the floor, head bowed.

***

Lared fidgeted as he stared at the two naked women in front of him. Both had their hands bound behind

them. The larger of the two, a blond, maybe forty summers old, was strong with large breasts, but

swayed under the wound made by a crossbow bolt to the thigh. He tried not to look at the other woman

and the familiar brand on her breast. Both had bowed heads, though Clara had a look of fury on her

face.

Mirch smiled as he entered.

“The Duke was in the area sir. Figured you might want him see these two…thieves.” He spoke the

word with contempt, staring at the two women, bowing as a man in regal finery and breastplate

entered. He had obviously been a fighter, as the scar across what would have been a finely featured

face attested to. Clara snuck a glance up at Lared as the Duke entered, noting that for once, Lared

seemed afraid. That meant that both he and she, were about to lose control of the situation. Even

standing naked and bound in the room, she felt a chill in her bones.

The Duke did not even look at Lared. Long well tended locks of hair seemed the only affectation made

to his status. Clara shivered as he approached, armour creaking. He ran a hand across her branded

breast and spoke. Clara gasped, raising her head slightly.

“So, this one is the thief you told me of Mirch, yes?”

Many eyes glanced at Mirch for response. Lared’s were narrow and accusing.

“Y...Yes my Lord. She was here...then released without punishment. Caught by the watch a while ago

my Lord.”

The Duke stared at her. Clara looked away as he continued to trace the line of her brand.

“This one was caught thieving then?”

“Yes my Lord.”

“A second offence. She’ll suffer for that. What would you recommend…Mirch?”

Clara stiffened visibly, noting that Lared moved to speak.

“Duke…,” he said in a low voice.

“I did not ask you Captain. Did I?” He shot a look at Lared, who stifled his response.

“No my Lord.”

The nobleman continued. “Indeed, from what I hear, you and this thief have been close, very close. I

think you forget your place in this prison sir?”

Without waiting for a response, he turned to Mirch, letting go of Clara’s breast.

“So, Captain Mirch,” he said, emphasising Mirch’s new position of authority.

“What would you recommend for a thief such as this?”

“Eighty lashes sir, administered at dawn...as normal, then an example to the city should be made.”

Clara swallowed, closed her eyes…her heart pounding.

“An example Mirch?”

“Yes sir.” Mirch began to regain his composure a little. Clara opened her eyes again, noted his evil

smile returning. “She should ride the wooden horse my Lord, with yoke and ankle weights, until

midday.”

The Duke smiled at her as she recoiled slightly.

“And then?”

“She…” Mirch spluttered. “Why…she should be condemned to the galley my Lord.”

“Duke I must discuss…” Lared spoke out, becoming silent again as the Duke raised his gloved finger,

not even deigning to turn his head to look at him.

“Good Mirch, very good, with one proviso. Captain Lared will carry out the whipping.”

Clara could hear Lared’s deep sigh.

The Duke moved to Mila, running a hand down her wounded thigh, where the bolt had been removed.

She grunted in pain in response, finding it difficult to stand.

“And this one Mirch? How many of your men did she kill?”

“Two my Lord, and two wounded.”

He stared at Mila, who looked back defiantly, jaw set, her breasts quivering as she tried to remain

upright.

“A serious offence. I want her crucified at the city gate. No galley for this one. Is that clear?”

Mila’s mouth dropped open. “No, “ she whispered. “No, please!”

“See to it Mirch,” the Duke spat, ignoring her pleas and wide eyed disbelief.

“Put them in chains!” he barked, at last turning to Lared as the guards, and the new Captain Mirch

pushed the bound women toward the staircase that led to the stench below and the dungeons of the

Riverwake Tower.

6. Condemned

Mirch stared at the condemned women in the cell. Now in rusted ankle fetters, lying amidst the filthy

cobbles of the dungeon floor. He smiled a toothless grim at Clara.

“I’ll wait until you’re whipped wench, your loins burning from the wooden horse, then you’re mine.”

Clara leant against the wall.

“Go to hell!” She caught Mila’s terrified gaze. She found it difficult to cope with the fact that she

would be crucified at dawn.

“And you wench, I’ll make sure that I nail the final spike through your tethered feet, before they raise

you.”

Mila shuddered and spat through the iron bars at Mirch’s feet.

“D…Damn you!”

“You’ll suffer wench, that’s for sure, carrying the beam through the streets, under the lash, then nailed

high, for all to see. The Duke was right. An example must be set for your crimes. Think on that as they

nail through your wrists and ankles.”

Once more he stared at Clara’s naked form, taking in the curve of her thighs, covered now in the grime

of the cell floor as she lay, her ankles once more chained into the heavy fetters.

As he laughed and walked away, Mila stared at Clara.

“You know these people. You knew that Captain. What have you done. You’ve condemned me to

death Clara. What have you done?” she almost screamed, her chains rattling as she moved across the

cell, safely out of reach of her fellow prisoner.

Clara looked up slowly.

“I’m sorry Mila. I know the Captain yes.” Her voice was quivering. She had lost much of her earlier

composure through the increasingly unpredictable events that now meant that by the following dawn,

she would be lying here once more, in chains. Tomorrow her back would be raw from the lash and her

loins…goddess, she struggled to think how bad the wooden horse might be. She had seen women,

normally adulteresses, spend hours sitting on the apex of the horse in the square, their screams

resonating as evil men in black masks added round weights to their ankle chains, their legs pulled taut,

their loins pulled down against the wood. She swallowed nervously. She would be placed there for

hours after a whipping. She closed her eyes, for that would be carried out…by Captain Lared.

Mila, seemingly sensing her pain, had little sympathy.

“At least I’ll die within days,” she croaked. “You’ll die at the oar. In chains, sitting above your own

shit and piss, wearing only the lashes of the overseers.”

“Mila…this isn’t my fault,” Clara began.

“He knew you Clara, that Captain,” she spat. “We are in this mess because he knew you. We both

might have been condemned a while to the oar as it was, but probably freed by the guild. But once…”

she swallowed…”Once I’m nailed in place, they’ll leave me to die. Food for vultures.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke. Clara stared back.

“I’m sorry Mila. Truly, I am.” She brought her legs up toward her, wincing at the weight of the steel on

as the chains rattled. Slowly, she lay down on the wet stone, the stench of the unwashed pervading the

stone cell. She knew that she wouldn’t sleep.

Against the odds and despite the fact that this was her last night, Mila did sleep, though fitfully. Clara

watched her stir amidst the filth of the dungeon floor, uncomfortable in the curled position that she

assumed, but at least she was getting some rest before her ordeal. They would force her to carry the

beam through the city, her arms tied to it, as they whipped her and then…

She looked up as a shadow flitted past in the corridor outside. She moved out from the wall, instantly

regretting it as her ankle pulled the chain taut, the fetter biting into her flesh.

“Who’s there?” Oh goddess, not Mirch, not now.

She breathed a sigh of relief as Lared stepped into the pale light granted by the torch at the entrance to

the corridor.

“Hello Clara,” he whispered, apparently eager not to wake Mila.

Clara’s eyes narrowed.

“You betrayed me, at the temple. I told you where I would be and your men were there…you…”

“I did not betray you,” he said, slowly, deliberately.

“You did…your men were there!” She was angry. She was to be whipped and horsed and condemned

to the oar because of a damned man she had made the mistake of trusting.

“Mirch overheard everything,” he whispered, dropping his gaze to her body and her chained legs. “He

is to be placed in charge of the Riverwake. I’ll be lucky to be sent into exile. But first, they want to see

me whip you. I…have little choice.”

Clara’s voice shook as she spoke.

“I hope you enjoy it. I’ll try not to scream too much. I wouldn’t want you to feel guilty when they drag

me to the oar.” She stared up at him through the bars, from the dungeon floor, tears at last beginning to

form.

“Clara, I…”

He looked away, then turned and walked back toward the stairs.

***

Mirch stood smiling in the corridor as the women were forced to stand and their hands tied behind

them. The guards unlocked the thick fetters as Clara glanced across at a terrified Mila.

“Feeling strong wench?” Mirch sneered. “Ready to carry the crossbeam?”

Without warning, Mila screeched and made for Mirch, despite her bound state, her bare feet splashing

through puddles of urine. Were it not for the alertness of the guards, who had perhaps witnessed such

acts of desperation with the condemned before, she might have reached him, despite the slim chance of

her being able to do any damage to the gloating, newly made commander of the Riverwake Tower.

Both men grabbed her by her bound arms, forcing her to the floor and beating her down until she lay

gasping on the cobbles.

“Take her to the crossbeam.” He looked up at Clara, who, still shocked by Mila’s attack, stared as the

guard dragged Mila, head lolling, to her feet. “This one goes to the whipping block. Captain Lared is

waiting.”

A crowd had gathered in Irulan. It was always the case for a crucifixion or whipping. To have both on

the same day was a veritable treat for the unwashed masses and mercenaries in need of dark

entertainment in the evil place that Irulan had become. Clara watched in silence as Mila grunted under

the weight of the heavy oak beam under the shadow of the low stone buildings. As the guards bound

her wrists to it she swayed slightly, yelping and crying out as the lashes welted against her back and

thighs, as they forced her to walk, carrying a beam for which her frame, strong as it was, was not

designed. Her feet moved, slapping against the stone as she tried to brace the weight under the assault

of the whips. She began to walk, slowly, between crowds of jeering peddlers, scum and villainy, all of

whom, Clara reasoned, deserved the cross far more than Mila ever would; many of whom deserved the

lash far more than she.

As she watched Mila whipped and pushed toward the post to which she would be nailed, the guards

grabbed her arms. Most of the crowd was still focussed on the departing Mila, but some leered at the

filthy, naked, dark haired female who was now being guided toward the wooden scaffold on which the

whipping post and the terrible wooden horse sat. Atop the large stage she could see a thickly muscled

man, a dark hood over his head. The one who had whipped her so long ago perhaps. Beside him stood

Lared, his stare distant, his stance relaxed, his hands stroking an ugly cat’o’nine tails.

Her bare feet walked up the wooden steps. She heard them creak despite the roars of the crowd. Her

bound arms were rigid with tension. Eighty lashes, she thought, Lared would hear her scream in agony.

As she reached the top she looked to him, though he would not in turn catch her eye. Her anger welled

and she spat in his face, he wiped it clear with little reaction as the crowd jeered and the masked

inquisitor, who would merely observe the whipping today, slapped her across the face.

“Simply take the whip wench. You’ve had it before.”

Lared stared at the crowd as she was led to the post, her hands loosened and retied to the simple ring

fastened high. As the bond was pulled it cut into her wrists and yanked her body upward, so that she

stood only on the balls of her feet, her legs quivering.

A screech and a cheer resounded from behind her. Goddess, they were nailing Mila to the wood. Clara

gasped. She couldn’t even cover her ears. Another scream. And another. They would raise Mila soon.

Force her to dangle from her nailed wrists and feet. She could hear the crowds cheer far away.

“Thief…sentenced to eighty lashes and three turns of the glass on the wooden horse, with weights!” the

inquisitor boomed behind her. What was left of the crowd cheered. “Then to be condemned to the

galley.”

Clara shuddered. She could feel Lared close behind her, almost hear him coiling the whip, staring at the

white scars of old lashes on her back. The crowd grew silent, awaiting the start of the flogging with

lurid, eager fascination.

She heard the swish in the air before the weight of the lash and the sting of agony. She should have

known, should have remembered as her body tensed and a painful gasp escaped her lungs.

“One!” the inquisitor roared as the crowd cheered. Lash after lash followed, as Lared dealt the stinging

blows, as the strokes crossed over the welts caused by the lash before. Clara’s naked body twisted and

writhed with each blow, her gasps becoming grunts as the cured leather straps tore at the flesh of her

back, just like before.

“Seventeen!” she heard the masked figure say at her side as she cried out for the first time and the

small crowd cheered. Panting, eyes wide, she rested her head against the stout post as the next lash

struck home.

“Aiieiie,” she cried to the sky. “Eighteen!”

Her back was on fire now, as the memories of her last whipping slowly returned. Lared was no novice

to the lash, she thought, trying to focus and keep the agony from her mind, as the next stroke landed

and she yelped. “Nineteen!”

Clara’s legs were beginning to feel weak as her body suffered under the constant barrage of the whip

and the shock of the impact upon her body. She closed her eyes, wincing, ready for the next stroke,

crying out almost involuntarily as it struck home, again and again, her bodyweight pulling against the

thin cord at her wrists, creating further agony in her arms.

“Thirty Five!” the masked inquisitor called as the stroke wrenched a cry of agony and despair from the

bound Clara. She moved a foot out to balance her swaying form and twisted awkwardly against the

wood, so much so that the next lash garnered a terrible gasping yelp as it crossed the underside of her

breast as well as part of her back. “Thirty Six!”

Clara’s body lurched with each stroke, as if in desperate reaction to the landing of the heavy straps

across her now bloodied and raw, back and buttocks. She remained conscious though her thoughts and

feelings were replaced with intermittent stinging agony across a body already living in fiery pain. She

had lost count of the strokes now, knew that her back must be a mess of open welts and raw flesh. She

would try to listen for the next count, the next…

“AUGHHHHHH!”

She twisted, watched blood seep from her torn wrists into the thong that held them as her legs felt

numb, as she started to feel faint.

“Sixty Five!”

Her head lolled, finally finding its place against her sweating shoulder as the next lash landed.

Her head pounded, all of her weight suspended by her tied wrists, blood dripping down her arms. She

tried to stand, but couldn’t, her bare feet slipping from under her. She had to stand, had to...

“Auhhhhhhhh.” The dry throated yelp was wrenched from her throat. “Seventy Three!”

Oh goddess, nearly…nearly done. Nearly all done, she thought, head lolling. “Uhhhhhhhh,” she grated

as she spun a little, the lash slicing into her. “Seventy Four!”

The last few lashes made her screech dryly, as eventually she hung like bloody meat from the post.

“Cut her down,” she heard a voice say as a blade made short work of the thong at her wrists and she

collapsed to the floor of the stage, moaning loudly and wheezing. The sun made Lared seem like a

black silhouette, but she could see the sweat glistening on his face. He had spared nothing as he

wielded the lash. He had given her the full force of his strength. She hated him now. And he would

watch, doing nothing, as they put her on the horse.

Even now they dragged her to her feet as she moaned, lifting her by the thighs. Lared’s face was stone,

displaying no emotion.

“B...bastard,” she moaned as her legs were pulled wide, as they lifted her across the apex of the sharp

wooden instrument. Lared did not react, merely stared forward and held her, under the thigh. He had

touched her there before, when they had shared a bed. Now he spread her for the pain of punishment.

She whined shrilly as her lips rode the apex, as it bit into her womanhood. Instinctively, she used her

hands to try and push her punished body away from the sharp wood. All too quickly they were pulled

away as a thick wooden yoke was placed about her neck. She struggled and grunted as they

manhandled her into position. Locking the yoke about her wrists and neck, the weight pushed her down

further, her struggle merely increasing the pressure on her crotch. She gritted her teeth, her body weak

and in shock from the whipping, drenched with sweat despite the coolness of the morning. She stared

wide-eyed as her weight pulled her down, legs wide because of the triangular design of the large

wooden horse. Goddess, they were going to add weights to her ankles.

Even now Lared fastened steel fetters with rings.

“Damn you Lared…damn y..you,” she croaked.

He looked away, walked to the side of the stage as the inquisitor approached with cast steel balls – each

the size of a large egg, with lengths of chain and hooks. She struggled frantically, immediately

regretting it as pain lanced through her splayed loins. Without mercy or feeling, he hooked a heavy

steel weight onto the right ankle fetter. Clara felt her leg lurch, the movement pulling her onto the apex,

and she cried out shrilly.

***

Lared stared up at the platform. Clara’s legs had tried frantically to hold back the weight of the three

steel balls on each ankle fetter, that pulled her painfully against the apex of the instrument of agony

upon which she rode. His face betrayed no emotion, although those few who could have said that they

had known him for many years, would have noted simply that it was a mask and that when he wore it,

someone was sure to die. He turned, looking at the woman still writhing on the wooden cross near the

city gate, hearing her screams. Clara too had screeched as her perch had gripped her. It seemed that she

had passed out for now, balanced perfectly with her loins as the centre of her agonies. He walked away

slowly, in the direction of the Riverwake Tower and his fate.

***

Clara dreamt of pain, a nightmare of agony. She would wake up and know that it had all been some

terrible dream. Instead, she screeched in wide-eyed terror as men worked at her ankles, removing the

weights. She jerked. In her position that made the agony excruciating and she screamed loudly. The

crowd had gone. In her pain she had almost been unconscious. She heard the weights hit the wooden

floor as the fetters were removed from her swollen raw ankles. The yoke was removed but she felt sick.

She felt herself being dragged from the scaffold, moaning desperately, her thighs soaked with…she

didn’t want to know. Her back and body were wracked with stiff unyielding pain, her head bowed, a

deep-throated moan from deep in her being her only sound now as she glimpsed her feet being dragged

through the dust and cobbles. Brown dirt and blood caked her ankles and feet. Goddess, how would she

survive the galley after this?

“Take heart wench,” the low voice of Mirch whispered at her side. “Once you’re back in the

Riverwake, you’ll be mine.”

She was too weak and beaten to react, too defeated to care what happened to her now. Mirch would get

his way, what was left of her spirit after the whip and the horse would not be enough to resist him. She

looked up, gasped as fire shot through her back. They were dragging her back to prison, through the

streets, which were empty in comparison with the morning. The crowd had gone, apparently having its

lust for blood sated this day. She tried to look up, see Mila, but she couldn’t. The last thing she

expected to hear was the approaching horse.

Perhaps it was her nearness to the ground, her weakness to all other sounds as the thugs dragged her to

her fate. But a horse, getting louder on the cobbles was approaching fast from behind. The men

dragging her hadn’t noticed. Then she felt one of them turn and his body shuddered as a dull thud

struck him. She fell, the other man letting go of her. What new torment was this. She lay on the damp

cobbles, face down. A second dull thud and the man to her left lay beside her. She heard Mirch

fumbling for a weapon as the horse got louder and louder. Women were screaming now. She had to try

to get up. She looked as Mirch drew a sword -too late. The massive black horse filled her view as it

jumped across her, the rider, having drawn a weapon was too powerful and coming far too fast for the

stunned Mirch, who lost his contest and his head, to the curved sword of the black rider.

Clara tried to focus but the noise and the rampant activity of the last few seconds threatened to

overwhelm her.

“Get up Clara!” the voice of the masked rider grunted as he re-sheathed his weapon.

Instinctively, despite the pain lancing through her body, she got to her knees, then tried to stand, yet

knew that she would fall. She was dizzy, scarcely believing that the three guiding her were dead now.

She saw movement and the running of soldiers to her left, near the tower. The rider made a lunge for

her from the saddle and scooped her up as she fell sideways, grunting as he lifted her across the front of

his saddle. She cried in anguish at these further agonies as the horse turned, making for the city gates at

a speed at which she never travelled. Shouts, crossbow bolts, a flurry of desperate activity followed as

it seemed the entire city tried to stop them.

“Close the gates,” they shouted as they neared a crucifix near the steadily closing massive wooden

gates. She felt him draw something, a small crossbow. Guiding the horse with his legs she looked up as

he loosed a small bolt into the neck of the naked woman nailed cruelly to the cross. She writhed once

as she died.

On and on across cobbles and dirt road the horse shuddered with each step, its rider spurring it

mercilessly so that all three might make the thick wooden gates that were now being pushed closed.

Casting aside used hand crossbows, the rider once more drew his sword, swinging at those guards who

were brave enough to try and stop him. Thankfully, their bravery outweighed their resourcefulness as

none had access to crossbows of their own.

“Hold on!” the rider screeched against the noise of the horse, the wind and the screams of the guards

who were assembling far too slowly. They passed rapidly through the ever-decreasing gap, galloping

on the dirt road now, away from the lash, the horse and the evil city of Irulan.

***

“Enough Lared…please. I need to stop!”

After miles of galloping, steam rising from the almost exhausted horse, the black rider slowed.

“They’ll be chasing us. We can’t tarry long.” He reined in the panting animal, ripping the cloak from

his shoulders and wrapping it around the naked woman across his saddle. She screeched in response as

the cloth crossed the ugly red welts across her back.

“How did you know it was me?” he said in a low tone.

“Because…because no one else would have rescued me,” she gasped.

“…especially after whipping me so effectively…you must have felt guilty.” She winced, trying not to

move too much, her body still tensed with agony at each movement.

Lared nodded, removing the crude mask from his face.

“Aye,” he nodded. “No one else would have.”

He tried gently to manoeuvre her on the large animal, so that she sat side saddle, reasoning that sitting

astride another horse, no matter how less intimate it might be, would be more than her loins would

stand. He began to move the animal again as she gently wrapped herself in the cloak.

“Do you think we might make it Clara?”

She nodded gently, nuzzling into the heat of his body as he spurred the horse once more…

THE END