The Bridle Path Read online

  Savatch had left the slave helmet in place, but removed the blindfold, allowing Corinna to see that they were now on the road to the north east of the garrison town. They road slowly, but the gentle swaying motion of her mount ensured that the saddle dildo kept up a constant, stimulating motion on her clitoris, so that several times Corinna was convulsed with minor orgasms and only the most supreme effort of willpower prevented her from exploding totally.

  Riding just ahead of her, a lead rein attached to her horse's bridle, Savatch of course knew only too well the effect the tortuous journey was having on his captive lover, yet not once did he look back during at least two hours. In this time they met a scant assortment of travellers coming in the opposite direction: a farmer with what appeared to be his teenage son, riding on a wagon loaded with sacks, a lone man in his middle years, riding one horse and leading a pack beast behind him, and three women of varying years, travelling together on foot.

  None gave Corinna more than a passing glance, save for the youngest of the three women, who seemed to study her intently, albeit with a deliberately sideways stare. The sight of a virtually naked slave girl being led by a master was too common to raise that much interest, let alone comment, but there was something in the girl's eyes that Corinna thought she recognised and understood, and she smiled impishly to herself once the women were behind her. She wondered, idly, how much different the girl's reaction might have been had she been able to see the true nature of her mounted position.

  The sun was rising in the sky, though still some way short of its zenith, as they topped the brow above the small village. During the short journey down the gentle slope towards it, Corinna studied the few buildings. The village she recognised as Ar Fenook, named after a merchant farmer whose original house had been the first structure here and whose business, mostly in wool, had drawn the small population together. The founding father was long since dead, the once core estate now divided among several grandsons and great grandsons, but there remained a large mill, powered by the waters of a swift stream, a smithy, a general trading store, a small tavern and about twenty houses.

  Away to their left, slightly detached from the main village, stood another cluster of perhaps half a dozen buildings, together with an assortment of outhouses and a larger structure, built on three storeys, now much dilapidated but once the home of Nedi Ar Fenook himself, but now abandoned as a dwelling.

  As Savatch led the way into the circular grass clearing that formed the centre of the village, Corinna's eyes were drawn to the raised stone dais that dominated it. The platform was perhaps twenty feet long, half that wide and four feet high, with a set of roughly hewn timber steps leading up to it. At one end stood a high gibbet, beneath which a simple trestle was placed, upon which many a condemned felon had stood during his last moments of life, though, since Corinna's arrival at the castle it had not been used, the one execution confirmed during the past year having been concerned with an altogether different village and carried out, by her decree, using the more human gallows with its drop trap that Savatch had suggested was installed in the castle itself.

  In the days of her step-uncle's stewardship, death had been the punishment for so many piddling little offences, and the local bailiffs had been given far too much authority and jurisdiction in the carrying out of sentences. In that view Corinna and Savatch were as one, and it had been one of the new Lady Steward's first actions to try to bring this backward region into line with the sort of thinking encouraged by her father in the more enlightened areas of Illeum. However, in Ar Fenook, as in so many other of the villages, the gibbets remained, a reminder, if one were needed, of those darker days only so recently passed. And here also, at the other end of the public scaffold, stood the pillory and its accompanying whipping post, these two structures still very much in regular use, though they were both stood empty this morning.

  The appearance of Savatch brought the current bailiff, who was also head man, scurrying from the cottage he occupied at the side of the green, for the Lady Steward's captain's face was well known here, as in most of the other villages and hamlets. Corinna's features, too, were familiar to the local populace and she wondered what Melik Ar Fenook's reaction would have been had he known the true identity of the wretched creature he now appraised.

  'A runaway, my lord?' he asked, curious. Savatch swung himself easily from his saddle, grinning at the bearded and neatly attired figure of the late Nedi's youngest grandson, now a man in his early forties.

  'Not exactly, Melik,' he replied, affecting an air of disinterest. 'Just one stupid wench who hadn't the sense to learn how to please her mistress. You know how some of these barbarian girls refuse to accept their situation? This is just one that's a little more stubborn than usual, so her ladyship has instructed me to return her to the trader from whom she was purchased.'

  'A stupid little slut she must be indeed,' Melik agreed. 'Rather the sort of life she could have expected at the castle than that she is now likely to get. If the Lady Corinna has washed her hands of her, the stigma will ensure her value is halved and all she can look forward to now will be the toil of a field slave, despite those fine tits.' He laughed harshly, his eyes never leaving Corinna, and she could imagine exactly what was going through his head.

  'I might be interested in another field wench myself,' the bailiff continued, confirming Corinna's assumption, 'always provided the asking price were not too steep, of course.'

  'Of course,' Savatch grinned, turning to lead both horses across to the nearer of the two public hitching rails, so that they might drink from the trough beneath it. 'However, her ladyship's instructions were most specific. I am to take the wench back to her former owner and, at my discretion, have her publicly flogged at every suitable stop on the way.' He turned and looked meaningfully towards the raised scaffold.

  'This,' he said quietly, 'would seem one such suitable place and I know you are very practised in these matters.'

  Melik's dark features creased into an ingratiating smile. 'You are too kind, my lord,' he said, 'but of course, I shall be only too happy to oblige. Would you like me to attend to it now?'

  'Not immediately,' Savatch said. 'Put her in yon pillory for a spell and have some mud buckets placed handily for your villagers. She will give your women and children some sport whilst I take some refreshment at your excellent tavern. However,' he added, fixing Melik with a cold eye, 'make it well known that she is not to be touched in any other way, do I make myself clear? Not even you, Melik, so I'll see her belted and locked before I dine and I'll keep the key with me.'

  'You want her fat little cunny plugged by other means?' Melik suggested. 'Only I see she has been given a filling seat already, as it were.'

  Savatch nodded. 'Aye, I've a fat beast in my saddlebag that will fill her nicely,' he said, 'but I'll see to it myself. Now, away and fetch me a suitable belt for the wench.'

  Agana fought desperately, killing one of the men, wounding a second and tearing the eye from the socket of another, but they were too many and the element of surprise had prevented her from reaching her sword. The short sharp dagger was no match for their clubs and field swords and she was quickly overpowered, bruised, bleeding and with a ring of four gleaming blade points pressing her back against the wall of her bedchamber.

  'Traitors!' she hissed, staring up at them from the crouch of her defensive position. 'Infamous traitors. You will hang or burn for this treachery.'

  'I think not, bitch.' The voice belonged to the man Ingrim, who pushed his way to the fore. Looking up into his face, Agana began to realise the truth. Ingrim had arrived at Varragol as the sergeant in charge of the relief guards, but now, as he stood above her, Agana could see that this was no sergeant and cursed herself for not having seen something before.

  'Permit me to introduce myself,' Ingrim said, with a slight mocking bow. 'I am Captain Ingrim of the Vorsan Trachos Guard, and these are all my men. We now have total control of the palace and the castle and you, together with your emplo
yer, are our prisoner.

  'All your own guards are dead, so further resistance is futile. I suggest, therefore, that you save yourself further trouble and injury and surrender without any more unnecessary stupidity.'

  'I'd rather cut my own throat!' Agana hissed, the whites of her eyes brilliant against her dark skin. Ingrim choked back a raucous guffaw.

  'I'll wager you would,' he said malevolently. 'I'll just wager you would!'

  Pester dismounted with some difficulty and with great care, the shaft sliding from him only with reluctance, but Moxie made no move to help him. Instead, she stood back, tapping her riding crop impatiently against the side of her boot, chiding him on his laggardness. At last, he stood on the ground, teetering precariously on his stupid footwear, his eyes lowered and staring fixedly at his own rampant organ.

  'Come here, boy,' Moxie ordered. Still unable to meet her gaze, Pester swayed across the few paces separating them, until she was able to reach out and grasp his throbbing shaft in its soft leather sheath. Tucking the crop into her belt, she used her free hand to unbuckle the gag strap, pulling the stuffed leather penis from between his lips.

  'Whose is this horrible thing, boy?' she whispered, and felt him shiver.

  'Yours, mistress,' he replied, his voice catching. 'Only yours.'

  'Is that so?' Moxie said sourly. 'So why do I hear that you've been using it on that foul animal in the dungeons, eh?'

  'Mistress Agana ordered me,' Pester whined. 'I had no choice.'

  'Perhaps I should ask her ladyship to have the rest of your tackle cut off,' Moxie suggested. What she could see of Pester's cheeks, beneath the slave mask, blanched immediately.

  'No, mistress Moxie, please!' he squealed. 'Not that!' They both knew, with a degree of certainty, that Moxie would never make such a request of Dorothea, and that, even if she did, the likelihood of their overall mistress acceding to such a suggestion was remote, but Pester's position was such that he could never be entirely sure. Besides, there was also Agana to consider, and the giant black woman was far less predictable.

  'But this is such an unsightly and unruly little beast,' Moxie laughed, squeezing his organ the harder. 'It spoils such a pretty thing as you are, and without it, why, you could wear a pretty dress and curl your hair and be the fairest of all the palace maids.' She chuckled again, seeing his cheeks turn from white to red, for he would never forget that day when Moxie had indeed dressed him as a maid, the slave helmet hiding his true gender, his remaining manhood strapped tightly to his stomach beneath the flimsy white tunic.

  Attired thus, Moxie had walked him to and through the nearest village and, although the few inhabitants who had not been in the fields at such an early hour had taken him as nothing more than a youthful, flat-chested little maid slave, he spent two hours expecting the truth to be discovered at any and every moment. Rather a sound thrashing than such public humiliation.

  'Perhaps, without this cocky thing,' Moxie continued, still keeping a firm grasp on him, 'we might sell you to the priestess at Mar Semlar. You'd make the perfect temple virgin.'

  Tears began to well up in Pester's eyes, sliding down his cheeks and darkening the leather of the mask beneath the eye slits. Moxie shook her head and pulled the slender page to her huge bosom.

  'Poor Pester,' she crooned, her gloved hand stroking the base of his neck beneath the stiff collar. 'You really should have been a girl, I think, but then you would not have this little toy to offer me, would you?' She squeezed his throbbing penis again and he gave out a little moan. The potion she had forced upon him back at the palace, combined with the strictures of the sheath and its harness, were combining so that his burgeoning flesh could not help but try to split the seams of the soft leather that embraced it. And the scent of her, as she pressed his nose deep into her cleavage, did nothing to alleviate this condition.

  'Of course,' she sighed, 'you realise that I must whip you for your sinful thoughts and then do something about this wicked cock of yours?'

  Pester withdrew his face an inch or so. 'Yes, mistress,' he whimpered. 'I think you should whip me without delay.'

  'I'll wager you do,' Moxie sniggered, scornfully, 'and then all the sooner to sheath that devilish dagger in my warm little scabbard, no doubt.' She released her grip on his shaft, took hold of his shoulders and held him back at arms' length.

  'Look at me, you silly little girlie boy,' she said softly. Reluctantly, Pester raised his eyes. Moxie smiled, drawing the crop from her belt. 'Tell me that you love me,' she said, 'and then put yourself up against yonder tree.'

  The soldiers who had earlier burst into her bedchamber seemed reluctant to actually lay hands on Dorothea, but if she harboured any hopes as to her future treatment at those hands, the sight of Fulgrim, seated in her own high-backed chair in the reception room off the main hall, quickly dispelled them.

  The man, though his features betrayed the evidence of his long ordeal at Agana's merciless hands, looked alarmingly fit. And the anger that burned in his sunken eyes was unmistakable. His thin lips twisted evilly as Dorothea was escorted into his presence.

  'So pleasant to see you again, dear lady,' he hissed. 'I cannot tell you how disappointed I have been that you have failed to visit me during all these months I've been your guest here. But then,' he continued, even the pretence of a smile vanishing, 'you knew only too well that your assistant was more than capable of ministering to my needs, eh?'

  'Evidently, Lord Fulgrim,' Dorothea retorted, her chin jutting defiantly, despite the sickening feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, 'my assistant, as you call her, did not minister to you thoroughly enough. I knew we should have executed you a year ago.'

  'Executed?' Fulgrim sneered. 'You make it all sound so legal. If I should have been executed, then I think the same sentence should have been extended to you. At least I was not preparing to betray my own country.'

  'My reasons for doing what I did,' Dorothea replied coolly, 'were justifiable in my mind. At the time, at least. But that is now in the past and I am sure you have not had these brigands drag me here for a discussion on morals and history.'

  'Indeed not,' Fulgrim snapped. 'The past, as you say, is past. And certain things,' he went on, laying heavy emphasis on the last two words, 'certain things cannot be altered nor regained, and for that both you and the black bitch will pay dearly.'

  'I'm surprised you aren't already running back to whatever bolt hole you originally crawled from!' Dorothea cried. 'You may have wormed sufficient of your bandits inside my palace to wrest control of it, but I doubt you have a force sufficient to hold the territory.'

  'That is perfectly correct,' Fulgrim replied, 'but then holding this region is not a part of my plans - not yet, at least. In time, rest assured, I shall control not just this region, but a good deal more of Illeum. For the time being, however, I am confident there is no cause for haste on our part.

  'Those men who killed and impersonated the last guard relief were careful to leave no telltale signs, and we know that the next relief will not now be due for several weeks. What there is of the local populace will not be immediately aware of the change of circumstances here and, if they should suspect, why there is but a single road leading back towards the heart of Illeum, and we have already posted a guard there to intercept any foolish enough to attempt to carry the news back.

  'By the time the Protector and his court learn of events here we shall be well upon our way, but that still leaves ample time for me to mount a demonstration of the fate that will await any who attempt to resist us upon our eventual return.'

  'Slaughtering the local peasantry will win you no friends, nor allies, Fulgrim,' Dorothea said. Fulgrim's twisted smile returned fleetingly.

  'Whether you are right or wrong, my lady,' he said, 'I see little point in killing ignorant farmers anyway. Death, as we all know, holds none in its grip for any purpose save its own - even the fear of death tends to count little among people whose life is full of hardship.

  'What will im
press these simpletons, however, is to see the object of one of their greatest fears brought low by an even greater power.'

  'You intend to kill me in front of them?' Dorothea felt her knees beginning to tremble, but Fulgrim shook his head.

  'Kill you?' he mocked. 'Why should I even consider such a swift and painless revenge? No, your death will be a long time coming and you will pray for it for many years before you finally achieve release by its means.

  'The black bitch, however, is a different matter, though her death will be no swift matter.' He rose slowly and paced across to the great empty hearth. 'That vicious harridan is more feared by your local people than ever you could be, in any case,' he continued. 'So when they see the fate I have in store for her, it will surely freeze the blood in what passes for their brains.'

  'Agana acted only upon my orders,' Dorothea said bravely. 'You surely cannot punish her for that. If you wish to wreak your twisted revenge upon anyone, then let it be me.'

  Fulgrim turned, leaning against the heavy mantle, and laughed harshly. 'Oh, fear not, dear Dorothea,' he mocked, 'I shall have my revenge on you and take it a hundred fold. Every time a fat soldier's cock fills your withering cunt you will know my revenge, and there are a lot of soldiers where we shall be going, believe me.

  'But first, you shall witness the fate of the one whose knife actually cut into my very soul, but you shall witness it on your knees, like a common whore slave.' He straightened up and nodded to the men who stood behind Dorothea.