Barbarian Tales 1: Mistress of the Sword - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Den

Once again Shailaja had escaped captivity, and this time slavery, by the narrowest of margins. She now realized that even though she was a trained warrior, and more than a match for most men, the fact that she was a woman had serious disadvantages. But there seemed to be no solution to the problem unless she could find a society where women were accorded the same status as men, and she knew of only one. Unfortunately it was her homeland and she dared not go back there. And so she continued her journey. She went south and east through Tungay, travelling from town to town. She had no particular destination, but rode as the mood took her, sometimes staying a day or two in one place and then moving on.

Her journey took her through the coastal mountains of Tungay, a wild and rugged land, great in beauty and with more than enough game to sustain her. She kept away from towns, deciding to save her coin, in spite of the fact that she now possessed a small hoard of silver, and lived off the country, hunting and fishing, and gathering edible plants. She had no trouble continuing in this fashion. Kaltarans were a people close to nature and she had been shown the arts of the woodlands from when she was old enough to walk. It was this ability to survive in places where others might perish that added to the reputations of Kaltarans as warriors.

Shailaja continued in this way for more than two moons until she struck south, and leaving the mountains came to a vast plain. It was more flat land than she had imagined could ever exist. It stretched before her as far as she could see. Dotted with farms and small towns, it was a rich country, and well guarded by a series of strongholds the rulers of Tungay controlled. It kept the country safe enough and she rode through the peaceful land, without incident. Here she could not hunt as all of the land belonged to someone, even the forests. She found this a very strange thing, but had no wish to fall afoul of the local authorities. Her appearance attracted enough attention as it was and so she pushed south and then east, finally reaching the largest river she had ever seen.

This, she was told by a boatman who made his living taking people and cargo to the other side, was the Sugond, and as far as he knew it was the largest river in Vedra. He may well have been right as Shailaja never saw another to equal it. She was also told that on the other side of the river was another land; one called Arkana. She had heard of it, but could remember little about it. However, it seemed as good a place to be as any and so she spent a few coins and crossed to the other side.

A few days after making the crossing Shailaja saw her first burning city. It was a sight she never forgot and it disturbed her greatly and left her wondering what the people of that place had done to deserve such a fate. Sadly, Arkana was a land that was much fought over, consisting of a number of cities each with its own petty ruler. The land was fractured by war as each city tried to seize what the others had, but most were so evenly matched that the wars amounted to nought and so Arkana was rent by periods of strife followed by short intervals of rest while the cities rearmed and prepared to go to war with one another all over again.

Occasionally, as on the day she discovered the burning city, one city overwhelmed another and took vicious pride in ravishing its population. It was a situation perfect for the bands of mercenaries that roamed the land, taking side with whatever city paid them the most or was most likely to be victorious. It was one of these bands that Shailaja with fell in with. It was rather hard not to, as pushed toward the city by youthful curiosity, she almost rode right into their camp.

She should have been more aware of where she was riding, but her eyes were on the columns of smoke rising from the plundered city and she did not take as much note of her surroundings as she should have. She rode past a thick grove of trees, passing within an arrow shot of the mercenary camp and still did not realize it was there until a number of riders suddenly emerged from the trees and charged toward her. There was no place to hide and she had been riding all day and as a consequence her horse was in no condition to outrun the men that now galloped toward her, and so she turned in their direction, drew her sword and waited to see what would transpire.

Shailaja knew that a woman who falls prey to mercenaries usually has a very hard time of it. She already had some experience of just how cruel men could be to those they considered weaker than themselves, but she sat in perfect calm, her sword held across the withers of her horse as the dozen or so men rode up and surrounded her.

"What do we have here?" one of them asked. "A giant woman and about as nice a piece of female flesh as I have laid eyes on. What is your name girl and what do you do here?"

The man spoke in the common tongue of Vedra; a language so old that no one knew who first spoke it, if anyone ever did. It was a language every Kaltaran learned as a child, not just to speak to visitors such as Cleron, but in order that they might communicate with traders and those seeking to hire mercenaries. He was tall by the standards of the midlands, although in Kaltara he would have seemed a puny runt, but he spoke with authority and Shailaja guessed that this man must be the War Chief of this band. He appeared to be of middle years, perhaps double her age, and was of fair complexion with light brown hair, blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed in leather studded with metal and carried two blades, one on either side of his waist, as well as a dagger. Shailaja judged that if he could actually wield two blades in combat he would be a dangerous adversary and so she answered him respectfully, having no reason not to.

"I am Shailaja, Warrior of the Kaltara, and I am travelling south for purposes of my own. I intend you no harm if you intend none to me."

The War Chief laughed. "You hear that? She intends us no harm. A bold statement if I ever heard one. Perhaps we should show her how women are usually welcomed into the camp."

Shailaja took his words as the threat as they were no doubt intended to be; especially as they were greeted by laughter from the other men, but she said nothing, giving nothing more away about herself, and sat waiting to see if his words were more than just wind or whether he would back them up with some sort of action. She had deliberately not given him her full name and titles on the very remote chance that he might have heard of her escape and seek to return her to her homeland and to the punishment ordained by the Hasta.

"You are a quiet one," the War Chief remarked. He seemed puzzled by her apparent lack of fear when confronted by so many armed men. "But there are ways in which you could be made to make some very pleasant noises."

Shailaja had no doubt of his meaning, but she was not about to be intimidated by a man she topped by a full head. "You will find that the only noises I make will be the sound of my battle cry as my sword takes off your head and that of anyone who dares to touch me."

By now she was almost completely surrounded by the men who had ridden out to meet her. Had it come to a fight she would have been at a serious disadvantage, but she remained calm, knowing that nothing could be gained by showing fear, while at the same time measuring how many men she could take out in the first few heartbeats of battle.

"She is a bold one," the War Chief chuckled. "I think I like her."

Shailaja later learned that the leader of the mercenaries was impressed both by her obvious physical presence and by the serene manner in which she confronted her potential attackers. He was also much taken by her beauty. The word Kaltara also had meaning to him and he proposed to determine just how much of a warrior she was.

"I am Den Zhidar," he said bowing slightly from the saddle, "Captain of the Ravens. I would be pleased to have you as a guest at my camp."

His message was clear, no matter how polite his words. Shailaja was to accompany him and his men back to their camp. It would probably not have been her first choice, but she was tired of living alone and the camp of the Ravens seemed like as good a place as any.

Still surrounded by Zhidar's men, Shailaja sheathed her sword and followed her escort toward the trees and in short order found herself riding into a well ordered camp. Whatever these men were they maintained some sense of discipline. A quick glance around the camp showed her that it was occupied not just by men, but by women as well. However, for the most part few of the women resembled the warriors she would have expected to see in a camp in Kaltara. Most of them she supposed were the wives of the soldiers although she was to learn later that with the exception of a few that was not the case. What should have given her a clue, but did not was the complete absence of children. However, she was new to this land and their customs unknown and so she overlooked the obvious.

As Shailaja rode into the camp most of the men in the camp looked upon her with undisguised interest, some of it written more plainly on the faces than others. Even the women watched her closely; some with curiosity and a few others with expressions of hostility. This she did not understand until later. But there was one man who watched her more closely than the others.

Den Zhidar let his horse drop back slightly as he escorted the tall redhead into the camp. He had to admit that he found her fascinating; and for more than the simple fact that she was the most striking woman he had ever seen. She was surrounded by dozens of armed men and not a few armed women; all of whom were involved in one of the most brutal of trades, and yet she rode into the camp as if she was the guest at a garden party. Either she was without fear or she was so innocent as to be completely stupid.

The fact that she claimed to be Kaltaran also intrigued him. He had encountered Kaltaran Warriors on the battlefield and knew them to be formidable opponents. But he had never met one of their women before. If she was what she claimed to be then she would be a worthy addition to his band. If she was not – well, she would be useful in other ways.

Den's musings were interrupted as one of the men in the camp stepped forward and stopped just short of the Kaltaran's horse. Gorvag, he thought. It would be Gorvag. Well, who better to test her against?

"Is this what you've found, Den?" Gorvag asked. "I'd say she's a welcome addition. Who gets her first?"

Zhidar laughed. "You are mistaken, Gorvag. This is Shailaja, a Warrior of the Kaltara. I hope to persuade her to join us."

"Kaltaran?" Gorvag responded. He spat at the feet of the redhead's horse. "Kaltarans are a myth. You don't mean to tell me you think this girl is one?"

"Perhaps you would like to test her?" Zhidar grinned. "Then we will know for sure if she is what she claims." He watched Gorvag's reaction. The man was a violent bully, but like most Belusendran warriors very good in a fight. It would be interesting to see if he took up the challenge.

"Warriors don't fight women," Gorvag sneered. "We put them on their backs and use them the way they were intended to be used."

Before Zhidar could answer, Shailaja spoke. "Perhaps this warrior is afraid to face me."

Zhidar had to steel himself to stifle a smile. The girl had used the word "warrior" as if she were speaking of excrement and it got the reaction she wanted.

"I fear no one," Gorvag bristled. "Especially not some redheaded girl who prances about with a sword. I'll test you. And then when I'm through with you I'll fuck your ass until you can't walk."

Zhidar jumped in quickly before the girl could respond. "Agreed," he replied and then turned to the tall redhead. "Do you understand, girl? You are to be tested to see if you are truly are a Warrior of the Kaltara. If you are then we will welcome you among us." He did not say what would happen if the girl lost, but Gorvag's outburst had already made that abundantly clear.

"I understand," Shailaja answered, "and I accept your test." She was fuming at being spoken of by Zhidar and Gorvag as if she was a lamb being prepared for sacrifice. She was a Kaltaran Warrior and worthy of a bit more respect. She had taken an instant dislike to Gorvag. He was a large hulking brute, almost as tall as she was and he reminded her very much of Cleron. She was also not particularly happy with Zhidar's manner. The man seemed a bit too full of himself for someone who was nothing but the leader of a band of ruffians. However, she would deal with him later if necessary. She must first take care of the hulking fool who had threatened to rape her.

She felt not the slightest hint of fear in spite of the implications of losing to a man like Gorvag. Being used against her will by the brutish ruffian was not nearly as frightening as the loss of honour at suffering defeat at his hands.

"Let us begin," Zhidar intoned. He motioned to an open area in the centre of the camp. It was a well-trodden piece of ground marked out with small, rather tattered flags into the shape of a circle about ten paces across.

Shailaja dismounted and followed him, allowing one of the other men to take the reins of her horse. She disliked the idea of the horse being out of her care, but reckoned that if she lost to Gorvag it probably would not matter. There was little doubt about what would happen if she was defeated. Losing her horse would be the least of her losses.

"This is where we settle our disputes," Den explained nodding toward the circle. "The rules are simple. You fight in the ring until one of you is defeated or surrenders. Anyone who leaves the circle is considered to have lost and will pay the forfeit."

Shailaja wondered what forfeit she could demand if Gorvag fled the circle, but did not ask. Instead she stepped into the circle and unsheathed her sword.

"Oh wait," Den holding up his hand. "Not real swords. You use these." He held out a wooden practice sword.

"It is not a fight to the death then?" Shailaja asked, taking the sword from his hand. It was finely worked ash and very similar in shape to the practice swords used in Kaltara.

"Stupid barbarian," Gorvag jeered. "Maybe you really are from the frozen wastes. Of course I don't want you dead. I want you warm and moving under me when I take you. Once I've given you a sound beating first, of course."

Shailaja was becoming very tired of Gorvag's insults. The man was clearly a bully used to pushing around those smaller and weaker than he was. She decided that he needed a lesson and she was going to give it to him. It also told her something about Den Zhidar. The man must be very good with those two swords if he was the leader and not Gorvag. It was something she would keep in mind if she decided to stay with the mercenary band.

"Then let us begin," Shailaja said, sheathing her blade and taking up the wooden practice sword.

Gorvag grinned and stepped into the ring, his own practice sword at the ready. "I won't hurt you too bad, girl. I'll just give you a few bruises to teach you a lesson. What's really going to be sore is another part of your body."

"I thank you for that," Shailaja replied, ignoring the vile threat against her person. "I have no desire to be hurt."

Her response brought a few chuckles from the circle of men and women who had come to watch the contest. Everyone in the camp was there and just before Gorvag launched his attack she caught sight of Zhidar. The Raven captain was watching her, arms folded, with an expression on his face that she could not quite fathom.

Gorvag attacked. He was not unskilled, but as Shailaja had guessed he relied more on his great strength than on finesse. His technique was to beat down his opponent's guard and then drive through the forced opening.

Shailaja did not give him that opening; instead she stepped back and let him strike empty air. She swung the ash blade carefully, assessing its weight and balance. It was not as finely balanced as the practice swords she was used to, but it would do.

Gorvag did not stop. Mistaking her evasive tactic as fear he charged forward, mindful of the fact that he did not actually have to strike her to win, just drive her out of the ring. It was clearly an insult to her fighting skills and Shailaja felt her anger rising. It was an emotion she instantly suppressed. Her bad temper had gotten her into trouble before, causing her to blunder into situations best avoided. Again and again her arms instructors had warmed her against letting her emotions get the better of her and it took a great number of bruises before she heeded them. So she let Gorvag come forward, deflecting his attacks with ease until finally he cursed in anger and frustration.

"Solvat's tits," he raged, using the name of the war goddess shared by several of the peoples of central Vedra. "Stand and fight, girl."

He stood panting while Shailaja danced to one side, avoiding still another wild swing. She knew that it could be fatal in combat to become overconfident, especially against a canny opponent who might be attempting to draw her into a rash act, but she could see she had little to fear from a musk ox like Gorvag. She decided to put him out of his misery.

She stepped forward, tempting him to attack, and when he went for the bait, brought her sword down hard against his forearm in a numbing blow. Had they been engaged in actual combat his hand and part of his arm would have been laying on the ground, as it was all he lost was his sword and a considerable amount of pride.

"The chit didn't fight," Gorvag roared, his face red. "She didn't stand still. All she did was dance around. She wouldn't last a hundred heartbeats on the battlefield."

Zhidar opened his mouth to reply, but Shailaja's temper beat him to it. "I will fight with steel if you choose," she growled, tossing the wooden sword at Gorvag's feet.

"You hear that, Gorvag?" Zhidar added. "The chit challenges you to a real fight. Will you accept?'

His face fire red in anger, Gorvag stepped back, trapped by his own words. "My arm," he stammered. "I need to see a healer. I'll fight her another day."

"I'll fight left-handed," Shailaja stated. "I'm sure there is nothing wrong with your left arm."

"Left-handed," Gorvag spluttered. "Who fights left handed? It isn't natural."

"Perhaps you should learn. It might save your life," Zhidar said coldly. Then he turned back to Shailaja. "Well, girl. You have proven yourself. Welcome to the Ravens."

Still angry, Gorvag turned away, but only a half-turn. Without warning he swung back, striking at Shailaja's head with his left hand. Had she been less alert, she would have taken a heavy blow. But she ducked beneath the punch and let his momentum carry him around, and then drove her fist into his lower ribs. There was a satisfying crunch and a loud cry from Gorvag. It told her that he had at least one cracked rib, but she was not quite finished. As he staggered back she continued with a backhand blow that had all her weight behind it. It slammed into his nose and actually lifted him from his feet, stretching him out full length.

Gorvag lay there for a few seconds, before struggling to a sitting position. Blood streamed down his face from his shattered nose and he clutched it in both hands.

"Bloody bitch broke my nose," he cried, his words muffled both by the damage and his hands.

"And so you deserved for so cowardly an attack," Shailaja answered. "No true warrior would attack another from behind."

"No indeed," Zhidar said, his face unsmiling. "There will be no more of this, Gorvag. If you wish to face Shailaja sword to sword I will allow it, but there will be no more attacks from behind. Now go to Selvan and have him attend to your injuries."

Shailaja later learned that Selvan was the mercenary band's healer, and a man who was most talented. In the meantime she went with Zhidar as he escorted her about the camp, introducing her to those she should know in order to fit into the band. She found to her surprise that he rarely used his full name; being addressed by all who knew him as simply "Den," a familiarity that Shailaja quickly adopted.

And so Shailaja joined Den's band of mercenaries. For the next three years she fought her way with them across all of Arkana, sometime on one side and sometimes on another. Den proved to be more of a man than she had thought at first appearance, a fact that taught Shailaja a valuable lesson. Although small in size compared to a Kaltaran male, he was brilliant on the battlefield, his two-handed technique making him one of the deadliest fighters she had ever seen. He was also a superb organizer and negotiator. No matter how many times the Ravens changed sides he always managed to negotiate a more than satisfactory contract, one that gave every man or in her case woman, a fair share of the profits. Not only that, he was skilled in keeping the peace among his mercenary band, no mean feat considering that many of those that joined the Ravens were little more than armed rabble. It took considerable skill to mould such individuals into anything even approaching a warrior.

He also became her teacher in the arts of combat, showing her the two handed technique he had mastered. But more importantly he tutored her in one more much more intimate art.

For her first two years with the Ravens Shailaja denied herself any physical relief, in spite of the fact that she was surrounded by dozens of virile young men. She became known to her companions as the "Ice Maiden" due to her aloof nature, but it was not because she was not interested in any of her companions. Many times she was tempted to share a bedroll with one or another of her comrades-in-arms, but each time a vision of just one danced before her eyes and she waited until another time.

At first Shailaja thought that Den's appeal was due to the qualities of his leadership; or perhaps to the techniques of swordsmanship and somewhat less refined skills of combat that he taught her, but as she associated more and more with him she finally realized that it was much more than mere admiration of his warlike qualities. It was infatuation. She had fallen in love with a man almost twice her age.

Shailaja must have been the last to know it. The other members of the Ravens had been running a lottery on how long it would be before the Ice Maiden thawed, and Zhidar showed not the least surprise when after several hours of heavy drinking she invited herself to his bed.

Drink had never affected Shailaja that way before. No matter how long the celebration or how many quarts of strong ale she consumed she was always able to find her own bedroll, but this time she did not.

As chance had it the Ravens had just captured an enemy town. Den, as the Captain, had commandeered the bedroom of the mayor's palace for his own use and was planning on spending a pleasant few hours with a few of the town whores, women who always seemed to win no matter what side won the battle. Shailaja had been drinking rather heavily, celebrating the fact that she had killed a half score of the enemy in the battle. Still bloody from combat, and stinking of sweat, she somehow found her way to his room and blundered in. It was interesting that no one tried to stop her and even finding the object of her affection somewhat busy did not in any way deter her. "Out," she ordered, drawing her sword on the startled whores.

There was no record of what the astonished ladies-of-the-night imagined. Perhaps they thought that she was Den's angry paramour. Whatever, they thought they scattered quickly before her naked blade as she staggered toward Den's bed.

Den for his part took the interruption very well. Much better than Shailaja had a right to expect. After all, she had given him not the slightest hint of her feelings toward him, partly due to the fact that she was unaware of them herself. But when she fell into his bed professing her undying love and demanding that he have his way with her, her meaning could not have been clearer.

Rather good naturedly under the circumstances, Den first removed the sword from her hand and then suggested that a bath to remove the sweat and blood of battle might be in order before he proceeded to make passionate love to her.

Even to Shailaja's drink-addled brain it seemed a quite reasonable request and he helped her undress while calling for water to fill the tub. Although most of the reputable townspeople had fled when the town was taken there were more than enough willing hands among the members of the Ravens he had placed on guard to carry the necessary water and although there had been no time to heat it Shailaja was treated to a thorough scrubbing, even Gorvag taking special delight in wielding a brush, so that her skin was bright red by the time they were finished. Then Den himself helped her to the bed where she fell almost instantly asleep.

Shailaja awoke sometime in the middle of the morning in a quite different frame of mind. Her head felt as if it was being used as a blacksmith's anvil and the inside of her mouth felt as if it had been filled with lye. Her gut twisted at the slightest movement and she barely made it to the commode before she brought up a considerable amount of what she had eaten the night before. It was her good fortune that the mayor's bedroom had a private room for bodily functions or she would have spoiled his very fine carpets. After that her stomach felt somewhat better, but the headache seemed even worse.

However, her physical discomfort was as nothing compared to her mortification as the scattered memories of her night of celebration began to reassemble. Had she really chased a trio of whores from her Captain's bedroom at sword point? Had she demanded that he hurl her onto the bed and take her like a captive princess? And had he helped her to the bed, combed out her hair, and left her to sleep off her drunken spree?

None of these things seemed possible except for a few incontrovertible facts. First, she was trying to rid herself of the most savage and enduring hangover she had ever experienced. Second, her sword, dagger, and other weapons were gone; and she never went anywhere without them. Third, she was stark naked in the Captain's bed and her last waking memory was of Den tucking the covers around her.

"What a mess," Shailaja moaned. She sat on the edge of the bed trying to put her head back together.

At that moment the door opened and Den stepped into the room. He was carrying a clay bottle and a tray of what smelled disgustingly like food.

Shailaja was so chagrined she hardly knew what to say, but she knew what she did not want. "No more of that," she groaned. "I've had enough ale to last me a moon."

"It's not ale," Den replied setting the tray down on a table next to the bed.

Shailaja hastily pulled the covers about her, an action that did not go unnoticed and which was quite out of character considering her normal casual behaviour when it came to nudity. "You didn't seem to mind letting me see a good deal more of you than that last night," Den observed.

Shailaja did not reply, being far too mortified to do more than huddle in the sheets and hope that he would go away.

"Here," he said, popping the cork off the bottle and filling a small cup full of foul-smelling brown liquid. "Drink this. I know it helps me."

Shailaja could hardly refuse after the way she had acted, and so she obediently raised the cup and downed the foul mixture. Its taste very much resembled what she imagined the bottom of a latrine would be like, but she managed to keep it down, and to her amazement she actually felt better.

"Very good," Den smiled, refilling the cup. "Now again."

Once more Shailaja braved the vile taste of whatever was in the cup and then Den took the cup from her. "Excellent," he grinned. "We'll let that sit awhile. Once you feel better try to get some food into your stomach."

He got up and left the room, leaving her to look at what else was on the tray. It turned out to be a bowl of hot porridge topped with honey. To her very great surprise she actually felt hungry. Whatever potion Den had fed her had worked beyond anything she had expected. She ate the entire bowl and then licked the spoon clean.

Almost on cue Den returned. He closed the door behind him and set the bar in place. "I should have done that last night," he explained. "Then I would not have been disturbed."

Shailaja looked at him in confusion. "What…'" she began.

He crossed the room in three strides and stood over her. "Sometimes my fair Kaltaran, it is best to say nothing at all."

While Shailaja watched in amazement he pulled off his boots, unbuckled his belt, and then quickly removed his shirt and trousers. As he slipped in beside her he smiled widely. "I have left word that I am not to be disturbed. Even if the most beautiful woman in all of Vedra comes seeking me."

Before Shailaja could think of a foolish answer he pushed her onto her back, lowered himself onto her and touched his lips to hers. She offered no resistance and within a short time was panting with desire. Although Shailaja had taken no man since Narahan, at least voluntarily, she was not exactly a blushing maiden, but neither was she especially experienced in the ways of a man. Fortunately, Den was most experienced in the ways of a woman and soon had her in a state of arousal that rivalled anything she had known before. When his tongue and lips found her petals and nibbled and sucked at the sensitive bud that lay concealed there, she begged him to take her, a request that he soon fulfilled.

Den was nowhere near as large as Narahan, but it helped that Shailaja had abstained from physical use for two years and the fact that he was most skilled as a lover. He did things with his member that no other man had been able to emulate and soon had her crying out in unrestrained passion. His stamina was also quite remarkable. It took him at least two turns of the glass before he released into her for the first time and only a single turn before he was ready to go again.

However, during the interval he revealed to her that he was well aware of the fact that a woman can be entertained by lips, tongue, and hands alone. He kept her in such a heightened state of arousal that she hardly realized he was no longer in a state of readiness, and by the time he was, she was more than ready for him. And then he discovered her secret.

It happened quite by accident. They were locked together in the way familiar to all men and women. As Shailaja convulsed in uncontrolled passion her nails ripped at his back leaving eight bloody tracks across his ribs. Den gasped in pain and seized both her wrists, and reaching across the bed grabbed his dagger. He used it to cut the bell pull normally used to summon one of the servants, and with a couple of quick turns bound her wrists and secured them to the headboard of the bed. The action had not the slightest affect on her state of arousal; instead it actually increased it, causing her to moan in anticipation of what he might do next. Recognizing her reaction for what it was, Den decided to take his own special form of vengeance.

"You will," he growled in mock anger, "pay for that attack."

He rose above her, his knees on either side of her hips, and proceeded to work his magic on her body. She responded immediately, hardly having cooled in the interval it took to bind her. It took little time as his lips, tongue, and hands moved over her body to get the reaction he sought.

"Now," Shailaja moaned. "Take me now."

His response was a quiet laugh. "First you must be punished for the ravaging of my back." He placed himself partially within her, enough to give him pleasure, but not quite enough for her. As he continued to move his hands over her breasts and touch his mouth to her throat, lips, and nipples, she squirmed beneath him, trying to find a way to force him deeper.

But Den would not allow himself to used in that way; he kept himself at the gateway to Selene's Grotto, but refused to go any farther, much to her anguish and fury.

"May Marana damn you," Shailaja gasped. "Use me as a man should use a woman." She twisted at her bonds seeking to free her hands and force him deeper within her.

""It would be better if you called on Selene," Den chuckled infuriatingly. "The goddess of love would serve your purpose much better."

Shailaja groaned in frustration as he continued to tease her, his actions driving her almost mad with desire. "I cannot stand this," she whimpered. "You must use me."

'I find your manner somewhat imperious, my Ice Maiden," Den replied. "I would hear you beg."

"Beg?" Shailaja gasped. "Beg for what gives you pleasure? I will be damned if I will."

"Foolishly spoken," Den smiled. "You demand I use you, but will not ask properly." He moved within her slightly, creating the most wondrous sensation, but held back from giving her true release. She tried once again to arch into him, offering him access to the centre of her being, but once again he pulled back, leaving her moaning in unfulfilled passion. It continued in this way for many more heartbeats. Den took her to the edge of edge of release and then pulled back, leaving her grinding her teeth in frustration, and quivering in sensual agony. Finally she could bear it no more. Swallowing her pride she whimpered her request.

"Alright, I submit. Take me. I beg you to take me."

"Ask me in the name of the goddess. Your goddess," Den demanded maddeningly.

"I beg you in the name of Marana," Shailaja cried. "Take me now."

Finally satisfied with her answer Den proceeded to use her as thoroughly as she had ever been used, not allowing her a moment's rest for the next two turnings of the glass. When he finally released into her she lay depleted wanting only sleep.

They spent a long time in that bed, and regretted not a single heartbeat of it. They made love perhaps as many as a dozen times, and by the time they finished in sweaty, sweet exhaustion, Shailaja was completely satiated and much sorer than she would have believed possible. But it was soreness of a sort that she would not have traded for any amount of gold. When she and Den emerged from the confines of that bedroom, to the applause of the men and women of the Ravens who somehow had managed to squeeze themselves into the common room of the mayor's palace, Shailaja could not keep a ridiculous and quite silly grin from her lips. Her life had changed. She was now the Captain's woman.

Continued in Chapter 12

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