Barbarian Tales 1: Mistress of the Sword - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Hunt

Morning broke bright and clear, dashing any hopes that Shailaja had that the unpredictable weather of her homeland might prevent the planned hunt from taking place. From the window of her small room she could see the main courtyard and the servants running to and fro in preparation for the hunt. With a sigh she went to her washbasin and filled it with water from the pitcher. She would have preferred a ride to the hot springs for a proper bath, but that would have to wait until after the hunt. Splashing water on her face and chest would have to do for now.

She dressed quickly, glad that this time she could dress in her hunting leathers instead of the finery she had been forced to wear at the banquet. Using the small mirror in her room she combed out her hair with ruthless enthusiasm, forcing the comb through her fiery mane and then plaited it into a warrior's braid. She then headed down to the kitchen for a quick breakfast before heading out.

It was a familiar routine; one she had followed almost every day since her first bleed and the knowledge that physically she was a woman. At that time she had been given the small room next to her parents' quarters. It was intended that she stay there until she chose a swordmate at which time she would set up her own household.

Her father and mother were already in the kitchen, as were several other warriors who would be taking part in the hunt, and she greeted them all. One of them, Telor, gave her a quick wink as she sat down at the large kitchen table. She gave him a smile in return. She and Telor had grown up as playmates, and now as adults he wanted to take the relationship a little farther; well quite a bit farther, actually. However, in spite of the fact that he drew the admiring glances of many women, Shailaja still thought of him more as a brother than a potential lover. That might change; he was undeniably handsome and a warrior who was almost her equal in combat. She could almost imagine the touch of his lips on hers and sense his hands running up and down her body. Unfortunately, her lascivious thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl from her stomach. Putting thoughts of carnal desire aside for the moment, she helped herself to a bowl of porridge and cream sweetened with honey and blueberries.

Such informal meals were common in the Great Hall; formal banquets such as the one on the previous night being unusual in Kaltara's egalitarian society. Cleron and his retinue would, of course, have been served in their rooms as befitted their status as guest of the Kaltaran Hasta. Word would have been sent to them that their hosts would meet them in the main courtyard.

Their hunger satisfied, they moved as a group to the main courtyard, laughing and joking with one another as family groups and familiar friends were inclined to do. Shailaja was not looking forward to seeing Cleron again, but was prepared to put up with him on this one occasion. A single hunt would satisfy the honour of her family and for the remainder of Cleron's stay in Kaltara she could feign "women's problems."

There was a short wait for Cleron and then the party mounted up and prepared for the hunt. They were riding plenya, a word that translated as "snow foot" in Kaltaran. The animal was well named; its large furry feet enabling it to traverse even the deepest snow with relative ease. In appearance the plenya resembled several animals of the southern lands. Standing over twenty five hands tall at the shoulder it had the appearance of a powerfully built horse. However, it was covered with thick white fur that protected it against even the greatest cold and had feet more like that of a bear. Although it preferred the sweet taste of grass, it could survive on the boughs of firs or spruce or even mosses and lichens. In short it was better adapted to survival in the cold wastes of Kaltara than any other beast, and was another reason why Kaltarans were so greatly respected in war. Plenya did have one weakness, and that was in conditions of extreme cold they had to browse frequently in order to restore their strength and as a result the rider had to stop often to allow it to feed. However, as it was high summer, the plenya were fat from feeding on the rich grass that carpeted much of Kaltara during the short summer.

Cleron grinned as he swung himself into the saddle. "Too bad these beasts are so poorly adapted to heat. With ten thousand of these I would have cavalry that would allow me to conquer all of Vedra."

"They suit us well enough," Hari replied. "Now, shall we hunt?"

"By all means War Leader," Cleron replied. "Lead the way."

Shailaja noted that Cleron spoke only to her father, ignoring her mother as was customary when addressing the Hasta. It was a deliberate insult and it filled her with fury. However, there was no reaction from either of her parents even though several of the assembled warriors glowered at the Prithian Emperor. Instead Hari kicked his heels into his plenya and led the expedition out of the courtyard and on to the hunt.

They entered the streets of Lorholm, the largest city in Kaltara and home of the Hasta. To someone like Cleron, it no doubt appeared to be little more than a glorified village. Stretching along the bottom of a mountain valley it was defended only by Kaltara's rugged terrain and the fierceness of its warriors. Nevertheless it had never been taken by any outside foe.

As they rode through the streets people waved and called out to the Hasta, who waved back. It was something else Cleron found interesting. He ruled through fear and intimidation. It was strange to see the leaders of the Kaltara greeted as friends. However, most of his attention was focused on the tall redhead who rode just ahead of him.

Even dressed as she was in her hunting leathers she was an exquisite vision. A half head taller than he was, she sat straight in the saddle, guiding her plenya with just a touch of her reins. Her long braid reached to her backside and swung sensuously against her back. Even watching her from a distance he could feel himself hardening. And what a warrior! She wore her sword strapped over her back and her bow in a case just in front of her right knee. She carried a hunting spear in her right hand. His mouth watered with desire just thinking about the children he could make with such a woman. And if everything went according to plan she would be his by the end of the day.

By now they had reached the end of the village the Kaltarans thought of as a city and were riding through the small farms carved out of the wilderness that seemed to exist everywhere in this northern country. Once again people moved to the edge of the road to wave and shout greetings to the Hasta. Others waved from their fields as they drove teams of the huge draft animals called yeggers. Shailaja waved back, along with the other members of her family, calling out to many of the farmers by name.

Peasants, thought Cleron. But it was those same peasants that formed the backbone of Kaltara's fearsome military. Kaltara was an enigma; a thinly populated nation that bred warriors of unparalleled skill and ferocity. It had long been his ambition to forge an alliance that would see these warriors released for service in his army, but that had been stifled by the refusal of the Hasta; and so he had tried a different tactic. If a political union was not possible perhaps an alliance forged through marriage might work. However, that plan had also been dashed by the refusal of the redheaded bitch to accept his proposal. Only one thing remained for him and that was revenge; and it would be a most enjoyable revenge.

The procession wound its way through the valley; passing still more farms, and then took a turn across a bridge that crossed a small stream. After that the road moved upward through rocky ground toward the highlands flanking the valley. The route took them to the top of a high ridge overlooking Lorholm on one side and a thickly forested valley on the other. They descended into the valley, the sure-footed plenya picking their way over the rough ground without difficulty. As they passed a huge rocky outcrop they spotted their prey.

"Guaron," shouted Shailaja and pointed to an opening in the forest. Her warning drew everyone's immediate attention as well as that of the prey. Directly ahead of them were a dozen giant elk-like animals. All were half again as large as the plenya the hunters rode and their heads were crowned with racks of antlers that reached more than double Shailaja's height above the ground.

For an instant the guaron stared at the encroaching riders, the giant bull actually stepping forward menacingly. He was a magnificent animal, fully fifteen feet tall from his hooves to the tips of his tree-like rack, but then he turned and ran, bugling for his harem to follow him.

Shailaja headed directly for the bull as the herd scattered. By Kaltaran custom the bull was hers as she had spotted the herd first, but there were plenty of other guaron for the others to chase.

The pursuit turned into a free-for-all, with different riders pursuing different animals as the prey fled in all directions. Shailaja pulled her bow from its case, and with admirable dexterity, strung it while riding her plenya at full gallop. Her long hunting spear she shoved into a sheath just behind her saddle where it protruded like a flagpole as she charged after the guaron bull.

She knew from experience that a plenya could not match the speed of her quarry, but she did have one advantage. An animal the size of the guaron bull ran best in the open, where its giant antlers would not tangle with the low-hanging branches of the heavier forest vegetation. As a result the bull did not necessarily take the most obvious line of retreat, instead it ran in the line of least resistance, keeping to the open where possible. Experienced in the hunt, Shailaja did not attempt to follow the guaron, but instead directed her plenya to where she thought the guaron would run, leaping her mount over boulders and fallen trees and crashing through light stands of bush.

She was focused completely on her goal, so much so that she was unaware that several other riders were hot on her heels; riders who had not been part of the original group. They followed just behind her, keeping her in sight but remaining far enough behind that they would not be accidentally discovered.

By now Shailaja had closed the distance to a point where she was able to take an arrow from her quiver. Still guiding her mount with her knees she fitted it to her bowstring and began to take up the tension. Almost as if anticipating her action the guaron suddenly swerved sharply, hurling itself straight into a dense stand of willows. In spite of the thickness of the vegetation the huge beast crashed right through snapping off branches in its desperate attempt to escape.

Shailaja hurled toward the place where the guaron had disappeared, but at the last instant she reached out and pulled her plenya to a halt. Shaking her head she stared at the place where the guaron had disappeared. "Good for you," she muttered, and raised her hand in salute. It had been a good chase, but the quarry had escaped. She had no regrets; she and the others were hunting for sport, not from necessity, and she had enjoyed the chase.

Unstringing her bow, she set it back in its case and then swung from her panting plenya. "You ran well, Halvar," she said. "I'll give you an extra ration of oats and beer when we get back to the stables."

Halvar grunted in consent, swinging his huge head around to give her a playful push. Tearing off a handful of grass she held it up for the plenya to nibble on and then picked up the reins. Having just run Halvar so hard she would not ride back, but walk to where the chase had begun.

"I wonder how the others did," she mused. But she never found out. At that moment the huge form of another plenya burst from the undergrowth just yards away. Her sword was instantly in her hand, but the first rider was joined by another and then another, each coming at her from a different direction.

Shailaja had no idea who they were, but she reacted like any Kaltaran warrior, placing her back against Halvar so that she could only be attacked from one direction. Unfortunately, that proved to be her undoing. One of the riders did not slow his mount but instead crashed it into Halvar's side, smashing her mount sideways and knocking her off her feet. She was sent sprawling, and then had to roll desperately out of the way as Halvar came crashing down on top of her.

Somehow in the scramble to safety, she kept her hand on her sword, but her original attacker came right at her and using his plenya like a battering ram, sent it right into her. Once again Shailaja had to dive for safety, jumping to one side and then executing a roll that brought her to her feet, only to find the third rider right on top of her. This time she could not escape and the shoulder of the plenya slammed full into her, sending her head over heels, the breath knocked out of her, and her sword flying from her hand.

"Get her before she recovers," shouted one of the men. The other two did not have to be told; one was already on his feet while the other leaped from his saddle and dashed toward the fallen maiden.

Get up! Get up! Get up! The words screamed inside Shailaja's skull. She was defenceless on the ground, but she could not catch a breath and was able only to make it to her hands and knees before the first man reached her.

He heaved his weight onto her, pushing her hard into the ground. "Get the irons onto her," he called. Still gasping for breath Shailaja felt her arms seized and pulled behind her. Something hard was fixed to them just above the elbow and then somehow clamped tight. Panic seized her and she fought even harder, but she was unable to prevent the same thing from being done to her ankles. She battled frantically, but the restraints that now held her prevented all but the slightest of movement.

"Got you now," the man who had spoken first said. "Relax and we won't have to hurt you."

Shailaja grunted with the effort of trying to break free of the unyielding devices that held her arms and ankles. She had not thought to scream for help; something few Kaltaran warriors would have done in any case, and a heartbeat later screaming or talking was rendered impossible as a wooden bar was forced between her teeth, jamming her mouth open. It was pulled tight and tied behind her neck, preventing her from doing more than grunting.

"Easy now," the man who had gagged her said, as he pulled her into a kneeling position. "We've got orders to take you alive. But don't make us hurt you."

Another of the men stepped forward and gazed down at her. "Impressive looking bitch. I can see why Cleron wants her. I wouldn't mind having a little piece of her myself."

"You know the orders, Veron," the third man said. "We take her to Cleron untouched. No one so much as touches a hair on her cunt."

Shailaja stared helplessly at her captors. They were all much shorter than she was and clearly not Kaltarans. From their accent and their dark complexions she guessed them to be Prithians, and the reference to Cleron made that almost certain. She had been taken prisoner on the orders of the Prithian Emperor. She had no doubt of his motives. She had dared to refuse him, causing him public humiliation and now he planned to take his revenge.

Rage filled her at the way she had been ambushed and captured, but she also felt fear. She was completely at the mercy of the men who held her, and their words indicated what was going to be done to her. Her fear was confirmed a few heartbeats later when the one called Veron reached out and seized the ties closing her shirt.

"Maybe we can't touch her, but there is nothing wrong with having a look."

"No," the third man said, stepping forward and placing a restraining hand on Veron's arm. "Cleron will have your balls if you touch her and probably mine too."

"All right, Denov," Veron growled. "We'll leave her untouched and pure for our mighty ruler's cock." With bad grace he stepped back, still staring at Shailaja's breasts.

"Enough of this yegger dung," Denov spat. "Let's get her out of here before someone stumbles across us. If we're caught we'll lose a lot more than our balls."

Wasting no more time, her captors slung Shailaja face down across the saddle of her mount and used rope to hold her there. Then towing Halvar behind them they set off up the valley.

Her arms pinioned painfully behind her, and secured to Halvar's saddle, Shailaja could do no more than look at the ground that passed beneath her. She was sick with the shame at being so dishonoured and just as angry with herself for being so easily captured. She had not so much as put up a fight, and was now slung like a bag of grain over the back of her own plenya, a helpless captive.

She had already tested her bonds a half dozen times with no result. Escape if it was possible, would have to wait until she was freed from the iron shackles that held her. It was that realization that suddenly replaced her fury with fear. If she was delivered into the hands of Cleron…. It took little imagination to visualize what he would do to her. Death would seem merciful to such dishonour, but shackled as she was she could only wait the attentions of her captors. She cursed the day that Cleron had ever set eyes upon her and strained at the irons clamped just above her elbows. She succeeded only in tiring herself further. Resignedly she let her head fall as she was led into captivity.

Continued in Chapter 3

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