Barbarian Tales 1: Mistress of the Sword - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Death of an Emperor

Shailaja was subjected to humiliation of a different sort at the beginning of the next day. She awoke before dawn and was followed by Cleron a turn of the glass later. Not surprisingly, the Prithian emperor awoke in good spirits. The same could hardly be said of Shailaja. Stiff and sore from her ordeal, she could barely move. It seemed every part of her body between her nipples and her loins hurt and her inner thighs sported dark bruises.

However, she was given little time to rest. Cleron hauled himself from the bed, bellowed for food and drink and set about preparing himself for the day. He did nothing for Shailaja other than to stroke her thigh and pinch her nipples. "Today we break camp. In two weeks, princess we will be in Stendor."

"You cannot hide me there," Shailaja protested. The Hasta will learn of your treachery. All of Kaltara will move against you."

"I care little for the threat of a few barbarians," Cleron sneered. However, no one will learn of your whereabouts. Your abduction was carefully staged. It will seem to the Hasta that you have simply disappeared; perhaps taken by the legendary beasts that haunt these mountains."

Shailaja knew that the beasts frequenting the Mountains of Storms were far from legendary, even though she had never seen one before. However, she had never been in this part of the mountains either. It was a region that Kaltarans gave a wide berth and Kaltarans were not easily frightened. Unfortunately, the chance intervention of legendary monsters was not something Shailaja could depend upon.

Keltor appeared shortly after Cleron with food and drink for the emperor. In spite of the fact that she was hungry and very thirsty, nothing was offered to Shailaja, and with the painful shackles still on her arms she would have been unable to eat or drink anyway. Cleron paid her no further attention until he had finished eating, then he ordered her out of the tent. "Get her cleaned up and return her clothing. She will ride with me. Release her arms, but make sure she is properly secured."

"As you wish, Excellency," Keltor replied. Taking Shailaja's arm he led her from the tent.

The walk from Cleron's pavilion to the stream was one of the most humiliating of Shailaja's life. Marched between the campfires and tents of Cleron's retinue she was subjected to the gaze of every man in the camp. The marks of her ordeal were clear upon her body and no words could have expressed the shame she felt as their eyes fell upon the bruises on her breasts and thighs along with the other evidence of her degradation.

She looked straight ahead, ignoring the remarks directed toward her. But some hurt much more than others.

"Not much of a warrior is she?" one of the men mocked. She's tall but I doubt she can match any of us."

"True enough," another agreed. "Judging from all the noise she was making last night I think she probably does her best fighting on her back."

The last remark hit hard, bringing Shailaja further shame as she recalled how she had moaned and cried out as Cleron had taken her. However, she ignored the taunts and waited while her ankles were once again shackled and the irons removed from her arms.

Free from the painful restraints for the first time in almost a full day, she almost groaned as the blood surged back into her arms. But she managed to hold back any sign of her torment as she stepped forward into the water.

The chill of the stream acted as a welcome balm, taking away the pain of her bruises as it numbed her skin. It also seemed to help with the throbbing pain between her thighs. More than anything it felt good to be able to wash away the sweat and stink of her violation. She imagined the dishonour she had suffered being carried away by the swift-flowing current although she knew that such shame could never be so easily assuaged. It would take blood to atone for what she had suffered and she intended to have it.

Her desire for vengeance, however, would have to wait. Soon enough she was called from the water. But this time she was not subjected to the painful shackles above her elbows. Instead, after being allowed to dress, her wrists were joined in front of her by a short chain that allowed her some freedom of movement. With her ankles still shackled there was still very little chance of escape, but at least it was a bit more comfortable.

She was given a simple breakfast while the camp was broken. It was not the quality of the food served Cleron, but it filled her stomach and helped restore some of her strength. Now she just needed some sort of opportunity to escape.

She did not get it right away. While a number of soldiers stayed behind to attend to the tents and wagons, Cleron mounted up taking Shailaja with him. She was given a horse to ride and was stationed just behind Cleron. However, there was little chance that she would make a dash for it. The shackle around one ankle was temporarily removed so that she could mount and then clamped back on with the chain passing beneath the belly of the horse. In addition she was not allowed to guide her horse. Instead the reins were wound through the bindings of Cleron's saddle. However, the situation was much better than being slung over the back of a horse or plenya the way she had been when she was first captured.

Halvar was somewhere in the procession, the Prithians preferring horses to the plenya. As Cleron had pointed out the plenya were animals of the northern wastes and not well suited to more southern realms. However, it appeared that Cleron was taking Halvar with him as well, perhaps with an idea of breeding a strain of the huge beasts more suited to warm temperatures. Whatever the case Shailaja could hear the huge animal bellowing his displeasure at being towed along like a pack horse near the rear of the procession.

They rode steadily for most of the morning, taking a narrow trail that followed the stream they had camped beside. Shailaja rode in silence, refusing to respond to Cleron's occasional attempts at conversation. Strangely, he seemed to think her rude and arrogant for refusing to speak to him. It seemed a strange attitude to take so far as Shailaja was concerned, considering that this was the man who had spent the night using her against her will. Instead of speaking she focused on escape, constantly looking for some weakness or lapse upon the part of her captors that might give her a chance to make a break for it.

No chance came during the first part of the day. They rode without incident, taking a short break at midmorning and a longer one at noon before continuing until late afternoon. It was at that time that one of the legends Cleron had disdained chose to attack.

Shailaja detected the attack moments before it came and could have given warning; but she saw no reason to do that. The trail had taken an upward turn past a picturesque waterfall that tumbled several hundred yards down a steep cliff before splashing into the shallow creek they had been paralleling. Her horse picked up her ears and whickered nervously while at the back of the column Halvar roared in defiance.

"What is that beast about?" Cleron demanded, half turning in his saddle so he could speak to Shailaja, but he had no more than asked the question before it was answered. From the top of the cliff a hair-raising howl sounded. Shailaja had only heard that sound once before when she had been hunting with her parents and several other Kaltaran warriors and knew what it was. She also knew that no one in the hunting party had suggested investigating it further.

"Shandors," Shailaja's mother had commented. "They are best left alone."

Typical of her nature, Shailaja had urged her fellow hunters to at least see what a shandor looked like, but was overruled. "Those who see a shandor," her father warned, "seldom see anything else again."

And so they had ridden on, leaving the howling beasts to their mountain domain. Now for the first time Shailaja set eyes on the mysterious beasts responsible for the almost human-like shrieks that erupted about them.

In size the shandor resembled a large racoon, but there the resemblance ended. These creatures had none of the charm of the ring-tailed outlaw who raided the campsites and chicken coops of the unwary; instead they resembled something from a nightmare. They had heads that seemed far too large for their bodies; heads equipped with enormous jaws that yawned open like buckets as they charged down the cliff. Incredibly they moved down the sheer rock face as if they were running over level ground, and as they neared the bottom of the defile Shailaja was able to see why. Each of the shandor's four limbs was equipped with four long claws that acted as climbing hooks. There was also little doubt that both their teeth and claws would make very effective weapons.

"Kiiillll!" the shandors screamed. The sound issuing from several hundred throats was almost deafening. But even more frightening was that what they shrieked sounded vaguely human. The noise, coupled with the suddenness and swiftness of the attack, sent a chill down Shailaja's spine. It was obvious that the number of soldiers at Cleron's command was not enough to withstand the hordes that were swarming toward them, and she was sitting weaponless and chained to her horse unable to fight back or escape.

She watched as the first of the shandors reached the column of riders, hurling themselves from the cliff and onto the riders almost before they could draw their weapons. Although each of the beasts weighed much less than a man, the impact knocked some riders from the saddle, leaving them flailing at their attackers on the ground. Horses reared and screamed in terror; men cursed and shouted, hacking at their attackers and trying to control their unruly mounts.

Directly in front of her Cleron drew his sword and with a sweep of his arm cut the shandor leaping upon him out of the air. At the same time his horse reared, the sudden action snapping the reins of Shailaja's horse that he had tied to his saddle.

Shailaja reacted almost without thinking as her horse broke free. She had no weapon and the position on the back of the horse left her wide open to the attack of the shandors. Behind her Cleron's men hemmed her in even as they fought for their lives, and there was nowhere to go in front of her without forcing the other riders from the trail. Realizing that she had to get off the horse she pushed herself backward and slid from the saddle and over its rump.

She landed hard on her backside, unable to stop her fall. Her horse bolted, thankfully not catching the chain that tethered her ankles in its hooves. As she scrambled to her feet she was almost knocked flat again as the horse behind her crashed into her pushing her to one side. She saw that it was riderless and was being savaged by two shandor. There was nothing Shailaja could do as she watched the horse heaving and bucking as it tried to shed the two beasts. Looking behind her she saw its former rider lying on the ground, a shandor tearing at his guts. She had no proper weapon, but she had the length of chain between her wrists. It gave her two feet of cold iron and she used it as well as she knew. A sweep of her arms sent the chain slamming into the shandor's head, the impact sending it flying into the creek. It was, of course, too late to save the man the shandor had been attacking, but that was not Shailaja's goal. What she wanted was his sword.

She snatched it up from the ground just as one of the shandor launched itself toward her. She struck at it two-handed and spit it on the end of her blade. With a flick she hurled its body after the first and spun back toward the front of the column. Through the confusion of attacking shandors, neighing horses, and men fighting for their lives she spotted the one man she sought.

It was not Cleron, but Keltor that she went after. In spite of the fact that she had to hold her sword two-handed she cut down two more shandors before she reached him. He was fighting hard against two of the beasts, his back to the cliff. She took out one, allowing him to concentrate on the other. With a sweep of his sword he took off its head, only to find himself looking down the length of Shailaja's blade.

"The keys," she demanded, the point of her sword a hand's breadth from his throat.

Keltor took one look at her and quickly fumbled in a pouch at his belt. Producing a ring of keys he tossed them at Shailaja's feet. She had to lower her blade to pick them up, but the Emperor's lackey made no effort to challenge her. Within moments she was free and able to swing her sword freely. All along the rough track Cleron's remaining men were fighting for their lives, each man fighting two or three of the shandors. She ran down the track each sweep of her sword taking out one of the attacking beasts. And then she reached Cleron.

The emperor was lying on the ground, propped up against a large boulder. Scattered about him were the bodies of several shandors. His sword lay beside him as his both of his huge hands clutched at his belly, trying to hold his intestines in.

Shailaja's brow creased in anger, but not because of what Cleron had done to her, but because she saw that she had been denied proper vengeance. Never again would Cleron face anyone with sword in hand. The wounds he had suffered at the teeth and claws of the shandors were too terrible for him to have any hope of survival.

The emperor knew it as well. With an effort that must have taken all of his strength and caused him excruciating pain, he managed to roll forward onto his knees. Still clutching his spilled guts, he stared into her eyes and raised his head.

Shailaja did not mistake his invitation. Gripping her sword two-handed she swept back the blade and then with a single powerful stroke cut off the emperor's head.

From behind her came a scream. "Murder! The Kaltaran bitch has murdered the emperor!"

Shailaja turned to see Keltor pointing at her. His accusation came just as the remaining shandors fled back the way they had come, climbing the cliff face with ease. There were only half as many as there had been before, but their attack had decimated the ranks of Cleron's guard. Where there had been almost sixty warriors there now remained barely twenty and many of these were wounded.

She glared at them, daring them to come at her. "I murdered no one," she growled. "I put the coward out of his misery."

"You lie," Keltor shouted. "I saw Cleron kneeling defenceless before you and then you struck him down."

"I will kill you for that lie," Shailaja said, moving toward him. But she was not fast enough. Keltor ran for the nearest horse, and mounting up put his spurs to it and galloped down the trail. For an instant Shailaja considered chasing him, but gave it up. She had better things to do than pursue Cleron's lackey.

"I am leaving," she announced to the remaining men. "Any who attempt to stop me will die."

Wisely, no man made any attempt to challenge her as she strode to the back of the line, where Halvar was tethered to one of the pack horses. Her saddle and a few of her other possessions were not with him, but she knew where they were, and swinging onto his back she headed back they way they had come. Although she left a score of Cleron's men behind her she did not fear being followed. After the casualties they had sustained from the shandors she doubted that they would remain long in the mountains. Instead she expected that they would head back to Prithia as quickly as they could.

A league down the trail she encountered the slow-moving supply wagon carrying Cleron's pavilion and other personal goods. It took little persuasion to convince the single guard and the waggoner to give up what she wanted.

With her possessions once again restored to her, including her dagger and medallion, she headed Halvar in the direction of home, or rather; she headed Halvar in a direction that would take her close to home.

She could not return the way she had been taken. It would have been impossible to transport Halvar across the lake. However, there were other longer roads she could take that would get her back to Lorholm. She could, of course, have headed deeper into Prithia, and circled back toward home from there, but having just experienced Prithian hospitality at Cleron's hands she had no wish to go that way, especially as she was more than likely to encounter more of the now dead emperor's soldiers.

Riding around the lake would take her several days, and take her to higher elevations, but she was not going to leave Halvar behind. Even if it took her a full moon longer she would come back with her faithful plenya.

A sudden snowstorm as she moved above the lake made her prediction about taking a moon close to reality. It was an annoying delay, but one that her familiarity with the wilderness fully equipped her to deal with. She quickly built a crude shelter and waited out the storm, using Halvar as one side of the lean-to she constructed. By burrowing into his thick fleecy hide she was able to wait out the storm in safety. However, waiting for the storm to abate delayed her for a full six days; six days that would have a significant affect on her life.

She was short of food by the time the snow stopped falling and she rebuked herself for not taking the time to stock up before riding away from the Prithians, however, it took her only a short time to bring down a couple of rabbits and then prepare them for dinner. The meal filled her belly and the next day she added to her food supply when she chanced across a deer.

All of this resulted in a delayed return to her home. In fact she finally spotted the outskirts of the city some three weeks after the shandor attack had allowed her to free herself. She kicked Halvar into a gallop, expecting a joyous reunion with her family and got a complete surprise.

As she neared the city a rider suddenly galloped toward her. It took her a few moments to realize it was a figure she knew well, her brother, Eram. She laughed and smiled at him as he neared her, but received no smile in return. Instead he reined in his plenya and spoke urgently to her. "Shailaja, I am glad to see you, but you must not go into Lorholm. You must come with me."

Shailaja looked at him, mystified. Eram was the closest to her in age of all her brothers, being just a summer older, and they had always been close. She opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but he cut her off. "Not now. I will explain later. Please come with me."

Confused and somewhat hurt at this unexpectedly brusque welcome, Shailaja nodded and turned Halvar to follow Eram. He led her through the streets to a small inn on the outskirts of the city. Dismounting, he tossed the reins of his plenya to a stable boy and waited for Shailaja to do the same. Then he led her through the doorway of the inn.

Inside it was dark and Shailaja could see very little as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Eram, however, had no trouble finding his way and he led her across the almost deserted room to the back of the tavern. Opening a door in the back wall he waited until she caught up with him. Frustrated, it was only with difficulty that Shailaja contained her bursting curiosity.

Eram ushered her into the room and she got another surprise. Two of her other brothers were there, Torm, the eldest and, Loram, the fourth oldest. They both stood up as she entered.

"Did anyone see you bring her here?" Torm asked, surprising Shailaja by not greeting her first.

"I think not," Eram answered. "As we hoped I intercepted her on the West Road, so no one saw her arrive."

"Forgive me," Shailaja, "Torm said. "I am glad to see that you are back. I wish our reunion could be a happier occasion."

"What is going on?" Shailaja asked. "Why have I been intercepted and prevented from going to the Great Hall? And why am I being treated like an unwelcome stranger by my own brothers?"

"Forgive us," Shailaja, Torm answered, advancing to embrace her. "Our conduct has not been what it should be."

Loram too, took her in his arms and kissed her on the forehead. "Welcome, sister. I am sorry we had to meet this way, but we have news that is most disturbing."

"What is it?" Shailaja cried, alarmed. "Has something happened to father or mother?"

"Rest easy, they are well," Eram answered. He motioned to one of the chairs. "Please sit. I will get food and drink and all will be revealed after you have eaten."

Puzzled, and her anger rising at the treatment she was receiving, Shailaja took the chair and waited until Eram returned. He set down a tray containing ham, cheese, sausage, and bread, along with a pitcher of ale and several cups. Shailaja put aside her anger, realizing that she was very hungry, and ate while Torm spoke.

"When you did not return from the hunt we thought you were lost. It was clear you had been kidnapped, but the trail we followed led nowhere. It was most mysterious and we could only suppose that whoever had taken you wanted you alive for the usual purpose that women are taken." He held up his hand as Shailaja began to speak. "Finish your food first. I can tell from your appearance that you must be hungry. And then tell us what happened."

Shailaja expected that there was more in her appearance than hunger. Almost certainly her brothers suspected what had happened to her. Barely able to contain her curiosity she forced down the food, took a mouthful of ale and then set down her cup.

"What is this all about?" she demanded. "Why is it that I have been treated to so strange a welcome? And why have I not been taken to the Great Hall?"

"I must ask you to be patient, sister," Torm answered. "Tell us your tale first and then we will explain."

Tipping her cup back one more time, Shailaja settled herself in her chair. Speaking of her capture and shaming was going to be difficult, but it appeared to be necessary. Taking a deep breath she began to speak.

Her brothers listened with a growing sense of outrage as she detailed her misadventure at Cleron's hands and her surprising escape. Although she burned with shame she held almost nothing back; leaving out only the arousal she had felt as Cleron had taken her and her shameful cries of passion as she had responded to what was done to her.

"So it was rape," Eram cried, leaping to his feet. "You acquitted yourself bravely under the circumstances and gave Cleron a death he did not deserve."

"You are right," Loram agreed. "He should have been brought back here and subjected to the appropriate punishment."

Shailaja understood their references. Using a woman against her will was punishable in Kaltara by nailing offender to a tree in a wilderness location and then drawing out his entrails. The hapless wretch was then left for the wolves to finish off. Her swift execution of Cleron was considered humane punishment by comparison. However, now that she had told her story, shameful as it was she needed to know why her brothers had welcomed her back in so strange a manner.

"Now tell me why you have hidden me away and prevented my return to the Great Hall," she demanded.

"It is unfortunate that you did not return sooner," Torm said. "If you had things might be very different."

"Explain," Shailaja ordered.

"Two weeks ago a messenger arrived from Prithia. He brought a note stating that you had murdered Cleron in cold blood when he lay helpless and unarmed before you. The act was witnessed by twenty of his men."

It was a lie, but Shailaja could see how Cleron's men had twisted the truth. "Did they explain that I was with the emperor against my will?" she asked.

"Of course not," Torm answered. "They accused you of being a witch who followed Cleron as he left for Prithia and then led an attack of forest demons upon him and his men. It was only due to their great valour that your attack was beaten off, unfortunately they were unable to save the emperor."

The sneer in Torm's voice as he finished clearly indicated his contempt for all Prithians.

"They lie," Shailaja raged. "I will gut every one of them."

"Sadly, I have even worse news." Torm continued. "You have been condemned by the Grand Council and have been declared outlaw."

"Outlaw?" Shailaja gasped. "But it was I who was wronged."

"You innocence could not be more obvious," Torm agreed. "However, your delay in returning seemed to confirm the accusations of the Prithians. It was thought that you had fled to safer parts in order to escape justice."

"I would never do such a thing even if I was guilty," Shailaja exclaimed.

"We know," Loram said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You are a true Kaltaran. Unfortunately you were not here to defend yourself and in your absence, the Grand Council acted as it thought best."

"Then I will defend myself," Shailaja said, rising from her chair. "I will go to the Great Hall and demand to be heard."

"It is not quite that easy," Torm said, motioning that she should sit again. "There is more to the Grand Council's decision than outrage over your supposed treachery. Prithia threatened war, a threat the Hasta laughed at. But what Prithia did next caught our attention. The new Prithian emperor seized all Kaltaran property in Prithia and cut off all trade routes passing from Kaltara to Prithia. Our trade has been strangled and the Hasta had little choice but to go to war."

"And so they should," Shailaja raged. "But I still do not understand why I have been declared outlaw."

"I was getting to that," Torm replied. "As I said the Hasta prepared for war, but before the clans could be assembled the Grand Council removed our parents from their position and replaced them with Warlan and Darha of the Eagle Clan."

Suddenly Shailaja understood what had happened. Her parents were no longer the Hasta, replaced instead by their traditional rivals from the Eagle Clan. Warlan and Darha had taken the coward's way out, preferring negotiation to action and had promised her to the Prithians in return for a return of Kaltaran property and the reopening of trade. It did not escape her that the members of the Eagle Clan were the most involved in the lucrative trade with Prithia.

As Torm finished explaining it turned out that her guess was correct. The desire for profit had won out over honour, something she would have hardly believed of any Kaltaran. But then the Eagle Clan had always been a bit short when it came to matters of honour.

"I will give the truth of the matter to the Hasta and demand that mother and father be restored." Shailaja said.

"No, sister," Torm said. "You cannot do that. As an outlaw you have no rights. Attempting to plead your case would give the members of the Eagle Clan the chance to kill you."

"Let them try," Shailaja growled, rising from the table. "I will kill anyone who stands in my way."

"That is just it," Torm replied. "The Eagle Clan would all be set against you and the Clan of the Ice Wolf would fight with you. It would be civil war at a time when Prithia might still wish to invade. We cannot risk that. There is only one thing for you to do."

"And what is that?" Shailaja asked.

"Leave Kaltara. Give us a chance to prove your innocence. As an outlaw you have no rights, not even that of a fair hearing. We will find the Prithians who defamed you and get the ban lifted. Then you will have a chance to restore your honour."

"I will not flee," Shailaja said stubbornly. "I will not commit so dishonourable an act. I will face the Eagle Clan and die with honour."

"I that case," Eram grinned, "I will stand with you and die also."

"You will not go alone, brother," Loram said. "If one is to die then we all die."

"No," Shailaja protested. "No one should die on my account." She stood with head down, finally realizing why Torm had suggested she leave her homeland. If she stayed it would be civil war with the Clan of the Ice Wolf against the Clan of the Eagle with the other clans lining up on either side. Such a war would devastate Kaltara and perhaps lead to what Prithia had long desired; the addition of the northern land to its empire.

"I will go," she said resignedly. "I only ask I be able to see father and mother before I go."

"Sadly," that cannot be," Eram said. "They are closely watched. That is the reason why we had to meet with you here. By now word may have reached the Hasta of your return. You will not be safe in Lorholm for long. It is best if you go as quickly as possible."

It was hardly the homecoming Shailaja had envisioned. But it seemed she had little choice. "I will go then," she said. "But one day I will return, and I might not wait until you have restored my reputation." With that she rose from the table and walked out of the room and into exile.

Continued in Chapter 6

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