Tales of Erogenia: Book 1 - Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Home

It took another two days to fully prepare for their desert journey and then they set out in the dark of night, having rested during the heat of the day. It was still oppressively hot, but bearable. All of the harem girls were equipped with proper walking shoes and they were dressed in their desert robes. They were as lightly burdened as possible, the camels carrying most of the heavy goods, especially the water. Tren had taken a chance and had acquired three more of the animals, bringing their little herd to six, and he had laden the animals with the waterskins. Although Tren did not say so, it was clear that he did not trust the young women to discipline themselves well enough to drink only when necessary. As a result all of the water was on the camels where he could keep an eye on it.

To give the girls credit, they did remarkably well. For a bunch of harem-pampered beauties there was an amazing lack of complaining in spite of the fact that the desert march left all of them footsore and exhausted at the end of each night. But luck was with them as well. They encountered none of the desert hazards that Zenaria and Tren had encountered on their crossing although they did come across the place where she and Tren had fought off the lion-spiders.

The heat and unceasing desert wind had sucked the lion-spiders dry, leaving them as nothing more than dried out husks. As they passed the once-fearsome creatures, Tren stopped and took out his knife. He walked over to one of the corpses and pried out several of the smaller needle-sharp fangs, and then handed them to Zenaria. "The poison is not longer potent," Tren said. "You might want these as a souvenir."

"Thank you," Zenaria replied. In spite of his expertise as a lover Tren was not given to emotional displays and she figured this was about as close to a gift as she would ever get. While she watched he went to a few more of the spiders and collected their fangs as well until she had quite a collection. They were impressive and unique and she already had ideas as to how she would arrange them. They would make a fine necklace.

There were no more stops after that except the daily periods of rest when they pitched camp and waited out the inferno that was the desert day. It was so hot that most of the girls could not sleep and even Tren and Ulua seemed bothered by the heat. Eventually sheer exhaustion eventually brought some sleep. However, it was a brutally fatigued group that finally reached the relative cool of the grasslands.

Remarkably the Zuni were waiting for them, lined up along the edge of the cliff as Tren reached the top of the arduous climb from the valley floor. If the grassland nomads were disappointed not to be ambushing a Sandakar expedition they did not show it, welcoming Tren and especially Ulua like long-lost cousins. Even Zenaria received a warm welcome in spite of the bad manners she had shown on her last visit. Targah regarded her with his usual appraising stare, but this time Zenaria was prepared. Before Tren had lied about her and Tren being bedmates; this time there was no need for the lie and it showed. Targah nodded once, a slight smile playing about his lips and then turned his attention to the two dozen harem beauties.

It turned out that three of the girls were Zuni, having been captured in Sandak raids. For them the journey was over as they immediately merged into the tribe. Zenaria could not tell if the reunion was joyful or not, but Tren reassured her that in spite of the fact that the Zuni were polygamous, women were well treated and the girls had not been forced. "As a matter of fact," he commented, "with the amount of gold each of them carries they will become women of some influence in the tribe."

Zenaria nodded. She was slowly beginning to understand that as much as she disapproved of the customs of other people they were something that she was in no position to change, especially when they were offering her protection and hospitality.

That night for the first time in a week Zenaria and Tren shared a tent. There had been no opportunity for lovemaking on their desert trek, but now they made up for lost time.

---

In the morning Zenaria emerged from the tent, tired but more than content. She had gotten very little sleep, but the sacrifice was worth it. Tren had been more than inventive, showing her techniques she had never dreamed of. As they lay in one another's arms, her loins throbbing in pleasure, Zenaria had but one question. "Why did you not show me that before?"

"It is best to hold some things back," he said, kissing her nipples. "If I showed you everything at once our lovemaking would become stale. This way I can keep it fresh for a long time."

"How many things are you still hiding?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

"The Beni Sidra are highly trained in the ways of love," Tren answered. "Seduction is sometimes a useful art form."

Zenaria's brow furrowed. "What about Ulua?"

"Especially Ulua," Tren said. "She is much more skilled than I."

Zenaria's eyes widened slightly. She had never considered a relationship with another woman, but there was nothing in Snow Leopard mores that condemned such relationships. Far from it, there had been several female pairings in her village, and the thought of a tryst with Ulua was more than intriguing.

"That interests you, does it?" Tren asked, his eyes shining.

Zenaria blushed. She was still so transparent that Tren could read her every thought. She wondered if she would ever be able to hide what she was thinking from others. "Not as long as I have you," she answered. But even as she uttered her reply, Zenaria knew that she and Tren did not have much time left. Once their little expedition had crossed the grasslands she would leave her lover and return to the lands of the Snow Leopard. It was something that weighed on her, but it was a step she had to take. She was not an assassin and she could not hope to join Tren and Ulua in their world. All she had was the time left before they reached the end of the grasslands.

She made the most of it or rather she and Tren made the most of it. The Zuni did not travel quickly and they stayed with the grassland nomads until their slow circuit of the grazing lands led to a point near enough to a Kivalian trading outpost. It was there that Tren intended to cut loose the gaggle of ex-harem girls. Many of them were Kivalian and the few who were not had indicated that they though it as good a place as any. Tren, as usual, had contacts in the town who he could depend on to make sure that the young women would be well taken care of, especially considering that they were all women of wealth.

They made love every night, usually more than once, but the dawn of each day reminded Zenaria that her first love affair was coming to an end. She refused, however, to become despondent. Tren had known from the start the end would come eventually and she refused to become miserable as the end approached.

---

They reached the trading post at last. Zenaria was not quite sure what she was expecting, but the tiny settlement the Kivalians called Singleton was not at all impressive compared to what she had seen in Uhra Don. True, it was much larger than her tribal stockade, but it could have fitted very nicely inside Uhra Don's market square.

It was surrounded by a palisade inside of which was a deep ditch. Earth from the creation of the ditch had been heaped up to form an embankment on top of which a second and higher palisade had been built. The heads and spears of armed guards could be seen as they patrolled the top of the wall. On either side of the entrance to the town was a wooden gate tower that flanked a heavy ironbound gate that was currently open. Two guards wearing chain mail and holding eight foot spears stood in the gateway. They warily eyed the strange procession that moved toward them.

"Hold," one of the guards ordered as Tren rode through the outer palisade. Thanks to the Zuni all members of the party were on horseback and Zenaria expected that from a distance the score of riders probably seemed rather threatening.

"Identify yourself, and state your business," the guard ordered. Zenaria noted that the ramparts held several archers who had fitted arrows to their bows as a precaution.

"I am Tren of the Beni Sidra, and I am escorting the Princess Zenaria and her entourage. We wish accommodation for the night and wish to hire an escort to Normos. Take this token to the Guildmaster." Tren bent and handed something to the guard who had spoken. The man took one look at it and suddenly snapped to attention.

"Immediately your Excellency. Shall I call for an escort for the princess?"

"That will not be necessary, Tren replied. "We will wait here until the Guildmaster receives us."

"What did you give him?" Zenaria whispered.

"A silver piece and a token the Guildmaster gave me the last time I was here. I don't expect we will have to wait long. The amount I gave the guard is more than he makes in a month and the Guildmaster is acquainted with me."

Tren was proved right. Within the space of a few hundred heartbeats there was a commotion from inside the gate and a large man with a florid complexion rode up. He was so stout that Zenaria wondered at the ability of the horse to hold him, but he seemed friendly enough.

He was dressed in what Zenaria considered very uncomfortable looking clothes. Skin tight leggings sheathed flabby legs that ended in a pair of rather useless-looking shoes with bright brass buckles. A bright green tunic covered his torso over which was worn a loose-fitting yellow coat cinched at the waist with a wide brown leather belt. His head was crowned by a large red shapeless hat formed from some soft material. A dark brown beard covered most of his chubby face, which was split in a wide grin of welcome.

"Quaram, my friend. How good to see you. What have you brought me this time?"

Zenaria raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. It was obvious that Tren had more than one name at his disposal. Behind him Ulua sat, her face hidden by the hood of her robe.

Tren turned in the saddle. "May I present her highness, the Princess Zenaria of Leopardia. I have the honour to be her escort as she passes through your lands. Your highness, this is Master Truckle, Guildmaster of Singleton.

"Enchanted, Princess," Truckle said, making an effort to bow in the saddle. How may I be of service?"

"Her Highness seeks accommodation for the night for herself and her ladies. And then more dignified transport to Normos."

"Nothing could be easier, Your Highness," Truckle replied. "Please follow me." He turned his horse and rode farther into town, Zenaria and her companions following.

"Master Truckle seems very cooperative," Zenaria observed as she and Tren rode into the town.

"Truckle is realizes that every time I show up he gets a little richer. This time is no exception. He will be well paid for his services. However, if never hurts to play the royalty card."

Zenaria observed the town with interest as she rode toward its centre. Although completely insignificant by the standards of what she had seen in Sandak, it was still impressive compared to the compound where she had been raised. It was, also considerably smellier.

She saw why at once. There was a single main street which just happened to be dry at the moment, but Zenaria guessed that it would be a muddy mess when it rained. However, it was the large accumulation animal manure and what appeared to be human waste that explained the pong that hung over the town. Zenaria wrinkled her nose. While she did not expect so small as settlement to rival Uhra Don in its amenities she wondered that the Kivalians did not even know enough not to throw their kitchen waste and excrement into the streets. She looked at Ulua and saw that the assassin had wrapped her scarf over her mouth and nose and seemed to be trying very hard not to breathe.

The accompanying harem girls were not quite so discreet, several of them voicing their shock and dismay at the sickening stench. A look from Tren, however, quieted them. They might not like it, but there was not much they could do about it.

On either side of the street rose a variety of wooden buildings, each two or three stories high and built so that their upper stories overhung the street so that in some places it was almost like riding through a tunnel. Zenaria eyed the upper windows warily realizing full well that the heaps of excrement and pools of urine had to come from somewhere.

Truckle turned in the saddle, no mean feat for a man of his bulk, and offered an explanation. "Always a bit smelly this time of year, and the tanners haven't been using as much as most years so they haven't been collecting it. Should be better when the barbarians bring in their furs and hides this winter."

"Barbarians," Zenaria thought. That meant people like her, although dressed the way she was in her desert robes, Truckle had no way of knowing what she was. She returned her attention to the town.

Off the main street ran various smaller streets, some little better than dusty tracks between buildings. Where the street was wide enough merchants displayed their wares right out in the street, a pattern that continued until they reached the main square. Here there was a market similar to that she had seen in Urha Don, only much smaller. Canvas-covered booths displayed a variety of goods from fruits and vegetables to spices, bolts of cloth, iron and copper wares, and a variety of other products. The inhabitants of Singleton stopped and stared as their procession passed and Zenaria could hear a buzz ripple through them.

"Princess. Which on is she? Must be the tall one. Looks regal enough. No, it's the one with the scarf over her face. Bloody oath; the tall one looks like a barbarian. Look at the sword she's got slung over her shoulder. Can't be a real sword. Must be ceremonial. No you're wrong. She's riding at the front. Must be the princess."

The murmuring faded as they passed though the market and halted in an open space in front of a large four story building. Master Truckle dismounted and threw the reins of his horse to a waiting boy.

"You and your ladies will stay in the Guildhall, of course, Your Highness. "The stableboys will care for your mounts. Please come in."

Inside there was a large foyer off which ran twin staircases, one on either side of the room. It was obvious that modest as the building was, the room had been designed for effect, and it was still grander than anything in her village.

It took awhile to portion off the various rooms so that every one of the girls was taken care of. Zenaria, as a princess, got one to herself, an arrangement she found somewhat awkward until she realized that it would be her last chance with Tren. It was a sobering thought. Singleton was as far as Tren intended to go. From here he would return to Sandak and his never-ending battle against those who had enslaved his people, and she would head north into the wilderness of Erogenia and the track that led back to the land of the snow leopard. However, she put the thought from her mind, refusing to dwell on it. She was still a Princess of the Snow Leopard. She would not weep or become melancholy over the loss of a lover. She turned her attention to helping Tren and Ulua settle in their female entourage.

---

It took three days to settle everything to Tren's satisfaction, partly because with so many lovely young women in the town and with a princess in attendance, Mayor Truckle decided to throw a massive feast and invited everyone of importance in the town to attend. It was held on the last night of their stay in Singleton in the main hall of the Guildhall and it was something that Tren simply could not get out of. "I am sorry," he said, "but we are the guests of honour. We will have to attend whether we like it or not. I am not given much to feasting, but I do not want to damage my relationship with Truckle. Over the years he has proved most useful. And he is one of those very unusual things; a semi-honest merchant."

"Semi-honest?" asked Zenaria.

"It means that he will only cheat you half the time," Tren smiled.

"Don't worry about the feast," Zenaria said. "Feasts I can handle. But don't expect me to wear those cumbersome heaps of clothes the Kivalian women wear."

"What are you going to wear?" Tren asked. "I hope it is a bit more than the first time I saw you."

"Perhaps I will surprise you," Zenaria grinned.

"You do that all the time," Tren commented. "But I will not interfere in your decision."

Zenaria grinned back. She had just the thing to set her off.

The feast was everything Zenaria hoped it was. An entire ox had been roasted and was carried into the hall by four men. There were also two roast pigs, several deer, and more chickens, geese, ducks, and partridges than she could be bothered to count. It seemed enough food to feed an army and along with all of the sauces, breads, and bowls of vegetables, seemed impossible to consume at one sitting. It reminded Zenaria of the feast held by her tribe to celebrate the turning of the winter sun. In that feast it was not unusual to consume several elk and deer as well as many smaller animals. The main difference was that in the Snow Leopard tribe every man, woman, and child attended whereas in Singleton only the wealthy were invited. Tren assured her, however, that any food that was left over would be distributed to the poor, provided any food was left over.

Zenaria's entrance to the hall was impressive. She had taken the armour Ulua had given to her and had gone to a leather worker. Although the man had protested the impossibility of the task on such short notice he had changed his mind quickly when offered the gold coin Zenaria displayed. The impossible suddenly became possible even though he had to work all night to achieve it. However, Zenaria was pleased by the result.

The brass-studded armour was expanded to link up with the wide leather belt that protected her waist, affording her full protection from her hips to her breasts. Along with the fitted leather that protected her upper arms and shoulders her torso was now completely protected although she deliberately left her throat bare and had unbuckled part of the leather to flaunt a generous portion of her rounded breasts. Other than that display she was almost completely clad in highly polished black armour from the long wrist guards that covered her forearms almost to the elbow; the well-designed leather gloves; and her greaves, and thigh guards. To set it all off she wore a blood-red woollen cloak she had picked up at a market stall and something else she had made herself.

She wore her hair unbraided, bound only by a gold diadem that circled her brow. Around her elegant neck she wore a necklace of lion-spider fangs. Zenaria had arranged them in a geometric pattern from largest to smallest, with the most impressive three inch fangs placed in the middle where they could not help but draw attention to the perfection of her breasts.

With her sword jutting out from behind her left shoulder and her cloak swirling around her, Zenaria made a spectacular entrance to the hall. Since, as the guest of honour, and the supposed reason for the feast in the first place, Zenaria entered last, and every eye was upon her when she entered the hall. The seneschal gulped when he saw her, but recovered quickly to announce her. "The Princess Zenaria of Leopardia," he boomed.

Heads turned in her direction. From the women there were a number of gasps of disbelief and then the muttering of the word 'barbarian.' The men, however, said nothing other than a general murmur of what sounded like approval. Six-feet-three inches of barbarian warrior strode into the hall, moving like a personification of the animal that symbolized her tribe. Head up, Zenaria looked neither right nor left, but fixed her eyes on Tren, who watched her with an expression she could not quite fathom.

Tren rose as she neared the table. As guest of honour she sat to the right of Truckle with Tren just to her right. As her seat was held out for her Tren leaned over. "Well done, princess; you are magnificent."

Zenaria felt a warm glow suffuse her. She wanted more than anything to have Tren make love to her right then and there, but she was forced to sit through five hours of eating and drinking before she was free to go. The time was not entirely wasted. Erogenian warriors were good at eating and drinking, and the flagons of wine and platters of food that were placed in front of her disappeared with great regularity. Only when she had managed to drink most of the other guests under the table did Tren signal that she was free to go.

She stood, a little unsteadily, but her head cleared in excitement and anticipation as she and Tren neared her room. It was their last night together and she and Tren made the most of it, making love at first with an urgency that signalled the depth of their passion and the knowledge that they would part on the morrow. It was a frenzied coupling that left Zenaria quivering as her loins convulsed in sexual delight. But it did not stop there. They made love twice more before morning; each time more slowly, drawing out the last moments of pleasure, before their parting.

---

Morning found them still wrapped in one another's arms, but there was no point in delaying the inevitable. They bathed and dressed, Tren in his assassin's robes, and Zenaria in her warrior's armour. There was time for one last embrace before they separated.

"Goodbye, my barbarian warrior," Tren whispered as he held her. "I will not forget you, and something tells me we will meet again."

Zenaria did not speak. There was something caught in her throat, and anyway she didn't have to. The fierceness of her grip told Tren everything he needed to know. He released her from his arms and stepped back and without another word left the room.

Zenaria waited a few minutes to compose herself, and then wiping away a very unwarrior-like tear she followed. She didn't look for Tren, instead she sought out Ulua. The girl was where she knew she would be, in her room with one of the girls who had decided to follow her and Tren.

Her farewell to Ulua was not nearly as long as her goodbye to Tren, but it was almost as emotional. Then Zenaria headed down to where her horse waited. She had given instructions to the servant to have it ready while she was taking her bath and everything was as she had asked. She had to admit that Guildmaster Truckle was good at making sure his servants did what they were told. She rode out immediately. The less time spent in the stink of Singleton the better. She had said her goodbyes and she suspected that prolonging them would not make them any easier. She galloped through the gates and turned her mount's head toward the north.

Her return home was uneventful, except for an encounter with several Urtts who were ravaging a forest homestead and a run-in with a pack of dire wolves. The first incident cost the Urtts their heads and a few other parts of their bodies. Zenaria staked out their reptilian skulls in a neat row alongside the trail as a warning to others. The second skirmish got her three fine new pelts and a string of teeth for a bracelet.

Other than that and a brief and very one-side battle with a band of outlaws Zenaria's trip home was without incident. Oh, there was the narrow escape from an aurochs stampede and the surprise encounter with a cave bear that was browsing the same patch of blackberry bushes Zenaria had chosen to snack on, but those were too minor to consider remembering.

She experienced a joyful reunion just before reaching the lower slopes of the mountains. A noise in the brush to the side of the trail startled her and she had her sword out in an instant, but quickly sheathed it as Jaree bounded out of the undergrowth. The old bond was instantly re-established, something that helped her to think a bit less about Tren and Ulua. After that she experienced not the slightest threat from anyone, she and the cat hunting and sleeping together until she reached the climb to the Ice Gates.

It was here that Zenaria let her horse go, hoping that it would find its own way. She knew that almost certainly no horse could make it through the pass at this time of year.

She was right. She encountered deep snow long before she reached the summit. However, it was nothing that Zenaria had not dealt with before. She strapped on the snowshoes she had previously fabricated and continued the climb. The huge snow leopard didn't even slow down, her huge paws moving her over the frosted surface almost as if she were floating.

It was as tough a journey as Zenaria had ever made, rivalling even her first trek across the desert wasteland where she and Tren had first bonded. Crossing the Ice Gates during the summer was tough enough. Making the same journey in early winter was almost suicidal. But Zenaria had no intention of waiting. An overwhelming urge to see her family and friends and the familiar confines of the stockade she had been raised in drove her forward.

It was Jaree that made the difference. Each night she hollowed out a shelter in the snow and bedded down with the huge cat, her warmth keeping Zenaria safe and secure through the coldest weather. They also hunted together, Jaree with fang and claw and Zenaria helping with her bow. Between the two of them they easily caught enough food to feed themselves and slowly but surely they made their way toward the top of the pass. It took a full month to finally reach the Ice Gates. Frequent stops were necessary due to the frequent white-outs and fierce storms that swept through the pass, but Zenaria was relentless. Step by step she mounted the pass until finally she began her equally slow descent.

And then, three months after leaving Singleton she looked down on the stockade of the Snow Leopard. Her throat closed as she looked at of the place where she had spent her childhood and where everyone she held dear lived. Well, almost everyone. One day she would see Tren and Ulua again. She made that promise as a silent vow as she slowly stripped off her clothing.

She had timed her last day's journey to reach the village in mid-afternoon, but she was not going to show up covered with the sweat and filth of more than a month without bathing. Completely nude, she took a quick snow bath, rubbing her skin until it glowed red and then she dressed again, packing away her furs and setting out for the last fifteen minutes of her trek in the armour and crimson cloak she had worn to the feast in Singleton.

As luck would have it, no one saw her until she was almost through the gates. It was not so much a lack of vigilance as the fact that no one had ever attacked the stockade in the middle of winter; as a result she strode through the gates unchallenged and found her mother and queen staring at her from the middle of the compound, where she had been drilling young warriors in the techniques of the sword.

It was a poignant moment, but Zenaria had learned a little in the time she had been away from her home. She went to her knees in the snow and bowed her head before her queen. "Mother," she said, "I'm home."

Continued in Epilogue

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