Tales of Erogenia: Book 2 - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Detours

Zenaria stalked off into the forest, ignoring the fact that she really didn't know where she was going. She simply felt an urgent need to put space between herself and Sir Varden and his annoying speech mannerisms. However, she knew that it was more than just the knight's personality she was running away from. The knight reminded her of her failings as a warrior in allowing herself to be captured, and his belief that her gender excluded her from martial skills was especially galling. If not for the fact that he had saved her life she would have given him a quick lesson in manners.

Thirty paces into the forest she stopped. She had gone just far enough for the forest to hide her from the campsite. To her left flowed the Fuln. Even where it narrowed to pass to the west of the island it was a good bowshot across and the water ran deep and fast. Just possibly she might be able to swim across, but it was doubtful and in any case she would have gained nothing. She would still have to cross the thickly wooded island to the eastern branch of the Fuln and then cross that stretch of water. It would be better to continue to follow the river until she reached a place where it could be crossed even if that meant walking for several days along the bank. Sooner or later she would come to a settlement where a boat could take her across.

Unfortunately, she had no money to purchase a passage across, and her splendid armour was gone, denying her the chance of making a dramatic entrance to the Fox Tribe. However, she would just have to do the best she could. She frowned as she realized that she had so little in the way of resources that she did not even have a blanket to sleep under.

"Just have to make the best of it," she muttered. It would not be the first time she had slept out in the open without the luxury of a blanket. And she still had Jaree. Snuggling up to the leopard was a solid substitute.

She sent out a mental probe seeking the cat and got a reassuring reply. The leopard was sleeping, not an unusual state of affairs considering that the leopard usually hunted at night and then preferred to sleep by day. Zenaria's tendency to travel by day and sleep by night did not sit well with the leopard, but she graciously consented in order to keep her human companion company.

Zenaria shrugged. She might as well move on. The cat would catch up at night. She preferred to move with the cat close to her, but she could manage without for now. "Sleep then," she sent. "I'll see you tonight." She was answered by a drowsy purr. Moving her feet once again she continued her course along the river.

It was a hot day, and she kept to the shade as much as possible. However, it was not long before she was dripping with sweat and with the proximity of the river she decided that a cool swim might be a good way to break her trek. She walked on a bit farther and found the ideal spot where a bend in the river created a sheltered backwater. Quickly she stripped off her clothing and placing them on a large rock, plunged into the water.

She found herself wishing that Shalandra had come with her. If she had perhaps she would not have been captured by the rivermen, and she missed having her sister with her. She had grown used to the younger woman's lively presence during their journey to the Hawk Tribe. However, she reflected that Shalandra was where she had to be in order to improve her shaman's skills and who better to teach her than a man like Guntig.

She splashed around in the river for awhile and then swam slowly over to a large rock and pulled herself onto it. Warmed by the sun, the rock radiated heat, compensating for the cool touch of the air on her wet skin. She rolled over on her back and watched the water trickle down her body. And then she froze.

"What in the name of the Moon?" she gasped. Her fingers swept over her body touching places she knew well or thought she did. Her fingers lingered on her left thigh where a Sandak arrow had pieced her flesh. There should have been a scar there, but it was gone, leaving only smooth, unmarked skin. She checked her shoulder where she had gained a scar in the arena and then looked for a dozen other scars she had earned during her short life. They were all gone.

She flushed in anger. What had that accursed knight done to her? She could remember the incredible feeling that swept through her body as he had placed his hands on her and the power of his healing had coursed through her body. She had lost all of the symbols of honour she had earned during a life spent in combat.

She had a sudden thought. No, that would just be too much, but the knight had continually referred to her as a maid. She slid her hand lower and muttered a vulgar curse she had heard the rivermen use. "That pious bastard owes me." she muttered. She plunged back into the water and swam to the shore and began to pull on her clothing.

As she strapped her sword on she reconsidered. Much as she would like to give the holier-than-thou knight a good thrashing she realized that it would gain her nothing. She owed him a debt of honour, not a beating and she doubted that the knight was even aware that by healing her he had taken away not only her injuries, but had restored her virginity as well. It would not sit well with the Cha to attack the man who had saved her life. And in any case it was not likely that the knight could undo what he had done. She tossed her quiver over her shoulder and stepped back onto the path she had been following. She had wasted enough time. By now the knight might be trying to follow her and she did not trust herself if they met again. It was best if she got moving. She stepped briskly forward.

Half a league on she came to a point where a rocky bluff lay across her path. It offered only a slight obstacle to someone on foot, but she knew that anyone on horseback would have to detour. "Let's see that knight follow me here," she said as she climbed the rocky slope.

Reaching the top she found the ground broken and thick with blackberry bushes. It was a welcome find, but one she needed to approach with caution. Bears often frequented such spots and she didn't want to surprise one of them. A quick check, however, assured her that none were present and she busied herself gathering berries. Her fingers and lips were soon purple with their juice, as she ate one for every two or three she placed in her makeshift bark bucket.

The act of gathering berries brought memories of her youth when she had engaged in the same task alongside others of her village. It was as pleasant then as it was now and she didn't hurry as she gorged herself on the ripe fruit. It was perhaps for that reason that she didn't hear anything until the creature that was stalking her was right on top of her.

There was a loud roar as the troll burst out of the patch of berry bushes where it had been snoozing. Zenaria had seen trolls before, but not one this big. It stood half again her height and was probably five times her weight. And in spite of its enormous size it moved faster than a running horse. She barely had time to draw her sword before it was upon her. Unfortunately, her sword made little difference. The troll swept one huge paw toward her, catching her blade along with her body and picking her up and hurling her thirty feet into a thick patch of blackberry bushes.

The barbed blackberry vines saved her life. If she had slammed into one of the trees or rocky outcrops that were spaced about the ridge top she would probably have been killed. Nevertheless, she could hardly have been considered to have had a soft landing. The sharp thorns of the berry bushes shredded her clothes, ripped her skin, and tangled her so badly in their vines that she was almost inextricably caught. Dazed, she struggled to free herself even as the angry troll stalked toward her.

She saw that her sword had done some damage. There was a nasty cut on the troll's forearm, but hardly enough to do more than annoy the monster. It crashed through the berry bushes with the ease of a child crossing a grassy meadow. Helpless, Zenaria saw death standing before her, but strangely, the troll made no move to finish her off. Instead it stared down at her, and growled though its tusked mouth.

Zenaria had never beheld a more terrifying sight. The troll was humanoid in shape, and covered in shaggy, reddish brown fur that covered all of its body from shoulders to its toes. Only on its chest and belly did the thick fur thin a bit to reveal leathery brown skin. Its head was covered by a shock of stringy red hair that reached to its shoulders. Through this thick mat erupted two horns that sprouted from its forehead and then curved inward, almost in the shape of a lyre. Two bloodshot eyes and a wide fang-filled mouth gave the beast a frightening appearance.

"You hurt Grock," the troll growled. "She-bitch stick knife in Grock. Grock crush you." The troll paused, raising a fist the size of a large cooking pot and Zenaria prepared for death, but then it lowered its fist and gave what was the troll equivalent of a smile. "No," it rumbled. "Grock have better way for you to die." Reaching down it plucked her like a doll from the berry patch and grabbing her by the ankles in one huge hand, dangled her in front of it the way a man might raise a fish for others to admire.

Almost naked, her clothes torn away by the thorns of the blackberry bush, Zenaria hung helplessly. Escape from so powerful a captor was impossible as she well knew. She had been captured once before by trolls and they had held her prisoner until she had been sold to Sandak slavers. Only the fact that she would fetch a better price as a virgin had kept the male troll from raping her and she suspected that her present captor might have the same thing in mind. Swinging upside down her eyes were perfectly placed to take in the huge organ that hung between the troll's legs and she knew if that was her captor's intent she would probably die most horribly.

Whatever the troll had planned for her, it seemed that it did not intend to carry it out right away. Still holding on to her with one hand, Grock gathered up her sword and bow and arrows in the other, and strode off through the trees. Zenaria remembered from her previous captivity that the trolls had been just as interested in making money by selling her and whatever else she had as in molesting her and that had saved her from the sort of brutal treatment she might have suffered. She wondered if this troll was motivated in the same way. If so, she could be expect to be sold into slavery, but at least she would probably not be harmed. It was not the most optimistic hope, but as the troll carried her like a dead squirrel through the forest, it was all she had except for one thing.

"Jaree," she called. She filled the signal she sent the cat with images of alarm and fear and got an immediate response. The leopard was on the way, but would it find her in time?

The only way Jaree could intervene was to follow her trail from the camp, and although she had not gone far the each stride of the troll took her farther and farther away from the snow leopard. And the troll moved with incredible speed, pushing through stands of trees and thick brush as if it were so many weeds. Even Jaree would have trouble matching that pace and the cat would be slowed down a little as it followed the trail. And then the troll dashed even that brief hope of salvation.

The troll approached what appeared to be a rock wall blocking their path. With a growl he set Zenaria down and quickly looped a length of rawhide around her ankles, binding her tightly. Then he moved to a large boulder and with considerable effort heaved the rock aside revealing a dark hole in the side of the cliff. Zenaria had no time to untie the knots binding her ankles in the brief time it took to move the boulder and the troll had carefully set down her sword and dagger too far away for her to reach it. With the rock out of the way he returned to her, picked her up by the feet once again and carried her to the cave. Then returning to the entrance he dragged the rock back into position. It appeared to be balanced so that it was easier to roll back than remove and Zenaria's heart sank as she realized that even if Jaree tracked her, the leopard would never be able to move the boulder.

Zenaria expected it to be completely dark when the rock was rolled into place, but a faint glow in the distance revealed that there was another entrance. This was confirmed when the troll picked her up once again and carried her toward the light. They emerged into another forested region, much like the one where she had been caught and the troll immediately began to stride down a well-marked trail.

The upside down position was beginning to make Zenaria dizzy as the blood rushed to her head and she moved her arms in an attempt to keep her blood moving. Although she thought the troll might object he seemed oblivious to her, carrying her the way someone might carry a chicken and ignoring her movements.

Even upside down Zenaria was able to notice a few things as she was carried along. One of them was the fact that where the troll was walking was no ordinary forest path. Clearly at one time there an ancient road had cut through the forest, and not of the sort of road Zenaria had seen so far in Erogenia. This was constructed of finely cut blocks of stone that were so well fitted that they had resisted the ravages of time. Only once before had Zenaria seen such finely cut stonework and that was in the Sandak city of Uhra Don, but that city was known as one of the great centres of Sandak commerce. The stones the troll was walking upon did not appear to have felt human feet for hundreds of years.

The mystery deepened a few troll paces farther along the road when the ruins of once great buildings came into view. Whomever had built the ancient city had built to last. In spite of the fact that most of the stonework was being attacked by mosses and lichens and many trees and bushes had taken root among the once great buildings, the shape of the city could still clearly be seen. Great pillars marched along the road and the troll passed beneath several huge arches. Here and there piles of stone marked collapsed walls, but even the shattered ruins could not hide the fact that a magnificent city had once existed in the middle of what was now wilderness.

Held as she was by the ankles, a great deal of the splendour of the ruins was lost on Zenaria. She frequently had to raise her head and twist her torso to keep from being thumped against some lump of stone or dragged through a bush. But that finally came to an end when the troll entered what was left of a once splendid building.

What the building had once been used for was difficult to determine and Zenaria did not know enough about architecture to guess. To her it was simply a very large stone building decorated with elaborate carvings depicting warriors in various heroic acts. It might have been a temple or part of a palace. Whatever it had been, the troll had converted into a comfortable troll den.

During her previous time as a captive Zenaria had learned that the brutish creatures were a bit more sophisticated than they looked. The cave where she had been held captive had been neatly kept and even had fairly sophisticated amenities like a spring that acted as both a source of water and also served to carry away any waste. Grock, however, appeared quite different from her previous troll captors. The centrepiece of his den was a huge iron kettle suspended on chains from the ceiling. The fact that the firepit he had created beneath it had destroyed an exquisite mosaic was evidently lost on the troll, especially given the fact that he had used several pieces of what had once been beautiful statues of nude female warriors as stones to encircle the firepit. What really caught Zenaria's eye however, was the fact that the floor was littered with bones, many of which still had bits of rotting flesh clinging to them.

Zenaria was used to bad smells. Snow Leopard settlements were full of them, especially in winter when bathing was difficult if not impossible. However, even her nose was offended by the filth and offal that was scattered about the large room. Grock apparently thought of the entire world as being his privy and the stench of urine and troll excrement was almost overwhelming. But all this was lost by the frightening discovery that many of the bones scattered about the tiles floor were human in origin. Zenaria suddenly realized that Grock's main motive in capturing her was probably as food.

She had plenty of time to think about his intentions as he carried her to a part of the room just a few feet from the large kettle where a length of chain dangled from a pulley suspended from a wooden derrick. Attached to the end of the chain were two heavy shackles. Removing the ropes that bound her ankles, he snapped the iron fetters on her ankles and left her hanging head-down six feet from the floor. To make good and sure that she could not escape he used the rope that he had taken from her ankles to bind her wrists tightly behind her back. Upside down and helpless, Zenaria could only watch with growing terror as the troll went about making preparations for supper.

He began by piling brush under the kettle, and then using a flint and steel he kindled a fire and then piled larger pieces of firewood onto the blaze. From her elevated vantage point Zenaria could see that the cauldron was already filled with water. Once the fire was burning nicely the troll moved across the room and picked up a sack. Returning to the kettle he reached into the sack and tossed in handfuls of onions along with a number of cloves of garlic and some wild cabbage. Finally he added a small handful of salt and nodded in satisfaction. "Good," he growled. "This make good soup once meat added."

The way he looked at Zenaria left no doubt what the 'meat' was going to be, something that was confirmed just a few minutes later. After tossing a few dozen parsnips into the kettle Grock moved over to where his helpless captive hung from the ceiling. Reaching out he ran his hands over her body, stopping at her breasts. "You a bit tough, but lots of meat."

In spite of the mortifying treatment there was nothing Zenaria could do as the troll stripped off her tattered clothing; everything but her boots. Then he went to the beam from which she was suspended and turned the support post, moving her directly over the kettle. Although the water was only just beginning to steam, the heat from the fire was tremendous and Zenaria had to struggle to get her breath in the rising waves of heat.

"Soon water boil," Grock grinned, barring his fangs, "then you part of soup."

Almost suffocating in the heat and smoke of the fire, Zenaria strained at her bonds, attempting through sheer strength to snap the ropes that bound her, but although they stretched a little they did not break. Desperately, she twisted her body putting all of her strength into the effort. Grock merely looked at her, the equivalent of an troll leer on his face, clearly enjoying watching his victim squirm. Zenaria knew that her efforts were hopeless, but she couldn't just let the troll lower her into the boiling water. She had to try something, no matter how futile it was.

She succeeded only in rubbing her wrists raw and working herself into a state of near exhaustion. By now clouds of steam were boiling up from the kettle and she knew that her time was running out. She had no idea how long Grock would let her struggle, but knew that no matter how much he enjoyed the spectacle of seeing her struggle eventually he would tire of the sport and lower her into the boiling cauldron.

It occurred to her very briefly that there might be some way she could bargain with the troll, but it was a thought instantly dismissed. She had nothing to bargain with. The troll already had what he wanted, which was her as dinner and she doubted very such she could get him to change his mind no matter what she offered. All she could do was die as bravely as she could and hope that she would not scream as she was lowered into the boiling water.

"Now you become soup," Grock said. He placed his hand on a winch holding the chains that suspended Zenaria above the cauldron and began to lower her toward the steaming surface.

Bubbles of steam exploded from below her, splattering scalding water over her head and shoulders. Choking from the smoke and exhausted from her struggles, Zenaria could not help but think what a sad end it was for a warrior of the Snow Leopard. But she would not beg for mercy. The only sound was her ragged breathing as she struggled to escape. Her actions became even more frantic as she was slowly lowered toward the bubbling brew. Although her situation was hopeless she would not give up. As her thick braid sank into the soup she bent her head toward her toes in one last effort to avoid the inevitable.

"Grock like you," the troll grinned, showing his fangs. "You fight. Too bad you so tasty." He stroked Zenaria's naked buttocks, his fingers fondling the smooth, rounded flesh before once again placing his hand on the winch and lowering her into the kettle, the ratchet of the winch clicking out her doom.

At the last instant Zenaria held her breath. She hoped that she would not scream as her body entered the boiling water. Horrible as her death would be she wanted to die like a warrior.

"Hold varlet! Release that fair maid in the name of Saint Brenna!"

Zenaria could hardly believe her ears. How could Sir Varden have possibly found her when there was still no sign of Jaree? It was inconceivable that the knight could have tracked her and the leopard not have done so as well. But no sound was more welcome than the knight's voice or the sight of his gleaming armour as he rode into the room.

"Who you?" Grock asked, more surprised than anything else. He had no reason to be afraid of the knight. Even mounted on his stallion, his spectacular plumed helmet barely came up to the troll's head.

"I am Sir Varden, Knight of the..." Sir Varden began, but the troll cut him off.

"You fool to come. I cook you in metal suit over slow fire. Nice sizzle as grease runs from flesh." As he spoke, Grock removed his hand from the winch and moved toward the knight. He carried no weapon, but as Zenaria had discovered, the troll was capable of managing very well without one. He hunched forward, his arms spread wide to prevent the knight from escaping, and moved toward his intended victim.

In a seemingly suicidal attack, the knight spurred his charger forward, the point of his lance aimed squarely at the troll's chest. Zenaria, who had experienced first hand just how fast the troll could move waited for Grock to avoid the attack and was not surprised when the troll batted aside the lance before it reached him, but she was surprised by what happened next. Without changing his line of attack Sir Varden drew his sword and drove his warhorse into the troll. It was something the troll had not anticipated, but it was a tactic the charger seemed quite familiar with. The huge horse struck out with its front hooves catching Grock in the chest with two blows that struck with the force of twin sledgehammers. The impact knocked the troll back, allowing the knight to swerve his mount to the troll's right and to strike with the full force of his sword arm.

Rising in the stirrups the knight brought the sword down, severing the troll's right hand at the wrist. Grock screamed with pain as blood fountained in a great arc from the bleeding stump and clutched at his wrist with his remaining hand. At the same time Sir Varden jerked hard on the reins, pirouetting his charger around and striking once more. Too late Grock reacted. A foot of steel cut through his throat slicing through his jugular. With a gurgling cry the troll staggered backward, turned in a complete circle and then fell forward with a deafening crash.

Sir Varden swung off his horse and strode quickly toward the helpless Zenaria. Reaching the derrick he swung it around so that she was no longer over the boiling cauldron. Almost overcome by the steaming heat, Zenaria sucked in air, relief and then chagrin sweeping over her as the knight lowered her to the floor and then removed her shackles. Once again she owed her life to the knight. Adding to her mortification was that for a few minutes she could do nothing except lie helpless while he ministered to her.

"Fear not, fair princess. I will care for thee," Sir Varden said as he used a scrap of what had once been her clothing to wipe the sweat from her face. "Bring blankets and brandy," he shouted to Derwald, who had appeared in the doorway carrying a crossbow almost the same size as he was. The boy nodded and disappeared, returning a few seconds later with a blanket and a leather flask.

The knight lifter her under the shoulders and swept the blanket beneath her, in spite of Zenaria's feeble protests. The ordeal had taken so much out of her she could barely move and she was forced to tolerate the knight's ministrations. Folding the blanket over her nude body Sir Varden took the flask from his squire and held it too her lips.

Reluctantly Zenaria swallowed. In spite of her natural tendency to resist the knight's help she was not so stubborn that she did not recognize the need for what he was trying to do. The brandy burned as it coursed down her throat, but somehow it helped and in spite of the knight's attempt to hold her down, she pushed aside his arm and got shakily to her feet. "I can stand on my own," she said gruffly, as the knight moved to assist her. She instantly regretted her tone of voice, but the disgrace of being captured twice in just two days and rescued by the same man was the ultimate in humiliation.

"I regret your garments seemed to have been damaged beyond repair, princess," the knight said, as he took her arm. "But there may be something of mine you can fit into until more suitable garments can be found."

Zenaria was about to shake off his hand when her legs buckled. Dropping the blanket she collapsed and would have fallen had not Sir Varden caught her. "Come, Princess," he said. "Let us get out of this vile place." Cradling her in his arms he carried her through the troll-sized door and out into the paved road. Placing her in the shade of a large piece of broken statuary, he arranged the blanket around her.

"Build a fire," the knight ordered Derwald. "I must see to the princess's injuries."

"I'm alright," Zenaria protested weakly, but in truth now that the excitement of her ordeal had worn off she ached all over, but especially on the side of her body where the troll's hand had struck her.

"Forgive me, princess, but I must see thee before I can tend thy hurts." Sir Varden knelt beside her, the bevor of his visor raised so that her could see better. It left only his blue eyes and part of his nose visible, but Zenaria suspected that he was blushing. However, whatever his feelings, he moved the blanket aside, exposing her body to the waist. Zenaria saw now why she was in so much pain. The entire right side of her body, from her shoulder to her hip was one gigantic purple bruise, the imprints of the troll's fingers clearly marked by an even darker discolouration. Not had her left side escaped injury. Not only was it bruised in several places, but it was also badly scraped where the blackberry brambles had torn her skin.

Removing his gloves, Sir Varden helped Derwald start a small fire. While the squire fed wood into the blaze the knight placed an iron pot full of water from a nearby spring on a rock next to the coals. Once the water came to a boil he dipped a cloth into it and set about cleaning Zenaria's wounds. She suffered the pain of the treatment in silence and refused the offer of a medication to dull the pain. However, when the knight was ready to begin the second phase of his healing she was not so cooperative.

"Now, princess," the knight said, "I must once again lay my hands on thee and call on the holy blessing of Saint Brenna."

"No," Zenaria said, pushing the knight away from her. "I will heal without your assistance."

"Princess," the knight protested. "Thy injuries are most serious. Without my help they may take many weeks to heal."

"I will do without the blessing of Saint Brenna this time," Zenaria answered. "There is no telling what changes might take place if I do."

The knight looked at her strangely, but made no effort to use his healing powers other than to bind up her wounds. He settled her close to the fire and then he and Derwald busied themselves setting up a proper camp.

It was finally decided to move the camp to another ruined building a short distance from the troll's lair. The building selected was not as large as that used by the troll, but more practical for human purposes being easier to heat and also to defend. It also was free from the stench of the troll and the heaps of bones, many of which turned out to be human, that littered the troll's den. Zenaria had to be carried there, her body suddenly stiffening from the numerous bruises she had received. It was an embarrassing situation for the proud warrior, but she knew that she could not have made it on her own.

"Since thou deny the blessing of Saint Brenna I and Derwald will stay with thee, princess, until thy wounds have properly healed." The tone of Sir Varden's voice clearly indicated that he thought her somewhat foolish for refusing to make use of his talents. Zenaria, however, was too tired and sore to care. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. But even as her eyes closed a disturbing thought haunted her. Sir Varden had now saved her life twice. That would certainly have created a serious imbalance in the Cha, a balance she could only restore by doing a service equal to the one she had received. It would mean that the knight was going to play a major part in her life for some time to come. With that reassuring thought in her head, Zenaria drifted off into dreamland.

---

The next day Zenaria came close to reversing her decision not to let Sir Varden heal her as she did the day after that, and even up to the third day of her convalescence. She hurt in almost every part of her body and her lungs kept on coughing up smoke from the fire the troll had hung her over. It was a painful healing process and it left her so sore and weak that she had to be helped in everything except eating. Her helplessness grated at her, but she reminded herself that she had brought it on herself in the first place by allowing the rivermen to take her prisoner and then not respecting the Cha by staying with Sir Varden after he had rescued her the first time. Now she was doubly in his debt and she would have to put her mission on hold until it was repaid.

She spent four days on her back. She had no choice in the matter. For most of that period she could barely move and was forced to allow the knight and his squire to wait on her. It gave her a chance to learn a bit more about him and visa-versa. The first thing she learned was that the knight had once again been guided to her assistance by a vision. Apparently this one had occurred while he was riding after her and was so strong he had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He had removed the giant boulder that blocked the tunnel by hitching his charger to it like a common plough horse and then ridden after her, arriving just in time.

It was a story Zenaria would rather not have heard, but she now realized that for whatever reason her destiny and the knight's seemed to be linked, and until she could repay her debt she was going to have to put up with him.

They exchanged information about one another's cultures. Sir Varden seemed to find Erogenia especially fascinating, particularly the status of men and women. The concept of a society in which the sexes were seen as equals and in which sex was regarded as a normal part of everyday life was something he found very difficult to grasp. In many ways they were so different that a proper understanding of one another was almost impossible. "You mean to say," the knight asked, his voice rising in disbelief, "that you exercise no moral restraint when it comes to matters between men and women?"

"Of course we do," Zenaria replied. "Erogenians are no more lacking in moral restraint than you are. The only difference is that we do not hide behind a mask of hypocrisy."

"But in your society men and women copulate indiscriminately. And what do you mean 'mask of hypocrisy?'"

"That is not so," Zenaria replied hotly. "I have always chosen my lovers with care. And as for hypocrisy, is it not true that in Kivalia women are subjected to the wishes of men?"

"That is because women are ..." Sir Varden began. He stopped, seemingly embarrassed, colouring the way he always did when he confronted by something that confused him.

"Yes?" Zenaria asked. "Were you about to say that women are not as strong as men?"

"Well," the knight said, "most are not."

"I see," Zenaria said, "and so you favour the rule of the strong over the weak?"

The knight looked at her and frowned. "I see that you are clever with your tongue as well as your sword. I cannot match words with you; I am but a simple knight."

"Simple might be an understatement," Zenaria thought. But she said nothing. Instead she pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the fact that she was completely nude. Aloud she said, "Erogenians value one another by their deeds, not by their sex or by who their parents were. From now on I will care for myself. I will show you how strong a woman can be."

"But, princess..." the knight began, his face bright red in embarrassment.

"I am going to bathe. Perhaps you might join me." She walked from the camp, Jaree following. Dumbfounded Sir Varden looked after her, making no attempt to follow. Zenaria had learned that there was a place where a spring ran into a shallow pool creating a perfect place for bathing.

As she walked through the ruined city she studied the broken buildings. There was something about the ruins that made her uneasy, but at first she couldn't place it. Then as she came across a huge statue lying on its side she understood what it was. The statue was of a female warrior brandishing a sword in one hand and holding a round shield in the other. The arm holding the sword had shattered when the statue came down, and lay in several pieces across her path. But it was the face and hair of the statue that caught her attention. It was clearly an Erogenian warrior, right down to the fighting braid that hung down the woman's back. She furrowed her brow at this. Could it be that Erogenians had built this grand city? If so, what had caused its fall? It was something she puzzled over all the way to the bathing pool and then forgot about as she stepped into the water.

She kept her movements slow as she entered the water. She was still covered with the cuts and bruises she had gained in her encounter with the troll and moving too quickly brought an instant reminder of her injuries, but it felt good to feel the water washing off the grime that had accumulated on her body during the four days she had spent on her back. "Tomorrow," she murmured as she sluiced water of her head, "I'm going to try and get back in shape. I've sat around long enough."

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The next day she almost regretted her decision, but she knew that the longer she waited the harder it was going to be and so she forced herself into something resembling a normal routine. Getting up, she ate the oatmeal porridge Derwald had prepared and then picked up her bow and quiver. Sir Varden watched her in silence and made no effort to stop her as she headed out the doorway of their makeshift dwelling.

The first thing she did was go hunting with Jaree. The leopard had turned up the night of the day she had been captured, somehow working his way to her side by a route different from the one the knight had taken. With the cat to help her, she brought down a buck and hauled it back to the Varden and Derwald had set up. The knight watched in amazement as Zenaria skinned the buck and proceeded to work on the hide. All of her clothing except her boots had been destroyed by the troll and she needed to replace her garments as quickly as possible. Sir Varden had lent her some of his own clothing, but it was a poor fit and in any case she did not want to be in the knight's debt any longer than she had to. In spite of the fact that the hide was not properly cured she soon had a serviceable pair of deerskin breeches and a shirt to go with it. It would have to do until she could reach a settlement and get something better.

It took her a day to create a serviceable set of clothing and the next day she began to work herself back into shape. Moving to an open area outside the ruined building where Sir Varden had set up camp she began to go though her sword drills. The knight and squire came out to watch her, at first with amusement, and then with intense interest as they realized that the princess they had rescued did not fit their image of what a princess was supposed to be. That was made all the more obvious by the fact that Zenaria had stripped down to her breeches and was wearing only the briefest of halters to contain her breasts. To her surprise, the knight did not turn away but instead sat down on a stone and watched her go through her sword drills.

After watching Zenaria swing her blade for a short time the knight joined in, but not without bowing to her first. "Forgive me, princess. I misjudged thee. It is now apparent to me that thou art not what I supposed a princess would be. May I have the privilege of joining you?"

Zenaria nodded and the knight drew his sword and went through his own drills. It did not take long before each of them noted differences in the other's technique. "Perhaps, sir knight," Zenaria suggested, "we could spar with one another. It would quicken my recovery and I am interested in learning something of your technique."

"Agreed, princess. It appears that I badly misjudged your ability to use a blade and I apologize."

"No need to apologize, sir knight. It is apparent that you have not traveled widely." Zenaria could not resist a jab at the knight's comparative lack of sophistication. Although he was about her age, it was obvious from his comments that he had led a relatively sheltered life. She raised her sword in readiness and the knight moved to meet her.

Sparring with Sir Varden was exhausting even though it was evident that the knight was holding back. She immediately felt a surge of resentment, but quickly realized that there was little she could do about it until she fully recovered from her ordeal. It revealed to her just how badly she had been hurt and she consoled herself that she was making a fairly rapid recovery. Most of the bruising seemed to be subsiding. She was now no longer black and blue, just blue; and the numerous cuts and scrapes had scabbed over nicely. All she needed was good food, rest, and a bit more conditioning.

She didn't spar with Sir Varden every day. Some days she and Jaree slipped into the forest and hunted. They were usually successful enough that they didn't need to hunt every day, especially not after the day she and the leopard brought down an aurochs. The enormous horned herbivore fed them for a week, even with the huge amounts of meat that Jaree consumed. Just as important, her hunting seemed to impress the knight just as much as her martial ability.

By the end of two weeks Zenaria judged herself fit enough. She had made good use of the time, preparing another set of hides to use as clothing. This time she intended to make sure they were properly cured before making another shirt and trousers.

More importantly, however, she had a mission to complete, but one that was now delayed due to her obligation to Sir Varden. Balancing the Cha now took precedence over everything else. However, she was not quite sure what to do. By rights she should help the knight complete his mission, but the knight's mission seemed to be to protect her, a job that Zenaria regarded as quite unnecessary. It was a bit of a conundrum and one that Zenaria was not sure how to solve. Finally, in desperation, she approached the knight and explained her problem.

"I do not understand this Cha," Sir Varden said. "I simply did my duty as the blessed saints guided me. Thou owest nothing."

"That is where you are wrong," Zenaria replied. "I must repay my debt. If I do not my life with remain out of balance and misfortune will follow me wherever I go as was shown by my encounter with the troll."

"Somehow I do not think what happened to thee at the hands of the troll was anything but an unfortunate happenstance. It is my duty to serve and I deserve no reward."

"A reward was not what I was not what I had in mind. I have an obligation; a debt of honour. If I cannot repay it misfortune will follow me wherever I go."

"I see I cannot dissuade thee from this," Sir Varden conceded. "Have it thy way, princess. I return to Kivalia tomorrow. Thou mayest accompany me."

Zenaria nodded her thanks. There were no doubt many dangers to be encountered on the road to Kivalia. Perhaps she could repay a portion of her debt on that journey. "Tomorrow then," she said. "I will be ready."

Continued in Chapter 7

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