Slaves of the Dynasty, part one

Keep that in mind for later, but now I think I should tell a little about myself. My name is yoshi. Once upon a time, though, I was known as Cedric, Man-at-arms in service to Lord Caribold of Sarria, in the eastern reaches of the Hesperian Kingdom. Sarria is a beautiful land, and I miss it dearly. To the east lie the Morvale Mountains, and past those is where I now find myself a slave. Kaora Chiasa is Empress of these lands, and men who are not born here have little reason for hope. Those men who are raised here are little more than second-class citizens, but there is still one thing they are allowed that we are not. They are still slaves, bought and sold. They still wear the “choker” as it is affectionately called, a metal tube that keeps the male organ from erecting…with a little help from a piercing. But most importantly, besides fighting for the empire, the women take these men as lovers, and that is the greatest motivation for any soldier. Conquered slaves are taken as well, especially those who would produce strong sons, but…let’s just say that they can only do it once. One final note before I conclude the history lesson: all women of this world are capable of wielding magic, from these of the Chiasan Dynasty to the near-barbaric amazons of the northlands to the foul necromancers of Hrolandia. Strange how we know very little of this as free men and more as slaves, but they are all expanding ever closer to the Kingdom, and I fear that soon this magic will prove far more powerful than our steel.

My story gets interesting a fortnight ago. My men and I had cut down a Chiasan scouting party the night before. Their mounted bowman are quite formidable, but within the forests at the bottom of the mountain pass they had little maneuverability, and my rangers were excellent at navigating the woodlands. This was not the first time we had seen these strange warriors from beyond the range, but these were in the process of crafting maps, including some of the fortifications around the town of Tandrel. Access to that lake, and the river that it fed, would be disastrous to the Kingdom. The next morning my lord ordered me to take twenty men and reconnoiter their side of the mountains.

From the highest point of the mountain pass we could see vast, lush jungles and steppes. We descended into a humid, uncomfortable climate. Insects buzzed by our ears and Mikal, one of my rangers, had difficulty reading the terrain. A path was there, but how any being could follow it through the fauna was mind-boggling.

The path opened up into a clearing just before dusk, and there we decided to make camp. It was then that their trap was sprung. Nearly two dozen warriors charged out of the brush. They were covered in a strange and demonic looking armor made of metal and wood with grotesque masks hiding their faces. Their alien weapons were long and curved with a blade that could cut the head off of a pole arm. My three rangers hadn’t the time to draw their longbows, and had to rely on their broadswords instead. I met what appeared to be their captain in battle, my zweihander almost a head taller than my assailant. His armor was painted differently, with intricate symbols, the likes of which adorned his blade as well. His strikes were swift and well placed, but my six-foot sword was invaluable in parrying his blows. My men were no conscripts, and were capable fighters, but these demons brought the battle to a feverish pitch.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a woman standing just outside the brush whom I hadn’t noticed before. She seemed out of place amidst the humidity and grime of this jungle. She was small of stature, standing at perhaps five and one quarter feet. A long, white red-trimmed robe flowed down her petite form. Two sticks were placed in her hair to form a bun. Her face looked to be one of innocence, yet her stance was commanding. Without warning she lifted her arms perpendicular to her body, with the fingers on those silk-like hands arched towards the heavens. Her harmonious voice escaped for six brief seconds. Though unintelligible to me at the time, it still sounded better than anything I had ever heard from Beorn, the most renowned bard in the Hesperian Kingdom. At the moment her chant had ceased four of my footmen collapsed to the ground in a deep, uninterruptible slumber.

My shock would cost me as the warrior in front of me drew his blade across my chest. I would have chuckled at the idea of that metal cutting through my plate, but that blade contained something far more sinister than just steel. The wound was neither long nor deep, but I was wracked by pain with every quick movement. I heard a cry to my left and looked to see Mikal, clutching his side. Two more had already fallen to wounds, and we were down to but fourteen weary, and in most cases damaged, men. That voice began to cry out once more, and though I did not want it to stop, our lives may soon be forfeit. To save my men I did the unthinkable. I called out for surrender. Our swords fell to the ground, and we then fell to our knees.

That beautiful singing stopped abruptly, and its singer looked suprised that I should do such a thing. The lady produced a vial of a strange purple liquid and handed it to their captain. It was mixed with water and then given to us to drink. It tasted foul and thick. Fear took hold of me as my thoughts turned towards the irrational. Poison? Hardly practical considering the circumstances. Some sort of drug? Again, this wasn’t the place for it. Suddenly the captain began speaking to us. Naturally I hadn’t a clue as to what he was saying, but he kept repeating the same phrase over and over again. After two minutes of this a sharp pain struck the back of my head. I felt feverish for another minute or so as the potion permeated through my brain. My comrades were obviously in the same state of distress.

“Rejuond ig jou yhderghand ne,” the captain uttered again.

“Respynd if you yndershtant me,” almost sounded sensical.

Finally he spoke “Respond if you understand me.”

“I can hear you,” I said, not too happy with the powerful magic that had just changed me.

“I hear you as well,” said Ritter, another of my rangers. He hastily added, “Please, let me tend to my friends. At least allow me to bind their wounds.”

The captain struck him with the back of his hand “Your last statement was a command. That will not be tolerated!”

“Your forgiveness, please….” It was fortunate that their understanding of our language did not allow for sarcasm. “Sir, please allow me to tend to my comrades."

The captain hesitated for a brief second, and then looked upon the lady. A nod of approval made me think that these were a somewhat compassionate and merciful people. I would soon learn why I was mistaken.

Ritter ran to Mikal first. His wound was the worst, being a deep slash to the side of his mid-torso. Medical attention was needed soon to keep the man alive. Ritter’s bandages and herbs would help slow the bleeding and prevent infection, but I feared it would not be enough. The lady saw depression drawn on my face, and she elegantly glided towards my side.

“Do not worry, westerner. We will be leaving for a town that borders the jungle soon. We should reach it by midnight.”

“Will he be alright?” I asked.

The captain began the motion to strike me, but the lady, who was certainly not as frail as she appeared, quickly beat him to the punch. Her delicate hand struck me into submission.

“You do not speak unless directed to do so. I am Mistress Makoto, and when I do instruct you to respond you will address me with my title. Do you understand?”

“Yes…Mistress.” The words did not sit well with me.

“Your comrades will be healed. The Chiasan Dynasty does not like to share its property with the Goddess of death, fool.”

The word stung like a scorpion. Property? Uh oh.