Chapter 1: Lavender

“What are we doing here, Demeter?” Nilsen asked as he looked around at the dark, dank, and dismal walls of the slave pens. “You know I really don’t like what goes on here, and I really don’t like who does it. I thought we were going out to look for a gift for your sister?”

“We are,” the small, dark-haired man replied, brushing off his friend’s concern. “I just forgot to tell you the present was going to be a new servant for her upstairs rooms.”

“Well, have fun,” Nilsen huffed. “I’m going back. My father wiped this shit off Jeevel’s ass years ago. Just because it plopped down here doesn’t mean I have to look at it.”

“I can see why you were chosen to lead a diplomatic mission,” Demeter grinned. “I suppose I should take offense; after all, it is my father’s policies you’re maligning.”

Nilsen shrugged. “You know as well as I that I’m not in charge of any diplomatic mission; Makro would be if we were really here for diplomacy, which we aren’t. I’m here to study at my father’s old school; Makro’s here to talk about trade with some of your merchant houses, and Jarrah’s here to study with your healers. As for the twins,” he just shrugged, “who knows why they do anything? I find everything works out much better if I don’t look into their business too closely.”

“Right. The heir apparent to Jeevel and four of his sisters just happen to be visiting, and you say it isn’t a diplomatic mission.” Demeter gave a theatrical sigh. “However it happens, I agree with you about slavery for all the good that does. Being the Putram’s son does have some privilege; but being the sixth son out of ten ensures it’s a very small privilege. Besides, Pru needs someone to help her, and isn’t it better that I rescue someone from this hellhole than not?”

“For her, yes,” Nilsen answered, peering into the dark gloom. “But you just reward the slavers and perpetuate their practice. Better for one person, worse for untold others. Where in the hell are we anyway?”

“Ah, I think we’re next to the gladiator pens,” Demeter answered. “Domestic staff is just over there, I think. This is a shortcut.”

“Why is it your shortcuts always seem to take us twice as long as the long way would?” Nilsen quipped. “Let’s just get your business done and get out of here.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s just through here,” Demeter said cheerfully.

“Here” turned out to be a long passageway somewhat better lit than the rest of the slave pens. Cells separated only by stout iron bars were visible on either side of the corridor. As they walked, they could see their human occupants staring at them, most cowering back in the rear of their cages.

“Gods, this makes me sick,” Nilsen muttered as he tightly gripped the hilt of the short sword still sheathed at his side. His eye caught something remarkably different, and he stopped, openly staring at the sight in the last cell. “What the hell is this?” he asked in wonder. What caught his eye was a woman, but a woman unlike any he had ever seen before. To begin with, sitting on the floor, her head came up to nearly mid-chest level on him. She would have to be at least a head taller than he was, and at six feet two, he wasn’t considered short by any means.

He could only guess at her height since she was sitting down on the ground with her back against the far panel of bars. He figured that’s pretty much where she would be staying since both her arms were shackled to the bars, outstretched away from her body. There wasn’t much else he could tell about her other than she was big and a woman. The woman part was easy since remarkably large breasts - even given the overall size of their owner, they were large - could be seen through the rips in a dirty leather vest. He felt somewhat juvenile for how difficult it was to tear his eyes away from the sight. It wasn’t like he’d never seen large breasts before; after all, two of his mothers were very well endowed, and body modesty wasn’t of much concern in his household. So it wasn’t that he had never seen the like before, but he swore he’d never seen any that big, or, from what he could see of them, that perfectly shaped.

He placated himself, musing that his father always told him that it was all right for a man to look ― most women expected and wanted to be looked at ― but there was a difference between looking and gawking. Hoping he wasn’t sliding into the “gawking” side, he finally tore his eyes away from those magnificent orbs and guided his eyes firmly up to look at her face.

She was absolutely filthy. Her hair was unkempt and greasy as it hung down her back; it was in such a state that it was almost impossible to determine its natural color other than it wasn’t extremely dark. The face was just as dirty, with abundant mud and grime, and it would appear she had been hand-fed, and not particularly carefully at that since bits of food and gruel stuck to her chin and had dripped down onto her vest and ... Again, he had to forcibly tear himself away and bring his eyes back up to meet hers.

As soon as their eyes met, he immediately knew two things: first, this was a soul that could be beaten but never broken; second, that he had never seen anyone hate with as much intensity as he saw in those eyes. Aside from the animosity that blazed out of those eyes, they were remarkably lovely. Pale lavender rather than the ice blue Nilsen himself sported, they were large, wide, and remarkably clear. Tired, yes. He could see the exhaustion trying to settle in, and the enormous willpower being expended trying to force it away.

“Hello there,” he said without thinking, “Who are you?” If he really expected an answer, he was disappointed. The owner of those amazing violet eyes merely worked her mouth for a moment and then spat at him. Fortunately for him, she was dehydrated enough that she couldn’t work up enough saliva to make the distance, the little token of her esteem falling short and landing in front of his feet rather than in his face.

“Hey! No need for that!” Demeter admonished, taking a step backward.

“Oh, come now, Demeter,” Nilsen said, nodding his head in salute to the bound woman. “I hope we would do the same if found in the same situation. At least I hope I would still have the guts to do it.” The eyes just glared at him.

“What do you two think you’re doing in here?” someone shouted from behind them. Nilsen and Demeter both turned to be confronted by a squat, fat man flanked by two burly guards.

“I asked what you two shitheads are doing here?” he asked again. “Nobody is allowed down here before the fight. You want to see the meat; you see them at roll call with all the rest of your gambling buddies.”

“Gambling?” Nilsen asked with a puzzled look on his face.

Demeter looked somewhat pale when he answered. “Ah, yes, well, there are some people that like to place a wager or two on the outcome of the contests. I guess they think they can get a better idea of who might win if they were able to see the contestants before the match.”

“Let me get this straight,” Nilsen continued, oblivious to the rising temper of the slaver. “These aren’t prisoners, these are slaves you force to fight each other, and others bet on that?”

“That’s exactly what happens,” the slaver replied. “And it’s more than a few coins, let me tell you. This is one of the biggest shows in town.”

“That’s...” Nilsen paused for a moment trying to come up with the precise word he was looking for, “Sick.” It was the best he could do to express the utter contempt and disgust he felt.

“Well, lucky for me nobody gives a shit what the fuck you think,” the slaver grinned. “Not only are the games legal, but fully supported and sanctioned by our enlightened and benevolent government. I don’t care if you’re one of the bettors or not, get the hell out of here!”

Not particularly concerned with the slaver or his escort, Nilsen turned back to the woman in the cell. For the first time he actually looked somewhere other than her eyes or her chest and he was amazed at what he saw. Quickly he turned back to the slaver.

“You actually force women to fight?” he asked, incredulously.

“Not normally,” the slaver admitted. “But when this one was taken last week she ended up killing two of our guards with her bare hands. I thought it would be an interesting way to get rid of the bitch and recoup some of my investment, but the stupid skag has lasted through four fights now! This afternoon’s will be her last.”

“How do you know that?” Nilsen asked. “If she lasted four, why not five? Or even six?”

“You obviously don’t know how the games are played here, do you? The first fight is one-on-one. Whoever wins has to go against two in the next bout. Win that one and it’s against three, then four. No one has ever won against five; never will.”

“Well, one against five is pretty steep odds, I will admit,” Nilsen nodded. “But certainly doable. But regardless, I have no desire to see a woman fight to the death. I’m willing to pay you thirty gold for her, right now.” Nilsen patted the large leather purse tucked into his belt. He could see the slaver lick his lips while considering the offer. Ten gold would buy one a high-priced pleasure slave; one, an ordinary worker like a gardener or maid. For this unique woman, Nilsen doubted there was another around that could match her in height; he probably paid three, at the most. He was looking at a tenfold profit just for the taking.

After a minute of thought, the slaver sighed and shook his head. “I can’t. There is already too much bet on this match. As much as I’d like to, I can’t sell her before the fight.”

“Fine,” Nilsen said. “Then agree to sell her to me after she wins.”

“I already told you, nobody wins against five; never have and never will.”

“All right, then I’ll make a bet with you,” Nilsen said. “She loses, I give you the thirty gold; she wins, you give her to me.”

“That’s a sucker’s bet,” the slaver laughed. “I tell you, nobody wins against five.”

“Let me talk to her,” Nilsen said with a thoughtful look. “I think she can do it, but I want to hear it from her.”

“Sure,” the slaver grinned; he could almost count the thirty gold coins already. “But I can’t be held responsible for you if you go in that cage. I’m telling you she’s dangerous.”

“You have her arms chained to the bars,” Nilsen said with a grunt. “I think I can handle her that way.”

“On your head be it.” With a wave of his hand, one of his companions walked over and unlocked the cage door. “Ah, no swords in the cage.”

With a shrug, Nilsen took off his sword and accompanying sword breaker, handing them to his friend. As he passed through and into the cell, the door was closed and locked behind him. Unconcerned, he made his way over to the chained woman. Crouching down, he was nearly level with her head. If anything, the hate within her eyes was even more intense. He was amazed at the courage and determination this warrior demonstrated. That she was a warrior wasn’t even a question as far as Nilsen was concerned. Even if he hadn’t known she had defeated at least ten other opponents, he could tell she had the heart of a warrior just sitting next to her.

“If you wanted to spit on me, now would be a good time. I don’t think you could miss,” he said casually.

This seemed to take her by surprise, and she swallowed what was in her mouth. “Do you want to get out of here?” he continued.

“You are a fool,” she said in a low, rasping voice.

“You must have been talking to my sisters,” he answered. “I don’t think my being a fool is in much doubt, but that wasn’t what I asked. Do you want to get out of here?”

“I will never get out of here,” she answered. “They will never let me win against five. I heard them talk: they’re going to drug me before the match. Not enough so I can’t move, but enough so I can’t fight well. He says he can’t afford to have me fight six, or maybe seven. Too many slaves in the pit at the same time; too many dead at the same time. You see, you fool, to bet on me.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” Nilsen said softly. “That bastard was just too sure of your losing. Do you have your hands free anytime before the match?” She nodded slowly. “Good. Take this,” his hand produced a small hunk of what looked like mashed-together rabbit pellets. Using his body as a shield, he leaned over and tucked the pellet into one of the rents in her vest. It nestled there next to her breast, visible only as a small lump, and then only if one was looking for it.

“Take that and start chewing it just before you go in for the match,” he told her. “I don’t care how much of any drug they give you; this will wake you up for a little while anyway. After that, you may have to sleep for a week, but while you’re awake, you will be wide awake.”

She had been looking down at his hand as he placed the pellet next to her tit. Normally, any man reaching anywhere near her breasts would at least lose the hand, if not his life, but since both her arms were bound, there wasn’t much she could do about it yet. She was surprised when he didn’t grab and fondle her like so many of the guards had done. She in no way trusted him, but what else did she have going for her at the moment?

She looked back up at him and asked, “Why?”

“Just helping a fellow warrior,” he said lightly. When she continued to stare at him, he finally relented and said, “Fine. I can’t stand to see a woman locked up like this, especially one who is a warrior. That makes you happy?”

“Fool,” she said with a grin. “Get you killed someday.”

“I’ve always said women will be the death of me yet,” he straightened up and slapped the dirt from his trousers. “Fight and win; we can decide what happens after that.” With a nod, he turned and walked back to the cell door and out into the passageway.

“She’ll win,” he said to the slaver. “I just know it. Do we have a deal? Thirty gold to you if she doesn’t win; she’s mine if she does.”

“Fine, I’ll take that bet,” the slaver growled. “But there ain’t no fucking way she’s coming out of there alive.”

Nilsen turned to walk away, but briefly turned back to say, “I hope there won’t be any cheating. I really don’t like it when someone tries to cheat.” With that, he turned and walked quickly away with Demeter trailing behind him.

---

Lavender Mist Bwejeri: warrior; daughter of Xolan Bwejeri, he who is Chief of the Zagwci Clan and First Speaker for the Havila nation of the Kushitic people, sat in her dirty, stinking cell pondering the events of the past few minutes. She knew exactly what was going to happen in the next hour or so, or at least what was supposed to happen. Digmar, or Dagmer, or some other stupid name for the short, fat slaver ― the name wasn’t important since either she was going to die very shortly or she would kill him ― had told her what was going to happen. About half an hour before the scheduled match, he was going to have his guards force a potion containing the extract of poppies down her throat. This would, as he delighted in telling her, slow down her reaction times and speed to just barely above functional, after which it would be almost certainly guaranteed that one of the five of her opponents would kill her.

Lav ― she hated being called Lavender, almost as much as she hated being called Misty ― wasn’t afraid of dying. After all, it was the fate of warriors. Well, it was everybody’s fate, but it had a tendency to come a little bit earlier for warriors. Having chosen the path of the warrior at eight summers, she had been trained to show no fear of death, in fact, to embrace it when it finally came to claim her soul. Of course, her training also paradoxically taught her to fight death with her last breath. Warriors are a strange lot.

While she hadn’t thought much about her own fate over the past one and a half ten-days she had spent in captivity, she did wonder how Cerberus was doing. True, the couple who had rented her the rooms had been kind enough to help with his feeding while she had been away before; this time she had not had any warning and therefore hadn’t told them about her absence. Sighing, she tried to push all thoughts of Cerberus from her mind and concentrate on the puzzle handed her today in the form of a well-muscled shorty with light, almost white, hair and eyes as pale blue as winter ice.

What was his game? she wondered. Maybe he was the fool she had named him. Who bet thirty gold on a battle between one warrior and five men? Even if that one warrior was one of the Kushitic and the five untrained shorty men, the odds were with a lucky strike by one of the five. He didn’t act like he had seen any of her earlier bouts, so how could he judge her prowess? The instincts of a warrior? That he was also a warrior there was no doubt. One look into his eyes confirmed that. But how good was he? He was young, younger than she for sure, although not by more than four or five summers. So, what did he want? Her body? She grunted at that. Long ago she had promised herself that no man would ever come to know her as a woman; besides, she had been told for most of her life that she was quite undesirable.

“Your face is too sharp, Lav, too narrow,” her brothers would tell her. “Of course you’re too skinny and short. Who would want you? Even if we could bribe someone with a dowry, you’re going to be culled anyway. Too ugly and too short.”

Her father wasn’t any more help than they were. “You have much more to offer than just physical beauty, Misty girl,” grinding her ugliness in with just a dash of her most hated nickname. “Not all pass the cull you know, and if you do, remember, you are the daughter of a chief and a skilled warrior in your own right. There will be plenty of men who will mate with you; don’t you worry.”

But she knew what was going to happen. She was going to be culled; it was a foregone conclusion. As much as it hurt, her brothers were right: she was ugly, and although beauty may be a judgment call, height wasn’t. At seven feet three inches she was four to six inches shorter than the average Kushitic woman. In a culture where height is beauty, the only place she could be beautiful would be in a land of midgets! Maybe that was what really motivated her to run away or as she liked to try to convince herself, taking an unauthorized wandering.

The funny thing was, here in the land of the shorties, she still wasn’t beautiful! True, most of the women, the ones considered to be fair by the shorties, had the narrow, angular face like hers, so opposite to the broad, flat faces with large hooked noses so much favored by her tribe. For the most part, the shorty women also had the narrow waist fanning out to broad hips, just like hers, quite unlike the average Kushitic woman whose body held to the more perfect cylindrical shape. Of course, having these huge tits didn’t help either! Not only did they add to the unsightly curves, but they got in the way while fighting and practicing! Although shorty men did seem to find them fascinating for some reason; even the blue-eyed one could barely keep his eyes off them!

Her tits were not the question here; the real question was what had the blue-eyed shorty stuck in her vest, and did she have the courage to take it as he told her? Did she have a choice? The guards had been very explicit about what she could expect, no doubt taking pleasure in telling her of her fate. She would be fed the drug in plenty of time for it to work and then sent out to die. She was well aware of the effect the poppy extract would have on her since it had been used a number of times already to subdue her prior to moving her around. She was sure they would take no chances and give her an extra dose. It is unlikely she would be able to fight off a young tot with a butter knife, let alone five full-grown men with swords. Unhappily, she came to the conclusion she didn’t have much choice. If blue-eyes gave her a poison, then what was the difference? If it wasn’t poison and worked ... They would just have to see then, wouldn’t they?

The Kushitic chief’s daughter sat sprawled in her cage for the next few minutes, mulling over this puzzle. Awhile later, three guards walked up to her cage. One went around the back and confirmed that her wrists were still shackled to the bars. After nodding to his companions, they entered the cage and walked over to her, grinning.

“Your turn in a little while, bitch,” he said. “We’re here to give you your medicine, so you’ll be at your best for the match.” Laughing, he took out a small metal funnel with a long spout and forced it past her teeth and partly down her throat. Pulling the stopper out of a small brown bottle, he poured the milky-white contents into the funnel. Seconds later, Lav could feel the substance as it dripped down her throat. Then it was either swallow it or breathe it. Swallow, she did. She kept swallowing until it finally stopped.

“That’s quite a lot,” the other guard mused. “Aren’t you afraid of her falling asleep before she even gets out there?”

“Naw,” the first replied. “They measured it against her weight pretty carefully. Besides, if she stumbles or something like that, we can just say she’s tired from the other bouts.”

“They better hope anybody betting on her doesn’t catch on to what we’re doing. They’re liable to be not too pleased.”

“Ain’t nobody going to be betting on her,” the first said with a shake of his head. “Everybody knows nobody wins against five; it’s really just an exhibition match. Hell, they have her five opponents already scheduled for matches afterwards.”

“That’s not what I heard,” the second said. “I heard there were a number of pretty heavy bets on her winning being laid with a number of the bookies.”

“Suckers,” the first said with a shrug. “Let that work for a while. She should be good and ready in a half-hour or so.” With that, they left, taking their funnel and empty bottle.

---

“Where do we go to see this?” Nilsen asked his friend. “One way or another, I suppose I have to watch it.”

“Not really,” Demeter said hopefully. “They don’t know who you are. You could just take your gold and head back to the palace. No one would be the wiser.” He continued in a whisper, “It’s said they drug them if they don’t want them to win. I don’t think she has a chance.”

“I’m sure you’re right ― about the drugging anyway,” Nilsen replied in his normal voice. “Let’s just say, even if they do drug her, I think she still has a pretty good chance of living through this.”

“You’d better, Demeter muttered. “You’ve got thirty gold riding on it. You really are that sure?” Nilsen just shrugged and patted the pouch on his belt holding his gold.

“Isn’t that the gold you picked up from the ship this morning?” Demeter asked. “Won’t your sisters be pissed at you if you lose it?”

“I don’t know why,” Nilsen answered. “It’s mine; I had it sent to me. I was going to use it for a new set of weapons and armor, and I still think I’ll be doing that.”

“Hmm...” Demeter narrowed his eyes and looked at his companion. He could sense that Nil wasn’t going to tell him everything he knew, but Demeter could also tell there was more to the story.

“Tell you what,” Demeter said slowly, “just to make it interesting, maybe I should put a little money on it also.” He paid the barker the two bronze coins and showed Nilsen where to sit. For an extra two coins, they got seats fairly close to the front. Nilsen sat down on the low wooden bench while Demeter hurried away.

The arena was pretty much like all the practice arenas he had seen in the past: about thirty yards in diameter with a thick layer of sand/sawdust mixture on the floor. The only difference was the wall around the arena was at least ten feet high, and there were tiered benches completely surrounding it. Nilsen estimated when filled, it could hold almost a thousand viewers.

There were nowhere near that many there then. It was early in the afternoon, and the real matches didn’t start until much later. Nilsen guessed there were probably no more than 150 all told.

A few minutes later, Demeter sat down beside him and dropped a stack of differently shaped wooden markers in his hand. Some were circles, others squares, stars, etc. They were all different, but they all had the same color designs on them.

“What’s this?” Nilsen demanded.

“They’re your markers,” Demeter replied. “I had trouble convincing a number of the books that I really wanted to bet on your girl, so I had to spread it around over a number of them. It seems nobody is fool enough to bet on one against five, let me tell you; with the odds they gave me, if she wins, you’ll be able to buy a couple of sets of armor.”

“But I didn’t bet...” Nilsen started.

“No, but I did,” Demeter interrupted. “Don’t worry about it, Nil. If she wins, you can pay me back. If she doesn’t, it’s not enough to worry about. Look, I think they’re about to start.”

---

Lav could feel the drug working on her. Her tongue felt numb and too large for her mouth. It was difficult to keep her head up, and she was sure if her arms were released and she tried to stand, she would be wobbly, almost like she was drunk.

Minutes later, a guard came up on the outside of her cage and unshackled her. For the moment, she could do little more than groan and shake her arms. They felt like lead, the effect of the drug and the prolonged binding making her lethargic and stiff. At least it didn’t hurt. She struggled to her feet and surreptitiously checked to see if the small pellet of “stuff” was still in her vest. Lav thought about holding it in her mouth to make sure it wouldn’t get lost, but remembered Blue-Eyes had told her to chew it just before going out into the arena. She had no idea if it really made a difference when she took it, but right then, it was a lot easier to do as she was told and not think overly much, so she tucked it into the belt holding up her breechclout. Another guard stood at the cage door, unlocking it.

“Come on, bitch,” he said with a grin. “Time for your last show.” He pulled it open and swung it out to lock into place, forming a barrier across the hallway. Two more guards came in behind her cage with long spears, ready to prod her out if needed. Other than pausing to spit at them, she didn’t waste time being obstinate. They all seemed very confident that she wasn’t going to survive her time in the ring, but it was better to die fighting than cringing in a cage. Still flexing her arms and stumbling just a little, she strode out into the hallway.

She couldn’t turn right, that being where the door formed a new cage wall, so she turned left after growling at the guard laughing behind the door. It was only a short walk to the end of the hallway where two doors stood. One led to the outside and the rest of the slave pens; it was closed and she was sure locked tight. The second was open. This one she knew well: it led to a small chamber where she was to pick up her weapon. When it was time, an iron gate would be lifted and she would be in the fighting pit itself. Groggily, she shuffled along the hallway toward the open door.

“Put on a good show, bitch,” one of the guards shouted behind her. “Some dumbass has been betting on you, so we’ve been able to put a little against you. Be happy; at least someone will profit from your death!” She ignored the taunt and moved through the open door.

When she was fully in the small chamber, the door closed behind her and she heard the snap of the lock. Looking around, she made her way over to the rough table, which had four times before held the sword she was to use. This time, something was different. There was a sword there all right, but it didn’t look right. Picking it up, she knew right away what was wrong: it wasn’t a real sword. It was a wooden practice sword painted to look like a real one! One strike from a real weapon, and it would be nothing but kindling! Sighing, she picked it up and gave it a couple of tentative swings.

She could hear the sounds of the crowd through the grate, not particularly loud, but a constant hum. Suddenly, the crowd noise increased a bit, and she knew her five opponents had been sent into the ring. Her arms felt so tired that she briefly wondered if it was worth even going out there. Maybe she should just lie down here and let them come get her. That thought didn’t last long; shaking her head to clear it as best she could, she moved over to stand in front of the grate. If today was her day to die, at least she was going to take as many with her as she could!

Then she remembered the blue-eyed shorty and his little pellet of whatever. Taking it out, she frowned as she looked at it more closely. It still looked like nothing more than a hunk of compressed grass; thinking about it for a moment, she shrugged and popped it into her mouth and started chewing. If it was poison, she hoped it was fast-acting and painless. If it was a drug to dull her wits and slow her speed, well, what more could it do? Who knows? Maybe it would actually help.

It tasted awful! Just like she would imagine cow dung would taste! However, she continued to swallow and even choked down a mouthful of the juice just as the high-pitched squeal of metal-on-metal announced her grate was starting to lift.

Later, she would swear that as soon as the one mouthful hit her stomach, something came alive somewhere in her gut and tried its damnedest to claw its way out. First, her heart started beating faster and harder than she had ever felt it before; she was almost afraid it would burst within her breast. Next, her vision blurred momentarily to suddenly become crystal clear, the colors fading slightly into various shades of gray, but the definition of everything becoming incredibly sharp. She was also immediately aware that the sound of the crowd had become a loud, constant buzzing in her ears. She had never felt so awake or aware of her surroundings, ever!

Even that didn’t prepare her for the surge of energy that seemed to radiate from her stomach and spread out and into her limbs. Her muscles contracted, arms and legs bunched in close to her body, ready for the fight. Her body was actually vibrating with the need for action!

She was invincible! Five men, ten men ... It didn’t matter! Bring them all to her! She knew without any doubt that she could take any number single-handedly, even with this toy sword! With a roar, she dashed out into the ring.

---

The stands weren’t even half full when a gong sounded, announcing that the first match was about to start. Nilsen and Demeter turned toward the ring and saw one gate being drawn up on one side. Out of the opening and onto the sand walked five men. Nilsen could tell they weren’t experienced fighters by the way they carried themselves and their weapons, but it appeared they weren’t novices, either.

“I don’t think these are virgins,” Demeter muttered just loudly enough for Nilsen to hear him.

“Virgins?” Nilsen asked.

“You know,” Demeter answered, “someone who’s never fought before. They don’t look like scared little rabbits.”

“Ah,” Nilsen muttered noncommittally. They still looked pretty scared to him, but he had to agree: They looked like men who had at least seen a fight before.

“You still think your girl has a chance?” Demeter continued.

“Yes, I do,” Nilsen said, nodding. “Why do you keep calling her ‘my girl’? She’s not mine or anybody else’s, for that matter. My guess is she is the kind you can chain but never own...” Just as he was finishing, the object of their discussion burst out of another aperture and loped to the center of the ring. Nilsen could tell immediately that she had taken the stimulant chew he had given her. From experience, he knew the effects it was having on her, and he could see the evidence from the way she was holding herself and carefully advancing on her unsuspecting foes.

Nilsen didn’t know exactly what was in the little ball of vegetable matter. His father had introduced him to it and called it the “berserker pill”. It was one of the most closely held secrets of the Warriors Guild. It gave the user about thirty minutes of incredible strength and endurance. It made the person taking the concoction “young, dumb, and full of cum”, was how his father put it. While the high was with you, there was a sense of heightened strength, sight, hearing, and even taste. You were infallible and indestructible as the juice flowed through your veins.

Unfortunately, the price you paid for your few minutes of godhood was even more dramatic and devastating. Afterwards, the body began shutting down; muscles refused to work. Starving for fuel after expending such a tremendous amount of energy in so short a period of time, the body would begin to literally eat itself alive. Having used it once, Nilsen knew it took about half a ten-day period to fully recover; and the pain during that time was nothing to laugh about.

But right then, she was just reaching the peak of its effect.

Moving like a lioness on the prowl, Lav moved to the very center of the ring. Her five opponents fanned out to fully encircle her as she hissed at them, teeth bared in a truly hideous grimace. As soon as they were in place, she suddenly wheeled and streaked toward the one who had placed himself at her back. She moved faster than a human had any right to as the crowd ― excepting Nilsen, of course ― gasped. It took her only three steps until she was in range to smack him in the head with the wooden sword in her hand. The sword may have had no edge and was reasonably harmless under ordinary circumstances, but in the hands of someone who is naturally strong ― and juiced on top of it ― it was like being hit with a war club. It didn’t cut or knock his head off, but that didn’t matter since it did cave in the side of his skull; snapping the neck was just a bonus.

“One,” Nilsen said with a smile, his voice as audible as a shout in the near-total silence that followed her attack.

Lav was already moving even as her dead opponent was toppling to the sandy floor of the arena. She moved quickly to her left, confronting the next fighter trying to encircle her. Frozen momentarily at her inhuman speed and the ferocity of her attack, he didn’t realize he was her next target until she was almost upon him. He suddenly awoke to his situation just in time to prevent the exact same fate as his fellow prisoner. With almost no time to spare, he brought his sword up to block her roundhouse swing. It wasn’t much of a defense, but it was enough that the force of Lav’s swing shattered her toy sword on his steel one, breaking hers into long splinters of wood. But before the crowd could even utter a gasp at the sudden turn of events, she was already twirling, one long leg sweeping out to catch her unsuspecting opponent by the legs and knocking him down to the ground. Again demonstrating incredible speed, she pounced like a lioness and shoved the remaining splinters of her near-useless weapon up under his chin and onto his brainpan. Chest heaving, quite fetchingly, Nil thought, she stood up holding her now-dead opponent’s sword, licking her lips and eying the remaining three, not unlike a cat eyeing three mice, just trying to decide which one to eat next.

“Two,” Nilsen said unnecessarily. This time, his remark was drowned out by the roar of the now frenzied crowd.

“By the gods!” Demeter gasped. “Did you see that? It’s like she’s possessed! Like she’s drugged!”

“She is,” Nilsen answered with a smirk.

“What?” Demeter stared at his friend. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all,” Nilsen said, looking down at the arena as Lav made up her mind and started to stalk the next one to her left. “They drugged her to slow her down. I thought it only fair that someone should drug her to speed her up, so I did.”

“Son of a bitch,” Demeter whispered. “And you say you are the stupid one. You must be the craftiest idiot I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, I am the stupid one,” Nilsen said with a smile. “When you compare me to my brothers and sisters, that is.”

“Crap! Remind me to never set myself up against your family,” Demeter said in awe.

“You’ve already met my sisters,” Nilsen said with a smile. “If you haven’t figured that out by now, you deserve what you get.” He paused for a moment and looked almost contemplative. “I dare say though, Makro would probably have figured out a more elegant solution ... more diplomatic.” Then he shrugged. “My sisters are all about finding the best tool for the job. Me, I just get a bigger hammer. I have yet to find a situation where the judicious use of excessive force doesn’t solve the problem one way or another.”

---

Even if she hadn’t already had her full attention focused on staying alive, Lav probably wouldn’t have been particularly interested in their byplay. Other people’s business rarely interested her, unless it directly impacted her, that is, but now even less than usual. Two of the five were down, and she had no doubt she could take the other three with little or no problem, under normal circumstances that is. Unfortunately, she could feel the strength pumping through her body begin to fade ever so slightly. Nilsen had estimated it should last about half an hour, but he couldn’t know her larger body mass and the effect of the other narcotic decreased its usefulness much sooner. Even as she began to move toward her remaining opponents, she could feel its effect decrease. She knew this had to be over soon.

She started moving towards the next one to her left but immediately saw this wouldn’t work. As she moved forward, he started to move back and away from her. She could tell he was about as frightened as any man she had ever seen before. The dark spot on the front of his breechclout showed he had already pissed himself, and her super-sensitive sense of smell told her he had probably soiled himself as well. Still, she had to engage them quickly, and moving forward was the only plan she had at the moment.

Moving slowly at first, she circled left as he retreated. She was getting no closer to her obvious target; however, it did bring her closer to the other two. Suddenly, she jumped sideways; Nilsen would swear later that it had been a standing broad jump of at least ten feet, and quickly closed the gap on the man who was the centermost of the three. A roundhouse swing smashed against his upheld sword, numbing his arm with the shock. Continuing the motion of the swing, Lav jabbed forward with the pummel of her own borrowed weapon, catching him in the jaw, shattering it with the force of the blow. Stepping back slightly, her right foot came up in a vicious kick that crushed his windpipe, and he toppled back, still alive, but only because one doesn’t die instantly from asphyxiation. Whether or not his heart was still pumping, he was dead as he hit the sand.

“Three.” The chant now came from the crowd and not just Nilsen.

The man to her right may have been frightened, but he also saw this as his one chance to catch the giantess while she was occupied. As his compatriot fell, he charged, sword raised high and readying for the killing stroke. It would have been a good idea against most other opponents, but not with one having been trained in the warrior arts for well over half her life. Lav caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Instinctively, she let him get closer before whirling to one side, sword moving out to catch him under the arm as he stumbled past her. It wasn’t an immediately mortal wound, but the shock of the deep cut caused him to drop his sword and fall face down into the arena’s sandy floor.

“Four! Four! Four!” The arena reverberated with the sound of the now ecstatic crowd.

Whatever drug the blue-eyed shorty had given her was definitely wearing off, Lav thought, as wavy lines superimposed themselves on her vision. It was getting difficult to get enough breath as her chest heaved and sweat poured out of her body and dripped to the sand at her feet. The last man wanted no part of this fight and was doing his best to stay away from her. Lav snorted, wondering how she was going to corner her last prey in a circular arena. She walked slowly towards him, both to conserve energy and to keep him from running from one side to the other. She knew she didn’t have enough left to chase him down. If she could close with him, she knew she could finish it, but closing with him was going to be difficult.

Life is a game of chance, she thought to herself. She was about fifteen feet away from him when she suddenly let the sword point drop. It scraped the sand slightly as it continued behind her and up over her shoulder. With as much strength as she had left, she snapped it forward and threw it at him.

She was extremely tired, and the sword wasn’t balanced for throwing, but the cast was good enough to catch him in the thigh. He let out a high-pitched scream, dropped his own weapon, and fell to the ground. Mewling, he tried to drag himself away from his killer. Stumbling forward, Lav came up behind him, put her foot on the back of his neck, and reached down, grabbing him by the hair. Yanking back as hard as she could, the sound of his snapping neck was heard even over the sounds of the cheering crowd.

Shaking as she stood, Lav lurched away from the corpse for a few steps until the world around her started to spin. Suddenly, standing was just too much of an effort, and she found herself on her knees. The spinning stopped, and blackness rolled in as she pitched forward into the comforting oblivion.

---

“By the gods!” Demeter whispered with awe. “That was amazing.”

“She’s good,” Nilsen nodded as he watched a number of guards drag her off towards the pens and the bodies of her opponents towards another exit. Already, slaves were in the arena, raking smooth the disturbed areas in preparation for the next bout.

Shaking his head, Demeter said, “We’d better go see that your girl is all right. My guess is they aren’t going to be particularly happy with her right about now.”

“I suspect you’re probably right,” Nilsen agreed as they both stood up to go.

Unhappy would be one way of putting it; livid would be more accurate. It didn’t take them but a few minutes to make their way down to the slave pens. When they got there, Lav was being held upright on her knees by two guards as the slavemaster was getting ready to spit her on the end of his sword.

“Excuse me,” Nil said loudly enough to cause the slavemaster to turn his head sharply towards the sound. “If I remember correctly, we had a wager, and I do believe I won. So that woman you are about to run through is now mine and not yours. I would very much appreciate it if you would not harm her.”

“You son-of-a-bitch!” the slaver spat. “What the fuck are you going to do if I kill this whore?”

“Why, I suppose I’d have to kill you,” Nilsen said with a disconcerting calmness.

“What are you going to do?” he said, pointing his sword around at the three guards in the passageway with them. “They’re four of us, and we ain’t no bunch of fucking slaves. What do you think you can do against four?”

“There are two of us,” Demeter said from behind Nilsen’s shoulder. Everyone looked over at him where he stood leaning up against the wall, appearing completely unconcerned. “Although I dare say I doubt he’d need any help from me.”

“Two or one,” sputtered the slaver. “It doesn’t matter; the bitch is mine, and I’ll do what I want with her.”

“I don’t think so,” Nilsen said, shaking his head. “Our wager was if she won, I would have her. She won, so she’s mine.”

“We had no wager, asshole,” the slave said with a grin. “My word against yours.”

“My guess,” Demeter said, also grinning, “that as the son of the king of Jeevel, his word is going to carry considerable weight here.” Suddenly, he stopped grinning and stood upright. “If it doesn’t, I’m sure mine, the son of your own Putram, will.”

Even in the limited light coming from the lamps burning along the walls, the slaver’s face had become noticeably paler. Although his face still held its sneer, it was considerably more forced, and the point of his sword dropped toward the ground.

“Even if you are his son, the Putram would never interfere with us,” the slaver blustered. “We’re under his personal protection.”

“Maybe,” Demeter said with a wave of his hand. “But since the only thing left here would be your corpse, I doubt he would take much interest. And yes, I’m sure that is what will happen. You may think this lovely lass here is dangerous, and she indeed is, but not half so much as this man standing in front of you.” He paused for a moment in what could be thoughtful contemplation. “You know, I doubt it would disturb Father greatly if the four of you suddenly ceased to exist, but I’m afraid Nilsen here just might take it into his head to do away with the whole staff. Now that may indeed bother him ... Loss of revenue and all that, you know.

“So,” he continued with a sigh. “I really must insist you uphold your end of the wager and hand her over.”

“Fuck this,” the slaver spat. “Fine, take your whore! I don’t want to see the bitch anymore!” At his gesture, the guards holding Lav let go, and she slid bonelessly to the floor. Snorting contemptuously, the slaver, followed by his guards, walked out of the passageway.

“Well,” Demeter said with a bemused expression, “you have your lady; now what are you going to do with her?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” Nilsen mumbled. Then he sighed, “I suppose the first thing I should do is take her home and clean her up.”

“Well, you get to carry her,” Demeter grumbled. “I can tell you from here she’s too damned heavy for me. Plus, she stinks like a midden heap.”

“I guess I could use the exercise anyway,” Nilsen grinned as he bent down intending to drag her up and over his shoulder. As he came close, her eyes opened momentarily, and she looked at him pleadingly, repeating over and over...

“Cerberus, Cerberus, Cerberus...”

Chapter 2

“Cerberus?” Demeter said, walking up behind Nilsen. “Any idea what she’s talking about?”

“No,” Nil shook his head. “The name I’ve heard before. It’s from an ancient legend, something about a guard with multiple heads. Other than that, I have no idea.”

“Maybe when she wakes up, we can ask her?” Demeter answered with a shrug.

“She may not wake up for days,” Nilsen said. “Didn’t that bastard say something about her being taken just last week? Maybe we can find out where she was taken and how they brought her into the city. That might give us an idea of who or what this Cerberus is. Do they keep records of that kind of thing here? I know in Jeevel they used to.”

Demeter looked decidedly uncomfortable as he answered. “Yes, they do keep records of that sort of thing here. Look, I’ll help you get her back to your quarters; then I’ll head out and try to find out what I can. I know a few people that should be able to get me the information you want.”

“You,” Nilsen grunted as he hauled her up by her arms and draped her over his shoulder, “don’t have to wait. I can get her back. Damn, she’s solid!” He staggered toward the door.

“Are you sure you can carry her back by yourself?” Demeter asked as he tagged along behind.

“Yep. It may look a bit strange, but I can make it back to the quarters at least,” he groaned. It was like carrying a huge sack of sand! She was so tall her arms almost dragged the ground behind him as he walked.

“Maybe we should get a cart or a wagon,” Demeter added helpfully.

“I can’t waste any time,” Nilsen said already panting under his load. “What I gave her is going to continue to make her weaker until it’s completely out of her system. Gods only know what they gave her will do. I need to get her back and get fluids and maybe even some food in her. Besides, I want to have Jarrah look at her as soon as possible.”

“Well, if you think you can do it...” Demeter said, looking skeptical.

“Oh, I can do it,” grunted Nil. “Besides, this beats hauling a pack full of rocks for twenty miles.” With the hand he had wrapped around her waist holding her onto his shoulder, he reached out and patted her bottom, which was positioned right next to his head.

“Good thing she’s out,” Demeter chuckled. “You do that when she’s awake and you might not get your hand back.”

“I’d probably be lucky to get my whole arm back,” Nilsen agreed with a smile. “Now, why don’t you go try to find out what you can about her? I don’t know why, but I have the feeling we need to find out about this Cerberus fellow quickly.

“I thought only the Demons could foretell the future,” Demeter barked with a laugh. “If I’d known you could also, I’d have had you down at the horsetrack by now.”

“I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t call my sisters ‘the Demons’,” Nilsen huffed as he jogged along. “Deimie and Fobie have a special gift. I don’t pretend to understand it, but I believe in it.” Nilsen thought about his two younger sisters. The oldest of three sets of twins by their mother, Shasta, they were just under a season younger than Nilsen himself. All his life they had had the knack for knowing what was going to happen before it did. Sometimes right before, sometimes well into the future. They didn’t see everything, or at least they didn’t tell him everything they saw, but what they did tell him invariably came to pass one way or another. He knew it scared others, like Demeter, who hadn’t grown up with them, but to Nilsen it was as normal as breathing.

“Sorry,” Demeter said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. It’s just ... well ... that’s what everybody calls them. I’ll try to be more careful about what I say from now on.”

“Thanks,” Nilsen said with a nod. “Actually it doesn’t seem to bother them at all. They just laugh when they hear it. I don’t care if it bothers them or not; it bothers me.”

“Well, I’d rather have your Demons for sisters than the flat-out bitches I have,” Demeter responded. “But I understand what you’re saying and I’ll watch myself.”

“You’d better,” Nilsen said with a grin. “It just bothers me, but it makes Makro angry when somebody else calls them that. You don’t want Makro angry at you.”

“Gods, no!” Demeter muttered with an exaggerated shiver. Then he brightened up a bit. “Speaking of her, what do you think she’ll say about your new pet?”

“Thanks,” Nilsen grumbled back. “I was trying not to think about that.”

“Oh, sorry.” Demeter didn’t sound very remorseful, and didn’t look it at all. “Well, on that happy note, I think I’ll take off and see what I can find out about your girlfriend. I’ll be back as soon as I find out anything. Till then...” With a wave and a whistle, he strode off quickly.

Nilsen grunted after his friend but kept plodding along towards their assigned quarters. He was getting strange looks from everyone he passed on the street, almost like they didn’t see a man carrying a seven-foot woman over his shoulder every day! That and his shoulder was really beginning to hurt. It felt like she weighed a ton, and he briefly debated whether to stop and move her to the other shoulder. Ultimately, he decided not to. The potential for dropping her was too great, and he might not be able to get her back up if he set her down! Besides, the quarters were only a few blocks away.

After what seemed an eternity, he stumbled up the steps to the front door of their assigned quarters. As guests of Salas’s Putram or ruler, they had been given the use of a very spacious townhouse close to the Warrior Guild’s Academy and the Putram’s palace. He waved and grunted at the two guards standing next to the doors. They looked on in wonder as their master’s son marched in with this ... thing ... draped over his shoulder. One shook his head and quickly moved to open the door.

“Your Highness!” he said, saluting. It was a strange salutation for them, but it was how the new nobility of Jeevel wanted to be addressed. “Your Majesty” for Dent and his wives, “Your Highness,” for their sons and daughters. It was still different, but after eighteen seasons, it was beginning to feel right.

“Your Highness,” he said again as they entered the atrium. “Should I call for a healer?”

“Not if Jarrah is available,” he groaned. “I’m taking her up to my rooms. Would you send some of the girls up to get a bath ready?” Nilsen noticed one of the maids peeking around the corner. When she saw him looking at her, she squeaked and drew her head quickly out of sight. Great, he thought, if any of my sisters are home, they’re going to know about this in about two seconds. He sighed and trudged towards his rooms.

Entering his own set of rooms, he headed straight for the bathing arbor. As gently as possible, he lowered his burden to the tile floor and moved his arm and shoulder around, trying to get feeling back into his numbed limbs.

Moments later, Katern TordeSiso, their head housekeeper, hurriedly entered his room, followed by four younger maids who had the look of either curiosity or terror in their eyes; it was difficult to determine which. There was none of that in Katern’s eyes; she barely glanced at the giant woman lying on her master’s floor but quietly looked to him with a questioning gaze. Nilsen had always liked Katern; no, he loved her like another mother. She had been bonded to one or another of his mothers since before he was born and was a fixture in his life from his earliest memories. Even in her early forties, she remained petite and slim, although the years had added some nicely rounded padding. Her brown hair, with only a slight touch of gray, was still worn long, and as was the usual case during the working day, braided and hanging down to the small of her back.

Nilsen waited for her to ask the inevitable question, but it never came. She just stood there looking at him with just a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Will ‘she followed me home,’ work this time?” he finally asked with a sigh.

“It seems to have already,” Katern said with barely repressed amusement. “Anything I should know about right now? Like the city Proctors pounding on the door demanding we return a missing female giant?”

“No, I don’t think that will happen,” he said, relieved she was taking it so well. “What I do need - actually she needs - is water or juice. She’s had a dose of one of Father’s berserker pills and is going to need something soon. Is Jarrah home now?”

“No,” she answered still smiling. “Actually none of them are. Mistress Jarrah is at the Healers Guild Hall this afternoon; Mistress Makro is at the palace and Mistresses Deimie and Fobie...” She just shrugged. “I expect they should return in the next few hours or so.” Turning slightly, she snapped her fingers and pointed at one of the maids. “You heard the Master: juice, water, now!” The maid unlucky enough to be singled out took off at a run.

“Still terrifying the young ladies, Katern?” he said with a grin. “They don’t know you like I do. You might give them the impression you’re something other than the big pussycat who purrs when her tummy is rubbed.”

“Oh, you devil!” she laughed. “I never could bring myself to swat your butt when you deserved it; spoiled you is what I did.” Then she stopped smiling and turned back towards the remaining three maids. “One of them should have run immediately for your juice and water as soon as you mentioned it. We’ll see if we can’t find a way to instill this in their memory so they won’t forget it again.” The helpless girls actually cringed under her gaze. Turning back to Nilsen, the smile returned as she said, “Is there something else you need immediately? You brought her in here; can I assume either you intend to get a bath or give her one?”

“Yes,” he said. “She’s going to need bathing as soon as possible. She won’t be able to assist us, unfortunately. You’d better have two of the guards up here to help us out.” This time one of the maids tore off at a frantic pace, almost running down the one bringing back a tray with two pitchers and cups.

“Trainable,” he heard Katern mumble. “Barely trainable.”

A few minutes later, with the help of two burly guards, he had her stripped and in the tub. The water was warm, having come from the roof cistern. Not that Lavender felt it; she was still unconscious. Luckily, she was able to swallow a few mouthfuls of juice he dribbled into her mouth. With the guards holding her head out of the water, the maids soaped and washed her body while Nilsen did the same with her hair. He was somewhat peeved when he caught the two guards staring at her rather curvy body. He decided he couldn’t chastise them directly since he had caught himself doing the same a number of times.

“I haven’t had time to tell you the whole story, Momma Kat,” he said without looking up at her, “but it is quite interesting. Why, did you know that not more than an hour ago I watched this very woman kill five men in the arena in the span of little more than the same number of minutes?”

“Why, no, I didn’t know that,” Katern answered. He went on to describe in detail her fight in the ring.

“Yep,” he said lathering up her hair for the third time. “Gods only knows what she would do if someone was foolish enough to try to take advantage of her while she was in this state.”

“Perish the thought,” Katern replied with a hint of amusement. “Certainly, we wouldn’t have that problem here, My Lord.”

“I would hope not,” Nilsen said. “I’d have to let her discuss it in her own way with anyone who took such liberties.” The guards’ eyes suddenly came up and fastened on anything except the woman they were holding.

“It would not do...” he started, but was interrupted by footsteps at his back.

“Our brother seems to have found a new pet, Fobie,” a voice as musical as a tinkling bell came from behind him.

“It would seem so, sister,” another voice answered, equally musical and almost identical to the first.

“I thought you two were out,” Nilsen grunted without turning.

It wouldn’t have mattered since they moved to the front of the tub and gazed down at the occupant. That they were twins was obvious at first sight, alike as a reflection in a mirror. Of middling height with long flowing hair the color of freshly burnished copper; sea-green eyes, wide and doe-like, with skin as clear and unblemished as porcelain. They had slim builds as they moved from the last of childhood into the full bloom of womanhood. Their breasts were prominent, but only average when compared to Makro’s more than generous attributes. They were wearing full-length linen shifts, cinched tight at the waist. Even to a brother’s eyes they were extraordinarily beautiful. They were the Demons.

“We were,” the one to his right answered. Nilsen instinctively knew that one was Deimie. As far as he knew, he was the only one, other than Deimie and Fobie themselves, who could instantly differentiate between the two of them. He always knew which was which, even if they didn’t speak. How he knew, he couldn’t say; he just knew.

“And now we’re back,” said the other without a perceptible break in the sentence. She continued, “We knew you would be back and that something would require our attention.” Together they bent down to peer at the dripping wet giantess.

“Fobie, her...”

“ ... Salidin. Yes, I see it.” The twins turned to look at each other.

“It...”

“ ... begins.”

“Her salidin is only partially activated,” Fobie said looking at Nilsen.

“I know that,” Nilsen sighed. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”

Katern had been listening to their conversation. Listening to the twins talk had a tendency to make one dizzy until you learned to listen to them as if they were one person, not two. Frowning, she looked at the metal band around the giantess’s neck and her eyes widened in surprise as her own hand instinctively came up to touch the band around her own neck.

It was certainly a salidin, of that there was no doubt, but it was a dull pewter gray, not the rich golden color like the one around her own neck or the necks of the other servants in the room. The color meant she was not presently bonded. Suddenly the meaning of that occurred to her.

“Sara!” she barked to one of the maids kneeling next to the tub. “Run to the Captain of the Guard! Tell him we need two, maybe three more guardsmen up here, right now!” Sara flinched, jumped up, and bolted out of the room at a dead run.

“Katern,” Nilsen said, sounding rather exasperated, “what in the world was that all about?”

“You have an unbonded warrior slave in this house, next to three of the heirs of Jeevel,” she practically screamed. “You ask me what this is all about? Are you insane? Are you so enamored of her tits that you can’t see the danger? What kind of fool are you?”

“You know,” he sighed, “that’s the second time today I’ve been called a fool. Not that it’s a record, but it does get tiring. Katern,” he looked up into her angry eyes, “I just finished telling you I gave her one of father’s berserker pills. You know what that does to whoever takes it. You should anyway; you were the one to nurse me after I tried it. She probably won’t wake for another day or two, and even then, she’ll be weak as a kitten for double that. She’s no danger to anyone for a while. When she is, we’ll take the proper precautions, I promise.”

“Maybe,” Katern sniffed. “But you don’t know how it affects her. For all you know, she could be feigning sleep right now.”

“I doubt that very much,” he chuckled. “But if it makes you feel better, I have been properly chastised.” Pounding feet out in the hallway interrupted him as two additional guards and the Captain of the Guard ran into the room.

“Where’s the threat?” the captain wheezed.

“There isn’t any...” Nilsen started when Katern interrupted him.

“She is,” Katern said, pointing to Lavender. “Our master’s son”―Nilsen knew he was in trouble when she called him that―”has brought an unbound warrior into the household. She should be shackled immediately!”

“She won’t be shackled at all,” Nilsen said loudly. “I forbid it.”

Katern hissed in frustration.

“Be at ease, Momma Kat,” Fobie laughed.

“She is of no danger to anyone in this household,” Deimie continued. “At least no physical danger.” Saying that, the twins looked at each other and laughed again.

Katern harrumphed at them but held her tongue. She was a firm believer in the twins’ powers, so as much as she didn’t like it, when they said the woman was no danger, then the woman was no danger. It didn’t mean Katern had to like it.

“Would it make you feel better if she were watched at all times?” Nilsen interjected to mollify the still-angry servant.

“Better she is manacled to a wall,” Katern sniffed again. “But being watched is better than nothing. I still think you are a fool.”

Nilsen was about to say something once again to placate the irate matron when he was interrupted once again, this time from the source of the consternation herself.

“Fool,” Lavender mumbled, not opening her eyes. “Blue-eyed fool.”

“Well,” Katern said with a triumphant look in her eye. “She doesn’t seem to be quite as affected as you believed. Hmm, I will say, from what I’ve heard so far, she sounds intelligent, or at least insightful.”

The twins twittered in amusement as did one of the remaining maids. This earned her a sharp look from Katern, causing her to quiet quickly. Katern felt it perfectly within her rights to trade jibes with the young master, and of course she had no control over his sisters, but a mere bonded maid? Not while she was in charge here!

“You are probably correct on both counts,” Nilsen grinned. “Leave that poor girl alone, Momma Kat. She was just laughing the same as everyone else. As for this one, I doubt she’s really conscious. In fact, I’d practically guarantee it. She may be strong, but she isn’t that strong. She’ll be out for another day, maybe two. I’d guess she’s clean enough. Let’s get her out of this tub and dried off.” With the help of two of the guards, Nilsen was able to hold her up while the maids toweled her dry.

“Where shall we put her now, Lord?” one of the guards helping him asked.

“Well,” Nilsen said slowly, “since I did promise we’d keep her under observation, I suppose the easiest would be to put her here in my bed. Besides, it’s probably the only one around big enough to hold her.”

Struggling, they moved her nude body through the doorway and into his bedchamber. Nilsen was right about his bed: It was the largest in the household at almost eight feet in length and almost three times the width of a normal bed. The villa was fully furnished when they were given leave to live there, so Nilsen always wondered why such a large bed had been installed. Makro had insisted he be the one to have it. Partly he assumed due to his own size, but then he overheard his sister grumbling to Katern that maybe now he had room for all his playmates.

He blushed when he heard that, although he wisely kept his mouth shut since her quip held more truth than not. Since his fifteenth birthday, young master Nilsen had been the target of almost every female servant in the deSiso household. He may not have been the most handsome of young men - unfortunately, he took after his father in that respect - but he was big, strong, well-built, and pleasant to be around. The fact that he was the king’s son didn’t hurt, although not necessarily in the way one might expect.

---

Every single servant in the royal household was bonded to the family with salidin - almost all to the queens - to ensure their unquestioned loyalty. Anyone bonded by the salidin around her neck cannot act against her master or his wishes. But the bonding goes even further than that. They had discovered long ago that a bonded slave, one who was emotionally tied to their master in addition to physically by the collar, was able to sense their master’s feelings and emotions in a form of empathy. One of the advantages of being a bonded slave is when having sex with their master, the slave feels both the master’s and her own pleasure. This results in an amplification of that pleasure, often leading to an orgasm so intense that loss of consciousness is common. This happened most intensely to those directly bonded to the one they were having sex with, but even a secondary or tertiary bond yielded considerable satisfaction. Consequently, at least in the deSiso household, the attention of the master was not something to dread but something to be pursued.

Unfortunately for the bonded females in the royal house, the ultimate bondholder, King Dent, was completely faithful to his four bonded wives. Considering the wives were also faithful to their husband, it left the other bonded females little chance to experience this unique sensation. Since Dent didn’t require celibacy from his bonded servants, they in no way lacked for sexual diversion. Still, they seemed to have resigned themselves to a life somewhat less than it possibly could be.

That is until Nilsen reached his fifteenth season.

One sporting young lass decided to try the master’s son on for fun one night, and in a phrase: All hell broke loose. There was certainly nothing malicious in her intent; after all, Nilsen was a well-liked and certainly well-built young man. Not particularly handsome in the traditional sense, but that doesn’t seem to be as important to women as men. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t totally unexpected, and the queen mothers hadn’t forbidden it, so a very experienced young woman introduced an inexperienced manlet into the joys of sex.

By the next morning, he was exhausted, and she was ready, willing, and - unless physically restrained - able to fuck him close to his or her death.

The uproar lasted for months and finally took the actual use of commands through the salidins to keep the female population from mobbing the young prince.

Since the first young woman had never experienced the “real” thing with Dent, there was no basis to compare how close the experiences really were. The only thing the bonded women knew was that it was close enough!

Don teNeigho, the head of Tech Technician for Harv’el, and all of Jeevel, in addition to being an old friend of the family, proclaimed it was impossible. The salidin connection was very specific and locked in through the liege’s DNA. It was impossible and unheard of for bonded to experience this known phenomenon with anyone other than their bond liege or someone directly in that chain.

He was laughed at by the women being driven deliriously happy by the impossible. Nilsen didn’t even bother to think about it. He was fifteen seasons old and being fucked to within an inch of his life nearly every night, and sometimes during the day! Life was good!

Nesho, one of the queen/wives, and one of Nilsen’s mothers, speculated that his DNA structure must be close enough to his father’s to fool the salidin into believing they were one and the same. Don TeNeigho vehemently disagreed, but couldn’t explain what was happening other than to say the women involved were delusional. The delusional women in question couldn’t give a crap if he thought they were all completely insane so long as they had the chance at some amazing sex every once in a while.

After the initial pandemonium, life settled down somewhat. Based on a schedule that Nilsen neither knew nor cared to know, the household women regularly rotated into the young lord’s bed. In fact, he was almost never without a bed companion unless he specifically requested the night alone.

Needless to say, a woman or two in Nilsen’s bed was not a novel occurrence.

---

That done, one guard was detailed to watch their sleeping guest while Nilsen retired to the bathing room to take care of his own needs. The tub was being refilled as he started stripping off his own clothes. The twins followed him in and sat down on a settee along the wall. The fact that he was completely naked didn’t bother him in the least. He was a Guild Warrior in all but name and as such had very little body modesty to begin with; additionally, he reasoned if it bothered his sisters, they could leave, and the two maids remaining behind to draw his bath had both sampled his wares so to speak many times, often at the same time.

“So, brother dear,” Deimie began, “it would seem you’ve had an interesting day so far. Care to tell us about it?”

“Sure,” he said, scrubbing an arm while one of the maids worked on his back. “Just as soon as you tell me why you said, ‘It begins’. What begins?”

“Not yet, we think,” Fobie responded. “If you don’t want to tell us now, we can wait until Makro returns. We’re sure you will tell her then, and we can listen in. Maybe that would be better anyway since Marisa playing with your cock is probably distracting you.” The maid whose hand was busy under the soapy water pulled it back and at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. Nilsen sighed and shook his head at her, receiving a pout in return.

“Fine,” he said with another exaggerated sigh. “It’s not like you two don’t already know what happened.”

“You know we don’t see everything exactly as it happens,” Fobie admonished.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “It started when Demeter asked me to go with him to look for a gift for his sister, Prudence.” He went on to tell the tale in detail, eliciting oohs and ahs at the proper times.

“And here we are,” he finished. “Before you ask, no, I don’t know where to go from here or what to do with her. I couldn’t just let her die there; it didn’t seem right. I was hoping I could set her free or something like that.”

“You did what needed to be done,” one of the twins began.

“But there is no setting her free,” the other finished. “Not with an inactive salidin. Someone would have her bonded, willing or not, within ten days. You will bond her; it is the only way to protect her.”

“Me? Bond her?” he said sharply as he stood up and reached for the towel being handed to him. He continued as he stepped out of the tub and began to dry himself. “I don’t think so. I never wanted someone bonded to me, and I still don’t want it.”

“What you want and what will happen are not always the same things, brother dear. It is unlikely your position will allow you such discretion.”

“True,” Nilsen admitted. “But even if that is the case, I will bond no one against her will, and it is extremely unlikely our lady warrior will agree to anything like that.” The twins just smiled at him and said nothing. This unnerved him much more than any disagreement would have.

“Anyway,” he said, trying to change the subject, “she is going to need some care over the next few days. At the very least, she’s going to need fluids and food. Care to help?” he asked as he wrapped a robe around himself. As one, the twins unfolded, gracefully stood, and followed him into the bedroom.

---

“My lord?” Sara asked, knocking softly on the doorframe to his room. “Lord Demeter is here to see you. Shall I send him in?”

Nilsen nodded, and moments later, Demeter strode in through the doorway. Nilsen was in the process of wiping the remnants of ground seed paste off Lavender’s chin. He had been feeding her this high-energy concoction for the past hour or so. Luckily, even though she wasn’t fully awake, she was able to swallow the thin paste.

“She certainly cleans up well,” Demeter said, peering down at the huge woman. “Not what I would call beautiful, but certainly not ugly. Lying down like that, you’d hardly even know she’s twice your size.”

“She isn’t twice my size, you idiot,” Nilsen retorted. “Besides, I think she’s very pretty. There’s nothing wrong with a woman with some muscle on her. As for her face, I think it’s quite attractive.”

“Well, to each his own,” Demeter said with a shrug. “Me, I’d much prefer this pretty little thing here,” he wagged his eyebrows at Sara, who had followed him in. Sara just giggled and wiggled her ass at him as she walked across the room to the bed.

“Oh, I agree,” Nilsen said, standing up and handing the bowl of seed paste to the maid. Then he lightly smacked Sara on the butt. “Sara is as beautiful as she is flirty.” Sara stuck her tongue out at him and grinned, and then she sat down and began feeding the prone woman as Nilsen had been doing.

“So, did you find out anything?” he asked his friend.

“Yeah,” Demeter grimaced. “More than I wanted to, in fact.”

“What do you mean by that?” Nilsen asked. “Did you find out where she was taken from?”

“Oh yes,” Demeter sighed. “That’s what’s bothering me. She was taken right here in Salas.”

“What?” Nilsen exclaimed. “You mean you have slavers taking people right here in Salas? That’s impossible!”

“So I would have said just yesterday,” Demeter agreed. “But it’s true, and it’s officially condoned. If you’re a foreigner and not under someone’s protection, it seems you’re fair game. I about puked when I heard it. In fact, I didn’t believe it at first, so I checked around. Not only is it true, it’s something they’re not trying to hide. Get this: The person I got the information from blamed it on your father. That’s right; he said if Jeevel hadn’t been squeezing off the slave trade and making it difficult to bring new ones in, they wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Right here in the capital,” Nilsen just shook his head. “That’s amazing. I’m surprised you have anyone coming into the city at all.”

“We probably won’t once it becomes common knowledge,” Demeter shrugged. “I can’t imagine what Father is thinking. It’s almost like he’s trying to destroy Salas.”

“I’d like you to tell Makro what you learned as soon as she returns.”

“What? She isn’t back yet?” Demeter said with a raised eyebrow. “So she doesn’t know about your little friend?”

“Not yet,” Nilsen admitted. “But that’s neither here nor there. This information is much more important than a rescued warrior.”

“Hmm, maybe,” Demeter replied with a smirk. “However, I think I’d like to be around when she finds out. I wonder if the books would take wagers on the outcome.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “she was taken down by the docks. She had been working part-time as a guard at some of the warehouses. They seem to think she has an apartment down around there.”

“Sara?” Nilsen asked the maid sitting beside Lavender. “Can you stay with her for a while? Rolf will be here in case you need him so you don’t need to be afraid.” He indicated the guard sitting next to the wall.

“I’m not worried, My Lord,” Sara said as she scooped another tiny spoonful into the giantess’s mouth. “Mistress Deimie said she would not harm me; I believe her.”

“Fine,” Nilsen said. “If Makro or Jarrah return before I get back, tell them I’ll return as soon as I can.” Sara nodded.

“You want to go now?” Demeter asked.

“Yes,” Nilsen nodded. “I can’t tell you why, but I have this feeling that we must find out about this Cerberus as soon as possible.”

“Are you able to read the future now?” Demeter demanded.

“Not that I know of,” Nilsen said as he waved at the guard and strode out the door. “I get these feelings every once in a while, and I’ve learned to trust them.”

“Okay,” Demeter said with a shrug. “Let’s go find this mysterious three-headed guardian.”

---

Tracking down her old living quarters was easier than Nilsen had expected. Of course, a seven-foot-plus woman didn’t go unnoticed even in a crowded city like Salas. After a few questions backed up with a few coins, they found themselves in front of a crumbling apartment building. Knocking on the door, they were greeted by a wrinkled little old man who peered out at them in suspicion.

“What do you want?” he wheezed.

“We’re looking for the living quarters of a woman,” Nilsen said.

“Lots of women around,” the man growled, “but none here for the likes of you. Down and around the corner, go to the red door. They’ll take care of you.”

“We’re looking for a particular woman,” Nilsen continued. “Very striking and easy to remember: She’s over seven feet tall. Actually, I’m not looking for her - I already know where she is - I’m looking for someone she might have been with, a Cerberus. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

“You know where Lav is?” the man said, suddenly much more courteous. “The last we heard, she had died in the arena.”

“She didn’t die,” Nilsen said, shaking his head. “In fact, she’s at my house now, ill, but she’ll recover soon enough. So, do you know this Cerberus and where we can find him?”

“I know where you can find him,” the man nodded. “I don’t know if he’s still alive, but I know where he is. Is it just you two? I’m not sure if just the two of you want to meet Cerberus, but on your head be it. He’s probably dead by now anyway.” The little man stepped outside and closed the door. Without even looking back, he started walking around the corner of the building and down a small alley. Nilsen looked at Demeter, who just shrugged; they turned and began to follow their strange guide.

A short way down the alley, they came to a door. There was a padlock on the outside, and the man retrieved a key from his pocket. After unlocking it, the man backed away and gestured to the door. “If you want to go in, go ahead,” he said, starting to walk away. “Just let me get a little bit farther away, if you don’t mind.”

Given the strange little man’s actions, Nilsen and Demeter loosened their swords and kept a hand on the pommel as they pushed the door open. The interior was cool and dark, and the scent of animal feces wafted up at them as a gust of wind blew the door open even further. They advanced slowly, noticing the devastation evident in each room. It looked like a group of vandals had ransacked the place; there didn’t appear to be a single stick of unbroken furniture in the place. Shortly, they came to the main room, which wasn’t much larger than the hallway. There in the middle of the room was a lump, a very large lump, of something black and hairy.

As they slowly approached the object, Demeter exclaimed, “What was she doing with a pony in her apartment?”

“That’s not a pony, Dem,” Nilsen said in an awed voice. “It’s a dog.”

Chapter 3

“It can’t be a dog,” Demeter said quietly as he froze in place. “No dog could be that big.”

“That may be,” Nilsen said, “but nonetheless, that thing is a dog, or at least something very dog-like.” Nilsen moved cautiously over to the huge lump.

“Is it dead?” Demeter asked nervously.

“I’m not sure,” Nilsen whispered. “Wait, I can see its breathing. Still alive, but just barely, I think.”

“Then by the gods, leave it alone,” Demeter hissed. “It must be what tore up this place. Armed or not, I don’t want to be around when it wakes up.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” Nilsen said, looking at the swollen, almost black tongue hanging out of the huge jaws. “I’ll guess it hasn’t had much water or food for the past week or so. In fact, if we want to save it, we’d better get some water into it soon.”

“Why would you want to save it?” Demeter demanded. “Even if it was gentle as a kitten, something that big is going to be dangerous. Just a guess, but I’m thinking it isn’t all that gentle. We should just cut its throat now and be done with it.”

“Hmm, you’re probably right,” Nilsen sighed, “but I’m betting it belongs to my guest. It was the last thing she thought of before passing out. I think we should bring it back to her.”

“Another one of your feelings?”

“Sort of,” Nilsen said with a shrug. “It just seems the right thing to do.”

“So, you’re going to carry it back like you did your girlfriend?” Demeter teased.