CJ Johnson, Writer
Men of Anderas
Men of Anderas
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| Website Content (c) 2007 CJ Johnson, Writer ©2003 webtemplateszone free templates |
Men of Anderas: Dak
Excerpt (c) 2009
Doesn't anyone care that a naked man is chained to a rock in the middle of town? The
powerful Lord Beldon Dak, adopted son of King Zeth of Falcon Tor, second-in-line for the
throne, stood with nothing but his pride to shield his body. He fought against the humiliation
and despair that filled his nightmares and spilled over into his daylight reality. Focusing on
thoughts of revenge, he let the rage consume him until he could stand straight and tall in the
face of this latest attempt to break his spirit. Why staked out in the sun? What is that lousy
bastard up to, now?
He hurt everywhere, but he welcomed the excruciating pain in his body. For the past six
months, every morning started the same. At least two of Murdock's guards would drag him
from his cell and amuse themselves by beating whichever part of his body looked like it
might be healing. Lips, split and swollen from repeated punches, now cracked and oozed in
the unrelenting heat. The only areas of his body not marked with bruises in shades of
blue-black to greenish-yellow were his groin and his feet - and the rats constantly nipped at
his toes while he slept. With nothing to protect his back, every breath he took scraped more
flesh against the razor-sharp texture of the stone pillar anchoring the chains.
Yes, the pain was necessary. It was proof he still lived - and life meant another chance at
escape. A chance to find the rest of his crew before he came back here and blew this
miserable hell hole out of existence. He sought the anguish of six months of abuse, wrapped
his conscience in memories of brutal guards and hungry rats. Even the sting of tender flesh
burned by the searing desert sun gave him strength.
Whatever it takes, I will survive and escape.
Dak flexed his bare toes against the wooden floor of the platform. A shiver of
unexpected pleasure skittered up his spine at the feel of the wood. Year after year of fierce
desert winds had polished the surface to glassy smoothness. He closed his eyes, relishing
the sensation against the soles of his sensitive feet.
Get a grip! You're bare butt naked and playing footsie with the floor! Maybe Murdock's
finally driven you over the edge!
Running his tongue over his cracked lips, he dreamed of a cool goblet of rich, Anderan
wine. He could almost taste the heavy sweetness. Stop thinking about home or Murdock will
win!
Taking as deep a breath as his cracked ribs would allow, he carefully rotated his head
until it rested against the rough surface behind him. Forcing his mind away from thoughts of
Anderas, he surveyed the desolate area around him.
The sun, just beginning to appear above the horizon, blazed across the barren wasteland,
the heat already oppressive. Within hours, only the desert dwellers would be above ground.
By midday, the small hamlet would be virtually abandoned as the merciless winds blew
through the streets of the market, driving every living creature below ground. For now, the
place was packed with people. The stench of unwashed bodies, animal dung and
disease hung in the air as thick as the powdery dust of the unpaved streets. Peddlers with
their stalls of exotic spices, fabrics and precious gems, hawked their wares amid the chaos.
A small group of men gathered in front of him. No one said anything about him being
there. They just looked him over before conferring among themselves in hushed whispers.
As the crowd grew larger, half-dressed whores worked their way among the men while their
pimps kept careful account of the coins changing hands. Thieves, murders, smugglers, the
lowest dregs of a hundred different species filled the market of Safe Haven.
Safe Haven. Dak sneered at the farce. The twisted bastard who picked that name had a
really sick sense of humour. Nothing was safe here. He and his crew found that out the hard
way. Law didn't exist in the underground maze of rat warrens - unless you counted the
primal law of kill-or-be-killed. Everything had a price on Safe Haven and the right price
bought you anything.
The sound of harsh, too-loud laughter jerked him back to his reality. He felt the platform
shake under the ponderous steps of the heavy jailer. The gathered crowd began to push and
shove each other, jockeying for a better view.
"Well, looks like you ain't so full of piss 'n vinegar, now." Murdock's fetid breath washed
over Dak in a nauseating cloud, causing his stomach to churn dangerously. "You wuz mouthy
enough earlier."
"Piss off," Dak drawled in a bored voice.
"Watch yur tone wit' me, boy, or I'll cut that fancy tongue right out!"
"And break your mother's heart?" Dak purred. The crowd roared their approval of the
insulting comments.
"You friggin' bastard," Murdock growled under his breath, "I'm gonna enjoy seein' you
sold like a side of smoked meat."
A slave market. Is this what happened to my crew? Dak closed his eyes to shut out the
other man. It was too easy to antagonize his captor. The fat slob may have come unarmed to
a battle of wits, but he had unerringly hit the very heart of Dak's frustration.
A cold sweat added to the sheen already coating Dak's body. All six feet six inches of
exposed flesh dripped sweat in the blistering sun of this cursed, dying planet. It dripped from
his matted hair into his eyes. It coated his lips with salt. It oozed like corrosive acid into the
hundreds - thousands? - of lacerations on his back from contact with the abrasive rock. By
the Beard of the Prophet, he could feel the sweat dripping from his manhood.
His physical discomfort was minor when compared to the rioting emotions threatening to
rip him apart. Never had he felt such rage - and such impotence. He failed to protect his
crew, and in failing his men, he failed his King - and he failed himself. His humiliation at the
hands of Murdock's slave market was negligible when tallied against the loss of his ship and
crew. Were any of them still alive? Would he ever find them?
A sharp jab in his solar plexus brought a swift end to Dak's soul searching. Breathing
deep and slow, he fought against the rush of pain from ribs cracked in a previous encounter
with Murdock.
"Pay attention, boy," Murdock grinned, "things is fixin' to get real interesting."
He watched Murdock work the crowd like a first-class carnival barker. Within minutes he
had the rowdy crowd in the palm of his hand. Drawing a deep breath, Murdock bent over
and belched in the face of a woman standing at the front of the crowd. Having been the
recipient of that noxious breath, he fully expected the woman to faint - or puke. She just
stared at the slave master. When Murdock jerked to an upright position, the woman's lips
curved in what could have been a smile, except it never reached her eyes.
This is interesting. Dak watched with growing curiosity as she slowly reached up and
removed her hood, never breaking eye contact with Murdock.
"Blast me to hell 'n back," the guard on Dak's right whispered. "She's a crystal witch!"
One-by-one the people in the crowd noticed the woman with the silver-white hair. Dak
heard witch and white witch whispered in awe throughout the crowd. No. Not awe. Fear. The
kind of fear you can smell. The kind of fear that could turn a menacing mob into a pack of
snivelling slugs.
Very interesting. Dak grinned as the last of his guards backed behind the stone pillar.
What the hell is a crystal witch? Anyone who can make Murdock and his pack of mongrels
piss themselves in fear can't be all bad. Wouldn't do her any good to put a curse on
Murdock's miserable life, though. The bastard would take it as a compliment.
"A-all r-right," Murdock stuttered while backing away from the strange woman, "you
maggots listen close. I only gots me one pet today, so's ya better dig deep fer coin."
Dak tensed, the strange woman forgotten, when Murdock turned and pulled a
short-handled, braided leather whip from beneath his sleeveless shirt. When the first blow
struck his chest, he clenched his jaw, waiting for the pain that never really came. After six
months of Murdock's abuse, the whip was little more than an annoyance. The convulsive jerk
of abused muscle was the only visible indication that he felt the blow.
"E's built right fer heavy work."
Murdock laughed as he flicked the whip against Dak's chest and arms. With his arms
stretched tight above his head, anchored to the top of the giant X-shaped stone and his feet
secured against the wide-spaced bottom, he couldn't escape the lash. That knowledge
didn't keep him from trying. Grasping the heavy chains in his hands, he pulled at the
confining rungs until muscles bulged and veins distended with his effort. Struggling to keep
his breathing even, he sought the anger that was his constant companion - giving it free rein
over the pain and humiliation.
"An' wit' legs like these, he don' need no mount."
"But, Murdock," yelled a drunken heckler from the crowd, "after spendin' all this time as a
guest o'yurs, can he go the distance?"
Before the slave master could answer, Dak raised his voice above the din of the crowd.
"Ask your wife," he taunted in a tight, harsh voice.
The mob laughed and applauded Dak's insult. Whatever pleasure he got from delivering
his verbal volley ended when Murdock began to stroke the tip of the whip along the inside of
Dak's leg. He sucked in a hissing breath, silently cursing his fool-hardy insults.
"I tol' ya ta watch that tongue, didn' I?"
Every muscle in Dak's body stiffened when Murdock traced a path up his leg with the vile
leather until it rested against the very heart of his masculinity.
"Now, any of you females out there who might likes a bit of action," he raised the whip
until Dak's penis was exhibited for the crowd's perverted pleasure, "this 'uns more 'n enough
fur ya. Ya all heard him braggin' 'bout his abilities."
Dak twisted violently against his restraints. All he accomplished was to further mangle the
abused flesh of his back against the sharp rock.
With a careless flip of the leather whip, Murdock laughed. "Claims to be a bloody
Anderan lord. Now what's the first bid?"
Dak closed his mind to the rapid bidding. That was really stupid. Your temper damn near
got your balls sliced off. The sudden silence of the mob around him brought his senses to full
alert.
"'Ere now," Murdock yelled, "I ain't gonna let this prime piece of meat go fer no pissin'
sixteen hundert gold coins. Jes' think of the ease ya can have with 'im doin' all yur work."
"Ain't nobody here got work to do, you tight-fisted slop bucket. Now finish the deal."
Kierin shuddered at what she was about to do. She had no other choice. Thanks to
Draagon and his Phantom Riders, the alternative was death.
The horrid slave trader just confirmed the rumours. Her quest would soon be over. She had
so very little time left. The cost of tracking the source of the tale to this desolate place had
been staggering, but she would pay more. The stories were true.
Months ago, an Anderan Travel Craft with a full crew of seventy-five men developed
engine trouble and was forced to land here. Tricked by the false welcome of the landing
station, the crew was captured and sold at the slave market.
A healthy Anderan male would solve her problem, but she had feared she would be too
late. Her life would be worth nothing if all the men were sold - or dead. Sighing with relief,
she allowed herself to hope. An Anderan lord. She must bid on him, no matter the cost.
Kierin felt the sweat trickle down her neck, between her breasts and under her arms. She
pulled at the damp material clinging to her body, knowing there would be no relief from the
mounting heat. She closed her eyes and imagined herself back in her valley with its towering
trees, bubbling stream and gentle breezes. The image cooled her body, as she knew it
would, and she fought a smile at the reactions of those around her. They believed in witch
magic, but she knew the source of true magical power.
Before Murdock could end the bidding, Kierin interrupted in a strong, clear voice easily
heard above the din of the drunken crowd.
"Two thousand gold coins."
"That's more like it. Come forward and les' see the colour of yur coin."
Kierin maintained her eye contact while she removed her robe. The earlier sight of her
distinctive silver-white hair had driven the crowd back until she was virtually alone near the
centre of the platform. Her father would never approve of her using her appearance and
reputation in such a theatrical manner, but she intended to have that Anderan. She needed
him - no matter the cost.
Dak watched as the woman - the crystal witch - removed her heavy cloak and climbed
the shaky ladder to the platform. The cowering guards gave up all pretense of courage and
stumbled over each other trying to get away from the approaching woman. She was a tiny
little thing. Pretty, too, with her delicate, fairy-like appearance. Definitely no one to cause
fear in grown men. The most impressive thing about her was that heavy mane of silver-white
hair. There were blonds on Anderas but never had he seen such totally white hair on
someone so young. Even her skin complimented her hair with its pale translucence. Pretty
just didn't do her justice but she wasn't beautiful, at least not in the way he pictured beautiful
women. Exotic. Yea, that's what she is . . . exotic.
"Beggin' pardon, Lady," Murdock snivelled, "but what use does one of yur kind have fer a
slave?"
"My reasons are none of your concern." She walked slowly around Dak, taking a good
long look at what she saw - especially the area between his waist and his knees.
"Relax, Murdock," Dak drawled, intending to see just how far he could push Murdock's
fear of this woman, "it's obvious the lady has a need she thinks I can fill." He tried to ignore
the sick guilt churning in his stomach at insulting a female. Anderan men were raised to
cherish and protect women. It was as much a part of him as his personal honour and
integrity.
Don't be a fool! You can escape from her a lot easier than from this prison.
If she heard his comments, Dak couldn't tell. She continued to stare at his groin until he
began to harden beneath her gaze. Blast and damn! You're worse than a stallion sniffing a
mare in heat! By all the Ancient Prophets I will not have an erection now!
"Pay no attention, Lady," Murdock shot a murderous glance at Dak, "he's a stranger and
knows nothin' of yur . . . uh . . . customs. He didn't mean no insult."
"The lady knows exactly what I meant, Murdock," Dak argued, trying desperately to
ignore the growing evidence of her effect on him. His eyes locked with the pale aqua of the
crystal witch, praying she wouldn't glance back at his penis. His eyelids dropped. "I look
forward to her gentle touch after such a long time under your care."
Damn! Dak knew himself well enough to recognize the deep, husky sound of his voice
for what it was - a promise of long hours of heart-pounding, gut-wrenching sex. When her
aqua eyes widened in response and she looked back at the hard length of flesh pulsing
against his belly, his humiliation reached an all-time high.
"Fuck." Dak's whispered declaration summarized his opinion of himself in particular and
the situation in general.
"Shut yur bloody mouth, boy," Murdock bellowed, landing a blow to the side of Dak's
head. "It's bad 'nuff you insult the Lady. Now ya got a boner harder 'n any whore's heart.
What's the matter wit' you? Don't ya un'erstand? She's a crystal witch. Yur gonna bring death
'n destruction down on all of us!"
"Death and destruction?" Dak laughed, ignoring the ringing in his ears.
"From one puny little woman?" He turned to the woman standing next to him.
"You may buy me," he growled, seeking refuge in anger from his public display of lust,
"but I give you my vow that the first time you blink, I'll be gone."
He made no attempt to disguise the rage and frustration of the past months.
"Do your worst witch! Turn me into a toad! Strike me dead! Death will be a welcome
embrace!"
He finally noticed that Murdock and the entire mob of miscreants had backed further and
further away from the platform. The first trickle of fear slithered across his skin. Damn! What
if she really is a witch, you idiot? These assholes obviously know something you don't!
"Your anger is justified, Anderan," she consoled in a soft voice for his ears alone, "but I
expected better behaviour from you. Well, it is unimportant now."
Dak watched warily, fear of her unknown powers thundering in his increased heart rate, as
she reached into the gold metallic bag strapped to her waist. When she did nothing more
than lift a length of silver chain with an amulet of white stone suspended from it, he released
his trapped breath.
"My crystal will assure your cooperation." She stretched toward Dak's head with the
chain and frowned when he reared as far away from her hands as the rock allowed. "There's
no need for you to fight me," she whispered, "I won't harm you. The stone will also take care
of your . . . physical problem." She glanced back at his groin and blushed at the pulsing
proof of his virility.
"If you think that tiny piece of rock . . ." Whatever else Dak had to say died when the
chain slipped over his head and his mental capabilities scattered like so many dead leaves.
"You may remove his manacles, now," she told Murdock with a slight smile, "and bring
him some clothes. He won't give you any further trouble."
When the manacles fell from his wrist, Dak grabbed the piece of cool rock resting on his
chest. He couldn't lift it. Must have gone too long without proper circulation? He may be
weak as a kitten but since she put it on she could take it off.
Dak slipped into the pants a guard brought for him, grateful that his unexpected arousal no
longer pulsed with life. The woman handed Murdock a sack that clinked with the solid sound
of gold in exchange for a small stack of papers. Giving her time to finish the sale gave him
time to compose his thoughts. He was having trouble keeping his mind focused on what
was happening. Must be the heat.
She turned to him with a slight smile. "Are you ready?"
Yes! I'm ready for you to remove this damn rock!
"Yes, Lady," Dak answered softly."
What the bloody hell is wrong with you? That's not what you were going to say to her!
"Excellent. It's too late today to arrange for transport. I have a room ready where you can
bathe and rest."
She turned without another word and climbed down to the dusty street. Gathering up her
discarded cloak, she motioned for Dak to follow her. Without knowing why or how - he did
just as she bid.
(Excerpt unedited and may differ from published version.)
Excerpt (c) 2009
Doesn't anyone care that a naked man is chained to a rock in the middle of town? The
powerful Lord Beldon Dak, adopted son of King Zeth of Falcon Tor, second-in-line for the
throne, stood with nothing but his pride to shield his body. He fought against the humiliation
and despair that filled his nightmares and spilled over into his daylight reality. Focusing on
thoughts of revenge, he let the rage consume him until he could stand straight and tall in the
face of this latest attempt to break his spirit. Why staked out in the sun? What is that lousy
bastard up to, now?
He hurt everywhere, but he welcomed the excruciating pain in his body. For the past six
months, every morning started the same. At least two of Murdock's guards would drag him
from his cell and amuse themselves by beating whichever part of his body looked like it
might be healing. Lips, split and swollen from repeated punches, now cracked and oozed in
the unrelenting heat. The only areas of his body not marked with bruises in shades of
blue-black to greenish-yellow were his groin and his feet - and the rats constantly nipped at
his toes while he slept. With nothing to protect his back, every breath he took scraped more
flesh against the razor-sharp texture of the stone pillar anchoring the chains.
Yes, the pain was necessary. It was proof he still lived - and life meant another chance at
escape. A chance to find the rest of his crew before he came back here and blew this
miserable hell hole out of existence. He sought the anguish of six months of abuse, wrapped
his conscience in memories of brutal guards and hungry rats. Even the sting of tender flesh
burned by the searing desert sun gave him strength.
Whatever it takes, I will survive and escape.
Dak flexed his bare toes against the wooden floor of the platform. A shiver of
unexpected pleasure skittered up his spine at the feel of the wood. Year after year of fierce
desert winds had polished the surface to glassy smoothness. He closed his eyes, relishing
the sensation against the soles of his sensitive feet.
Get a grip! You're bare butt naked and playing footsie with the floor! Maybe Murdock's
finally driven you over the edge!
Running his tongue over his cracked lips, he dreamed of a cool goblet of rich, Anderan
wine. He could almost taste the heavy sweetness. Stop thinking about home or Murdock will
win!
Taking as deep a breath as his cracked ribs would allow, he carefully rotated his head
until it rested against the rough surface behind him. Forcing his mind away from thoughts of
Anderas, he surveyed the desolate area around him.
The sun, just beginning to appear above the horizon, blazed across the barren wasteland,
the heat already oppressive. Within hours, only the desert dwellers would be above ground.
By midday, the small hamlet would be virtually abandoned as the merciless winds blew
through the streets of the market, driving every living creature below ground. For now, the
place was packed with people. The stench of unwashed bodies, animal dung and
disease hung in the air as thick as the powdery dust of the unpaved streets. Peddlers with
their stalls of exotic spices, fabrics and precious gems, hawked their wares amid the chaos.
A small group of men gathered in front of him. No one said anything about him being
there. They just looked him over before conferring among themselves in hushed whispers.
As the crowd grew larger, half-dressed whores worked their way among the men while their
pimps kept careful account of the coins changing hands. Thieves, murders, smugglers, the
lowest dregs of a hundred different species filled the market of Safe Haven.
Safe Haven. Dak sneered at the farce. The twisted bastard who picked that name had a
really sick sense of humour. Nothing was safe here. He and his crew found that out the hard
way. Law didn't exist in the underground maze of rat warrens - unless you counted the
primal law of kill-or-be-killed. Everything had a price on Safe Haven and the right price
bought you anything.
The sound of harsh, too-loud laughter jerked him back to his reality. He felt the platform
shake under the ponderous steps of the heavy jailer. The gathered crowd began to push and
shove each other, jockeying for a better view.
"Well, looks like you ain't so full of piss 'n vinegar, now." Murdock's fetid breath washed
over Dak in a nauseating cloud, causing his stomach to churn dangerously. "You wuz mouthy
enough earlier."
"Piss off," Dak drawled in a bored voice.
"Watch yur tone wit' me, boy, or I'll cut that fancy tongue right out!"
"And break your mother's heart?" Dak purred. The crowd roared their approval of the
insulting comments.
"You friggin' bastard," Murdock growled under his breath, "I'm gonna enjoy seein' you
sold like a side of smoked meat."
A slave market. Is this what happened to my crew? Dak closed his eyes to shut out the
other man. It was too easy to antagonize his captor. The fat slob may have come unarmed to
a battle of wits, but he had unerringly hit the very heart of Dak's frustration.
A cold sweat added to the sheen already coating Dak's body. All six feet six inches of
exposed flesh dripped sweat in the blistering sun of this cursed, dying planet. It dripped from
his matted hair into his eyes. It coated his lips with salt. It oozed like corrosive acid into the
hundreds - thousands? - of lacerations on his back from contact with the abrasive rock. By
the Beard of the Prophet, he could feel the sweat dripping from his manhood.
His physical discomfort was minor when compared to the rioting emotions threatening to
rip him apart. Never had he felt such rage - and such impotence. He failed to protect his
crew, and in failing his men, he failed his King - and he failed himself. His humiliation at the
hands of Murdock's slave market was negligible when tallied against the loss of his ship and
crew. Were any of them still alive? Would he ever find them?
A sharp jab in his solar plexus brought a swift end to Dak's soul searching. Breathing
deep and slow, he fought against the rush of pain from ribs cracked in a previous encounter
with Murdock.
"Pay attention, boy," Murdock grinned, "things is fixin' to get real interesting."
He watched Murdock work the crowd like a first-class carnival barker. Within minutes he
had the rowdy crowd in the palm of his hand. Drawing a deep breath, Murdock bent over
and belched in the face of a woman standing at the front of the crowd. Having been the
recipient of that noxious breath, he fully expected the woman to faint - or puke. She just
stared at the slave master. When Murdock jerked to an upright position, the woman's lips
curved in what could have been a smile, except it never reached her eyes.
This is interesting. Dak watched with growing curiosity as she slowly reached up and
removed her hood, never breaking eye contact with Murdock.
"Blast me to hell 'n back," the guard on Dak's right whispered. "She's a crystal witch!"
One-by-one the people in the crowd noticed the woman with the silver-white hair. Dak
heard witch and white witch whispered in awe throughout the crowd. No. Not awe. Fear. The
kind of fear you can smell. The kind of fear that could turn a menacing mob into a pack of
snivelling slugs.
Very interesting. Dak grinned as the last of his guards backed behind the stone pillar.
What the hell is a crystal witch? Anyone who can make Murdock and his pack of mongrels
piss themselves in fear can't be all bad. Wouldn't do her any good to put a curse on
Murdock's miserable life, though. The bastard would take it as a compliment.
"A-all r-right," Murdock stuttered while backing away from the strange woman, "you
maggots listen close. I only gots me one pet today, so's ya better dig deep fer coin."
Dak tensed, the strange woman forgotten, when Murdock turned and pulled a
short-handled, braided leather whip from beneath his sleeveless shirt. When the first blow
struck his chest, he clenched his jaw, waiting for the pain that never really came. After six
months of Murdock's abuse, the whip was little more than an annoyance. The convulsive jerk
of abused muscle was the only visible indication that he felt the blow.
"E's built right fer heavy work."
Murdock laughed as he flicked the whip against Dak's chest and arms. With his arms
stretched tight above his head, anchored to the top of the giant X-shaped stone and his feet
secured against the wide-spaced bottom, he couldn't escape the lash. That knowledge
didn't keep him from trying. Grasping the heavy chains in his hands, he pulled at the
confining rungs until muscles bulged and veins distended with his effort. Struggling to keep
his breathing even, he sought the anger that was his constant companion - giving it free rein
over the pain and humiliation.
"An' wit' legs like these, he don' need no mount."
"But, Murdock," yelled a drunken heckler from the crowd, "after spendin' all this time as a
guest o'yurs, can he go the distance?"
Before the slave master could answer, Dak raised his voice above the din of the crowd.
"Ask your wife," he taunted in a tight, harsh voice.
The mob laughed and applauded Dak's insult. Whatever pleasure he got from delivering
his verbal volley ended when Murdock began to stroke the tip of the whip along the inside of
Dak's leg. He sucked in a hissing breath, silently cursing his fool-hardy insults.
"I tol' ya ta watch that tongue, didn' I?"
Every muscle in Dak's body stiffened when Murdock traced a path up his leg with the vile
leather until it rested against the very heart of his masculinity.
"Now, any of you females out there who might likes a bit of action," he raised the whip
until Dak's penis was exhibited for the crowd's perverted pleasure, "this 'uns more 'n enough
fur ya. Ya all heard him braggin' 'bout his abilities."
Dak twisted violently against his restraints. All he accomplished was to further mangle the
abused flesh of his back against the sharp rock.
With a careless flip of the leather whip, Murdock laughed. "Claims to be a bloody
Anderan lord. Now what's the first bid?"
Dak closed his mind to the rapid bidding. That was really stupid. Your temper damn near
got your balls sliced off. The sudden silence of the mob around him brought his senses to full
alert.
"'Ere now," Murdock yelled, "I ain't gonna let this prime piece of meat go fer no pissin'
sixteen hundert gold coins. Jes' think of the ease ya can have with 'im doin' all yur work."
"Ain't nobody here got work to do, you tight-fisted slop bucket. Now finish the deal."
Kierin shuddered at what she was about to do. She had no other choice. Thanks to
Draagon and his Phantom Riders, the alternative was death.
The horrid slave trader just confirmed the rumours. Her quest would soon be over. She had
so very little time left. The cost of tracking the source of the tale to this desolate place had
been staggering, but she would pay more. The stories were true.
Months ago, an Anderan Travel Craft with a full crew of seventy-five men developed
engine trouble and was forced to land here. Tricked by the false welcome of the landing
station, the crew was captured and sold at the slave market.
A healthy Anderan male would solve her problem, but she had feared she would be too
late. Her life would be worth nothing if all the men were sold - or dead. Sighing with relief,
she allowed herself to hope. An Anderan lord. She must bid on him, no matter the cost.
Kierin felt the sweat trickle down her neck, between her breasts and under her arms. She
pulled at the damp material clinging to her body, knowing there would be no relief from the
mounting heat. She closed her eyes and imagined herself back in her valley with its towering
trees, bubbling stream and gentle breezes. The image cooled her body, as she knew it
would, and she fought a smile at the reactions of those around her. They believed in witch
magic, but she knew the source of true magical power.
Before Murdock could end the bidding, Kierin interrupted in a strong, clear voice easily
heard above the din of the drunken crowd.
"Two thousand gold coins."
"That's more like it. Come forward and les' see the colour of yur coin."
Kierin maintained her eye contact while she removed her robe. The earlier sight of her
distinctive silver-white hair had driven the crowd back until she was virtually alone near the
centre of the platform. Her father would never approve of her using her appearance and
reputation in such a theatrical manner, but she intended to have that Anderan. She needed
him - no matter the cost.
Dak watched as the woman - the crystal witch - removed her heavy cloak and climbed
the shaky ladder to the platform. The cowering guards gave up all pretense of courage and
stumbled over each other trying to get away from the approaching woman. She was a tiny
little thing. Pretty, too, with her delicate, fairy-like appearance. Definitely no one to cause
fear in grown men. The most impressive thing about her was that heavy mane of silver-white
hair. There were blonds on Anderas but never had he seen such totally white hair on
someone so young. Even her skin complimented her hair with its pale translucence. Pretty
just didn't do her justice but she wasn't beautiful, at least not in the way he pictured beautiful
women. Exotic. Yea, that's what she is . . . exotic.
"Beggin' pardon, Lady," Murdock snivelled, "but what use does one of yur kind have fer a
slave?"
"My reasons are none of your concern." She walked slowly around Dak, taking a good
long look at what she saw - especially the area between his waist and his knees.
"Relax, Murdock," Dak drawled, intending to see just how far he could push Murdock's
fear of this woman, "it's obvious the lady has a need she thinks I can fill." He tried to ignore
the sick guilt churning in his stomach at insulting a female. Anderan men were raised to
cherish and protect women. It was as much a part of him as his personal honour and
integrity.
Don't be a fool! You can escape from her a lot easier than from this prison.
If she heard his comments, Dak couldn't tell. She continued to stare at his groin until he
began to harden beneath her gaze. Blast and damn! You're worse than a stallion sniffing a
mare in heat! By all the Ancient Prophets I will not have an erection now!
"Pay no attention, Lady," Murdock shot a murderous glance at Dak, "he's a stranger and
knows nothin' of yur . . . uh . . . customs. He didn't mean no insult."
"The lady knows exactly what I meant, Murdock," Dak argued, trying desperately to
ignore the growing evidence of her effect on him. His eyes locked with the pale aqua of the
crystal witch, praying she wouldn't glance back at his penis. His eyelids dropped. "I look
forward to her gentle touch after such a long time under your care."
Damn! Dak knew himself well enough to recognize the deep, husky sound of his voice
for what it was - a promise of long hours of heart-pounding, gut-wrenching sex. When her
aqua eyes widened in response and she looked back at the hard length of flesh pulsing
against his belly, his humiliation reached an all-time high.
"Fuck." Dak's whispered declaration summarized his opinion of himself in particular and
the situation in general.
"Shut yur bloody mouth, boy," Murdock bellowed, landing a blow to the side of Dak's
head. "It's bad 'nuff you insult the Lady. Now ya got a boner harder 'n any whore's heart.
What's the matter wit' you? Don't ya un'erstand? She's a crystal witch. Yur gonna bring death
'n destruction down on all of us!"
"Death and destruction?" Dak laughed, ignoring the ringing in his ears.
"From one puny little woman?" He turned to the woman standing next to him.
"You may buy me," he growled, seeking refuge in anger from his public display of lust,
"but I give you my vow that the first time you blink, I'll be gone."
He made no attempt to disguise the rage and frustration of the past months.
"Do your worst witch! Turn me into a toad! Strike me dead! Death will be a welcome
embrace!"
He finally noticed that Murdock and the entire mob of miscreants had backed further and
further away from the platform. The first trickle of fear slithered across his skin. Damn! What
if she really is a witch, you idiot? These assholes obviously know something you don't!
"Your anger is justified, Anderan," she consoled in a soft voice for his ears alone, "but I
expected better behaviour from you. Well, it is unimportant now."
Dak watched warily, fear of her unknown powers thundering in his increased heart rate, as
she reached into the gold metallic bag strapped to her waist. When she did nothing more
than lift a length of silver chain with an amulet of white stone suspended from it, he released
his trapped breath.
"My crystal will assure your cooperation." She stretched toward Dak's head with the
chain and frowned when he reared as far away from her hands as the rock allowed. "There's
no need for you to fight me," she whispered, "I won't harm you. The stone will also take care
of your . . . physical problem." She glanced back at his groin and blushed at the pulsing
proof of his virility.
"If you think that tiny piece of rock . . ." Whatever else Dak had to say died when the
chain slipped over his head and his mental capabilities scattered like so many dead leaves.
"You may remove his manacles, now," she told Murdock with a slight smile, "and bring
him some clothes. He won't give you any further trouble."
When the manacles fell from his wrist, Dak grabbed the piece of cool rock resting on his
chest. He couldn't lift it. Must have gone too long without proper circulation? He may be
weak as a kitten but since she put it on she could take it off.
Dak slipped into the pants a guard brought for him, grateful that his unexpected arousal no
longer pulsed with life. The woman handed Murdock a sack that clinked with the solid sound
of gold in exchange for a small stack of papers. Giving her time to finish the sale gave him
time to compose his thoughts. He was having trouble keeping his mind focused on what
was happening. Must be the heat.
She turned to him with a slight smile. "Are you ready?"
Yes! I'm ready for you to remove this damn rock!
"Yes, Lady," Dak answered softly."
What the bloody hell is wrong with you? That's not what you were going to say to her!
"Excellent. It's too late today to arrange for transport. I have a room ready where you can
bathe and rest."
She turned without another word and climbed down to the dusty street. Gathering up her
discarded cloak, she motioned for Dak to follow her. Without knowing why or how - he did
just as she bid.
(Excerpt unedited and may differ from published version.)
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