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, The Protector
by CJ Johnson
Excerpt (c) 2007
* * * * *
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.)
Dak, The Protector
by CJ Johnson
Excerpt (c) 2007
* * * * *
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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