Slaves of the Dynasty, part one
STRAIGHT
Basically, I\'ve had these thoughts in my head and decided to justtype them up. This is the first of x chapters in which CaptainCedric is stripped of his sword in exchange for shackles. He may bestripped of something else, but if he isn\'t he\'ll at least wish hewas. Please let me know if you would like to see more of him. Thx!
` Do you know what the worst part of it was? The rice. Breakfast, dinner, and
the rare, but much appreciated, lunch, consisted of rice. That all ended with
my training…but then I’m getting ahead of myself. I remember one morning,
after finishing my meal, I peered over to my trainer. His name was once
Lucius, but his owner had renamed him _hung_. Slave names aren’t normally
capitalized, so I’ll write them a little differently to keep it from confusing
you. I’ll not be risking a whip just in the interest of being grammatically
correct! *Ahem* As I was saying, _hung_ was a rather quiet man. When he
scolded his charges it was because he truly did care, both about them and
their soon-to-be mistresses. `

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally he spoke “Respond if you understand me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will he be alright?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

  

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