Avarice Blacksteel

Bride Price

Victor Krosse did not like making these excursions, he usually sent another trusted man in his stead. A man Like Greyson or Hawkins. However on this matter his Lord had been most insistent Victor attend personally.

As always it was over a woman, an unattainable woman. Yet another flower in the long procession of endless beauty that was for whatever reason always unacceptable to his dour Lord. She was not a virgin, she spoke too much, she was not as beautiful as her photograph. The list of faults Lothar found in his prospective brides was endless. His aide and second in command had long ago tired of the game.

The price was ridiculous and so was the summons. A turbaned black clad messenger had arrived bearing an artist’s hasty rendition of even to his eyes what promised to be a very spectacular woman. Oh we have reentered the medieval days! The Doctor thought sarcastically; as he again unfurled the portrait in his black gloved hands on its ragged canvas. How did he know this likeness was even accurate? It was probably some just demented artist's flight of whimsy, but sadly he must act on it.

Perhaps this will be the last time Victor sighed, as he rode his raven mount under the portcullis and out into the dunes that stretched for an infinity before him. A three day ride in the cold on an ailing man’s fancy did not appeal.

He would not worry over his Lord’s condition during his absence, his capable fawning understudy Merton would be quite adequate to administer his Lords care. The man would blindly do anything that the good Doctor ordered, and being never formally trained in the vast and complex field of medicine he would do anything he was told. Victor smiled at the thought, even in his absence he still had the capacity to pull the strings of his puppet on the throne.

He did not ride alone, he had six very capable men with him including Major Hawkins a man he implicitly trusted and valued. Perhaps it would not be all bad. Master Jacques did routinely hold some very stimulating entertainments after all. A smile again lit his bitter features as he grimaced into the cold wind thinking on the blood sports he so enjoyed but did not have the leisure to witness.

Victor was sure he would get a private viewing during his visit. Deciding the week's break may just do him good, he had been too long cloistered within these walls. He pulled the high collar up about his neck on his thick, wool military style overcoat. The gold buttons gleamed on the field of stark black, and his put his silver spur to his ebon mount’s flank urging it to an easy gallop. His men followed suit.

*****

Three days of hard riding and rough makeshift camps, Victor was glad to see the gates of the adobe walled structure part before him. The trip had been uneventful, a blessing in these dangerous times. Tonight he would enjoy the luxury of good food, fine wine, perhaps a hot bath followed the carnal delights of a well trained slave girl.

He and his men reigned in their tired horses before the water trough, servants and stable boys hurried to break the ice on the water before the thirsty animals.

Aran in chains and under heavy guard had been allowed the rare freedom of exercise up top in the open compound. His guards had secured him when the riders had ridden in. The handsome heavy horses and fine livery drew the eye, but in Aran’s case it was none of those things. He was drawn to the blood red standard and the black wolf centered on its crimson field. The Wolf Lord’s standard, that adorned the fine horses livery.

It had been over a year since he had at last fought this resilient foe. Remembering the great victory over the knights and crushing the Wolf himself in the canyon, only to be slaughtered and betrayed in their attack on the fortress. His clan had never recovered from that loss. He gazed at the scar that ran the full length of his sword arm, his own personal souvenir of that crushing defeat.

His guards were tugging on his chains, urging him in no uncertain manner to return below. Aran in defiance lingered, watching the party of men greet Master Jacques on the steps to his palatial home, only to be struck viciously by the hated wooden club. He was ushered down the steps that led to the subterranean corridors that connected the bleak cells of the pit fighters.

The cell door closed behind him, he sought his cape it was his only covering. He curled in a ball on the hard floor, darkness was descending rapidly. He thought of Maya and longed for a woman’s comforts. It had been so long.

He had almost drifted into sleep dreaming of soft yielding female flesh beneath him, when he woke to voices. There were two men with a lighted torch peering into his cell. “Here he is, he is quite the gladiator.”

The torch was thrust part way through the bars bathing Aran in a pool of light.

“Get up!” Master Jacques ordered. Aran complied slowly blinded by the light in his eyes. “Lose the fur.” Jacques commanded.

Aran let his covering fall from his powerful shoulders, he stood naked but for the steel restraints before the two men.

Victor was silent for a time, he had the express feeling he had seen this very man before. He was usually very accurate at recall, the man before him bothered his sensibilities. Yet he could not say why.

“What do you think?” Jacques asked expectantly.

“You are right he is exquisite, a very fine specimen. I am surprised you only branded him with the generic mark and did not add your own.”

Aran found himself subconsciously placing his left hand over the still fresh brand on his thigh, he was beginning to discover the truth of the mark that was made on him.

“I decided to only brand him as a common slave.” Jacques said. “I did not want to reduce his value by placing my own initials on him should he prove as good or better than my other champion fighter.”

“You would sell him then?” Victor questioned.

“Oh yes, for the right offer everything is for sale.”

Both men laughed, Aran did not feel comfortable being discussed in this way. It was as though these two men did not credit him with any form of human intelligence.

“He reminds me of a project I had once.” Victor mused out loud. “He bears an uncanny resemblance to a man I tortured for six days last year. He was strong, never seen any man last as long as he did. I finally had to resort to removing his sex. It was at that point I realized he did not have the information I was seeking.”

“I bet he spoke volumes then.” Again both men laughed.

“To be truthful he had very little to tell.” Victor said in a voice that held lustful overtones.

Aran stood frozen at what he had just heard. This Germanic accented man he could not view to any satisfaction beyond the flames of the torch had been the man of his brother’s torment.

“It would destroy a fighters performance to do that.” Jacques went on.

“Oh I am sure, it destroys most men.” Victor said lightheartedly.

“Well, I will grant you the privilege of watching this fine animal in action tomorrow as we conduct some business.”

“I would enjoy that greatly.” Victor purred.

“Ah it's cold down here.” Jacques stated rubbing his hands together. “Let us adjourn to the fire, for some songs performed my talented bard, some wine, and of course some beautiful young girls.”

“You are the most sublime of hosts.” Victor purred, he was glad he had come after all.


Aran had not slept at all well, inured to the hard ground and the cold as he was it should have been easy to do so. However he spent the long hours of night laying on his back looking up at the darkness of his cell dwelling on the visitor of last evening and his chilling admission. His fingers idly tracing the endless triangle scarred in to his thigh.

The grating of steel doors, the calls of his fellow prisoners, all the sounds echoed from the earthen walls to him. Aran woke, blond hair spilling over the dust on the floor, vibrant green eyes toward the ceiling as he had lain the entirety of the previous night. His keeper was already turning the key in the lock, the two faceless black clad men looming behind him. Always at the ready to subdue these dangerous inmates.

Aran was in no hurry to rise, he made no move to even cover himself. Keith set Aran’s ration down on the floor, there was no furniture of any kind in his cell just the hard dusty floor that suited for all purposes. Today he bore a metal pail and a rag draped over his arm, he set this down on the floor also. “Wash,” was all he said. Aran did not acknowledge his one word request. He merely waited for the men to leave.

He did not have long to wait. Keith never lingered in his company. The warrior rose slowly as he heard the footfalls of the retreating men and the series of iron barred doors being locked and unlocked as the other prisoners were fed and checked over.

It was the same routine every day. Aran wondered briefly how long could he do this, the thought held dangerous overtones. Better not to answer that he told himself, after all he knew from the conversation he had been privy to last night this may not be forever. In the words of Master Jacques he was for sale after all. He would content himself with that, as he reached for the icy water in the bucket to clean away the filth of many days.


Victor and his men had enjoyed a sumptuous evening of many delights. He had to admit the notorious slaver certainly could impress, his hospitality was grandiose. It was something Master Jacques was widely known for. Both he and Lothar had come here many times in the past, to be entertained and make various acquisitions.

These niceties aside, today they would talk business. Victor was mentally preparing himself for this as he rose to perform his morning ritual ablutions. They took some time, he was as always his sharp scintillating self as he emerged to take his breakfast with Jacques.

“My Lord was most distressed he could not make the journey this time.” Victor said as he seated himself at the wooden table. Unlike the one in his Lord's dining hall, this one was rather diminutive and rough hewn. There was little show of elegance here, not even a simple table cloth.

The food had been set forth. It was simple fare but in these hard times still very delicious.

“Yes, I was most disappointed also. I have missed the company of the old bear.”

The two men laughed, a slave girl hovered behind them pouring tea from a silver teapot into fine china cups. Incongruous in this otherwise brutal and bare looking abode. “Yes, I miss him,” Jacques said regrettably. “How is he anyhow?”

“He has his good and bad days.” Victor said, breaking the fresh baked bread with his hands anticipating its deliciousness.

“I am sure, well perhaps I can supply him with something that he can greatly enjoy?”

So he was already down to business Victor thought, so like this man. He sipped his tea, it was refreshing and one of the ways he loved to start his day. “So do tell me is she as good as her portrait suggests. Is she really worth ten tons of rations?”

Jacques smiled, folding his ring less hands over his thickening midsection. He looked most pleased with himself. “She is even better.” He promised. Jacques imperiously snapped his fingers and the door opened, Victor looked across to see two men escorting a very tall and graceful woman into the room. She held herself like a Queen.

For a moment even the officious and most confident Victor paused. Jacques caught his guests hesitation and surprise, the assured smile again alighting on his face.

“As you can see I did not lie.” Victor was thinking swiftly, she was beautiful. No, more than that. Exquisite, but even without knowing her he could already tell she would be far too much woman for his ailing Lord. He could already visualize this strong amazon ruling from Lothar’s side. A vision the Doctor did not relish. He had already decided this transaction should not go ahead.

“Would you like to see more?” There was an unmistakable roguish gleam in Jacques eye at the thought of this proud woman’s forced nakedness in front of his guest.

Victor saw the woman stiffen at Jacques words, even though she was tied and helpless Victor did not mistake the defiance and fight that burned in her lovely blue grey eyes for all to see. It would take a very strong man to make her his, Victor ruminated.

Possibly Jacques would have difficulty selling her after all, and would have been better advised to add her to his brutal retinue as a fighting curiosity to enthrall the masses. However he said none of this, merely telling his host he was stunned by her beauty, and he needed time to think.


The day was as those that preceded it, cold overcast, but thankfully not windy. A fine day for one of Master Jacques spectacles. Victor sat next to his guest in the best of the seats, his men also lounged close by, as did an assortment of guards and selected house staff, along with other trusted high ranked men who occupied this compound.

Aurianne sat nearby where she had been directed. Her hands were tied behind her back, she smiled at Jhary as he sought her company. “Shall I play you a song m’lady?” He asked, mischief in his voice. He had fared better in this place than all others. Aurianne had to admire the ever charming man’s ability to always land on his feet, and seemingly without ever having to draw a sword.

She smiled, the music would be good cover for anything they wished to exchange. Jhary’s elegant fingers began to pluck a tune. The few simple notes becoming much more as the artful man lent the composition he knew by heart new life. Aurianne saw both Victor and Master Jacques look her way, but they soon turned their attention from her to their own conversations.

“He plans to try to marry me off to the highest bidder. I will not go quietly.” She said trying to appear calm, yet inside Aurianne felt very impassioned.

“He wishes to retain my services here m’lady. Not so bad for me.” Aurianne nodded, neither of them mentioned or commented on Aran’s fate.

“I have something very special in store for you today Doctor.” Jacques announced. Victor smiled one of his tight lipped smiles, mind elsewhere. Wading through the best possibilities to say no to this deal he was supposed to broker at his Lord’s behest. Even though he loved nothing more than a good display of human misery and bloodshed, especially a man’s struggle in his last moments. That delicious moment when the man knows he is beaten, but Victor’s mind was not on it today.

Jacques stood, and the first match of the day was initiated. It was between a powerful man armed with no more than a short sword, and an enraged bull.

“My wager is on the bull.” Victor said over the noise of the small crowd, as the huge brown animal came bolting into the ring on its short, powerful legs. It was obvious the great beast had already been previously tormented to ready it for the show, and it was now in a very enraged state.

Aurianne looked down at the terrible spectacle that played out before her. The man in the ring resembled Darius, he fought well. The bull was fierce, with little care for its own hide. It charged the man without care even tearing its own flesh as it barreled recklessly into the walls of the arena smashing anything in its path.

It seemed immune to pain. Its white boned horns were sharp and deadly. It attempted to gore the man as he fought to get close enough to disembowel the monster. This being one of the only strategies that could really injure the enraged animal. For its size it was surprisingly swift, turning about on itself in an instant to suddenly face its attacker. A truly terrifying foe.

Aurianne looked away as the great animal caught the man with its horns opening up his side torn and bloody. Jhary’s tune faltered momentarily but bravely he played on, preferring his music and to watch his hands strumming the instrument as the terrible contest reached its bloody conclusion. Man for all his cleverness had failed over the might of the beast.

“You win,” Jacques said to his guest. Taking up his goblet. Victor did likewise, answering only with the faintest of smiles.

It took some time to remove the bull from the arena. The vanquished man was dragged unceremoniously away, his blood trailing in the dust. The arena floor was raked and prepared for the next bout.

A large wooden saw horse was placed into the center of the ring. This device usually stood in the courtyard. It was used to discipline unruly slaves, or hold them for other brutal purposes. Once the unfortunate was bent over it and secured they were helpless to avoid a caning or even a sexual advance.

Jacques turned toward Victor. “Now for something very special,” he said. “An exhibition match between my champion fighter and my most promising new one.”

“Surely I do not merit this honor?” Victor was quick to reply.

Jacques smiled expansively “You mistake my intentions.” He elaborated. “It is merely an exhibition bout, but should my champion win you will I am assured vastly enjoy the outcome.”

“I see.” Victor replied, draining his glass.


Aran stood in his cell while his keeper applied the grease to his body. He could hear the sounds of the first match being concluded beyond the two steel barred gates that divided him from the arena proper. Why he had been requested to wash this morn was quite beyond him, the awful smelling rancid fat made any earlier attempt at cleanliness most futile.

All he could think of was his keeper desired his charge to be less fragrant as he applied it. Aran had after all not washed for many weeks. The man’s impersonal hands still bothered him, but he willed himself to stand still. He had been hit many times for non cooperation. All Kevin had to do was growl and he would feel the painful blow of the club on his back. The last thing he needed before a fight was soreness for his opponent to capitalize on.

“Today you will face Master Jacques unbeaten favorite, in hand to hand combat.”

So this explained the grease that was being applied to this every inch, all to prolong the contest and make it doubly hard to find a hold.

“It is only a show contest like wrestling, do you understand? There will be no killing.” Aran nodded.


The first of the contestants entered the arena to much fanfare, this man was Master Jacques' champion. The fighter had been owned by Jacques for just a little over a year, and had remained undefeated. Many fine wagers had been won and lost on this man. A year was a long time to survive on the pit fighting circuit, almost unheard of.

Aran was introduced second, another rousing cheer as he entered. Both contestants stood weaponless and naked opposite one another. Each man in contemplation of the other, hoping to register some weakness.

Aran sighted the triangle mark on the man’s left thigh and on his right one he bore a single letter J. The personal brand of Master Jacques. Aran was a good four inches taller than the other man, younger as well, and quite possibly stronger. He flexed his balled fists, feeling fairly confident.

He looked into the crowd today, most of the amphitheater lay empty, his jade eyes alighting on her. He paused captured by her presence, she was still here, still safe. He hoped unspoiled, though he had to confess he would have her anyway. She was looking down at him was it with fear, pity or something else? Aran was held spellbound by her gaze, in a way no earthly chains had ever made him feel.

He had erred in his awareness and the bout had already started. His opponent caught him off guard and bore him swiftly to the ground.

Victor had not missed the silent yet powerful interaction between the man below and the beautiful woman who sat back straight, her eyes on the arena floor. He wondered briefly if he was not being passed sullied goods after all. Possibly the large blond warrior had already divested her of her virginity. At last he had the material he sought, he would use this later to signal his intent to decline the deal.

Aran was caught unawares by the brutish man as he charged him, seeking to force him into an inescapable hold. Aran registered he was at a terrible disadvantage almost immediately.

He had hair, his opponent did not. The man already had a great knot of it in one hand and Aran could not find any means of escaping his grasp. He tried to struggle loose. The man was a skilled fighter and would not let him escape holding on to his mane doggedly. The two large men locked together rolled across the dusty floor.

It was one thing for him to stand on the field of battle, a four foot great sword in hand, keeping his foes at bay as he swung it in an arc, but quite another to wrestle an experienced fighter where the only weapons were his hands.

Aran had killed men with his bare hands many a time, and he sought to do the same. He had been warned this was not a death match, however it was hard to hold back, and he sensed the other man was also feeling the same way. In his each movement the golden warrior sought to grasp the bull neck of his adversary and choke him into submission. Lesser men succumbed easily to this, but Aran found it was an almost impossible mission on such a strong male.

The task was simple, overpower your opponent and chain him to the horse. Do this thing and you have won, Keith had advised. Aran wondered at this time just how easy that would really be?

The contest was no short one, the two combatants rolled, punched and kicked one another on the floor below. They did not stop at these things either. They even bit one another and sought to implement any underhanded trick they could use to get the other man to succumb.

For one moment Aurianne thought Aran had indeed won, he hit the man so hard with his fist blood sprayed. He was stunned and the blond warrior almost had him over the horse one wrist fastened to the wood.

Only one hand was all that was needed to gain victory, as once secured the unfortunate would be eventually overcome. Aurianne found she was on the edge of her seat absorbed in the brutal contest unfolding below. Though she had no personal love for the golden savage, she found herself drawn to his bravery and stoicism; the last few weeks for him had been brutally hard.

Seeing he had been almost bested the more experienced fighter found something else within, or had Aran grown too confident or careless. The two men by now were covered in dust, making handholds easier to secure. He kicked at Aran viciously, the blond giant winded rolled backwards and seemed dazed for a moment.

The older man did not pause, he was up and pulling his opponent toward the saw horse. The crowd made a collective sound as Aran’s wrist reached the metal shackle mounted on it. He seemed to fight furiously then as he registered the cold band of metal clasping about his flesh, but it was too late. He fought bravely on in the face of gradual defeat, it took many minutes to secure his other hand. Once he was fastened in this way his ankles were bound swiftly.

Aran tasted the bitter bile of defeat as he gazed at the earthen floor. He felt his opponent clasp a handful of his hair in his scarred fist, pulling his head back that he may view the spectators above, knowing he was disgraced and beaten.

At that very same moment he felt the man’s sex forcing into him from behind. He twisted in his shame, the sharp pain secondary, knuckles white, his veins raised as he struggled in the bindings. However the biggest struggle was in his mind, how could he live with the knowledge she had borne witness to his shame.

Victor gazed at the spectacle before him his face a mask of passivity, hiding what was inside. He could see the experienced fighters elation at his win, and even though the Doctor was not that way inclined the aberrant act excited him greatly. Victor keenly felt the warm rush of euphoria also inflaming his own more intimate desires. He looked across at his host, his eyes too were fixed on the gladiators in the arena covered in dirt, grease, and sweat, engaged in the most primal act of dominance and submission.

Victor was so affected it took him many moments to speak. He found he could not take his eyes from the broken warrior still chained to the horse. He had suffered the very thing most men feared even more than death.

“I am most glad that was not I.” Victor said at long last finding his voice.

“Yes, I know what you mean.” Jacques responded, rising to conclude the attraction. “Still it's better that he uses a male slave, than ruining the value of one of my much harder to come by slave girls.” Victor nodded.


Aran was left fastened to the wooden horse, head down. Long wheaten hair trailing in the dirt, until well after the crowds had dissipated and the victorious gladiator had been seen to his cell. He had never felt so shamed. I will never lose again he reprimanded himself viciously. He had not expected the taste of defeat to be so shameful, made even worse by her presence.

He felt a hand on his rump, he jumped and growled thrashing in his bindings. Tearing the skin on his wrists for his efforts. “Take it easy, its over. Settle down!” It was Keith. Aran did not listen to the man’s voice, all he had felt was the touch, he snapped and went wild fighting with no thought nor reason. He could not escape from his predicament but he fought it anyway.

He was hit savagely on the backs of his legs then with the cat, in an effort to pull him from his stupor. They were nicely exposed to the lash, as was his rump. Aran did not care. He yelled and screamed all manner of profanities. The rest of the imprisoned inmates had begun to be stirred by his outburst, the entire complex erupted in a cacophony of strident yells and unruly sound.

The lash abated, in this case it was senseless punishment. Keith had realized this man was beyond the reach of pain at least for the moment. The experienced slaver had seen this reaction many times before. Some men did better in captivity than others. He sensed this man before him had always been proud and free. He will either learn or break he thought, it was that simple.

Aran’s hindquarters now burned angry red and were cut in places. He was still struggling and screaming his incoherent wrath. He seemed to no longer see those about him. “Quiet them,” Keith said to the guards, the men leaving to dispense order to the unruly men in no uncertain fashion.

Aran almost choked on the dirty rag that was thrust into his mouth and tied there. He could only make muffled sounds of protest. Let him wear himself out Keith reasoned as he watched the flailing man. He stationed one guard to keep watch and left Aran to his private miseries and outpouring of emotion.


Aurianne heard the disturbance from her second story window. To begin with just one anguished shout. She knew it could only be him. She put her hand on the black iron bars resting her face between them, looking out onto the pit. She had a good vantage point from this second story prison and could see him quite plainly. There was no glass in the window panes, and the room was cold.

The crack of the disciplining leather on flesh sounded loudly in the cooling and still evening air. She turned away unable to witness any more of the warriors suffering. We are all caged she reflected, some of us just live in more pleasing cages than others.

Jhary heard the cries as well, not unlike those of a wounded beast, his fingers were uncharacteristically sore from plucking his guitar, he had played much of late. He winced inwardly when he thought of the life his companion now had, and felt somewhat guilty too. Oh blessed I am he thought. Knowing implicitly he would not give up his profession for the world, glad he did not feel the lure of the sword, or the rush of the battlefield.


Victor looked across at his host, he was thinking of a dozen polite ways to openly decline the transaction he had journeyed so far for. However he used none of them. He simply looked the flamboyant slaver in the eye and announced he would before anything was decided report to his Lord. It was far from what he wanted to say, and it was not satisfying to Victor either. He would have much mental wrestling ahead as he rode home in the coming days. Still, thinking was what Victor did best. He would come up with something clever that made all parties believe they had won.

It was time though to first plant the seeds of doubt. At the very least lower the slavers expectations of price. “You say you captured that new fighter of yours along with that woman and another male slave?” Jacques looked at his guest took another drink of his wine and coughed. He had let this fact slip initially to Victor, it had been careless of him and he could see where this was likely to head. He nodded, there was no point in denial.

The slave girl took the plates that now only bore the remnants of the meal. It was just Jacques and himself at the table. He saw the brutish man look lubriciously at her departing rump. “How can you truly be assured of her purity? Do you really conceive an animal such at that.” He pointed out towards the fighting circle indicating Aran. “Would just be content to look?” Victor allowed himself the liberty of a cynical laugh, deciding to just be blunt, after all it was a very large transaction at stake.

“You have me.” Jacques conceded. “But this my good Sir is not about purity, it's about uniqueness, after all be blunt with me Victor. Where have you in these hard days seen such unsullied beauty? She is perfect.”

Victor smiled, more a private one to himself, though he cared not if his host saw. He had seen the essence of pure loveliness, he bore it proudly in his possession. Yes, he was no stranger to unblemished female beauty. He had it for his own. Thinking of his beautiful daughter slave sequestered in his apartments. She whom existed only for him.

Victor again smiled, always his guarded self, never truly divesting himself of his imagined armor before anyone. Even those equivalent in his own rank and power. Yes, especially not with those. “I believe the price is a tad high, for something though very exquisite is not intact.”

Jacques shifted in his chair, relaxed and most sated from the good meal and the days spectacle still firing his blood.

“I think men place a too high an importance on such things. However I guess that will be for your Lord to decide.”

Victor was stung with a sharp sense of annoyance at the slavers words. Not at all happy at being so flippantly disregarded. However he masked it well, being very good at the art of subtleties with influential men. Most essential for one who pulled the strings from behind the throne.


Victor sat astride his fidgeting horse amid his men, the ebon beast like him was restless and eager to depart. He leant from the saddle toward Jacques to the tune of creaking leather. He had one more matter to address before his parting. It was merely a thing of curiosity of which he had to know the answer.

Finally it had come to him possibly a way to test his captive subject. “Would you be interested in a very private contest, I believe I have a very interesting candidate I would like to pit against one of your better men?” A smile flashed across Jacques’ dark visage his yellow teeth showed, this man was always up for a chance at sport.

“I’m always interested, especially for the right wager.” He replied, dark eyebrow raised.

“Most excellent. Shall we arrange it for my next visit along with my Lord's reply?”

“Consider it done.” Jacques did not hesitate. Victor circled about on his horse and bid Jacques goodbye. Leaving the high walled compound at a flying gallop his black coat airborne behind him.


Victor returned late in the evening after his return three day journey, seeking immediate audience with his Lord in his bedchamber. He was still flushed with cold from his long ride, adding rare hue to his usual pale coloration. He was tired, but his straight backed official manner did not show it.

He had dismissed his men to their lives and families. The Doctor had desired this also, yet he did not have that luxury. He had not even bothered to divest himself of his heavy overcoat or gloves. With the growing shortage of bio diesel and the strict rationing that had been implemented he also had no need, most of the fortress was now bathed in darkness and cold. He neared his Lord’s sanctum, his highly polished black, calf hugging boots resoundingly loud in the deserted hallway. The two men on duty saluted him and parted, and Victor went to do what he must.

The candles were still lit, bathing his Lord's chamber in an agreeable light. The entire surroundings were plush, closely reminiscent of a royal boudoir. It was much warmer here lulling him into sudden, unwelcome, tiredness. Victor fought his weakness. He must remain sharp.

“Greetings Victor.” A swiftly executed curt bow in answer.

“I trust my understudy cared for you well my Lord?”

“Most well.”

“I am pleased my Lord.”

“Well, was she worth it, was she half a lovely as her picture?” Lothar beckoned his man to sit in a carved mahogany chaise lounge by his bedside, it was upholstered in rich burgundy velvet. Victor did as he was bid, careful not to get too comfortable that tiredness his enemy would cloud his thoughts.

“Beauty Sir is as always in the eye of the beholder.”

“What are you saying, you were not impressed, she was not as advertised?” Lothar looked at him quizzically.

“It depends what you define as beauty my Lord.” Victor evaded.

“YES, OR NOT!” Lothar’s voice boomed, pulling Victor from his torpor. “I have no patience for your games. Give me a straight answer.”

Lothar’s dead brown gaze bored into his second in commands clear blue one, commanding and brutal in essence.

“She was tall Sir, very tall. Taller than many men.” Victor said trying to consolidate his tact swiftly. In three days ride he had still found nothing to use conclusively short of telling a lie. However the lie would be found out in time, and Victor's standing would be impaired. He could not risk it.

“More a warrior woman Sir, certainly nothing like your formerly betrothed my Lord.”
“Do you think a wheelchair bound man cares about her height! Perhaps a change is what a jaded man needs.” Lothar ruminated out loud, stroking his almost non existent beard. Looking past his aide at the tapestries that blanketed the walls.

Victor felt panic, he must head him off. “She was no virginal bride my Lord, hardly worth the hefty price that Master Jacques places on her.”

“How do you know this Victor?”

“Master Jacques in his careless excitement let it slip my Lord that she was captured along with two other men. One of them now resides to fight in the pit. I cannot honestly believe on seeing this savage he would have left her intact. That my Lord is my view.”

“I see,” Lothar seemed calmer, he was thinking. Victor shifted on the chaise restlessly hoping this would negate his Lords keenness to pursue the matter. Lothar caught his eye and held him. “Humor a sick man Victor, pay his price and bring her here. I wish to decide for myself.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Inside the tired man felt as though he had just swallowed splintered glass.

“Rest a few days, but do send a messenger forthwith to tell him he has a deal.”
“Yes, my Lord, consider it done.” Victor’s face betrayed no hint of his restless emotions.

“In a few days you may return to collect my bride.”

“Understood my Lord.” Victor rose stiffly from the lounge knowing he was at last dismissed, bowed, and departed for his own private domain. The grandfather clock chimed twelve resonantly in the dark hall beyond sight. The only upside he could see to all this was he would get to test his unusual captive sooner rather than later. He would think on this after he had rested and enjoyed her loveliness. He had been aching for her for days. She had no hold on him, and yet she was the center of his universe.