Erotic Masterpiece, Volume 1: Laliah Unchained -- free preview

 

Chapter One: The Chosen One

 

    If Broderick had been more familiar with the coastline of Falesh, he would not have left his ship at anchor, and climbed to the ledges of the sharp peak to try to orient himself. If he had not climbed the ledges of the sharp peak, he would never have encountered Laliah, the Chosen One, and we would have no story to tell. But he was not familiar with the coastline, and he did climb the ledges to look around, so here we are.

    This story takes place in the distant past or future on a planet very much like our own. To those who lived there, it was known as the Four Winds World. The winds blew outward from the hot middle of the Great Central Sea, making travel among the four continents that ringed it very difficult indeed. The people of each continent knew of the others, but were too preoccupied by local concerns—alliances, betrayals, celebrities, recipes, gossip—to think much about the others across the water. What knowledge they did have was shady and unreliable, coming mainly from outdated books and the whispers of Hierian traders. Hierians were a dangerous and secretive race, intent on driving hard bargains and not above cutting throats.

    Prince Broderick had grand dreams to bring the Four Winds World out of its isolationism. He was leading an official delegation from the Kingdom of Callisto in the north to the rich lands of the Falesh in the east. He would distribute gifts. He would establish trade and good will. He would bring back an ambassador to Callisto. He was eager to begin doing all that—just as soon as he figured out where he was. He had traveled for weeks across dangerous seas with thirty men in his ship, the Fair Flagon. Finally they had sighted land. He just wasn’t sure which land. For now, his ship was parked in the cove below. He was pretty sure this was Falesh, but he did not know which was to proceed along the coast to reach Falesso, the great capital city. The coast presented a face of unbroken jungle, with no towns or villages, no sign of habitation at all. Hence the cove and this climb to the high ledge to have a look around.

    Broderick initially passed very close to her without noticing. You might wonder how it is possible to miss a naked girl chained to a bare rock, her arms and legs extended so that she formed an X. In fact, the tawny hue of her skin was almost identical to the color of the smooth granite slab to which she was confined. Her hair could be mistaken for the dusty lichen upon the rock. She did not move or cry out when he climbed out onto the high ledge, and his attention was focused outward, searching for the way to Falesso. His charts were old, a product of the There-Be-Giants Chart Company, a notoriously unreliable concern.

    The ledge was roomy, with a fine view of the coastline. The sharp peak ranged behind, blocking any view inland. With his spyglass he peered up and down the coast in both directions, looking for clues to the best passage. He stared into the small eyepiece, using his free hand to block the sun.

    Broderick’s sight ranged up and down the coastline, with no hint of the great city visible in either direction. He was becoming frustrated. He’d expected to see Falesso from here. His view went farther to the right, and farther still, and became fuzzy. He kept turning to the right, and at last something swam into focus. Something besides jungles and mountains. A habitation of some kind, or perhaps a land form—Broderick had never seen the like. It was mound-shaped, and appeared very smooth. Its rounded sides rose uniformly to a small circular roof of dark crimson material, a little rougher than its smooth surroundings. A circular chimney topped the small roof. He squinted hard into the glass. He spotted another close behind, identical to the first, which meant it was likely of human construction. Were there more? Perhaps a village. He moved the glass farther right, and found himself staring into dark eyes.

    He yelped, dropped the eyepiece, and snatched his sword from its scabbard. Then he saw the naked girl, and saw that she was tied up. He drank in her body—the long legs, the breasts he had mistaken for buildings, penumbra of hair wreathing her head. But only for a second. She was watching him. She saw him seeing her, and she had not said a word. To Broderick, a seasoned warrior, this silence came across as a warning. Her captors must be near-by. He was alone, his men an hour away. He tore his eyes from the riveting gaze of the girl to the mass of broken stone and boulders around her, and the edges of the rough scrub foliage from which these escarpments protruded. He was alert for any movement, any glint of metal, any crunch of gravel. He turned all the way around, taking the measure of every patch of moss, every pebble, his sword at the ready.

    His gaze returned to her. In a low voice he said, “Are they close by? Point with your eyes which direction.”

    “You will have to speak up.”

    Her voice was shockingly normal for a naked girl chained to a rock. When he didn’t answer immediately, she spoke again, with a trace of impatience. “Hey? Sword-carrier? Is that a Northreach accent, or do you have a learning impairment?”

    “Learning impairment?” Broderick stalked towards her. He controlled himself; it could still be a trap. He glanced around, but could see no danger, no lurkers with knives among the rocks. He looked back at her, staring brazenly at him. The insolence of this girl, from her place so exposed and vulnerable, twitched powerful urges inside him. She was helpless, his to take. And a fine prize she would be.

    Broderick relaxed a little. She was a mouse, her tail caught in a trap, baring her tiny teeth to the cat. Like the playful and cruel tom, he would toy with her first, before using her as nature dictates. He advanced upon her, planted the point of his sword in the sand between her outstretched heels, and rested his hands on it. A small smile creased his lips. He said, with false gallantry, “It appears that I might be of some service, Madame.”

    “I am no madam, sir,” she responded haughtily. “I am pure maid, and set to die as maid, for that is my destiny as the Chosen One. You may not interfere with the sacred rites of the Falesh people.”

    “I am in a position,” he said lightly, “to interfere with you in any way I that desire.”

    “..ony way dat I desoyer.”

    Broderick tilted his head to one side. Mocking his accent? From where she lay, chained naked to a rock? In any other circumstance, such an insult would have been answered with cold steel. But here and now, it inflamed him in a different way. Also it made him aware of her accent, lilting and melodious, like the music of the stringed gourd. He wanted to hear her speak again.

    But first, he simply stared at her, frankly, appraisingly. Her body was perfectly formed, proportionate, athletic. She could swim five miles or carry five skins of water, he was sure of that. In the muscles of her thighs, and with her wide shoulders, she reminded him of the strongest of the boyish warriors who rode with him to battle. But her hands were not calloused, and the image of strength was countered by a soft luminescence of the skin, especially upon her full and firm breasts that he had seen from very close up though the glass. Broderick was no stranger to the company of unclothed women, but he had never seen skin of this luster. It seemed almost translucent, as if he could see into its soft web of flesh and capillary. This aspect of skin made her seem even more naked, if that was possible. As did something else he had never seen.

    “You have no tufts,” he said.

    “Tufts, sir?”

    “No hair. Here,” he pointed to his own body, “or here.”

    With forced patience, as if instructing the slow-witted, she said, “I was bathed by my handmaidens for three days. Bathed and powdered and shaved. I must be beautiful. I am the Chosen One.”

    “Chosen for death?”

    “Yes.”

    There was a pause. She stared at him, and seemed to decide something. “But as long as you are here, interfering, I would welcome a drink from your flask. It is warm in the sun, and I have a thirst.”

    “I will gladly relieve your thirst,” he said. “But you must satisfy my curiosity about one thing.”

    “You are an incurious man,” she said, “to have curiosity about only one thing.”

He picked up the fallen spyglass and pocketed it. The sword he left upright and rigid between her legs, gleaming in the sun. He came around beside her, sitting down cross-legged facing her head. “How comes it that a pure maid, as you call yourself, shows no trace of maiden modesty, even with legs forcibly spread, your most private pink skin open to the sky, with not even its native hair to shield it from my eyes—or the eyes of anyone? Are girls among the Falesh brought up to walk naked among the men?”

    “The girls of the Falesh are brought up not to cower before men,” she said. “And they wear clothes—modest or alluring according to the occasion. What you have come upon, as even you are capable of discerning, is not a regular occurrence. It happens only once each score of years.”

    “And only to, as you call yourself, the Chosen One. Tell me, for what sins have you earned this barbaric punishment?”

    “You said one question. You promised water.”

    “Ah, yes.” Broderick took up the flask from his belt, and uncorked it. As he moved it toward her lips, watching her eyes follow it hungrily, he was nearly overcome with desire. He wanted to toss aside the skin, rip off his leather jerkin and leggings, be as naked to the sky as she was while he used her. But still he paused, for he knew it was in large part her spirit, her audacity, that so inflamed him. A broken toy would no longer be fun. The cat wanted to play longer with his mouse. He put the skin to her lips, pouring a little at a time, carefully, so she did not choke. Her lips surrounding its opening made his heart beat faster. When she nodded for him to stop, he dribbled some of the water on her neck, watched as it made its small courses around her neck and past her shoulder. He moved it a little farther down, and the splash off her breast brought her nipple to hardness. The awareness that she was watching too, watching him watch, with her unsmiling, unpanicked gaze, gave him the stirrings of an erection. He didn’t know how much longer he could stay master of his desires. Like nothing he had ever wanted in his life, he had to have her.

When he touched the nipple with the tip of his finger she lay her head back, and closed her eyes. She was submitting to the inevitable. And that, too, made him want her. But a broken toy would no longer be fun. She seemed too precious to use up so quickly.

    “You will not die today,” he said, coming to the decision suddenly. “Not only will you live, but live to see the gardens and boulevards of Callisto, the greatest of all the nations. Whatever you have done to come to this sorry end, your slate is clean. I will free you and you will come with me.”

Her eyes opened during his speech, though her head did not move. She was staring straight up, into the blue sky. She said, “You will free me to be your slave.”

    “No, I mean…well, perhaps a consort, but, well…” Annoyance flared in him. He slapped her face. She said nothing. He got to his feet and spoke down at her, with the sun behind him. “I am offering you escape, protection. You are in no position to negotiate.”

    She squinted up at him. “Oh, but I am,” she said. “You see, I do not fear death upon this rock. It is my destiny. I am the Chosen One.”

    Her cheek glowed red where he had slapped it. He felt remorse, and was disgusted with himself for feeling it. He should do it, use her, get it over with, go back and regale his men with the tale of his extraordinary find, over strong Callistrian drink. Yes, he would tell them how he toyed with her, and then how he first used her while the bonds still held her…and how he then…and how he next…

    And they would never believe him. Or if they believed him he would never be able to convey one-tenth of her comeliness. An insolent naked girl, debating him over his offered mercies! It was all too absurd. No, he would just have to drag her back to the camp, let each man have a turn with her, or several at once—that would stop her rude mouth for once and ever. But even as these thoughts flashed through his mind he knew them to be false. The instinct of the protector was strong in him, and if any creature ever needed protecting, it was she.

    “Look,” he said reasonably. “There’s no destiny but the one we make for ourselves. Something brought me here to find you, and free you before you died of exposure or became victim to some wild beast or man.”

    “Pterodactyls.”

    “What?”

    “I will be torn apart and eaten by pterodactyls. And it is for no crime or sin, sir. Rather, it is a great honor, the highest honor one can win. Ever since I was chosen, at age eighteen, I have been pampered and loved and honored, the envy of every Falesh girl. For four years I have had the choicest foods, the most beautiful clothing, the most learned tutors, the truest of friends. I have lived the best life the Falesh can live, which at its meanest is better than that of any other people on the Four Winds World.”

    “So you can be eaten by pterodactyls when at twenty-two? A truly wonderful people.”

    “We are, sir. But everything comes at a price. As you might know from your travels, it is invariable that very good things come at very high prices. Some would say this is a very high price.” Her bare shoulders shrugged. “I believe it is not so high.”

    “You’ve been brainwashed.”

    “Brain washed? We do not have this term in Falesh, but I take your meaning, I think. No, I don’t believe my brain has been washed. We have rituals. Every twenty years the choicest virgin of between twenty and twenty-four years must be given up as offering, or the pterodactyls will raid and ravage Falesso, killing innocents and creating mayhem.”

    Broderick had almost forgotten he was talking to a bound, naked girl, so rapt was his attention. As his gaze lingered on the exquisite curve or her collar bone, he mused, almost to himself, “Twenty-two years old.”

    “Yes.”

    “And still a virgin.”

    “We’ve been over this, sir.”

    “How is did you end up the one? Lottery? Graduation prize?”

    Again she gave him that look, the one that branded him a fool. “It is that I am the most beautiful, of course.” Her look did not waver, and there was no irony. It was simply the truth. A truth that accounted for her unashamed, even regal bearing. Modesty is borne of an awareness of imperfection. Even naked and chained, she had no such awareness. And as Broderick drank in again her luminous skin, he had none either.

    “So it is agreed, you will come with me,” he said, “and not as slave. We in Callisto know pleasing employments, and there I will make a new life for you. Did I mention I’m a prince?”

    “Of course you are.” For the first time, she seemed to soften a little. “You are not unhandsome,” she said quietly. “And you speak mostly with a civil tongue.” She sighed momentarily, but her voice was resolute. “I cannot neglect my oath. It would be a terrible sin to abandon my people to pterodactyls.”

    “I will protect Falesso!” Broderick exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “I will take your place, I will wait for them, and when they swoop in, they will meet my cold steel.”

    “But the creatures will see you are no maiden, sir.”

    “Pterodactyls have notoriously poor vision. They must get close to their prey. They are fierce, but I have slayed many, and I will do so again, for you.” He took up his sword and sliced the air, hoping she would not see he was making it up. He knew nothing of pterodactyls. But at that moment he would have said anything to get her to go willingly. “I’ll bring you to my ship, and then come back to deal with the fiends. I will return victorious, and your people will be saved, and we will all feast in Falesso City. Which way is it from here, by the way?”

    “But the sacred offering...”

    “The point is not in the offering,” he said with conviction, “but in the results. I will slay the pterodactyls, and your people will celebrate their freedom from this terrible tribute. The Falesh will be safe, and yet you will live.”

    She hesitated. He saw that she did not after all relish the opportunity to die horribly upon a rock. For the first time, her voice sounded hopeful and girlish. “You promise to kill them, all of them? To break the curse? You can do that?”

    The chains turned out to be vines, not iron, holding her down. They yielded easily to his sharp sword. She got to her feet slowly, rubbing herself, still so perfect and so naked. Now that she was unbound, he felt shame for her nakedness. He averted his gaze, tore off his leather jerkin, pulled his inner shirt over his head, and held it out to her, still looking the other way. It was not taken. He shook it, a little impatiently. Still nothing. He sneaked a look, and saw her nose wrinkle.

    “Oh, this is ridiculous,” he said, ashamed of his smudged shirt. “I am beginning to think you are a wanton.”

    “Better a wanton than a reeking sty,” she answered. “Please sir, I have not been bathed for three days to put that thing on.”

    “You prefer to walk naked onto a ship of warriors.”

    She touched the pine fringes at the edge of the clearing. “Here there is only this scrub. A hundred paces lower we will find yellowvine and softsuckle. I will be able to fashion a suitable covering of that. I will be quick about it.”

    “Fine,” he said, flipping the shirt over his shoulder. “Have it your way.” He was starting to regret he hadn’t used her on the rocks and left her for the raptors. “And what is your name, Chosen One?”

    “My name is Laliah,” she said, and darted ahead of him down the path.

 

Chapter Two:  Of Pterodactyls

 

    Broderick tried to get comfortable on the granite slab, but it was not easy. Pebbles ground into his back. He marveled at how she had managed to appear almost serene, lying here. He spread his arms and legs, as if bound, adopting the pose over which she had had no choice. He felt foolish, but still he looked down on his bare chest, the shelves of his tanned pectorals, the rippled plain of his hard stomach. In his imagination he was almost able to feel the dark thrill of offering one’s all—flesh blood bone breath—all to be taken, ravaged, ripped apart, a bodily offering to a great cause. The pride of the martyr. It was possible for him, almost, to savor the anticipation of giving absolutely everything to a giant savage taker. Almost, but not quite. His hand felt for the security of the sword handle, there beside him. He gripped it tightly without lifting it, waiting for the attack she told him would come with the high heat of afternoon.

    He shook his head in disbelief that he was here. When he’d started the climb down from this ledge, he had had no intention of returning. Once he got her to his ship, he had planned to laugh at her for being taken in by such an obvious lie. What did he care about local myths? He would sail into the harbor of Falesso, be welcomed as honored guest, have feasts, toasts, trade—and sail away. The Falesh would never know that he had their chosen one, their Laliah, gagged and bound in his hold the whole time. That had been his intention, anyway. But even though she was helpless before his strength, something in her made him desire, more than anything, to win her esteem. Her going from naked to partially clothed had done nothing to dampen his desire. With amazing dexterity she had twisted the vines and fronds, and in no time at all she was clothed in a tiny skirt and short top whose vines tied at the nape of her neck. Thus garbed, she had turned to him with a mock curtsy, though no smile.

    “Now you will be able to focus more on the task at hand.” She started out ahead of him down the path.

    “The task?” he’d said, distracted. The addition of clothes had somehow made her look smaller than when naked, and invested her movements with a lithe, elfin quality.

    “Pterodactyls,” she said over her shoulder.

    “Ah. Yes.” Here’s where he’d made his mistake, figuring this was as good a time as any to tell her the truth. He made his voice light and hard at the same time, speaking to her back as she forged ahead of him. “I have no time for delay. You’re coming with me to Callisto, willing or not. I am a prince. You are now a subject. A companion or a slave, you may choose.”

    She turned at that, walking effortlessly backward, keeping well ahead of him on the path. She even smiled a little. “Surely, sir, the hollowness of your words echoes back to you. Did you think I would not expect this declaration? Now listen to mine. You are strong, and you may be fast, but I am faster. I can escape right now if I wish. But that would not save my city.”

    She hopped nimbly over a fallen log, and continued. “But, if you keep your word—and I will pretend you never had this lapse of honor—if you keep your word, slay the raptors, fulfill in my name the protection oath I have taken, when you do that, sir…” Here she gave him the first real smile he had glimpsed, and it was a dazzling thing… “when you do that, I will go with you willingly to your land. There is no place for me in Falesh society now. And as it seems my virgin duties will be done, I will give myself to you. To use as you may desire.”

    Still moving backward, she slowed down, letting him draw close. “And, who knows, perhaps you will satisfy my desires as well.” She shrugged. “Virgin.”

    And that’s how Broderick, after entrusting her to his dumbstruck men, found himself back here, lying ridiculously where she had lain, even going so far as to take off his shirt, in the unlikely event that might assist in his being mistaken for a naked girl. He had never seen a pterodactyl before, much less killed one. How many were there? Must he kill them all, track them to their lair, wipe out a whole flock or brood or whatever you called it. He had not thought out his promise very well, on account of he’d been lying when he made it. But the memory of her smile, so innocent and yet so naughty, made him bid the monsters hurry, so he could dispatch them and return to her side.

    Impatiently Broderick lay on the slab of rock. The sun was high, baking him, and no sign of them yet. A strange drowsiness came over him. He squinted into the bright light and shook his head, reminding himself to keep on his sword close and his attention sharp.

    At that moment there was a scrabbling in the rock off to one side of the ledges. He had expected them to swoop down screaming from the sky, all teeth and talon. If they were capable of subterfuge, that was a different order of enemy. He got to his feet, crouching, staring round at all the edges. He saw first one creature, then another climb onto the ledge.

    “Heeeeyyyyyyyy,” said a voice, in the tone of one who’d caught someone trying to cheat him, “yoor not a nakid girl.” He was a thickset man in a shabby gray uniform with a little brimless hat. He pointed his sword accusingly at Broderick.

    “Already rescued,” said Broderick.

    “Awww. And you were to let me watch you fook her, weren’t you, Lord Thales?” The man drooped and then brightened. He pointed at Broderick.     “Mayn’t I watch you fook him, then?”

    “You may not,” said Broderick.

    “She wasn’t yours to rescue,” said the one called Lord Thales. “You will want to hand her over to me, and be quick about it.”

    The Lord was the smaller of the two, far better dressed, and undoubtedly far more dangerous. The scabbard of a wickedly curved sabre hung from his waist.

    “He who finds, keeps, as we say in my country,” said Broderick. “Now, if our business is concluded, you may go in peace. And I’d keep an eye out if I were you. The pterodactyls will be here any minute.”

    “Alternately,” said Lord Thales, “we can kill you, or mostly kill you, until you tell us where to find the girl. Tell me, is she as comely a wench as I have been promised?”

    That this lord could not keep lechery from leaking into his tone, even in this exchange, Broderick found unseemly. He was offended on behalf of his prisoner. “Be gone!” he muttered. “And be thankful I have an oath fulfill here, or…”

    “Take him, Plonk.”

     Plonk needed no further encouragement. With a scream he charged Broderick, who stepped aside, and parried the first windmill of the sword. Plonk regained his balance, straightened his little hat, and said, “I’m gone kill im and then I’m gone fook im. Can I, Lord Thales? Can I fook im?”

    “You may not!” said Broderick.

    “If you must,” said Thales.

    Again Plonk charged, holding his sword high with both hands. Broderick recognized the style, referred to as “Smite n Smash” at the Callisto Military Institute. He could imitate it well enough to train his cadets to defeat it. He fended off the blows, kept one eye on the sky, and addressed Lord Thales. “If I am going to fight the both of you, I would appreciate the courtesy of a statement to that effect.”

    “Of course,” said Thales, sounding bored. “Although I don’t think it will be necessary. Plonk is strong as a horse. He will wear you down.”

“While we wait for me to wear down,” said Broderick, spinning sideways, avoiding a thrust, “you might tell me where you are from, and what you know of the Chosen One.” A clinch put him in too close proximity to Plonk, whose breath reeked of onion. He ducked beneath and scurried across the ledge.

    “Allestria the Green,” said the lord, pride swelling his voice, “greatest of all the nations of the Four Winds World.” He paused, as if expecting praise or wonder at this revelation, but Broderick was busy deflecting an overhand. Thales watched the action idly for a bit, then went on. “We are here to collect the Chosen One, the homage of our vassal nation, the Falesh, as per the long and honorable treaty.”

    “Say again?” said Broderick, losing his concentration and almost getting skewered. At the last second he blunted the attack. “What about the pterodactyls?”

    “Oh, there are no pterodactyls.”

    “No pterodactyls?”

    “Pterodactyls have been extinct for tens of thousands of years. At least since the Ossaman Age, perhaps back to the Crivarian. Do they not have schools where you come from, sir? And where might that be, Sir Busybody?”

    “No pterodactyls. Interesting.” Broderick, whose attention had been half-taken by the sky, was now able to focus only on men. Plonk was becoming winded and reckless, even as his rage increased. He made a savage swing that Broderick ducked under, and countered with blow from his sword hilt to the back of Plonk’s head. The big man went down in a heap, unconscious. Broderick turned to face Lord Thales.

    “How tiresome,” sighed the lord, standing up. He pointed to Plonk. “Why do you not dispatch him?”

    “I do not know him to be my enemy.”

    “He planned to fook your corpse.”

    “But he didn’t, did he?”

    “He still might, owing to your foolish honor. But, suit yourself.”

    Broderick leaned his hands on the top of his sword, regaining his breath. From the location and hang of the scabbard, his next adversary was left-handed, always a risky proposition. Whatever the case, he was anxious to get back to the girl. “Are we for it, then?”

    “I suppose we are,” said Thales in his bored way. “But it would help me to know if your head is of sufficient fame to lug all the way home. Oh, and don’t forget to remind me to torture the girl’s location from you before you expire.” Thales drew out his curved sabre and assumed the prefight posture. “Your name and title, sir?”

    “Why did the Chosen One speak of pterodactyls?” asked Broderick, taking up his fight position.

    “Oh, that I will tell you,” said Thales, standing up, relaxing. “It’s such a good story, and I’m in no hurry to kill you. Perhaps Plonk will wake up in the meantime and save me the effort.” Thales sat on a nearby rock and idly picked some invisible particles from his blade. He motioned for Broderick to lower his sword. “That’s better,” he said, approvingly. “Now. The story. For as long as anyone can remember, many centuries at least, the Falesh and Allestria were rivals, although the deadly currents of the Parsi Straits kept them from warring too often. Nevertheless, they did war, as rival cities will do, and the Allestrians invariably won out, although not without a fight. You see, the Falesh people are more delicate, more artistic, more thoughtful than we. Their architecture is more beautiful, their music more sublime. They are also self-sufficient; they grow grain, they forage fruits, they fish. We call our island Allestria the Green, but that’s a bit of hyperbole. It’s mostly rocks. The weather can be harsh. We are an import economy; that is, we depend upon plunder and pillage. Mainly upon the islands of Southerna, but Falesh is closer—and wealthier.” He looked up. “Are you with me so far, nameless swordsman?”

    “Get to the point.”

    Thales looked a little hurt. “It is strange you are in a hurry,” he said peevishly, “considering your imminent torture and death. And I am a wonderful storyteller—it’s more than a hobby, you know.” He paused, as if waiting for a compliment. None came. “All right, short version. After four bloody wars over six decades—the Parsi Straits Engagements by our historians, the Wars of Allestrian Aggression by theirs—came the Grand Conclave. Weary of war, the kings of each country climbed to this very ledge to find a solution for once and for all. Negotiating from the weaker position—the Falesh had just lost another decisive battle—King Oberillion of Falesh agreed to a permanent tribute. The most beautiful, accomplished and all-around desirable young woman would be given, every twenty years, without resistance or rancor, to the king of Allestria. In exchange, the noble Allestrians would not only direct their plunder and pillage in other directions, but serve as a protector of the Falesh, since Allestria sits astride the far entrance to the straits.” He broke off his story to give Broderick a quizzical look. “I hope you have not come to sack Falesso, sir knight. By your accent you are from the Barbarian North. Sorry, that’s just our phrase for it.”

    “My many ships have come in peace, looking to trade,” Broderick answered, pointing in a different direction from where his one small ship was anchored.

    “A pity you won’t live to see it. A lovely place, really.”

    Broderick’s exasperation was growing. “What does all this have to do with pterodactyls?”

    “I’m coming to that. You are an impatient sort. And I was just going to ask you if you like my hair. I just had it done. Too many curls, methinks. Anyway, the pterodactyls. This was the genius of the kings, the beauty of their treaty. Two kings climbed to these ledges, but only one came down, Oberillion of Falesh. He told his city that the gods had intervened on their behalf, sending their dread servants the pterodactyls to kill the king of Allestria. There would be no more wars with Allestria. In fact, the Allestrians were under orders from the gods to protect the Falesh by guarding the straits. A cause for rejoicing! The tribute of the beautiful virgin, that was the price that the gods themselves had put on peace and prosperity.”

    “So the Allestrian king was dead?”

    “Far from it,” said Thales with a leer. “He hid himself among these rocks, waiting for the Falesh to come tie down the beautiful naked virgin—the naked part being one of his more delicious codicils to the bargain. He ravished and rescued her, or rescued and then ravished her, and spirited her off to Allestria.”

    “I don’t get it,” said Broderick. “Why pterodactyls?”

     Thales sighed, rolling his eyes. “But don’t you see? The young men of each Falesh generation could not very well be expected to give up their finest prize to their hereditary rivals without a fight.” Thales leapt to his feet and swished his sword through the air, but it was only a flourish. He was a bit of a dandy. “The young men of Falesh would make noble speeches about standing up to aggressors, and then they would raise an army and make war against us. And eventually they would lose, but not without heroic sacrifice and needless carnage on both sides. And we’d be back where we were before the Grand Conclave. But…” He poked his sword skyward to emphasize his point. “But if the carnage was decreed by the gods and carried out by pterodactyls—no swordsman would be foolish enough to fight a giant flying reptile. And what if he did succeed in killing it? That would only enrage their cousins to rain devastation upon the city in revenge.” He smirked in Broderick’s direction. “I guess that logic had not dawned on you while you were waiting here.”

    “It was starting to,” Broderick conceded.

    “This Chosen One that you have stolen is the fifth such,” Thales said, getting up and stretching a bit. “Peace and prosperity have reigned for eighty years because of what their historians call the Treaty of the Gods. So you must not interfere with peace and prosperity.”

    “Seems a bit cheap for your side.”

    “Hmm?”

    “Well,” said Broderick, “if it is as you say, that Allestria won every war—all you get out of it is one girl every twenty years? Why not twenty girls every five years? Why not…”

    “You are a barbarian,” Thales sniffed. “It’s not quantity but quality that counts. And the Chosen One is the very best. Sushi-grade.”

    “Huh?”

    “Never mind. An expression among sea peoples.”

    “What do your historians call it?” asked Broderick.

    “Hmmm?”

    “You said their historians call it the Treaty of the Gods. What do yours call it?”

    “The Grand Canard.” Thales smiled an evil smile. “And it is celebrated again each score of years when the finest prize of our rivals is dragged naked in chains down the Great Central Avenue of Allesso, with jeering mobs lining the street. We must not disappoint them. Are you ready, sir?”

    “Whether I am or not, you’ve been more than fair.” Broderick raised his sword.

    With a great clang of sword on sabre, the duel began. Broderick saw that his adversary was skilled, several steps above Smite n Smash.

Apparently the Allestrian was observing the same thing about him. Thales said, “You are using the Poinsettia Defense.”

    Broderick replied, “Of course, since you’re left-handed.”

   “You must expect me to counter with Dapoderra?”

   “Naturally. But I find Dapoderra unsuited to rocky terrain,” said Broderick. “Don't you?”

   “Unless combined with Persippa... like so!” Thales lunged, but Broderick countered Persippa with Montoya, and the battle went on, raging up and down and across the ledges, with neither man gaining an advantage. It went on and on.

    Broderick sidestepped another charge, but barely. He was growing tired, and it occurred to him for the first time in his life that he might lose. For all his foppery, Thales was an superb swordsman, and employed his curved sabre in some moves that caught Broderick unawares. It was clear that Thales had no experience with losing either, unlike Plonk, whose body they dueled over and around. Broderick needed some small trick, some tiny advantage. Finally, he saw one in Plonk, or rather, in Plonk’s extraordinarily large feet. The fallen fighter was face down, the toes of his boots pointing into the rock, and his heels sticking up higher than one would reckon. Broderick played the rocks strategically, giving ground and moving left with the appearance of weakness. He maneuvered Thales to just in front of Plonk, then made a swift and sudden charge. His nimble adversary, jumping backwards over the body, tripped on the heel of Plonk’s boot and landed on his back.

    Broderick was upon him. From the ground Thales tried a desperate swing which was his undoing, as Broderick countered with a blow that sent the sabre clattering across the rocks.

    A look of mild astonishment came over Thales’ face, but his voice, finally, held some fear. “Look you,” he said urgently, “before you do anything hasty, consider the consequences. This is about more than us, or the girl. If I am killed, my people will naturally blame the Falesh, and eighty years of peace will be lost in the drum roll of war.”

    The image of the girl rose up in Broderick’s mind, so vulnerable upon the rocks, yet so brave, so spirited. He brought his blade closer to the throat of Thales. In a cold and measured voice, he said, “To save that innocent from being dragged through your street in chains, and sacrificed in such a beastly manner, I am doing the thing that is right and true.”

    Even in his present circumstances, Thales managed to roll his eyes. “Who said anything about sacrificing her? And it’s more of a parade, a celebration, really. I meant chains of roses. Ribbons, garlands. The new royal concubine for Allestria. Peace for the Falesh. I’d call that a win-win, wouldn’t you?”

    “I don’t believe you.”

    “Believe this: your prisoner is not some idle knight. I am Prince Thales, heir to the throne of Allestria.”

    “Yeah, and I’m the heir to Callisto.”

    “Do not mock me, sir.”

    “No, really. I am the heir to the throne of Callisto. Prince Broderick.”

    “And you’re wearing that?” He reached out with his toe to poke Broderick’s pale gray jerkin, which lay nearby. “Surely you jest.”

    Broderick stood to his full height and placed the tip of his sword on the embroidered crest at the center of his foe’s admittedly beautiful rose-colored jerkin. “Do not taunt me, fellow prince. Your immediate aim should be to convince me that you would have treated the Chosen One honorably. I am still deciding whether to kill you quickly, or with horrible slowness so that your screams ring out over the forest for miles around.”

    “And re-ignite war between Falesh and Allestria?”

    “My only concern is with the girl.”

    “Then consider this.” Thales propped himself up on his elbows, and spoke passionately. “In Allestria the Chosen One will become as a goddess—a goddess of sexuality and fertility. You see, I am not only the Crown Prince but also the Crown Poet—it works that way where I come from. And my job, my avocation, my life’s work, if you will, is to embark on a sensual journey with the Chosen One from which will be forged the next book in the epic of our people. It will be called Erotic Masterpiece, Volume V, King Thales. You see, the Erotic Masterpiece series has four volumes already, the most prized literature in the world, as cultured person will tell you. Even as the Chosen One has been trained to be my consort, I have been trained to be hers, not to mention to rule wisely and to craft lovely erotica. Our warlike people are appeased by this reading. It tames our bellicose soul.” Thales’ finger sprang up. “Did you hear that?”

    “Hear what?” said Broderick, alert for a trick.

    “Bellicose soul,” said Thales. “That’s good, very good. I do that all the time. But to the point: Falesh and other lands are saved from predation because our native war lusts are distracted and diverted into sexual lusts by this reading. Peace is the product of my work. Now do you see how important it is that you let me fulfill my duty?”

    Broderick stared at him. The idea that there could be such a thing as an “erotic masterpiece” had never occurred to him, much less that it could be the central epic for an entire people, and curb their aggressive natures. And that there were already four volumes! Surely the man was lying. And yet…

    “There,” said Thales, impatiently. “Earlier, when you asked why just one girl, why not five or twenty. Well, there’s the real answer. I have done it. Revealed all.”

    “But… she is but a maid,” Broderick stammered, trying for outrage. “Unknown to such depravity as you imply.”

Thales smiled sweetly. “Depravity can be learned. And her handlers back home are not so unmindful of her destiny as they pretend.” The smile disappeared and the haughtiness returned. “Now, we have tarried here long enough. Go your way, Northern boy. Your mouth hanging open, your stupefied look, are ample proof you’re in way over your head.”

    “Over my head, eh?” With catlike quickness Broderick leaped upon Thales. He gripped the stomach of the fancy leather jerkin and pulled it up and over the head of its surprised wearer, covering his face and pinning his arms above his head. Broderick snatched the dagger from the waistband of Thales, stabbed it through the jerkin between the man’s wrists, and pounded it into the hard ground with the butt of his sword. Thales was pinned there, wriggling. Broderick brought his boot onto the man’s stomach and increased the pressure. “Listen up, Prince of Allestria. You are about to be alone on this ledge. One of two things will happen. Either you will get free or you won’t. If you do manage it, take this promise back to Allestria with you: that Lord Broderick, crown prince, extends the protection of Callisto to the Falesh. If my sentinels bring me word of hostility being carried out against these people, you will deal with the full might of the Callisto, which will repay you ten times over for whatever damage or death you have inflicted. Is that understood, Lord Thales?”

    Through the leather came a muffled, “You can’t leave me…”

    Broderick stomped the stomach, making Thales cough and gasp. “I said, is that understood, Lord Thales?”

    “Yes,” came the whimper from the jerkin-covered head. “But I must have my girl, I must.”

    “Get used to disappointment.”