It was many hours later when Carlos awoke to the rough hands of two of Bennett's henchmen as they dragged him from the comfort of his resting place. He was now alone, Selene had long since departed with the new dawn to seek the shelter and protection of her secret, high places. Leaving him to rest in his bed of rank, badly cured furs.

The injured slave grunted in great pain as the pair of uncaring men extricated him from his hiding place. Causing fresh blood to issue forth from some of his deeper cuts. The bright daylight seared his vision. His only ruling desire was to retreat to some dark place like a wounded animal, to lick his wounds and recover, until he could bear to function again.

His struggles to resist the men's strong grip were futile, further aggravating his many injuries, and he could barely feel his fettered hands, just the sensation of numbness that panicked him. A feeling of nausea and incredible weakness robbed him of the will for further resistance. Just as Carlos believed the pain could get no worse, he screamed as he was hauled upright to his nerveless feet, with his knees threatening to buckle beneath him, and once again the mercy of unconsciousness closed in.

Raissa tearily observed all, standing but a few short paces from her broken and beaten lover. The sight wrenched her heart. Bennett had ordered her to see what could be done, and with that came the relief that her beloved was indeed still alive. Her buoyant hopes however soon died as she sighted his horrific injuries. The beating had been delivered with savage precision, designed to break the spirit and demand future compliance.

Raissa was an expert healer, and she sadly knew that her love would bear the scars from this experience for the rest of his days. Dutifully she followed the warriors to Bennett's abode, where the unconscious man was placed unceremoniously on the floor, next to the mattress. Then the two men retreated after removing the handcuffs. Though not so far as to not hear and observe anything of interest that transpired between the two. Sven's instruction she was sure.

Raissa knelt beside him her eyes appraising him closely, the bruising was extensive, and the myriad of grazes and cuts would in time heal. Though some would require sutures. However of most concern to her was his shallow, pained breathing. All her healing experiences told her that something was amiss inside. She began with warm water, cutting loose the blood-soaked shirt, and removing his worn boots and faded jeans. Gently sponging away the clotted blood and filth that mottled his tanned skin. Lovingly she brushed the hair from his eyes, it too was dirty and matted with dried blood.

During this, much to her surprise and wonder she felt the first stirrings of the growing life inside, and she sat silently for some moments focusing within. Yes, it would be his she thought with conviction, and she was determined she would give this child of their forbidden love a better life. Though she knew not how.

Back she went to her work realizing ruefully that this would now be her only probable chance to caress his familiar, handsome body, saddening her deeply. Crying within that the physical love they shared could be no more. She would have to endure as though nothing had happened between them, with her love continuing his existence here, as a beaten, lowly slave, freedoms gone and his pride as well. Bennett would see to that.

Knowing all this she took her time, working deftly, cursing the lack of medical supplies, and improvising where she could to achieve the desired result. During her ministrations, he sometimes regained partial consciousness, though she was not sure he recognized her. Then just as suddenly he would pass out again as she continued with her task.

The young woman was indeed skilled in the healing arts, despite having no formal training her inquiring mind and sensitive hands often worked healing wonders. There were scores of souls who owed their fortunate recoveries from the bane of sickness or injury to Raissa's abundant knowledge.

Though she was only a slave every man in this camp valued her usefulness, her skills being in constant demand, despite her tender age of seventeen years. At last, she seemed satisfied that she had done all she could, finishing by bandaging his torso tightly, that being all she could do for his possibly fractured ribs, and suturing the worst of his cuts. Requesting the men to then move him onto the mattress, overseeing that he was at last comfortable.

Taking one final, loving, look at the forbidden object of her desire so peaceful in his sleep, she turned then to leave. Horrified as she almost collided with the solid form of Bennett who she had no idea had positioned himself directly behind her, avidly scrutinizing her every action. The ever-present fear of this great man paralyzed the young woman in her tracks. His magnificent stature and dark presence never ceased to enhance Raissa's sense of unease.

It did not help either that perhaps she was seen by him as competing for what was plainly his. She squirmed, too afraid to look up, not risking meeting the penetrating, icy gaze now leveled at her. So she stood there dumbly, eyes submissively downcast, waiting for him to react. She felt the heavy hand on her shoulder, impossibly big, still, she could not steel herself to look up.

"Will he fully recover?" He inquired, his bland tone revealing nothing of his inner feelings to her.

"Y...y...yes." She quavered.

"He'd better." Came the menacing reply, chilling her blood.

She felt the powerful hand guiding her out the door, and she took the hint and left quickly. Almost running now to seek the comfort of the other slaves, eager to busy herself with the day's chores.

*****

When Carlos finally awoke that day, it was deep dusk. Just the faintest hue of rose coloring the west. There was not the slightest whisper of wind, and it was as though the rain had awakened the sleeping land. Loud was the cacophony of a million insects filling the usually subdued desert nights with vibrant chorus. For a time he lay unmoving, sensing acutely his surroundings and his bruised body. Thankfully he was alone, gingerly he surveyed his bandaged ribs, finding that movement caused him intense pain. Still, he did feel marginally better than he had that morning. Reveling in the knowledge that at least his hands were now free, plus he was clean and almost comfortable.

Abruptly he remembered the ring. Did he still have it? His fingers sought its comforting familiarity, thankfully still suspended about his neck. As he did so he encountered more than he had bargained for, a length of sturdy, welded link chain fastened around his throat with a padlock. A despairing sigh escaped him then as he eased his tortured body back down into the comfort of the furs. Realizing then he was too weak to attempt anything else.

Even with the rapidly failing light, and his reduced vision, a cursory observation revealed a mass of ugly bruises and cuts. Never had Bennett done anything like this to him in all his long captivity. However, his resolve of noncompliance to the brute's sick wishes would stand. Presuming he would either be killed or survive to escape, praying that it would be the latter of these two options.

Though for now he could do no more than just focus on getting well, then it was paramount he must engineer a successful escape, lest he be severely maimed making his plans impossible. So with all this running through his head, he listened to the sounds of the encroaching night, lapsing again into the arms of restorative, dreamless sleep.

*****

Bennett lounged by the central hearth looking west at the dying sunset staining the sky crimson. His hard unfeeling gaze masking perfectly the tumultuous chaos reigning within. Not since he had first claimed this valley in those early days, followed by a handful of loyal men from its original inhabitants, had his task as leader been so demanding and downright difficult.

There was the irksome matter of how to gain entry to the fortified city so newly discovered. As yet he had no inspiration for a precise plan of attack. With his men growing ever restless over his dalliance on the matter. He would have to provide something concrete soon, or he could find his leadership contested. Not a good time either carrying the wounds he had sustained, for they were far worse than he had let be known. He could feel them smarting now as he eased his muscular bulk into a more comfortable position, seething with anger for being played the fool. Until last night he had never contemplated the scenario that his gorgeous captive would have dared to take him on in a duel.

A feeling of rare discomfort rose as he also realized that Carlos would have killed him if he had been given the chance. No, he could not trust further that fear would be enough to ensure perfect compliance. This was a new and frightening, yet fascinating concept. One he had never had to face before, and for the first time in his very violent life, Bennett was finding it extremely hard to see in black and white. What to do? He mused as he took another draught of numbing alcohol. At least it took the raw edge off the pain for a while.

He had the option of wholly breaking his captive, but it did not seem likely that this method would succeed. Carlos had resisted copious quantities of torture before, and on the off chance that he did succeed? Would he still appreciate the fine young man then? Part of him knew already that it was the defiance he craved, such attitude in an attractive young male never failed to inflame his desire. Everyone here was afraid of him except his long-suffering prisoner, who alone could look him levelly in the eye full of defiant, burning hate.

Possibly he had gone too far with his wild display of anger and retribution yesterday evening. Still, he had to save face. The men would expect no less, failing to act so savagely would have demeaned him in their eyes. So he had done what he knew he must. Though this morning as he had surveyed Carlos' bloody countenance, privately he felt remorse. Staring absently into the bottom of the battered silver tankard, thinking perhaps he has learned this time. Though deep down Bennett knew, this would not be over.

*****

Frances was a rare beauty in this new blood-forged age. Perfection of a kind rarely glimpsed in times of peace. Let alone in these times of terror and trial, as a new order strove to rule in this blighted world. Skin like milk, soft and unblemished by the effects of harsh desert exposure, hands elegant and fine, uncalloused by hard labor, with nails manicured and painted. Her hair was the color of morning gold, full and lustrous, falling to her curvaceous hips.

Small-waisted yet amply bosomed, a beauty beyond compare, fragile and exquisite, with eyes of the deepest indigo hue. Plump lips and a captivating, seductive smile, a goddess spun in gold. All fell under her spell, for her beauty shone also from within. She was benevolent and kind, with a soft voice never raised in anger, and all about her the sweet scent of roses.

At the tender age of just sixteen summers, she was about to undertake her biggest trial, and trepidation dogged her every hour as she traveled ever further southward to meet her warlord betrothed. In truth, she was very afraid, though her demeanor did not show it. She had dreaded the match since it was announced when she was but thirteen years of age.

The years had passed all too quickly since that traumatic day, and she found herself trembling as she envisaged this man, a man she hardly knew, many years her senior, soon to be her husband, for good or ill. Her father had said it was for the best, though she had sensed both his, and her mother's sadness at this planned union. She did this for them, and the future of their beautiful valley. An alliance to benefit all those she had left at home and loved. A pawn in the game of diplomacy, the only one her father had to play.

So here she was traveling through this dangerous land, with her three handmaidens, Lissa, Sarah, and Kate, all of who she loved as sisters. Along with a handful of her father's men, to escort her safely to her awaiting lord. The young woman could visualize him now, older, late forties, the cares of age already etched on his solid frame, steel grey in his short dark hair. Seeming to her both blunt and intimidating, caring little for the beauty and pleasantries her parents had taught her to value.

He was a military man, well versed in the ways of war, never had she sighted him without all its trappings. The creaking, glinting armor, forged from hardened leather and steel, and the sharp short sword and dagger that girded his thick waist. Yes, she had to admit that she was afraid. What would they have in common? How would he treat her? He had seemed courteous enough on his few initial visits and had brought her beautiful gifts to woo her. However, he always seemed so serious and world-weary, his mind on other things far away. He made her feel very unimportant, she felt like some glittering prize in his must-have collection. Frances wished with all her heart that she did not have to marry this cold, seemingly unloving man.

There was nothing she could do to alter her destiny if ever there had been. Tomorrow she along with her entourage, and substantial dowry, would enter the city gates. Frances shivered as she recalled Lord Lothar's gloomy standard. The black wolf on the blood-red field, that would announce her journey's end.

The beautiful young woman sighed softly as she looked out from her litter's gauzy, curtained sanctum, at the almost darkened sky, the stars showing brightly forth, promising a cool clear night in the rain's wake. It had been yet another long and arduous days of travel for the small party. Already they were bedding down for the night.

Frances could discern the inviting amber glow of the men's fire, hearing clearly their conversation interspersed with the laughter of her women, and the chink of the horse's harnesses. Sound carried far in this place. Never in her life had she felt so bereft and alone. So with her many troubles, she settled down amongst her nest of silken pillows, and feather covers, hoping earnestly that sleep would arrive.

*****

Gareth had maintained steady vigilance since his leader's departure, missing nothing that occurred in the intoxicating enigma of the fortifications below. Witnessing many interesting events along with his force from their concealment, ensconced in the rocky slopes above. Some of which alarmed him and boded badly for any plan of attack. The entire party observed just yesterday at dusk an attempted raid by a war party, presumably from lands further south.

Their demise was swift and certain, with all but a handful of attackers in the thirty-strong raid party being cut down in a murderous hail of arrows and spears, delivered with pinpoint accuracy from the heights of the fortified walls. Of even more concern was the frightening realization that mounted squarely above the massive gate's portal was a deadly flame cannon. Its range was considerable and the damage it inflicted was horrific. Then just as the battle was seemingly over, the gates opened wide revealing a detachment of disciplined, armored cavalry. Butchering any unfortunates that had survived with ruthless efficiency.

After bearing witness to this gruesome massacre the warrior's zeal was somewhat dampened, after all as good as they were they numbered no more than the unsuccessful attackers. Their wily leader's cautious wisdom was again proven right, indeed more thought would have to go into this if they were to make their bid for conquest of this seemingly impenetrable place and take the bountiful prizes housed within.

So they had awaited their leader's return patiently, but things did not proceed as they had hoped or planned. With the failed attack prompting the fort's residents to become decidedly jittery, and much to Gareth's alarm, regular patrols were dispatched to scour the surrounding, rock-strewn landscape for further signs of threat.

Quickly he and Aran had ordered a swift retreat, and fortunately, they remained undetected. However, this meant that they would have to lay up further away from the darkly brooding walls, thus compromising their observations. They could also not risk lighting an evening fire. Eventually, it was decided that they would have to take an alternative watch, moving their camp some distance to the southeast. Where they could observe in reasonable safety and comfort.

The battle-scarred Gareth sat high up, scanning the far horizons as it was his turn at the watch. To the southwest, he could sight the ominous glow of the fortresses' evening lights. This would be a true test of their warring abilities he ruminated. His beaten, heavily tattooed countenance searched for every possible sign of interest or threat from his lofty perch. That was when he first spied the faintest glow of a fire, just the tiniest trace of light on the distant rocky plain away to the east. Most would have overlooked the telltale sign. Gareth however missed nothing, perchance an easier mark lay there for the taking he reasoned? He would mobilize some men and see.

The party left behind one warrior on watch should Bennett return. With the remaining seven setting off almost immediately the sighting was proclaimed. The experienced, well-coordinated group covered the treacherous terrain swiftly, and in silence. Each man mentally preparing for the massacre they hoped would come with predawn, and the pleasures of spoils to follow. The pinpoint of the fire's telltale glow grew steadily larger in their hungry sights, until at last some hours later they circled their unsuspecting quarry, wolves going in for the kill. Silent, efficient, and deadly, each man knew his place and awaited the signal to strike.

Aran assessed the slumbering camp carefully, his tall, lean body unmoving atop a flat high rock. A slight breeze disturbed his ample, straight, blond hair, cut neatly just below shoulder length, and his glinting green eyes had the hardness of a predator as he waited for his force to gain their positions to attack.

Looking at this he reasoned it would be easy, only four men that he could see, and his tally seemed supported by the presence of three fine horses, and in addition two cart mules. Still, he would not be tempted to take stupid risks, as his prey would more than likely be well-armed.

However, the thing that gladdened Aran's heart the most was the sight of several women, rare and welcome prizes. His starved sexuality at once came to the fore, forcing him to make a conscious effort to focus on his task. Time for that later, he reprimanded himself, as his men waited for his signal all positioned silently in a circle of awaiting death. He could just make out every one of them, poised, weapons at the ready. Satisfied he gave the signal, and in true guerrilla fashion each warrior soundlessly converged on the sleeping circle of damned souls.

The small encampment stood no chance, with two of the men swiftly dispatched. Throats cut, choking on their blood before they even had the time to wake, let alone mount any kind of serious defense. These poor men presented little challenge to the rabid band led by the handsome Aran. Extreme hardship had forged them into skilled and ingenious killers, ruthless in their intensity. With the two remaining defenders knowing they were done for, now back to back making their last desperate stand. It was all over in a few hectic moments of terror in the dark, with one of the remaining defenders taken alive, the other going down butchered beneath several zealous slashing blades.

Swiftly the women were herded together, three beauties in all, the men barely concealing their long frustrated lusts. Meanwhile the injured, the vanquished male was bound, to be interrogated later, hopefully revealing some useful knowledge that would benefit them all. Aran quickly appraised the rest of the hoard, the horses were fine animals, and the mules would certainly prove quite useful.

However, nothing could have prepared him for the contents of the gauze-covered wagon. Exercising caution Aran pulled the filmy curtains aside, stunned at the beautiful apparition within. Dawn's pale glow now enhanced the colors of the desert, the startling woman took his breath away, her pale, delicate form frozen with fear.

She did not move from amongst her bed of braided finery, her long unbound hair cascaded wildly over her milky flesh to settle spilling on the numerous silk pillows. Her golden jewelry glinting against her soft inviting breast. Nothing but dire terror in her amazing indigo eyes.

Aran at once deduced that he had stumbled across something very special, unspoiled, and immensely valuable to someone, but who? It looked as though their unfortunate male captive would have to be persuaded to talk sooner rather than later. Instinct told him that it was obvious she had been bound for the city beyond. A bride perhaps, or someone's valued daughter. Elation filled him then with the realization that possibly they had, at last, discovered a way in. Bennett would be pleased, he would most certainly be rewarded with first choice of the women, and a winning smile crossed his handsome face.

It was then she screamed, shattering his reverie, and with this, she made to flee. Aran's quick reflexes and muscular arms pinned her in a second. He held her close, delighting in her delicious heady scent, and wildly beating heart, her breath coming in panicked gasps. Like a frightened bird, she was, so vulnerable, so beautiful. For the first time, Aran felt true desire, tearing at his control, disarming his ability to command. God he thought, never had he laid eyes on such an alluring creature, perhaps tasting the spoils now would not be such a bad idea after all.

The rest of the wild rabble had by this time assembled closely about him, all there eager to admire what he had found. Giving voice to their base desires as their terror-stricken female captives huddled together evading their touches, expecting nothing but the worst to come. The men's hard eyes glinting at the heavenly pleasures all knew would shortly follow. As was the usual policy within the group, all the women would be shared, and naturally, the commanding men would have first use of the spoils. Then they would be handed around as communal concubines, well used by all the sex-starved men.

As Aran was about to give the eagerly anticipated permission for all there to sate their lusts, his own personal needs now clouded his better judgment. His maleness already responding to her exquisite, soft, perfumed form as he held her immobilized, pressed tantalizingly close, her shaking exciting him all the more.

The old campaigner Gareth had seen it all before, and fortunately for Aran had the presence of mind, and common sense to step forward as dual commander of the party. His loud, gruff voice boomed.

"We will touch none of them until Bennett returns, as I am dead sure that he will want em intact, at least until he says otherwise."

At this edict erupted much dissension, though Aran knew better than to disagree despite his body's needs, which by this stage were howling at him to be sated. Reluctantly it was agreed that none would violate their terrified prizes, who now huddled miserably around their gorgeous mistress. The men turned their attention to the contents of the cart and the sole surviving male captive.

Aran was not always a cruel man by nature, though he could be. His elder brother Sven was much harder than he, though he was growing more callous with each passing year. Consequently, Aran did not relish the prospect of torturing a prisoner for information, as many of Bennett's crew did. As commander of this expedition though this sordid duty now fell to him, and he was expected along with Gareth to carry out the brutal task. Sensing the raw fear in the man's eyes as the pair of them advanced on their helpless victim. Aran prayed that he could get this messy business over with quickly, whilst to Gareth it was just another job.

The cool of the evening was beginning to close in, and a small cooking fire had recently been lit. Nearby a pool of congealed blood, starkly dark against the sand the only trace of the man who had revealed so much tantalizing information. Aran's head was in a spin, for this event was totally unprecedented. Not only had they intercepted the intended bride of the Warlord of the fortified city, along with her considerable dowry, but they had also learned of a rich farming settlement further away to the southeast, and by all accounts easy pickings.

In light of all this new intelligence, it was decided that the group would make the four-day journey back to base. Besides there was not much more to be learned here, and the risk of detection by armed patrols remained high. After a short rest and a sparse meal, all the booty was loaded onto the horses as none there could ride. The four young women sat quietly in the cart, mute with dread as they set off for the unknown beneath a velvet, star-scattered sky.

*****

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Sleeping the dreamless sleep of the dead, Carlos woke long after sun up, needing desperately to urinate. The simple act of leaving his bed was an effort of Herculean proportions, stiff and pained as he was. The heavy chain clinked loudly as he dragged its leaden length across the steel floor, his bruised body unwilling and slow.

Relief came gushing quickly between the two steel buildings, still, he felt pained and weak. An acute thirst now raging within he realized, as his other pressing need was met. Unfortunately, the chain did not have the reach to allow him to draw water from the well, and the usually full water container obviously had not been filled by Raissa in days. Discovering this he was left with little alternative but to sit in the cabin's still-shaded doorway, where he took stock of the damage done, not at all liking what he saw. He would heal in time, worse though, the nagging ache of his tightly bound ribs, forcing him to move and breathe with care.

He sighted Raissa now from where he sat, along with big Lucy, and the awkward Warren, all engaged in conversation that he could not decipher over the strident bleats of the nearby flock of goats. Well, this would be his lot from now on, and he was seriously unhappy. In his headlong rush to escape this place, he had never dreamed that his failure to do so would condemn him to this. If he thought of himself as a prisoner before, then this was ten times worse.

*****

Five still, heat-filled days had passed, with Bennett reluctantly giving the order for the majority of the men to ready themselves, as they would depart for the fortified city this dusk. It was now shortly before sunset, the entire encampment full of frenzied activity, as men checked and sharpened their weapons, making ready for the trek south and subsequent action to follow.

The golden sunset's last illumination was radiant on Bennett. Raissa was shaving his head deftly, cutthroat razor in hand, at the periphery of the gaping mouth of the great cave, as he sat still as stone. While she did this he was engaged in great contemplation, uneasy over his two nagging problems. Both seemed at this juncture quite unsolvable, but desperately needed to be reckoned with and soon.

He was becoming uncharacteristically anxious, still, no surefire plan of attack had surfaced in his usually cunning head. He had stalled for as long as it seemed prudent, hoping inspiration would come. Still, it did not eventuate, despite his many long private discussions with Sven. Inaction dogging his every hour, he could hardly admit to his men that as yet he still had no plan of attack. They would interpret their leader's inaction as weakness, jeopardizing all he had fought for during these bloody and difficult years. Knowing this he would leave tonight, trusting that a plan of assault would present itself sometime in the next few days.

Raissa's firm yet gentle touch felt good, despite the fact she was only a woman. Causing him to dwell somewhat ruefully on why he could not get that from another. His well-built captive sprang at once to mind. His thoughts meandered back some seven years distant when Carlos had first come into his life. Just a thin, half-starved youth, angular, yet promising much handsomeness, dark, and intense. The lad had fought like a demon-possessed to evade capture. All there wanted to waste him for sadistic sport, however, Bennett had other plans.

Wasting no time, much to his warrior's dismay, in taking the boy to his bed. Delighting in the fight to achieve this new and exciting conquest, with the fiery Carlos resisting all the way. Bennett loved this sport, coupled with his superior build, and age difference, assured every time, nighttime dominance of his unwilling prize.

This situation continued, at least for a while, but the young man's strength increased as he grew to maturity, making Bennett's sport more difficult. Finding at this moment he had to resort to other, somewhat crueler means to make him obey. Until now he had been satisfied, despite the occasional drama, but since that fateful confrontation things were not the same, but what to do? Again the impossible question. He had lost his temper with his pet, realizing he could not afford to do that again, or else the object of his desire may fast lose his value.

He had decided to try yesterday evening, but the attempt had not gone well. It was the first time he had returned to his abode since he had observed Raissa at her healing work. As brutal and hardened as he was he registered surprise as he took in the disheveled, damaged mess of his slave.

At first, Carlos refused to acknowledge his mighty presence. Immobile he sat some distance from the doorway, basking in the last of the sun's warm rays, staring vacantly at the rock face beyond.

Bennett stood for some time not at all used to being unacknowledged, admiring his slave's athletic back, eyes wandering lower in appreciation of the slim waist. Unashamedly delighting in the vision of his well-proportioned youth, arousal pressing forward like high tide. Still, Carlos chose not to move a muscle, this ignorant defiance rising at once to burn Bennett's pride. He was the leader here, not to be denied, least of all by his own property. Who by now should know his duty.

Impatiently Bennett reached for the chain, but Carlos was ready. White light exploded before his vision, the chain connecting forcefully with Bennett's temple. Instantly inciting the huge man to anger, he caught hold of the chain mid-swing, giving it an almighty jerk. Carlos fell winded to the ground, scrambling in the loose sand for a footing, which he failed to find. Bennett was on him in an instant, applying suffocating pressure to his throat with the slack length of chain he had commandeered.

The struggle ended swiftly, but not satisfyingly for Bennett, who found that his desire had lost much of its previous intensity. Still, he hauled his beaten victim into the dark sanctum of his cabin, dumping him on the bed. The light was failing fast, and for a long time, he just sat in the battered wooden chair at the desk listening to his prisoner's ragged breathing, interspersed with the occasional pained cough. Neither man said a word, the inky black finally closing in about them...

His musings were abruptly cut short, by a shout from one of the sentries posted high above. Rising from his stone perch immediately, with Raissa almost nicking him in the process. Her job done, as usual, she was eager to be away.

Sven hurriedly joined Bennett, emerging from his rest at the rear of the cave, and in unison the two imposing men made their way toward the westward end of the valley, followed by a large contingent of armed warriors in their wake. As they reached the valley's far end the shadows loomed dark and long, jagged ironstone crags in silhouette, jutting skyward like the teeth of some hellish denizen. The sun just dipping below the barren horizon, firing the west in red.

Bennett spotted the small party first, moving rather conspicuously, seemingly unafraid to be sighted by the armed watchers ranged in the cliff faces high above. Loosing the binoculars from his broad belt he studied the steadily advancing party with keen eyes searching for signs of friend or foe.

"Who is it?" Questioned Sven. "They've got horses."

"I'm pretty sure that it's Gareth and Aran out front," Bennett answered.

With this, he handed the binoculars over to his friend. Sven squinted, trying to see more in the failing light.

"Yep, it's definitely my brother, they must have raided a settlement."

Bennett prickled at this, he had strictly ordered surveillance only. His ire steadily mounted as he awaited the advancing party to crest the last dune before entering the valley's western end. One did not go against standing orders without the risk of harsh penalty. Aran and Gareth had better have a good reason for this unexpected return, or it would be their hides.

So the valley's occupants waited in silence all there sensing their leader's dark displeasure. It was not too long before the muffled sound of hooves and muted voices carried to the watchers in the now almost darkness. Bennett standing like some forbidding statue, Sven shadowing him close by, as Aran and Gareth approached, the party all tired and eager to be home, full of tales to tell.

The evening that ensued was an exciting one, as Aran's recounting of their lucky strike was related to all assembled about the huge glowing hearth, warrior and slave alike. Piece by piece the spoils were inspected by all, each individual amazed and heartened by what they heard and saw, with most ogling over the new treasures until well into the morning's small hours. None amongst them felt more elated than their usual stoic leader, and even though he did not believe in a god, he had to admit at least to the warrior's luck. So fortunate was he to be delivered this golden, fragile, seeming girl. The leverage he was seeking had come to him at last, seeing clearly now, exactly what he must do.

Of course, the capture of the four young, nubile women heartened every man, a rare and welcome distraction to be savored in their uncertain world. It had been many months now, not since Raissa's capture had any new females been taken. The four women crowded closely together, shying away from the rabid men's invasive touches and lewd gestures. Making no misunderstanding possible as to what their fate would be.

Frances stood quietly holding her three friends, fighting to maintain her outward calm. Her genteel, sheltered upbringing had not prepared her for this new and frightening circumstance. Inside the young beauty had never experienced such crushing fear. She stood, her weeping women about her, a golden vision in a sea of beastly, otherworldly, savagery. The wild men were pressing close, invading her personal space and dignity, offering nowhere safe to run. A little voice inside calling for her to remain dignified, though it seemed that at any moment she would be torn to shreds by these vile, desperate men, who knew no tomorrow.

Just as she thought she could bear the crush of sweating, unwashed bodies no more, a commanding voice seized control, with every man stopping in his tracks to listen up. "This golden woman is the Wolf Lord's betrothed, we have learned. She is valuable. None will take her, understood." Issued the feared order from their leader's lips. It was clear by the noisy reaction coming from the crowd, that all were not pleased.

Frances noted despite her terror that the ruggedly handsome, blond warrior who had captured her was shaking his shaggy head in disapproval. "She will be our hostage, held for ransom, our passage into the city, but more than that we have also learned that she comes from richer lands to the east. She may be our key to these also." With this announcement the men half forgot their disappointment, minds quickly diverted to the possibility of plunder elsewhere. "The other three will be for all to share, and the spoils shall be divided on the morrow."

With this Bennett made his way toward Frances, the frenzied crowd parting respectfully before him. If she had imagined that her Lord Lothar was a fearsome man, she had to review her assessment, as Lothar looked positively civilized, and genteel by comparison against this giant who approached her. Powerful and in control, his ice-cold blue eyes giving nothing away, a cruel smile twisting his lips. Clad in black leather, fur, and steel, adorned with the trophies taken from his countless victims. Weapons of death brimmed in his wide belt that girded his lean yet colossal waist. Frances could not help but shrink away as he reached out a monstrous hand, claiming her for his own. Closing in a grip so powerful she winced, blood rushing, body trembling, feeling she would faint.

This was the unspoken signal, Kate, Lissa, and Sarah all began to scream, begging for mercy as a sea of strong hands contested for their charms. Frances was escorted beyond the mounting terror by the most intimidating man she had ever met. It was just as well, as there was nothing she could have done for her friends. However, she was ravaged with both guilt and despair as she stumbled blindly across the camp. The crushing grasp on her upper arm inexorably guided her to some unknown destiny, tears welling in her indigo eyes.

Renard had blanched at the unexpected arrival of the four women, as he spied them from the rear of the crowd. Despite the only illumination being the diffuse amber glow of the firelight, there was no mistaking the golden beauty in their midst. Though he had not seen her for the best part of three years, Renard would have known his dear sister Frances anywhere. The young man was astounded, hardly believing his eyes, at the woman his sister had become. Fighting back the waves of horror and panic that threatened to give him away, retreating to the dark outer reaches, where he was sure he would remain unseen. All the while his mind was frantic, unsure of what to do.

The simple life of kill or be killed had suddenly got inextricably complicated. Watching from the perimeter Renard was torn as he heard Bennett's edict on the fate of the captives. Part of him was relieved that Frances would be spared at least for the moment, the other almost tearing his conscience asunder, as the remaining women were taken roughly by the men. He had known them all, grown up with them, and even had a crush on the fiery redhead Lissa in his younger more carefree, and innocent days. They deserved better than this, and in his inability to help Renard had never felt so forlorn in all his life.

So he did nothing, knowing he must lie low, bide his time, somehow secure his sister's safety, and rescue the other girls, as well as sending urgent word home to his parents of the impending danger they were about to face. This was his worst nightmare come starkly to life, everything he had striven to avoid. Despite all his self-sacrifice all he had feared had come to pass. Retreating outside into the dark, listening to the distressing wails and pleas of the girls falling on deaf ears, hating himself, powerless to intervene. Observing Frances being forcibly marched toward Bennett's abode, at least knowing his leader's predilection for boys Frances would be well and truly safe. Time was what he needed most to think about what to do, as he sat unseen, stunned and silent in the dark, cursing this latest of events.

*****

The first thing of which he became aware, was the sweet scent of roses, as he awoke from yet another deep healing sleep. It came to his still fuzzy reason that others had entered the hut. At once he knew the familiar scent and sound of Bennett, moving to hurriedly position himself, on the defensive, back to the wall. Smarting with pain he did so, as he still had plenty of healing to do.

Next, there was a soft thud as another person was pushed down onto the bed close beside him. At once he conjured visions of his mother as he breathed in the woman's exotic, alluring scent. From her lips escaped a little startled cry, her breathing rapid with terror. Carlos sat motionless, confused, unsure what he should do or what was wanted of him. Still half dazed with sleep. What was this? What was going on? Who was she? What on earth was Bennett doing with a woman?

Bennett's voice boomed suddenly commanding from the dark. "You touch her and I'll castrate you personally, understand." Accompanied by a meaningful tug on the chain encircling his throat.

The woman next to him suddenly aware of his presence, backing hastily away, halted in her tracks by Bennett who was crouched somewhere behind her.

"Lie down. Stay here, or my men will have you." Punctuated by a wicked laugh. "He won't touch you." Came the confident remark.

Carlos inwardly squirmed, what manner of sadistic game was this? As Bennett departed leaving Carlos bewildered, and Frances afraid, feeling helpless in the dark.

Although Frances had the outward appearance of fragility, she knew the value of discipline and maintaining her image as a lady of refinement. Possibly the only protection she could avail herself of, and in this moment of crisis, she drew on all her parents had taught her. Her upbringing had been a sheltered one, mostly free from the violence and brutality that had laid waste to the surrounding lands. Still, she was not completely blind to the ghastly atrocities occurring beyond her father's borders.

Her dear long lost brother Renard had often related to her numerous stories of what he had seen and experienced during his travels in the wasteland. Pangs of sadness struck her then, she missed her lost brother painfully. Renard had disappeared almost three years ago, an event that broke both her and her parent's hearts. Too long missing to still be alive, they had given up all hope of his return long ago.

Frances felt the unseen, unknown man nestle down again into the bed. Never in her entire life had she been so close, and unchaperoned with a man, finding at once her whole situation both frightening and most bizarre. Desiring to cry like a frightened little girl, though not having the luxury of privacy, Frances held all her emotions inside.

Thus passed Frances' first night in captivity, a long and sleepless one at that. Thankfully the monstrous man did not return, though she got the inkling that as ferocious as he was, he would not harm her at least for now.

Throughout the entire night, she sat bolt upright, skin prickling with the desert cool, not keen to let the musty, unlaundered collection of bedclothes come into contact with her skin. So she shivered and sat, ears straining at every slightest sound. Acutely aware of the man now deeply asleep, only inches away. The longest night of her life, she had always imagined, that dubious honor would have been bestowed on her dreaded wedding night. All the foreboding of her impending betrothal paled into insignificance beside this.

Finally, the first vestiges of feeble light penetrated the gloomy surroundings. If her situation had seemed bleak in the darkness, they seemed even more so now. Frances surveyed the sorry collection of relics of a bygone age that littered the dusty, unkempt space about her that barely passed for a crude home. Realizing her parent's plain and simple world looked rich and sumptuous by comparison. Suddenly fearing what these desperate desert dwellers might be capable of when they sighted her father's Valley of plenty.

That was not all she had to occupy her mind this dawn, finding it difficult, and feeling ashamed, but she could not bring herself to tear her sights away from the attractive young man who shared the bed. So peaceful in repose, slightly curled on his side with much of his nakedness exposed. Finding at once she was both fascinated, and repelled, as she studied him in his slumber.

Like her, he appeared to be a prisoner, the heavy length of chain circling his neck, his somewhat battered state, and bandaged chest making that all too clear. Frances not failing to take in his athletic, well-muscled body, the handsome face, her curious eyes wandering lower to other less modest attractions barely covered by the furs. Curiosity overcame her then, becoming bold in this new thirst for forbidden knowledge. Assuring herself, he would not know, if she could just take a peek? Ever so carefully, hardly daring to draw breath, slowly drawing back the covers...

A hand shot out with lightning speed, encircling her wrist, forcing the beginnings of a shrill scream. A scream stifled instantly by his other hand, hard over her mouth.

"Don't." He pleaded. "He'll come, and it won't be pretty."

High color flushed Frances' cheeks as she squirmed. Embarrassed at being sprung.

"For god's sake, please don't scream, I won't hurt you. I'm going to let you go now, Okay?"

Swiftly she scrambled away, attempting to recover some of her former dignity as she arranged herself in the old chair, as far away from him as possible. Not at all feeling as though she should trust him, he looked just as savage as the rest, in all probability, no better than them either. No, she decided, she would find no ally here. Carlos just stared, dumbstruck, the delicious smell of her still lingering on him. Never had a woman looked so good and so inaccessible to him. Hardly believing that she had shared his bed, and wondering from where it was she came?

*****

Hot, still days passed into clear, starry nights, the entire encampment a buzz with preparations for an expedition to Frances' fertile, farming valley, which promised easy pickings. The possibility also of a lucrative deal with her father, the price the return of his pretty, unharmed daughter. First, they must see this place Bennett had decreed, and depending on what he saw there would decide the appropriate course of action.

Many long hours had Bennett surrounded himself with his most trusted men, debating all manner of strategies since Gareth and Aran's lucky find. Renard of course among the inner circle, outwardly stoic and impassive, inwardly, frantically seeking some way for his family's salvation. So when the force was selected for the initial surveillance, he made sure he was included. Thus far he had evaded his sister's sights and that of her female companions. Watching on from afar with sadness as the three once proud and happy girls, bowed to the cruel whims and lewd fancies of these battle-hardened men.

Fortunately, Frances had fared better, none daring to violate their leader's edict, though it was often apparent amongst some of the men that they were not happy with this arrangement. Especially so with Aran, since he had returned with these startling spoils he had become a changed man. Quick to anger, withdrawn and brooding, making it obvious to all he was angry that Frances would not be his.

Her presence was having a marked effect on all in the valley, but none more so than Carlos. Night and day, with no choice but to spend all his hours in her proximity, drove him to distraction. Not since some of his mother's friends had he laid eyes on such a desirous woman. Raissa paled into insignificance by comparison. Her daily visits he chose to greet with stony silence, glad in his heart that he had finally expressed his true feelings to her that day. Relieved to finally be freed of her stifling emotional bond, when really all he had wanted was just gratuitous release. His body healed as the hot days rolled by, though his heart was hardening, and his mind was a dark tormented place.

Despite the frenzied activity, and disruption which seized nearly everyone in the camp since Frances' arrival. Warren had felt nothing but inner calm. Though he did feel some pangs of disappointment, painfully realizing that in all probability he would forever limp. The shocking injury required he would forever need a cane. Still despite this things weren't so bad, his promise to these fierce men seemed all but forgotten, as the sun-filled days drifted on by.

Surprisingly Warren felt more acceptance here than in most of the places he had ever lived. Smiling to himself as he gazed at big Lucy. Watching her ample bosom heave with her every movement, as she expertly made cornbread. Knowing he was looking she shot him a warm smile, revealing her uneven teeth, and to him, she was beauty incarnate. Yes, he was happy, despite his lowly status as a slave, he cared little. At least in this place, he had shelter, food, water, and a woman, plus others for companionship. Very different from his time in the previous harsh settlement where he and his colleagues mostly fought and starved.

Indeed he was better off now than he had been a free man, hurriedly pushing the memories of those hellish days aside. Warren spent the majority of his time helping as best he could with the preparation of the food, a rather endless task. As he sat in the center of the camp he was privy to many human dramas large and small, trying to make sense of all he witnessed in this harsh little community forged by fear and strife.

The midday sun shone brightly and hotly, it was a typical end of summer's day, a prelude to the autumn and the last of the big heat. Not a breeze did stir, with the sounds of the camp carrying far. One of those many days when the occupants felt inclined to quiet, lest all overheard their business. So it was that a hush had descended over all the hardy souls who eked out a meager, uncertain existence in this squalid valley stronghold.

Despite the camp's seeming slumber, many were indeed employed at their various tasks. Raissa and Lucy along with Warren sat grinding the corn cobs to flour, a constant and tedious chore that seemed without end. Raissa's rapidly developing pregnancy had by now become obvious news to all. With Lucy fussing, ever excited by the prospect of impending new life. Having yet again miscarried some weeks previously, the motherly woman now focused all her energies on the new life that Raissa promised to deliver. Bringing new hope and cheer to the camp's slave population.

*****

Raissa had felt surprisingly well during her first pregnancy, but instinctively she knew she was beginning to slow down. Even the seemingly heartless Sven, along with his handsome brother Aran, allowed her more concessions than was usual. Though she thought bitterly, the presence of those new women had gone far to occupy their ever-lustful minds, especially Aran's.

Raissa begrudgingly had to admit they were beautiful, though useless when it came to the completion of real work. However, there were benefits, at least she had been left alone to her own devices, with space to mend her broken heart. It was difficult to even glance at Carlos in passing. Her few encounters with him caused Raissa great distress, finding that she could no longer meet his angry, smoldering gaze, so black she knew not what lay there. He refused to speak, his sullen silence made her feel uneasy and afraid. Knowing that it was her weakness in the face of fear that had condemned him to this new and bleak existence.

It was no secret either to any of the valley's inhabitants, that their fearsome leader was finding his homosexual bents more difficult to sate than in times past. Frequently during the still desert nights any who cared to listen, and those who found themselves sleepless in the early hours were privy to the battle of two wills that took place, nightly in the center of their camp. Raissa was quite sure that the hulking brute ultimately got what it was he sought, it would take a very great man indeed to deny him.

Carlos' policy of newfound courage for resistance obviously bothered Bennett. Raissa was so afraid that their hard leader would ultimately maim Carlos seriously for the refusals of his advances. Surprisingly enough in all this time, he seemed to only suffer the occasional bruise or minor cut, nothing at all like the beating he had first received all those long weeks before.

She had been down as usual to see him this morning, early, as the sun's first lemon rays cleared the valley's rocky tops. He was already up, sitting, bare-chested, and barefoot, despite the early chill. His knees drawn up under his stubbled chin, intense gaze searching the far away horizon, with his long raven hair spilling down over his broad-tanned back, almost brushing the ground.

There he sat immobile, looking more magnificent and inaccessible to her than ever. Alongside his lithe and muscular form, Raissa felt dowdy and unworthy. Standing in silence as close to him as she dared, finding nothing to say that seemed appropriate, yet unwilling to just, duly depart. So she placed breakfast down beside him, fervently hoping for some kind of response. Raissa could see that her healing work had gone well, noting Carlos was almost fully recovered. The only hint of that violent night, was a few neat scars, on his back and upper arms. These he would carry always, she knew, sorrow welling in her heart.

Still, the stoic figure chose to ignore her presence, staring out far beyond to some place distant that only he knew. The only sign of movement was his slow breathing accompanied by the grinding of his jaw, and the occasional chink of the confining length of the chain. She had cried then as she turned and ran away, feeling hurt and discarded, vowing she would never give so openly of herself again. Yes, that was the pain of this morning, and each morning past. Though she felt compelled to persist, doggedly trying to break the unbearable silence, yet she did not succeed.

A few days back in desperation Raissa would do as she had done in some of their more intimate moments. Sit behind him gently teasing the tangles from his thick unkempt mane. Stony silence was her only reward, locked away in his bitter world, unreachable even to her. In this uneasy quiet the days passed with surprising speed, and Raissa had by this time all but given up the cause of her tormented lover.

The brightness burned his eyes forcing him to squint through black lashes. The shadows were small and sparse as the fiery orb reached its midday zenith. The metal wall at his back was hot despite the shade, its rusty patches abrading his sweating skin. Carlos was hot and bothered, angrily brushing aside the multitudes of flies, that would land again almost the very minute he had done so. Life had deteriorated since that fateful challenge, little had he anticipated his failure to escape would have amounted to this penance.

Although he had for the most part made a good physical recovery from the savage beating, except for his still sensitive ribs. His mental state was quite another matter. Never in all his long captivity had a sense of despair and despondency settled on him, as it did now. Retreating from all, even his only ally Raissa, feeling too downcast and melancholy to entertain conversation.

Even his appetite had lost its usually keen edge, with his already lean frame becoming even more spare as the weeks passed. Imprisoned in this solitary hell he remained. Existence punctuated only by the cycles of day and night, Raissa's tender ministrations, and Bennett's forced advances. Resisting his nemesis as best he was able, often to the point of strangulation, as his massive abuser took his pleasures on Carlos' resisting, semi-conscious form. The morning would arrive signaling an end to his evening's private hell, and again he would sit immobile outside. Dreaming of a freedom that now he was sure he would never taste.

In this manner, he passed his days each melding with the next, lost in a sea of sameness, with only the progress of his recovery marking the passage of time in his now uneventful world. Well, an almost uneventful world, except for the presence of Frances that was. Like every other man there besides Bennett. Carlos had not failed to notice her exquisite charms, and like all the others he was smitten by her beauty, a beauty that none dared touch. The golden woman had all but driven him mad with her constant proximity, a hungry longing burning inside as he watched her every move. Wanting to die of shame each night as he lay beneath Bennett's driving, sweating, bulk. Knowing that she lay curled, feigning sleep mere inches away, frightened in the dark.

During all this time he had not gained her favor or her trust, it was plain that she was scared of him despite his obvious status. Finding every time she was close his voice, long unused would fail him dismally, and he could think of nothing to say. She would look at him appalled and afraid, backing away, and he would retreat, fearing she would scream. With no more than his unrealized fantasies of freedom and Frances, did Carlos pass his days. Little realizing he still had worse to come.