CHAPTER 9: OBSCENE PLEASURES

As they neared the inner chambers of the castle, which to Falinor’s reckoning, he now considered it to be more of a very large fortified lodge with a large audience chamber and throne hall, they were taken to a chamber and told they would be bathing and dawning apparel.

The men glanced up with equal looks of confusion and concern. Falinor looked at the tunic again. The cloth was fine white linen, almost like a nightshirt, but they were too short and the necks were trimmed in thread of silver. They were also given sashes and sandals.

“You will come to the bathhouse and bathe,” the giants said. “Then you will put your tunics on. Come.”

They were led to the steaming bathhouses where pools of clear water, steaming hot and bedecked with wooden floors, awaited. The water was good and the soap of surprisingly high quality. Falinor scrubbed his body warily—they all did—as their giant guards stood watching.

Once they were ordered to get out and dry off, the giants told them to put the clothes and sandals on, which they did, wasting no time at all. Then one said, “You are to be taken to the main audience chamber to serve Princess Orchan’Da. But first, we go to the kitchens.”

Once there, they were given trays filled with silver goblets of wine, meats and cheeses. Falinor’s eyes shifted warily as he glanced about for sharp objects that he might use to affect an escape.

There were knives, rolling pins and other objects that could be used as weapons. And among the hanging meats and herbs, he spotted a thick wooden door in the back, just slightly ajar.

They could easily get out that way, but for the eyes of the cooks and the guards watching them currently, it would be impossible.

At least for now.

The stern giant was nowhere to be seen.

“Now,” the giant watching over them said. “Go into the audience chamber and serve the princess and her courtiers.”

The drums and flutes outside were of lively tunes, like the night before. But the music coming from the audience chamber in the castle was much different. The music was of drums, harps and a strange instrument Falinor had never seen before that made a metallic vibrating sound— at least to his own ears—like that of a tiny gongs held in the hands.

He was not and never had been a man of music.

“Go,” the giant said, pointing to Captain Doldriss. “Serve.”

The cooks and helpers in the kitchen glanced at the prisoners, but none of them said anything as they continued stirring, mashing and cutting in their preparations for various dishes.

Doldriss stepped out of the door and into the audience chamber, followed by Chiarro, the others, and Falinor last. As soon as he was in the audience chamber, the heat hit him and he wondered what was happening.

The giants were lying about mostly. Some of them played games and laughed. Others drank from silver goblets similar to what they were serving, and many more sat at the elongated wooden tables.

In the middle of the audience chamber was an elongated pit, filled with crackling coals and licking flames. Meats dripped and sizzled over the fires. Falinor’s eyes widened when he saw the marble statues of naked women, but what had drawn his eyes was not the evident loot of some past conflict, but rather the beasts atop them.

There was a furry little creature with a coiling tail and long arms watching the guests with curious eyes as it ate fruits from a small dish. It squawked, bearing sharp teeth. On the adjacent statue a snake coiled about the statue, its thickness comparable to that of Falinor’s thigh. To the giants, the snake was not a danger, surely, but the swordsman did not doubt that such a creature could easily wrap its powerful body about a man and crush him to death.

Where the giants had gone to acquire such beasts, Falinor did not know.

“YOU!”

Falinor glanced over to the voice.

“Yes, you! Bring me a drink!”

The swordsman stalked to the shirtless giant and served him. He took a goblet and drank deeply, then he took another and set it down next to himself.

“Now be gone.”

Falinor moved off, glancing about as Chiarro and the others served wine. He was distracted once again when a plume of fire appeared to his left. Upon looking that way, he found a troupe of performers, all human, dancing and doing various flips. The fire spitter blew another plume as a scantily clad woman in red did a summersault over the flames to the applause of several giants.

Another giant—a woman—cried out in amused surprise at another distraction, of which there were many. She wore, much like the others, a white tunic, though hers only went about one shoulder while her breast was exposed.

The performers continued to entertain and it was then that Falinor looked up to the music performers in their alcoves past the furs and cushions and lazing giants, realizing that they too were human.

Slaves?

For the most part, the giants laughed and caroused as they ate and drank deeply, but in his midst, others fornicated noisily, their naked bodies hardly covered by the white furs over their bodies.

Unlike the celebration of the villagers outside, this celebration was obscene in its very nature.

“Human,” said a giant from behind him.

Recognizing that tone, he knew it to be the stern giant from before. He turned. “What do you wish of me, giant?”

“You will call me Acro”Nor.”

Falinor nodded. “Master Acro’Nor.”

The giant smiled with satisfaction by the way Falinor addressed him. Then suddenly his face took on a hardened cast. “Princess Orchan’Da requires your presence. She awaits at the dais.”

“Of course,” Falinor said neutrally with another nod. As he turned and went toward the dais, he heard Acro’Nor scoff.

“You do not fool me, Human.”

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Pretending he did not hear, Falinor stalked along the tables and past the raucous giants, though his attention was drawn when one scrammed angrily and fell from his chair in a flurry of limbs and wine.

Laughing erupted and it was then that Falinor realized he had been hit by the giant across the table.

“That’s two!” cried another as he put up his fingers. “Now get up!”

Falinor moved on from the games, glancing up at the dais where Princess Orchan’Da sat in her massive throne-like chair, a wooden marvel of horns and slaves, carved and polished to perfection. She held up a goblet of wine and said something he could not hear and the men and women around her saluted her. Together, they emptied the goblets partially upon the table before lifting them high to finish them off.

Lying about lazily, giants wearing very little among the furs and cushions on the floor looked at him, their gazes sneering and contemptuous. One female leered at him as she glanced up and down.

Behind them, the human performers plied their instruments, the chorus they struck being gentle and distracting to lower tones of speech. Surely the giants did not want to be disturbed during their orgies.

Is this truly what they brought us here for? the swordsman wondered. For this?

“More wine!” Orchan’Da commanded as he neared the dais. He went up the steps and found her sitting, waiting, her breasts barely covered by the wisp of a dress she wore, the neckline so low as to reveal her naval. Around her neck hung a plethora of ivory-carved ornaments, dark-red rubies that glinted in the light and black pearls. The princess’ cheeks were flaming red from the wine and her eyes unfocused.

Upon her lips remained a lascivious smile, a contemptuous sneer that demanded whatever it wished and got what it wanted.

“Wine,” Falinor said, offering the tray with a subtle bow of his head. The subservience was demeaning, but he cared not while in the midst of his enemies.

She looked at him and leaned forward, her eyes not departing his as she grasped a goblet, her fingers long and tapering at the nails. She then put it to her lips and tilted her head back.

Then she gasped.

“Is it not better to drink less wine so early in the celebrations, Princess?”

She laughed, and her companions, followed along obsequiously. “I like this one.”

“And I do not,” said Acro’Nor from behind.

Falinor found him two steps down and to his right. Had Acro’Nor stood at that height normally, he and the swordsman would have been of a comparable size.

“Why not?’ asked Orchan’Da. “Are you afraid—of what my father will do?”

“No,” he said. He was completely sober. “Of what Dar will do.”

Her eyes narrowed then and she hissed, “Do not speak that name, Acro’Nor!” Then her whip-like rebuke softened. “Not here. Not now.” She smiled. “Enjoy the night. Drink the wine.”

Yes, thought Falinor. Drink the wine, Acro’Nor.

The stern giant said nothing for a moment, then slowly he took a goblet of wine and drank. Orchan’Da chortled. “Yes, Acro’Nor. Good.” Then she stood and spread both arms, a goblet in each hand. “Drink!” she shouted—and the chamber responded to her. The eating stopped—the copulations stilled and the performers froze in mid action.

Even the music was delayed.

“The wine of excess flows freely from the lower house of Da!” she called, and it was then that Falinor saw the sorceress in her, the adulation of these giants, the absolute devotion and subservience.

The guests looked on while Orchan’Da emptied the goblets across the table, and then they erupted into a raucous cheer as drumbeats sounded, the performers spit fire and laughter and the excess of celebration erupted like a fiery geyser from a smoldering mountain as the orgies resumed.

A giantess at the table below stood up, stepped onto the wooden surface and ripped off her tunic, revealing her nakedness in its entirety. She was then grabbed by several men and fought over from both sides of the table amidst laugher.

Spotting Acro’Nor’s expression, Falinor saw that he was pleased, but concern still etched his features.

Falinor wanted to know why—but if he could find out—could he do anything? Most likely not. But if these giants overindulged this night, which they would, then Falinor and the others might find their escape.

The raucous celebrations went on into the night, and with each passing hour, the giants became more inebriated and obscene in their actions.

The giant princess and sorceress, Orchan’Da, had kept Falinor close where she could see him, drinking the wine he served and refilled in copious amounts, and still she was not drunk enough to pass out—which the swordsman thought might be the time at which the guests retired for the night.

Then they could make their escape.

Suddenly the giantess, still surrounded by hangers-on, slipped out of her throne and proclaimed that she was retiring for the evening. Falinor glanced up at her, and her eyes met his amidst the silence.

All eyes were on her—and many he believed—were on him, for she looked at him pointedly and with meaning.

Then she turned and left the chamber.

The celebrations resumed.

Falinor looked about, and with his overseer no longer watching, he went in search of Chiarro and the others. The musicians were still hard at work with the musical entertainments of the night, but now their tones had died to a somber and relaxing plucking of strings and a low undulation of drumbeats.

The giants too had begun to settle, though some still fornicated under furs or laughed among themselves as they called for more wine. Falinor was told by one giant to fetch her some sweets from the kitchens, and he was taken aback when many of the giants expressions brightened at the idea of “sweets.”

In any event, he needed to get back to the kitchens, the very place where he thought they might make their escape. This was their chance.

None of the guards were watching, as they too had drank fully of the wine. Chiarro tipped a silver carafe to spill the blood-red wine into the greedy goblet of a muscular giant as Falinor neared him. The swordsman suspected these giants were mainly returned from the battle, the ones who had stayed behind to loot and secure the beach, and to bring back the prisoners, he along with them.

Chiarro caught his lingering gaze as Falinor passed him by with a subtle nod. He left it to the little sorcerer to corral the others as, without turning said, “Our masters wish to eat sweets. Let us bring them into the hall.”

One giant lying across the table on an elbow said something to them, but Falinor understood him not. Still, he nodded and proceeded toward the kitchens. Chiarro and Doldriss were not far behind.

They came into the kitchens where the cooks were tidying up for the night. There were also kitchen boys and scullions—villagers from the lower parts of the town, he suspected. They looked up at him with curiosity on their faces, and… what that fear? Surely not.

They seemed to hold little malice for their would-be enemies.

“They demand sweets,” Falinor said plainly.

The cook, a short giant with a heavy paunch that could crush a wagon, nodded and pointed a meaty finger to a large trey where sweet breads filled with even sweater jellies of blue and red and topped with glistening sugars awaited.

The kitchens were strangely silent, save for the cleaning amidst watchful eyes—curious eyes.

Fearful eyes.

He glanced for the knife from before. They could attack the giants now, try to escape and hope that the guards were too drunk to give good pursuit.

It was a hope.

A weak one, he thought.

“What do we do with the treys once we finishing serving?”

The giant gestured to the scullions cleaning the pots and pans.

Just as the giant motioned, the swordsman regarded the scullions again, his eyes searching for opportunity. That was when he saw humans in the kitchens, near the door, their apparel like that of the villagers as they went about other tasks.

Were they not slaves?

With a nod, he took a trey and passed it to Chiarro, then he gave another to Doldriss. “We serve,” he said. “Then we come back and deliver the treys.”

They nodded, to the meaning in those nods.

“What are you doing?”

Inwardly, Falinor cursed as he whirled to meet the glower of Acro’Nor. Was he truly not drunk enough yet? “We are to serve the gusts sweets,” he said by way of explanation.

Acro’Nor was not stupid—and he was not drunk enough to make poor decisions, though he had missed them long enough for Falinor and the others to make it back to the kitchens unguarded for a time.

The stern giant—he could not tell, but suspected he had been the male accompanying Orchan’Da who had captured him on the beach—glanced to the back doors, then around the kitchen as if he were looking for something amiss.

Finally he nodded. “Do not come back here without finding me first.”

With a slight bow of false obeisance, Falinor turned with the trey of sweets and brandies.

“Wait,” Acro’Nor said.

The prisoners glanced up at him.

“Not you, human.” It was clear to them all that he was speaking to Falinor. “Orchan’Da commands your presence in her chambers.”

“Her chambers?”

“Yes.”

“Does the princess wish to have a sweet?” asked Falinor sardonically. “Some brandy?”

The stern giant’s face actually twisted up into a toothy smile, then faltered to pure jealousy and loathing. “Just go.”

The swordsman went, taking the trey with him.