Prologue 1

“You're not hearing me Nita. It’s about the degree of freedom. For example: any merchant or lord is still beholden to pay ‘his’ lord or the king, a portion of his yearly earnings. This is a form of slavery. If you take it to its base principles, his or her superior is putting a value on their work and stealing it from them.” Cid said, as their horses plodded along the high road; kicking a lazy plume of dust into the air. The prairie, open to the horizon, was painted in orange, yellow, and baby blue as the sun rose over their path.

“Taxes pay for the army, and the kingdom’s infrastructure. You are, not, going to convince me taxes are slavery. Besides, you could just do nothing and exempt yourself,” Nita snorted and rolled her eyes.

“But they are! Why do you think the lords pay significantly less taxes than merchants? Many of them conduct the same kinds of business. It gives the impression of more freedom at higher social strata.” Cid said, emphasizing his points with sharp hand gestures.

“So… your argument is: we are all slaves. Therefore, I should get my masters brand, as it cements me in a higher social stratum? That’s some messed up shit. Besides most lords pay less because they collect the taxes.” Nita raised an eyebrow at Cid.

“It’s only part of my argument. There are also the practical facts. One: that it is difficult to make a master into a slave as there are only a few specialized mind and ink mage partnerships in the kingdom capable of it. Two: it reinforces your status. Three: It would give you an outlet to practice your magic. Four: there are a lot more employment opportunities if you have a few martial slaves: even if you stay in fathers employ. Five: Your dreams of independence require you to have your brand. Advancement in society is impractical without it.” He said, raising a finger with every new point.

“All of that doesn’t excuse the providence of some of these slaves. It’s immoral to enslave newborns strictly because of their parentage. Criminals and the militaries’ take, I can get my head around, but being born a slave is repugnant.” Nita said indignantly.

“It’s often the only life they know. Most slaves are treated better than the serfs and freemen, there are more laws covering them. I never said the system was perfect.” Cid said patiently.

“You mean if they don’t misbehave,” Nita grumbled. It was an old argument between her and her adopted family. She didn’t really know why she still resisted, other than to hold onto the values of home. Maybe she just liked the verbal sparring.

“As father would say: the real distinction between the poor, serfs and the working middle class citizen is the ownership of slaves. You are not poor. You should at least have a body slave at the keep.” Cid said reining in his horse, to look at her.

“I’m—” Nita turned to look at him but was interrupted by the cloven air sound of a heavy javelin passing inches from her face.

“Shit!” She cursed, rolling off the back of her horse. Landing in a crouch with her back to the well-trained horse her shield and short sword in hand; shield forward, blade high. She had failed to do her job, caught in the argument, she silently berated herself.

Cid had dismounted as well. His offhand filled with a runic dagger, a fire grenade in his main. The air was quickly heating around him, as he drew on his magic.

“Orcs,” Nita spat out, as their quarry rushed from the tall grass alongside the road. Another javelin was thrown at her with impressive strength. She angled her shield slightly and took a small ducking sidestep and deflected the missile to ground at her sword side and away from Cid. She quickly repositioned to cover Cid once more as 3 Orcs rushed them.

The horses took that moment to clear out. Cid glanced behind them and saw an orc approaching from behind. “One behind.” He said before tossing his grenade behind the three-approaching orcs ducking behind Nita as it went off his back to hers. Two of their attackers were blown from their feet and lit on fire. The third was in front of her companions who took the brunt of the blast. Nita rushed the woman. Knocking the first thrust of the Orc’s spear aside with her shield, Nita lunged forward with a lightning-quick thrust of her blade into the woman’s stomach. The orc’s eyes widened in shocked disbelief as she fell to her knee’s hands going to her wound: the move completed in a small fraction of a second.

“Good,” Nita said turning to find Cid leaning over the other Orc, his blade buried in its eye.

“Keep your guard!” Cid admonished scanning their surroundings. He took deep, calming breathes.

“Do you hear that?” Nita asked as the pounding of her heart lessened.

“Rider,” Cid answered, motioning her to the side. He had a new grenade in hand and his other rune blade.

The sound of rapidly approaching hoof beats grew louder. Then a horse crested the small gully they were ambushed in, and Cid sighed. The mount and rider were wrapped in the red and purple colors of the king. Not hesitating for a moment, the small man flew past them at a gallop. The impressive beast visibly glistening with sweat despite the road dust.

“Must be important,” Cid commented dryly. “Would have a least nodded otherwise.”

“Sorry I should have checked the gully…Hic…Shit…Hic…Fuck.” Nita said then swore as she got the hiccups as she came down from the stress.

“You really are a terrible guard.” Cid quirked an eyebrow.

“What!? We won, didn’t we?” Nita shrugged.

Cid just shook his head.

…

Kit whimpered as the lash bit into her back. Her shoulders cramping further with the blow as she tried to instinctively move away from it. She was tied to a pin nailed high on a tree limb overhead; the tips of her toes barely touched the blood-soaked ground at her feet. She idly considered the fact that the blows made her stomach, shoulders and arms hurt more than the sting of the lash itself. She let out a harsh giggle at the thought but was brought up short as this hurt almost as much as the lash. Is that irony? She questioned herself and giggled-winced again. I think I am finally losing my mind. She thought after another blow. Her tail started to rise as the mirth assaulted her and she had to remind herself to keep her tail down. To keep it around her leg. The thing was near useless already, and the last thing she wanted was it to be removed by the masters. The thought made her snort, prompting another wave of agony too pass through her body. I’m officially better at torturing myself than this guy she lamented with an actual laugh and whimper. This too shall pass. The quote reminding her of a better time.

The greatest mockery was she was sure her tormenter was as bored of the situation as her. At least he doesn’t derive pleasure from it. She groaned to herself as another giggle forced its way out: bored. Serves them right buying a fighter and expecting a whore. Another giggle-groan escaped her as she thought of the reason for her latest discipline. The Soldier complained! complained that she was to tight and he couldn’t get it in. Thanks April, crotch and thigh strengthening exercises are good for more than just pleasuring a man. Although she had to admit it took some real balls to bring that complaint to the higher ups. She thought with another laugh and groan; the lash all but forgotten now. As if to mock her she peed a little and laughed all the harder for it.

“There is a reason prey-kin make better whores; this is exhausting. I swear she’s laughing, not crying sir.” Her tormenter grumbled to the elegantly dressed human beside him. Robert Fucks-His-Sons Peacock was her master, by all accounts an excellent mercenary company commander, and a Dandy. She laughed-groaned again as she mentally butchered his name.

“Well that’s certainly new. You don’t suppose she broken, do you? It does happen you know. Been a few years since the last one, and that wasn’t for something so mundane as the lash.” Robert Peabody yawned and scratched his eyebrow.

Bored they are all bored! Kit thought desperately trying to suppress a belly laugh and failing. The agony made her vision narrow and she blacked out for a while. When she came to, there was another man with the two, mounted and dressed in royal colors. A messenger she slowly put together as the new man left and Robert opened the missive and read. It took a few moments to realize that the lash had stopped falling. They forgot! She giggled again with new agony.

“New contract.” Robert said hitting the letter against his hand and smiling at her tormenter. “Have someone ditch her in Ashville and buy me something that can fight. We move in the morning.” He finished turning on his heel and setting off at a brisk pace. “There is something to be said about the beauty of a predator.” He muttered and shook his head as he went.

She was pretty sure that might be irony. Idiot. She thought as she was taken down and unceremoniously tossed over the bear-kin’s shoulder. She giggled-winced again when she realized how comfortable and warm his shoulder was. She spent the remainder of the day and most of the evening vacillating between uncontrollable giggles and blank nothingness as she was; collared, her brand deactivated, tossed in a cage, and sold at auction.