Desert Djinn (Closed for Apollo Wilde and LucianDevine)

It was a simple little village, really - hardly more than a glorified collection of multi-colored tents. A few days’ ride away from a moderately sized town kept it from being thought of entirely as a “dot” on the map, as did neighboring villages. It sat on the edge of a ring of oasis that lead out into the endless stretch of the golden desert, a dainty green bauble in an ever growing necklace of civilization. The little villages lived and died next to each other, trading and intermarrying until one family member or the other got a taste of success and moved to the city, never to see the humble encampments except on dire and extraordinary circumstances. Towards the city was the promise of life - in the opposite direction, the sterile sands of the desert. What dwelled beyond the comforting emerald richness was suspect. Some stated bandits; others stated quite simply that death awaited anyone wanting to trek across the desert.

They both would be correct.

Like a plague of locusts, they came. They were in various states of dress, faces masked by fabric dyed such a deep and iridescent blue that it rubbed off on their dark flesh. Gold glinting under the sun, they swarmed in on sturdy legged horses, trilling and ululating like a herd of djinn. At first it seemed a simple raid; valuables were taken and then they rode off, in a cloud of sand, vanishing into the burning glare of the sun. Then it became supplies - horses, food, jugs of water.

But the worst was yet to come.

One day, the women of the villages let out a wail. Their infant sons had been spirited away, carried away on the hot wind. Reports were sent to the town, complaints filed and shuffled through various bureaucracies. A modest enforcement of warriors were sent to the camp. They spent so much time waiting for an attack that ultimately never came that they became part of the village as well, exchanging greetings like those long lost sons. Idle in the oppressive heat, they busied themselves by learning additional trades, milking goats and smoking long stemmed pipes, staring up at the sun filtering through the fork-like leaves of the palms and studying the deep cool of the miraculous desert springs. Years passed, and some warriors left. Others stayed and established families, and thus, the villages slowly reclaimed the sons that they had lost years ago. The town, vaguely concerned, half-heartedly asked for strong men to go to the borders, to stay in the villages.

Heralded by a strange wind and a sun that could not decide if it wanted to rise or set, they came again. Still on the same short and nimble legged ponies, the hoards swept in. But now something had changed. Before, they simply robbed, and only those who fought back were killed. But now, they rode in, swords glinting in the murky red light of pre-dawn, and with astonishing leaps and twists, leapt from the backs of their ponies to do battle within the villages. Women screamed, children wailed, and men bellowed as the sounds of metal clashing against metal echoed in the bowl of the oasis. Swaddled in loose white clothing, the attackers were discernible only by the dark blue cloth they wrapped about their faces and heads to keep out the worse of the sun’s glare. If one got close enough to see what was exposed of their faces, from under the arc of blue cloth, dark skin was carefully tattooed around the eyes, forehead, and under the curves of the eyes. It was only when the sand demons had departed that a great cry went up from the villagers.

Their attackers were women.

One had fallen, after giving grievous wounds to three others and felling four more. Before her body could be utterly desecrated, the villagers gathered round to gawk, to prod. The fallen woman was like any other - she had breasts and no monstrous growths anywhere else. She was fairly young; almost disturbingly so for the havoc that she had caused. Her skin was the dark brown of cured leather, too brown to be simply a tan. Under the deep blue of her head wrap, her hair was shorn short and what was left grew in dense black curls. There was nothing to be learned from the body, no new techniques to use against the strange invaders if they were to come again. There had been no time to question her before she expired, either. So the villages waited, nervously, waiting for the grace of the town and of the gods to bring an end to their misery.

__________

Oya was not a queen. Nor was she a princess. Such words held no standing in their tribe. No, she was the Most Honorable, second to none, the strongest warrior in their tribe and the most aged. She was a woman in her 60s, still trim and deceptively young looking, despite the loss of one eye and the gray of her hair. Indeed, it was the missing eye that won her her title, a title that she guarded jealously. Jealously, but were it for her protege, a younger woman who was walking towards her.

Her tunic still stained with blood, Anat pulled her dark blue wrap from her face. Because of the richness of the fabric, clouds of dark blue sat on her high cheeks, so blue and so dark that it was prominent against her mahogany skin. Black linear tattoos followed the lines of her cheekbones and formed a narrow line from under her lower lip to the tip of her chin. In her ears sat many brass rings, arcing from the tip down to the fleshy lobe. Her eyes were framed by long lashes that were perpetually tan at the tips from riding into the sands, and were so dark brown that it would be easier to call them black. Though blood spattered her tunic, she was fortunate enough not to call any of it her own.

“And what news do you bring me, Honorable Anat?” The name and title were said with a certain fondness. Anat was her daughter, after all, though the laws of their tribe cared scare little for blood bonds. In a tribe where an entire family could be wiped out in a raid, it was easier to consider all members family and not to draw differences because of mere births. Oya, though, did have much to gloat about. Several raids had come and gone, and she had not lost her daughter like others had. If anything, Anat only grew stronger with each raid, and bloomed like a moonflower. Despite the lower station of men in their tribe, Oya had nearly swelled with pride when she saw such lower creatures dare to look after her daughter with something close to lust. For a man to risk death by his eyes was a high compliment indeed, and one that Anat seemed to be entirely indifferent to.

“Hyoshi fell today,” and Anat’s voice was slightly heavy. There would be no tears shed by her - she felt Hyoshi to be a weak warrior. It was more of the shame of having lost someone and thereby risk injury to her title that Anat feared.

“Oh? And of her body?” Oya did not flinch, did not falter. Death was a part of life. She too, had known Hyoshi since she was but a babe. From across the village, she could hear the keening wails of Hyoshi’s birth mother. A shame.

“Left behind. We ran the risk of losing Pani if we stayed behind.”

“A wise choice. Pani is a strong warrior. How does she fare?” Lost bodies too were not uncommon. They were grieved, but not uncommon. It was a rare and precious opportunity to have the time to collect a fallen comrade. Judging by the hurried nature that the usually meticulous Anat showed, it proved to Oya that there might be some formidable warriors among the villages yet. Perhaps a few brought back into the ranks might do the tribe some good. There had been some complaints of the lack of eligible men to sire further daughters on.

“She may very well lose her left leg below the knee. They have new warriors there who are unfamiliar with us.” Anat did not turn her gaze away from the cold stare of Oya’s. To do so would be shamed. Internally, her heart ached. She had loved Pani and her boldness. “They are brave men. Perhaps their bravery rests solely on their foolishness.” This was spoken with awe, only slightly tinted by her disgust. Her disgust was turned inwards; there was no reason why this should not have been a regular raid. It was only her weakness that made them flee today.

“And what do you propose to do? You have lost one and maimed another. This must be rectified.” Oya posed the statement both as a fact and as a question. Were she not so steadily trying to mold Anat in her own fashion, she would have lead the next raid herself to bring back men.

“I will lead a raid tomorrow morning - and kill them all before the sun is high. While they may be expecting another attack, their numbers have been reduced greatly by our warriors, and they are too far from the town to get reinforcements by the morning. Hyoshi will not have died in vain. ”

Oya nodded. “You have planned this well, Honorable Anat. I will be pleased to see your success in the morning.” Pity. But there would be other villages, other men for Anat to gather. The problem with the girl was that she appeared to have no need for men - she found the idea of breeding distasteful after an awkward maidenhood ritual. She had not become with child from the encounter - and had killed her partner as soon as the deed was done. Oya wondered if the girl would ever realize that others among the tribe did crave a man on occasion.

With a bow, Anat went back to her tent. She had much to plan. But something didn't sit right with her.

Lucian let out a heavy sigh as he finally entered the small village. He'd intended to be here sooner, but it simply couldn't be helped. The villagers were still trying to piece things back together after the latest raid by these horse-riding assailants, despite the lateness of the hour. His light blue gaze cast back and forth as he rode through the village, taking in the sights of collapsed tents, raided supplies, grieving women, and of course the bodies, each covered with a white sheet, waiting to be buried on the morrow. He sighed again. "If only I'd gotten here sooner."

To say that he was a knight was both true and misleading. He was a knight, and stuck to the code of the knighthood, but he had no lord. Lucian's loyalty was to the code itself, and it was that code that had brought him here. He'd heard rumors of the raids, and being a knight, it was his duty to protect the helpless. And here he was, a handful of hours too late.

After a few more minutes of roaming the camp, Lucian turned his horse towards the center of the camp, where it's leader likely resided. After a fairly brief conversation, he was informed about the identity of the attackers, or as much about them as was available.

The attackers it seemed, were a tribe-like group of dark-skinned tattooed women. Nothing could be devised from the tattoos themselves, or the bright-colored clothes they wore, and none of them had been captured. So no form of actual negotiation for the end of hostilities was actually possible. All in all, the discussion was less then helpful. There wasn't much for Lucian to do then, except to go to the tent he'd been assigned, and wait for the next attack.

Lucian dismounted from his horse, a strong and proud white stallion. Celesto had been a gift from one of the many villages he'd helped, and Lucian gratefully accepted it, for he did not do his deeds for gold or glory. He expected no payment, but graciously accepted the gifts that were given to him.

Of all the things Lucian was actually disappointed about on this trip, it was the lack of amenities. The city was small, but at least one was able to pay for a bathtub and for some water to be heated up. Here, he had to make due with a bowl and a cloth. It would take him a long time to wash the full of his six foot form, but it was better than smelling like a vagrant, even in such locales as this. So he slowly stripped off his outer shirt, his chainmail, and the light white shirt he wore beneath his mail. His boots, pants, and shorts came next, and soon he was naked and washing, the sheen of the water glistening off his muscular form in the shimmering light of the fire.

When at last Lucian was as clean as he was going to get he pulled a fresh pair of shorts from one of his saddlebags, along with some sandals. It wouldn't do for him to be walking around a village so freshly attacked bare foot. He then finally turned his attention to his weapon. Unlike many knights who favored the longsword and shield, Lucian was always privy to the katana, the curved foreign blade stronger than the local straight blades. He withdrew a whetstone from his saddlebag and set about sharpening the blade, making sure that it would be ready for proper use if the bandit women attacked in the near future.

Once Lucian's bedtime ritual was complete, he set a clean set of clothing beside his bedroll, set his katana and boots beside them and crawled in for the night.

The idea was that before a large raid, most warriors couldn’t sleep. They would toss and turn, think about things to say to their loved ones, prepare things in the chance that they did not come back. Anat, on the other hand, simply organized the way she wanted the raid to go, and lost herself in the comfort of her bed. The tribe of Amazons lived much better than the people of the villages - they had long ago foresworn the ways of the nomadic lifestyle.

Before she had retired to her tent, she had spent some time with her horse. Anat had raised the creature from a foal, and remembered watching the mare take her first wobbling steps fresh from her mother’s womb. She had spent many an hour with the mare - Anat knew how to ride before this mare, but to perfect the acrobatics that her tribe committed on horseback, that was the purpose of this mare. Named Shango, she had the patience of a mother, despite her young age, and would often wait on Anat if she had fallen from the saddle. Despite the hard nature of the Amazons, there was much affection to be found within the nature of the tribe, and the animals, yes, even they received it. Despite the nimble and almost skittish nature of their horses, Shango was as affectionate as a puppy, and always whinnied a hello to her owner and other passersby.

That evening, to sooth her own nerves, Anat had pulled a stool beside Shango and slowly combed the mare’s mane and tail, curried the dust and mud from her legs, and checked her hooves. Throughout the treatment, the mare sat still, moving when she needed and occasionally sniffing affectionately at Anat’s hair. With a small smile, Anat reached up to stroke the mare’s mane.

“Thank you, Shango, for carrying me bravely once again. Will you do it for me tomorrow as well?”

As if understanding what her mistress was saying, Shango whickered softly.

_____________

Laying on her bed, bedecked in rich fabrics both plundered and handcrafted, she looked at the high points of her spacious tent. A brasier burned sweet incense, and long loops of smoke surrounded her body. It wasn’t like she would be able to grab more than a few hours of sleep as it was. The villages were quite a fair distance away from her tribe. The horses needed the time to rest and recoup as well.

It felt like she had only closed her eyes for a moment before it was time to get up. The moon was slowly sinking, but dawn still had yet to show her rosy head. Slipping from her night coverings, her breath steamed about her face in the cold night air. The temperature dropped drastically at night in the desert, but she was used to it. She would forgo bathing; water was precious, but time was more so. Instead, stripping her clothing off, she rubbed fragrant oil on her body. It would not truly cover her body odor, but it would be pleasing enough as not to be distracting, and offer her skin further protection from the elements.
Winding a strip of deep red cloth woven with gold about her breasts, she took a strip of the same fabric and wound it between her legs and securely about her thighs. It was one of the few “luxuries” that she allowed herself. The red looked especially deep and vibrant against the brown of her skin, and the gold threaded through it added a little sparkle. The women of the tribe loved jewelry and other baubles, but battle was not the time for such things. Nor was it considered vain - many of the women in the tribe were wonderful craftsmen.

A fresh white tunic went over her torso, baggy white pants went on her legs. Sitting down on one of her many carpets covering the sand, she pulled on her tough leather boots. The toes of them curled ever so slightly. While it seemed like a superficial flourish, they helped with keeping her feet in the stirrups. Before she left her tent, she rimmed her eyes heavily with kohl and wrapped her face within the dark blue headwrap of her people.

Pushing the tent flap aside, the tribe was already a buzz with motion - women similarly dressed rubbed down horses, added saddles, prepared weapons. Anat carried two weapons - a halberd when she was on horseback, and a scimitar for when she dismounted. Sometimes she rode as an archer, but this morning would call for her leadership. She would need to be at the front of the charge, and needed weapons that would reflect her station.

Shango, noticing Anat, tossed her head. With a smile, Anat rested her face against the side of Shango’s for a brief moment. Closing her eyes, she shut out the world around her, listening only to her breath mingling that of her horse. It wouldn’t be long now.

________

The village knew. And they were filled with a sort of false confidence. In their zeal, they had mounted the head of the fallen amazon on a pike and posed the pike at the edge of the village. There had been a minor debate if it was the right thing to do - after all, it was still a woman. Women needed to be treated delicately. They had to show that they too, were defiant, that they were not scared of women on horseback.

It would be a mistake.

Anat was trained not to react to emotional triggers, as well all amazons. But it did not mean that seeing a fallen comrade would not spur them to fiercer attacks and erase any doubt that came from attacking.

As the sun peeked over the roll of the desert, the horses rolled over the dunes. Their fine limbs mingled in shades of white, brown, black, ribbons streaming from carefully braided manes. If it did not mean the eradication of all that saw them, it might have been considered a fantastic parade, some wondrous circus filled with deft acrobats.

Breaking into the front of the village, the women would grasp to their horses with one hand, spring off the side of the saddle, run along side the beasts and slaughter as they went, leaping back onto the horse to make a quick escape. Some were more skilled at this than others - it was rare, but an amazon could lose her handhold, and be forced to let go of her horse and fight hand to hand, relying only on her wits and skill to get her out of the thick of battle.

One woman found herself in this position, and the clang of steel and her shout reverberated through the village. Narrowing her eyes, Anat gently dug her heels into Shango’s side, guiding the horse towards the sound. Her halberd slung trails of blood as she continued to work her way through the village, simply mowing down all that crossed her path. Normally, quarter was given to women and children, but not today. The village would pay for the insult done to Hyoshi’s body.

Screams brought Lucian out of his sleep. He bolted upright in his bedroll, his left hand going immediately for his sheathed katana. He paused like that for only the briefest of moments, making sure that he was not immediately threatened.

The couple of minutes that it took Lucian to pull on his clothes and armor were pure torture. He could hear the cries of the village all around his tent, and with each one, he tried to go faster. When at last he was finally ready, he rushed from his tent.

Luck it seemed, was only just on his side. No sooner did he exit his tent, than he ran directly into one of the assailants. The woman had been running beside her horse, and the impact of their bodies broke the handhold that had secured her to her beast and sent her tumbling to the ground while Lucian stumbled, but managed to regain his footing.

The desire to attack this woman while she was down was so incredibly strong, that Lucian actually had to grip his katana hard enough that one of the jewels that were embedded in the hilt dug into his hand. It was a technique he'd learned to control his anger in these most dire moments. For he was a knight, and his code and honor dictated that he not attack somebody who couldn't defend themselves, with certain exceptions of course.

When the amazon regained her feet once more, she turned her gaze towards him, and he stood strong before it. His hand was ready and waiting on his katana, waiting for her to commit to the first attack.

Even when the attack did come, Lucian was surprised at the finesse that it came with. The woman did not charge like some stupid barbarian, but was steady and watchful. The scimitar she held sliced at him, and Lucian took action, puling his beloved katana from it's home and using the force of drawing it to knock the scimitar away and counter attack with a horizontal slash. His opponent stepped back, dodging the attack, but only just barely.

Lucian knew his opponent was skilled and agile, and he knew that he would have to resort to a fairly unused method, and he'd have to do it sooner rather than later. He could not waste half the day fighting one person while the rest of the village was slaughtered. When the next attack came, Lucian lifted his katana like he was going to block it, but stepped forward and to the side instead. He felt the blade glance off his armor, likely taking a few of the links with it, but with her weapon where it was, the amazon had no defense against the diagonal slash that came down and almost cut her in half.

No sooner did his opponent fall, than Lucian was turning to find another. When he didn't see one right away, he quickly flicked the blood from his blade and sheathed it, turning to Celesto to untie him. That was his mistake. Briefly distracted, he did not see the amazon that came around the corner of the tent. Before he knew it, he felt an impact against his ankles and went down. He knew what it was, but the adrenaline rushing through his body made it almost impossible to untangle the bolas that bound him. Even as he struggled with it, he knew he was done for, but he was not going to give up. He fought for every second he had, praying that his death would be a quick one.

Compared to the raid before, this one went so much smoother. It nearly went too quickly. Once the screams of the villagers lessened to the occasional shriek and death gurgles, Anat dismounted Shango, patting the creature’s neck. Blood spattered her tunic and dotted the bits of exposed flesh around her eyes. Hearing the clash of swords quiet, she narrowed her eyes and threw her halberd to the ground, drawing her scimitar. It was a disgraceful way to treat her weapon, true, but she would have ample time to retrieve it. Now, she did not have the luxury of repositioning it carefully on her saddle. Sometimes she mourned the impracticality of the weapon; once she returned home, she would have to work on some modifications for it.

She turned the corner just in time to see Ayoa cut down by the knight. Her first instinct was to rush forward, kill the knight that had killed one of her sisters. She moved forward, scimitar drawn, when the bola came snaking from behind her. Hissing in anger, she whirled about to see who had thrown it. Laughter came from a smaller white-robed figure, her eyes arched black crescents from behind her blue face wrap.

“Peace, Honorable Anat!” she called, waving. “I saw his skill from a distance and thought I would take him for myself. Ayoa was brave and skilled and he took her down easily. He will sire brave daughters,” said the smaller woman, pacing over to Anat’s side. Anat scowled under her wrap, and rolled her eyes, barely able to suppress a laugh.

“You would be thinking with your twat instead of your head, Lelia. If he so pleases you, then take him.” The two had walked to stand over him, Anat’s eyes crinkled around the corners from her mirth. It was hard to stay angry at Lelia - she was the light hearted joker that managed to make the worst situations better with her ribald humor. She was also a famed collector of the best men from each raid. She managed to squirrel away the bravest, take them home, plumpen them up, and sold them at reasonable prices to those who wanted to own their own. Most women were more concerned with booty or experience to really look for their own man. Lelia did the tribe a service; she auctioned them off for her own share of the booty and lived quite comfortably with her own male harem.

Lelia knelt beside him, gently groping his limbs with firm and experienced brown fingers. Gold rings shone from each middle finger. “Mmm, feels good, but I don’t like those pale eyes. I’ve already got three with light eyes and pale skin. It’s funny, they all fuck the same. I won’t personally keep him, but I’m sure someone will want him.”

“You speak of him as a lame horse,” Anat said drily. “Well, you captured him, he’s yours to deal with on the way home.” She turned on her heel, leaving Lelia and the knight to their own devices. Pausing to look over her shoulder, she called back to Lelia. “Make sure to give him something that will keep him quiet. I don’t want to hear his whining on the way back.”
______________

The village was in ruins.

Despite the ferocity that Anat and her women had shown before, they took the time to carefully wash and bury each villager. Anat knew that brutality was part of being an amazon, but it was mercy that won respect. It was a pity that they had to kill the entire village, but the villagers should not have desecrated the body of Hyoshi. It was just that simple, and Anat would make sure that future villagers would know it.

“Leave all booty behind,” she called out. “We have come what we came for.” She did not give herself airs, and was among her women as she washed and prepared the dead. The sun was high overhead when they were done. They had set the village back as if nothing had happened, save for the silence of the village. They had cleared a small section for a graveyard, burying amazon and villager alike. They would not set forth for their home with the sun overhead - it would tire the horses and even the most experienced Amazon. For now, they would rest. They gathered around the natural spring that the village offered, talking and washing their arms and feet as they drank and told stories and tended to the less wounded.

Lelia would tend to him, keeping him firmly bound. “Now, let’s see what we have here,” she said cheerfully as she neatly removed his clothing the best that she could with him being firmly tied.

Lucian heard the conversation the two women had about him. "About him" was definitely the correct term, since they basically talked about him as though he weren't even there. The conversation as a whole disgusted him, and the temptation to try and draw his weapon and fight back was strong, especially when he felt the firm brown fingers of one of the two women groping his muscular limbs. Despite his desires though, he forced himself to remain still and endure both the conversation and the probing fingers.

Even after the conversation was over though, Lucian's suffering endured. It was bad enough that he'd been felled and captured instead of being killed, but it was even worse to be bound and gagged while the amazons went about preparing and burying the dead, amazon and villager alike.

As if things weren't bad enough, the woman that he'd been given to came back to him, a cocky smile on her face. He heard her words and looked up at her, showing no fear as he met her gaze. He didn't struggle though when she made to remove his clothing. He knew that fighting back would cause him far more harm than good, bound as he was. So once again, he was forced to endure the embarrassment of being exposed before her and anybody else who looked at him. His penis was comparable in size to the rest of him, though currently flacid, it would stand a firm eight inches long when it was hard, and nearly two full inches thick.

Lucian had already made up his mind about one thing for sure though. He was not going to be like every other man these women had captured, and judging from the brief conversation he'd overheard, there were several. He was not going to play their game. He wouldn't beg for his life, or fuck to save it either, no matter what they did to him.

“Oh, you can stop making that face, you know,” Lelia said lightly as she continued to gently grope his body. “I won’t harm you. Honorable Anat, though...” She trailed off, her eyes darting over to the taller and darker skinned woman. “She generally has no stock for men. Anyway, my name is Lelia,” she chittered on, friendly as could be. She paused for a moment, pulling the dark blue wrap from her face. Unlike Anat, she was lighter skinned, the smooth color of coffee and milk. Her face was moderately tattooed - only a spiral design on her cheeks. Her lips were full and her eyes were a gentle brown. It was hard to tell that she was a fierce warrior - only the blood on her tunic belied her true nature.

“Well, will you look at that,” and she sat back on her legs, eyeing his member. “You’ll make some woman quite happy! I’ll bathe you and get you prepared once we get back.” She re-dressed him showing the same care as she had when she undressed him, and gently dusted the worst of blood and dust from his body. Propping him up, she went to the pool to get him some water. Cupping it in her palm, she urged him to drink. “It won’t be long before we’ll be heading out. Get some rest while you can.” She would leave him to his own devices then, leaving him to join the rest of the amazons as they spoke and prepared for the journey home.

It would seem that he would be left alone, save for the cool shadow of Anat passing over him. She looked down at him, her black brows raised. Unlike the other women, she kept her blue wrap over her face. Kneeling down, she looked at him steadily in the eyes.
Reaching out, she cupped his chin in her palm. Her hands were slightly rough around the base of her fingers, a tell-tale sign of her skill with her weapons.

“I know you can speak,” she said. Her voice was low, her accent strange but not incomprehensible. “Since you seem to be hell bent on meeting your end here, I can kill you, you know.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners; she had to be smiling under the wrap. “I have no need of extra men around the camp, especially those who do not have the good sense to know their life is not their own anymore.” Her other hand reached below her tunic. In a smooth motion, she produced a curved dagger. Placing it at his throat, she pressed her face close to his, the faint lingering of her scented body oil tickling his nose. “You need but ask, my brave knight.”

The friendly tone with which his captor spoke made Lucian's situation that much more humiliating. Hell, he almost would have preferred if she'd beat him or tortured him. That, at least, would have been expected. Even the care with which she took to later redress him was disgraceful in it's own way.

Despite his distaste for his situation though, When the gag was removed, and water offered up to him, he was far from stupid enough to refuse it. He wasn't so much a fan of having to drink it from Lelia's cupped palm, but it was better than a slow and torturous death from dehydration.

Lucian was generally glad to be left alone, especially now that he didn't have the uncomfortable gag in his mouth. He was still bound of course though. He took his time to silently study the women as they cooled off in the oasis, and he had no intentions of trying to sleep, especially with the woman that Lelia had called Anat approached him. The honorific that Lelia had used had not passed his notice, neither did the fact that she, unlike all of the others, had kept the blue wrap over her face. What little he could see of her lithe body though, was as dark as mahogany, a noticeable difference from the lighter-skinned Lelia.

When Anat knelt down in front of him and took his chin in her hand, Lucian didn't fight her, but rather met her gaze as strongly and defiantly as he'd met Lelia's. He felt the callouses near her fingertips, and understood the meaning of them. Her voice, when it came, was harder to understand, but manageable.

He heard her speak, but was briefly distracted by the faint scent of what he assumed to be oils anointing her dark skin. His eyes did notice the curved dagger that she produced though, so swift and silent. He didn't move as the blade was pressed to his neck, and didn't speak for along minute while he held that dark brown gaze, for though it had looked black at first he was close enough now, to notice it's true color.

"And what would you have me say Honorable Anat?" He asked, putting a deliberate and mocking accent on the honorific as he dared to lean the slightest bit forward, pressing his throat a bit more against the blade she held. "Would you have me beg for my life? Would you have me offer you anything you wanted in exchange for it? If that's what you're expecting, then you'd be better off to kill me now. For I have no intention of playing your game, or fucking for the pleasure and amusement of whomever Lelia decides to sell me to. My life may be yours to take, but my honor is still mine, and I will die with it before I live a life without it."

There was naught but confidence and pride now, in both Lucian's light blue eyes and the tone of his voice. He didn't expect to live, and he found himself once again praying for death, but he would not give Anat the satisfaction of hearing him beg for it.

“So he does speak,” and the lines around her eyes deepened as her smile widened beneath her wrap. If she took any insult to the mockery he made of her accent, she didn’t show it. Her eyes held his steadily. Though she let long moments of silence pass between them, her eyes narrowed as she summed him up. Letting her fingers drop from his face, she pulled the wrap from her face. Despite the long hours of training, the bloodshed, the sun....her dark skin was flawless. Dark lines tattooed along her cheekbones brought out how angular her face was, the single line leading under her lower lip emphasized how full and plush her lips were. A “desert rose”, she was described, though she had no need for such frivolity.

For a moment, she brought her fingers gently across his cheek, across his lips, her eyes never leaving his. “....You’ve got pride yet; Lelia did well when she saved you from my blade. You will make a fine stud, I am sure of it. I, alas,” she slipped her dagger back into the folds of her tunic, “have no need for you. Of course,” and she stood now, “Once you get to the village, you can attempt to escape or kill yourself. I care not either way. I would think twice, though.” She straightened out the folds of her tunic, picking out where the blood had caused it to dry in hard points. “Lelia is a kind woman and will treat you well.” Her voice held as much kindness that could be given....for a man, at least. And her touch had not been unkind; just figuring him out.

“Are you being mean to my catch?” Lelia’s voice bubbled above the voices of the other women.

“Hardly, Lelia. He wants death but has too much pride to ask for it. You will have quite the hard task on your hands.” Anat’s voice held humor - she took the situation lightly. It was not uncommon for men that were captured to be defiant; those that begged and waffled were killed before they made the journey back to the tribe. Of course, she had no eye and no interest for it. That was why she left such things to Lelia, who in turn, had learned her trade from her mother and her mother before her. “But you would teach him in minding his tongue to someone who has power not only him, but you as well,” and she smiled, the expression sliding easily across her face. “Come, we’ve tarried enough. Let us go home. I’m sure Most Honorable has quite the feast prepared.”

Lelia bowed her head, “Of course, Honorable Anat.” Rising from her position at the spring, she quickly made her way over to his side. “You best watch your tongue with Honorable Anat; she has a good humor but it can flee quickly. Honor means nothing without a life to fully apply it to,” and she ran her fingers lightly through his hair. “Come, now, we’re preparing to leave. You’ll ride with me.”
_________

Not too much longer, he would find himself carefully seated behind Lelia on a fine spotted horse, his white stallion tethered along as well. “We’re in luck to have picked up TWO fine stallions,” Lelia had crowed with good humor. “I know that the steed must mean much to you; he will accompany us."

Her form was plush, full under the loose tunic that she wore. Although she was as fierce as any other, her love of good food had softened her form into something that bordered on maternal. Despite the sun and the heat, she smelled of sweet flowers, and he could hear the jangle of jewelry beneath her robes. Before she had him mount the horse, she had wrapped his face and body carefully as she did her own.

"The head wrap will help shield your eyes from the sun," she said as she tucked the folds in around his ears. She knew the contempt that he held for her; she had seen it many times before and it did not bother her. No, she chatted to him as if he was on a merry vacation with them. "We'll get you bathed and fed once we're back. You'll need to look good before Most Honorable Oya; otherwise it will certainly be your death. I can only vouch for so much, you know. Do you have a name? I would hate to have to call you "Pale Face."

Lucian couldn't help the soft chuckle that slipped from his lips at the joke she made about him speaking. He noticed the deliberate way in which her dark brown gaze made to hold his, and he stayed with her, meeting her gaze like only one who knew no fear could do in the face of almost certain death.

To Lucian's genuine surprise, it was Anat who gave first. His gaze still watched her as she pulled her hand away from his chin and pulled the blue wrap from her face. The assessment that the villagers had given was quite correct. Every one of the women that had so effortlessly slaughtered this village seemed to be just that, normal women. Anat's dark skin was flawless, save for the tattoos that did their job of accenting her cheek bones and lips perfectly. Lucian would have called her beautiful if they'd met under different circumstances, but such words would only appear to be a sign of weakness right now. So he schooled his features, even as he looked upon the beautiful woman before him.

When Anat's hand lifted for his face once more, Lucian was expecting a slap or a backhand for his insolence. The light brush of her fingers across his cheek though, was unexpected, and he let the stone-cold mask of his facial features falter, even if it was for just a moment. The moment she spoke, his mask was firmly in place once more.

Lucian had been so caught up in looking at Anat, and meeting her gaze, that he'd truly forgotten about the dagger that was pressed to his throat. It's retreat and disappearance reminded him of it though, albeit briefly. He remained silent as she offered up a compliment of sorts before explaining what his options were likely to be when they got to the village. A retort came to mind, but he held it for now, watching as she straightened her riding clothes.

Lelia's voice cut through the air, breaking the atmosphere the pair had created, and Lucian blinked before looking up at the woman who was the cause of his predicament. He remained silent and still as the women talked about him once more, still paying no heed to his presence. When Anat made to walk away though, Lucian couldn't resist one more jab. "You continue to underestimate Anat." He said, daring to withhold her honorific. "Such foolishness might yet cost you. I wonder how things might have been if Lelia hadn't interfered."

Lucian left his words at that, wondering how Anat would react to them, be it right now, or when they got back to camp. He was once again forced to turn his attentions to Lelia, who, although clearly a warrior, was noticeably softer than Anat, both in figure and temperament.

Soon enough, Lucian found himself seated behind Lelia on her horse. Celesto was thankfully being brought along as well. Try as he might, it was almost impossible for Lucian to ignore Lelia as she chattered away. The sweet smell of flowers, combined with the jangling of jewelry had been quite distracting though, both while she'd prepared him for the ride, which he was actually thankful for, though he'd never admit it.

Lucian was thankful for one thing though, and that was the fact that his hands, though bound, were in front of him. It would have been infinitely harder to keep his seat if they were bound behind him. The final thing he was thankful for though, was a small bit of personal conditioning that Lelia would likely find out soon, though probably not to her liking.

Anat merely chuckled at his last comment. To her, it was little more than the barking of a chained dog.

_________

The journey back to the village would have been long and arduous save for Lelia’s easy banter. She did not talk of landmarks or of how to get to the village. Instead, she talked about herself, the level of care she gave her captives, and the many children she had born via her personal harem.

“I’ll keep you with them for a few days for you to get acclimated to our life. It would be cruel of me to just auction you off. Most women expect their men trained, but looking at you, it would take an exception one to make sure that you continue to mind. Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” she said with a slight whistle, “but some women are wont to treat their men cruelly if they don’t obey. It’s funny how much men and women can be alike at the end of the day and so different.”

She hadn’t expected him to answer her. She was, after all, used to this type. Definite, strong, honorable. Usually these words melted away at the threat of injury to life or limb. If anything, his silence reaffirmed that she had made a good selection. Letting silence settle on them, she turned her gaze to the back of Anat, who was leading the women back to the village.

As the moon began to rise, in the distance, the tops of multi-colored tents glittered in the moonlight. With a small smile, Lelia gently squeezed her legs against the horse, causing it to pick up the pace a little. “See, almost home!”
____________

The village was actually better kept than the villages that they raided - smooth paths were beaten into the sand. Far from a mere collection of tiny tents, the tents here were lavish and large, and came in all conceivable colors. They were held up by ornately carved staffs, and the sound of women and men mingled in conversation and laughter drifted from the open flaps. The village was set up as a cul-de-sac - at the very end of the beaten path was the immense tent of Most Honorable Oya. Even then, the way the village was set up was interesting, to say the least. Despite being in the middle of the desert, like the village they attacked, the amazons had the foresight to build around a series of oasis. So, at the mouth of the village, lush green crops greeted the passersbys. Fresh water was not to be a problem, he could see - and to the far right, he could hear the sounds of livestock.

As they headed further in, one woman, catching the sight of them, let out a joyous shout which brought the whole village running. Despite what he may have thought, the men among them were in every shade and color, and seemed to be...well-off. Some even shouldered children with obvious parental joy.

Most Honorable Oya stepped from her tent, a taller man beside her. Like her, he was dark-skinned. Instead of the tattooing, ornate scarification marked his arms, chest, and face. Like her, his hair was graying. They made quite the intimidating pair - and it was quite clear that Anat was their child.

“Honorable Anat, I am pleased by your return,” Oya’s voice cut through the din. Her good eye slipping past her daughter, she smiled to see Lelia, “And I see that Good Lelia has a new man for us. We are thankful.”

Lelia visibly shivered - but not in fear. To be complimented by the Most Honorable was a high boon indeed. “Thank you, Most Honorable...” and her voice wavered, heavy with emotion. “I will see to it that he gets the upmost in care and goes to the most deserving.”

“Bring him to me later,” said Oya. “I will further determine that. Honorable Anat, it would please me if you and your warriors were to join us all for a feast. Please refresh yourselves.”

With the obvious dismissal, Anat turned her horse to the side, splitting away as the rest of the women went their separate ways.
__________

“Now then, let’s get you cleaned up!” Lelia’s voice was loud in the confines of her tent. True to her word, she had at least 6 men in her tent, of varying ages and colors - among them, three with light eyes - and a flock of happy, eager children.

“Mama, is he going to be staying with us?”

“Mama, will I get to be that tall?”

“Mama, can I feed him?”

The oldest child was maybe 12, the youngest barely able to crawl about the floor. With the eagerness of which they “attacked” her once she was in the tent, it was clear that despite the very largeness of the family, there was much love to be found. The men, a bit more reserved, waited until the children were spoken to before they moved forward to show their affection.

“Ran, will you do mama a favor? Fetch some water from the hot spring so that we can bathe this one. Most Honorable Oya wants to see him, and we want to make sure he is clean and handsome! Akeni, Nabik, go help your sister.”

Ran, a little tow-headed girl that was a shade lighter than her mother, nodded and dashed out the flap carrying a large vase. Akeni was a curly dark haired boy, his eyes a pale green, and Nabik, a fair-skinned boy with long waves of dark blonde hair. They too carried vases and various bowls.

“Here, I’m going to cut you free. Please don’t try and run; it won’t end well. Can you give me your word that you will not?” Lelia’s voice was serious, as opposed to her usually gentle tones. “You were captured in good faith - and if you so please, you can have the opportunity to fight for your freedom. But you will need to obey to have that opportunity.”

Lucian kept his breathing slow and controlled as they rode. He even closed his eyes, not even worrying for the time being about trying to remember his way back to the city from the village. It all seemed like a giant sea of sand to him, no landmarks that he could easily define, and he was far too busy trying to tune out Lelia's constant stream of chatter.

All too soon though, the moon began to rise, and he heard Lelia speak once more. His gaze lifted as they picked up speed, and he could see the colored tents in the distance...home.

The village itself, was nothing like Lucian had imagined it. The colorful tents were the first thing he noticed. The men, in all their varying sizes and colors was the next. He was surprised that the men were allowed to walk free, and even more surprised about how happy they seemed, even those shouldering children at their approach.

Then, there was of course the cluster of oasis' at the front of the village, offering both water, and something to bottleneck anybody that tried to attack them. He heard the sounds of livestock as well, but his gaze was drawn to the largest tent at the very back of the village. He swallowed hard at that, but forced the rest of himself to remain stoic in the face of all of this.

The elderly pair standing just outside that tent were intimidating to be sure. She was tattooed, in a fashion very similar to Anat. There was no question as to who they were, and who Anat was. The sight of the scarring that covered the elderly man was intimidating, to say the least, especially standing beside the woman.

Lucian's gaze was naturally drawn to the old woman, for there could be no doubt that she was the leader. He looked straight at her, even as he heard her speak about Lelia's capture of him. God, the things he wanted to say, or wished he could do, and yet he had to be quiet, at least for now. No good would come of it.

The inside of Lelia's tent held another surprise of sorts. She'd talked of the men and the children, but the way they were swarmed when they walked in the tent was almost unbelievable. Every child spoke at once, but Lucian's gaze circled the tent, and the men in it. There were six here, three with light blue eyes like his own. He noticed how subdues they were. He swore to himself, even as Lelia sent some of the children to fetch some water, that he would never become like them.

Lelia's words, and the serious tone of her voice brought Lucian's gaze back to her. He held her gaze for a few long seconds before speaking. "My word." He said at last, offering up his hands. "And my name is Lucian." He said, already wishing he hadn't. Her knowing his name was such a small step, but then again, the largest of walls were still built but one brick at a time...

“I thank you, Lucian.” Her voice was soft, soothing. Her fingers deftly undid the knot that held him. Before he really could enjoy not being tied, the children returned. Laughing and barely keeping the water from sloshing from the various pots that they carried, they all fell in line when Lelia gave them a stern look. The water steamed from the necks of the pots, carrying the smell of fragrant oils, the spicy scent of myrrh undercut by the warm smell of sandalwood.

“Now, then....” Lelia took one of the pots, and unceremoniously dumped it over his head.

_________

A vigorous scrubbing later, Lucian would find himself oiled and fragrant, clad only in a dark red loin cloth that brought out the paleness of his skin and the pale color of his eyes. During his ordeal, the men had silently helped Lelia, looking at him as if they weren’t sure if he were friend or foe.

But, tense bathing experience aside, there they were. Lelia was decked in some of her nicest wear. A deep blue tunic with silver threading wrapped her body, multiple loops of thin silver chains studded with bells kept it at her waist. It was slit up to her thigh to allow her legs freedom of movement, and on each ankle she wore heavy silver bracelets. While Lucian was in the process of being oiled, Lelia sat patiently while one of her men carefully drew ornate designs on the soles of her feet and hands with henna. Another combed through her thick black hair, setting it free from the myriad braids she wore it in. It crinkled around her face like a dense halo, and she sighed in contentment to have it down. Heavy silver earrings completed the look, and she gestured for Lucian to follow her as she stood. Drawing thick lines of kohl around her eyes, she clicked her tongue as she looked at him in the reflection of the highly polished brass disc she used as a mirror.

“My, you clean up quite well. Come, follow me. We’ll get you something to eat. We won’t auction you tonight - since Most Honorable Oya has her eye on you, you may not even have bidders. You might go straight to her.”

______________

The party outside was in full force. Women and men both sang, and the air was perfumed with the scent of roasted meat. Unlike many other places, the feasting was done sitting down. The ground was overlaid with ornate plush rugs, and men and women alike reclined on them, serving themselves and each other. Despite the very distinctive matriarchy that ran the tribe, the men at the table ate side by side with their women, talking amongst themselves and helping themselves to fine portions from their woman’s plate.

Oya reclined at the head of the line of carpets, the scarred man beside her. She wore a deep purple robe with copper designs meticulously sewn in. Unlike the other women who luxuriated with various amounts of flesh showing, Oya was bundled up in her robe, only her arms bare. However, her dark flesh was marked with henna and covered in equally ornate golden bracelets. Even the patch she wore over her missing eye was held with gold. Her partner, though, was bared down to the waist, a ornately wrought gold belt holding a multi-patterned cloth skirt in place. On his arms were rows of golden bracelets, and in the firelight, his face was severe. The two kept a respectful distance from each other. If it wasn’t for the sharp eyes of the occasional woman, the affection shared between the two would be missed.

Anat, of course, sat to their right, the center of attention and yet alone at the same time. Like Lelia, she was dressed in a tunic slit to her waist, hers a deep orange with golden stitching. Across her waist, a golden belt similar to her father’s draped low across her hips. Her face, uncovered, revealed long twisted coils of hair that tumbled down her shoulders. The occasional golden bauble dangled from her dark locks, and despite all of the finery in front of her, she looked massively bored - or that her mind was somewhere else.

As Lelia sat down, she gestured for Lucian to do the same. The festivities went on as usual, with Lelia pointing out various delicacies to him and making sure that he got his share.

“So, do you desire your freedom, slave?”

Oya’s voice cut through the conversation, and brought it to a stand still. Amused, Anat shifted on the rug, turning her dark gaze to Lucian’s.

The feel of the steaming water being dumped so suddenly and unceremoniously over his head actually made Lucian gasp. The scent of the water had been strong, and now that he was so quickly and thoroughly drenched, it was almost overpowering. his eyes slipped briefly closed as he wobbled on his feet, but with a firm shake of his head, he forced himself to remain upright.

Not long after that, Lucian found himself washed, scrubbed, dried, and oiled once more before he was finally fitted with a dark red loin cloth.

During the final processes, Lucian noticed Lelia sitting comfortably while two of her men attended to her. It didn't pass his notice though, that through the entire process, and still now, her men were paying particular attention to him, almost as though they expected him to lunge for Lelia at any moment. He didn't blame them of course, but it certainly didn't help him feel welcome.

Lucian was stoically silent in the face of Lelia's compliment. Even being cleaned and pampered so, didn't make him any happier about his predicament. He was glad to hear the talk of food though, especially with the scent of so many wonderful things wafting into the tent from outside.

As Lucian, Lelia, and the rest of her entourage exited her tent, Lucian couldn't help but marvel at the scene before him. He'd been surprised about everything about these women and their home, from the moment he'd gotten here, and the site of the long line of tables and plush rugs had the same effect. It was also curious watching the way the men and women interacted. He'd half expected them to be chained or caged, yet, they walked and talked freely. In addition to helping themselves to the food on their woman's plate.

The same elderly pair Lucian had noticed before sat at the head of the row of tables. They were both decked out in gold, yet it seemed perfectly natural in it's placement on their bodies, from the old woman's eye patch, to the bracelets she wore, right down to the gold belt the man wore.

Anat sat beside them, and though surrounded by people and activity, she seemed alone, her dark skin accented by the deep orange tunic she wore. Golden baubles danced on seemingly random locks of hair. They framed her angular face nicely though, for none of them impeded her vision. Curiously enough though, she looked bored, despite everything that was going on, and the fact that it was all likely in her honor.

The smell of the food called to Lucian, and he didn't dare fight Lelia as she led him to a table and sat down, signaling for him to do the same. His light blue gaze wandered here and there over the veritable banquet before him, guided by Lelia's hand.

Oya's voice cut through the noise and distractions like a hot blade through flesh. It wasn't loud, but it was commanding in other aspects, and it silenced everybody, bringing gazes to him from all directions, including, it seemed, Anat's. He met her gaze strongly before turning to Oya once more. He cleared his throat before he spoke, choosing his words carefully.

"Truthfully speaking, Most Honorable Oya," He began, paying her the respect she deserved via the title he'd heard Lelia use. "I don't expect to ever be freed, except by death, but yes. I do desire my freedom." As he spoke, and even afterwards, he met Oya's gaze, ignoring everybody else for now, save for the leader who could admittedly have him killed for any slight, or none at all.

Oya’s eyes hooded over. The expression was both serpentine and all knowing. The man at her side fixed his dark brown gaze on Lucian.

“So shall you have an opportunity to win your freedom, then,” Oya spoke. Though her lips did not curve up, it sounded like she was smiling. Anat, reclining next to her mother’s side, said nothing. Her dark eyes darted to Lucian - if it were not for the swaying charms in her hair, it would have been impossible to tell that she had even moved. The voices around the table rose to an excited murmur, men looking at their women and children tugging at their mothers. Next to his side, Leila tensed.

“Tuona,” Oya started. Further down the line of carpets, a woman stood. Her skin had a beautiful honey color, and her eyes were a vivid green. Her hair a dark blonde, it fell across her face in short waves. Against her dark blue tunic, her muscles cut hard lines into her flesh and strained the fabric that she wore.

“Yes, Most Honorable Oya?”

“You currently own the strongest male. Call him forward. If our new arrival can defeat him, then he will have his freedom. If this new one falls, then he is yours to do what you see fit to. Provide him with an appropriate weapon. Lelia.”

“Yes, Most Honorable Oya?” Lelia’s voice was strong. If it were not for Lucian sitting so closely to her, it was impossible to tell how nervous she was. There was always a moment of doubt when this moment came for her. Far from being an emotionless slave trader, Lelia always feared for her charges. There was the fear of the loss of their life, but worse, the fear that her skills had slipped with her age and motherhood. Her eldest daughter was still too young to take over the “family business.” And rather than being ashamed of the fear, it was something Lelia acknowledged and tucked in the corner of her mind. Only a fool would be completely certain all the time; that lesson was taught from generation to generation as well when it came to the trade.

“Equip your new charge with whatever weapon he desires. There will be no body armor. A man fights best when there is nothing between him and death.”

“Yes, Most Honorable Oya.” Lelia stood, gesturing for him to do the same. “Come, Lucian, I’ll take you to pick your weapon.”

There was a palpable excitement coming from the blonde as she gestured to a man that had been reclined next to her.

_____________

If the idea was that the two men would fight in a large arena, the next setting would prove to that to be incorrect.

The entire village had gathered next to a cleared area next to where the horses were kept. Little more than a dirt ring lit with torches, it was clear that the area that they were to fight was long used as training grounds. It seemed odd that it was so close to where the horses were (long since thought as skiddish animals), but the reasoning behind it was that if the beasts were continually exposed to the sound of battle, it would not disturb them to charge in.

As if interested in what would be unfolding next, several of the horses lifted their heads over the fence, firelight reflected in their dark eyes.

Standing around the men in an open circle, Oya stood in front, not elevated above the others. Anat stood beside her, her arms crossed, her face a blank. Beside her was Lelia, surrounded by her family. And on the opposite side was Tuona. It was tradition to have the women of the opponents stand on opposite sides to prevent infighting over the results of a duel. Tuona stood behind her man. He was not a large lumbering creature - no, if anything, he was similar in build to Lucian. His skin was a light brown, and his hair jet black. In his callused hand, he held a curved scimitar. Perhaps he was one of the villagers spirited away by one of the raids.

“Good luck,” Leila whispered as she gently squeezed Lucian’s arm.

“You may begin,” Oya said with a clap of her hands.

Lucian's gaze never wavered from Oya'a, not even with the knowledge that every eye in the village was on him. His breathing remained slow and steady, even as a murmur of excitement moved through the village. He'd heard the first words that he'd wanted to hear. Now it was just a matter of who he'd be fighting.

It wasn't until Oya called out a name that Lucian finally turned his head. He saw the woman rise. She was likely the epitome of everything this village held dear. She was both beautiful and strong. Her honey-colored skin was practically flawless, her wavy dark blond hair would inspire envy in most any city in the world, and the muscles that strained the blue wrap she wore were taught and firm. She would be a worthy opponent, or would have before he heard Oya's next words.

Lucian turned towards Lelia, wondering what weapon she would actually give him. She definitely didn't seem her cheery self anymore, and he couldn't help but wonder about that. Lucian rose and followed Lelia, not even paying attention just yet, to the woman named Tuona, or the man that was her champion.

A small frown crossed Lucian's face when he saw the racks of weapons. His eyes scanned over every one of them, and it wasn't until he came to the very last one that he actually smiled. His hand reached for the familiar sight that was his katana, safely secured in it's sheath, hanging from the very end of the rack. His left hand held the hilt as his right hand slid over the jewel-encrusted handle, almost seeming to familiarize himself with the feel of it before turning to Lelia and nodding.

Lucian was admittedly surprised when he came to the place he'd be fighting, though truthfully, he shouldn't have been. The open circle was perfect in a way. The ground was packed down and solid, resembling the way the ground was all throughout their camp, as well as any other camp they attacked.

The next thing Lucian did though, he expected would catch most of the people around him off guard. People were still getting into good viewing points around the circle, and he took the time to kneel down, setting his weapon down so he could take some of the packed sand into his hands and rubbing it through his palms. The oil he'd been covered with had left his hands slippery, and he did not want that small thing to cost him so dearly here. The sand would help firm up his grip, and when he rose, his blue gaze turned finally to the man that stood across the circle from him.

The man was of a build similar to his own, wiry, strong, and agile. It was no wonder that Tuona owned him. He was definitely her type. In the back of his mind, Lucian felt Lelia's hand on his arm, offering it a small squeeze before hearing her whispered wish for luck. He actually felt that she meant it, but forced the thought aside as he faced his opponent once more.

As Oya stepped to the side of the circle, Lucian pulled his blade free of it's sheathe and let the sheathe fall to the ground beside him. He took a slow and deep breath to prepare himself, and moments later, he heard Oya's words, and the clap of her hands.

____________________________________________________________________

Lucian's opponent was on him almost instantly, clearly having anticipated Oya's clap, almost down to the second. The scimitar came down in a lethal killing arc, an arc that Lucian, thankfully enough, was not standing under. He dipped to the side at the last second, so surprised by the man's speed, that he didn't even have time to counterattack before the man was turning towards him once more, a small smile on his lips. His hand gripped his katana tighter as he took up a guarded stance, his feet shoulder-length apart, his left foot in front of his right.

The man came forward again, slower this time, clearly studying Lucian as he circled him slowly. Lucian remained still, only turning his body to keep the man in front of him. He wasn't sure how long the man circled, but in one of the brief instants that he blinked, the man surged forward once more. Lucian was ready this time though, and as the scimitar came down, he lifted his katana to block it. He did not expect though, the man's left fist to surge upwards, hitting him square on the chin. He staggered back dazed as the man pushed forward. The attack came in the form of a thrust though, and even as he staggered back, Lucian was able to get his blade beside that lethal thrust, pushing it wide. He then did something he'd never done before. Using the man's forward momentum, and his own push, Lucian brought his right elbow up and around, catching his opponent on the chin.

Even as Lucian's opponent staggered back, spinning slightly from the impact, Lucian didn't pursue. Above all else, he was still a knight, and he would not attack the man before he was ready to defend himself. They circled each other once more, each foot carefully placed, eyes never leaving each other. they circled longer now, and though it was unlike himself, Lucian found himself getting frustrated. He surged forward, pushing off his back leg and attacking, his own blade coming down in a lethal arc all it's own, almost singing as it moved through the air. In an instant though, his opponent was gone, taking just enough time to push his blade aside, spin around him, and flick that scimitar at the back of his left arm. A searing pain from that arm told Lucian that the quick flick of the scimitar had not missed it's mark.

Lucian turned, looking for the man once more, but the man was moving again, almost dancing as he bounced from foot to foot. Lucian's grip loosened on his weapon the muscles in his left arm not appreciated the wound he'd received. The man saw the blade lower, even if it was but a fraction of an inch, and he came forward once more. Lucian lifted his blade to block what he knew was coming, but at the last minute, the man stopped just short, thrusting his weapon forward once more. Lucian brought his blade down, just barely managing to parry the scimitar, but another sting of pain in his abdomen told him he'd been too slow. His blue gaze lifted to his opponent, and he saw the confident smile on the man's face. He'd landed two blows to Lucian's one, but only Lucian's blood colored the sand.

When the man came forward once again, Lucian chose to side step the thrust, bringing his katana around in a wide arc to counterattack. The arc was too wide though, and a searing pain from his left arm told him why. His strike was easily blocked, and before he knew it, the man's foot lifted and kicked Lucian in the stomach. He fell to his back and rolled backwards, trying desperately to get to his feet as the wound on his side protested the action. The man was already on him though, and it was not steel that came forward this time, but rather a fist. The punch caught Lucian on the chin, and he was sent rolling to the ground. He ended up on his stomach, and when he made to rise, a swift kick to his ribs sent him rolling as he cried out in pain. Twice more he tried to rise, each effort met with a kick.

When, on that fourth try, Lucian made it as far as his hands and knees, he already knew why. He could see the shadows on the ground, and see the man out of the corner of his eye as he was circled, like a vulture circling a wounded animal, not yet dead. He shook his head, wishing he had the strength just then to push himself to his feet, to meet death how he was expected to. His head sagged though, as he found himself lacking the strength. He saw the man coming from his right side, but his own weapon, though in his hand, was pressed to the ground. He wouldn't be able to block the strike he knew was coming, and it wasn't until he saw the man approach that he saw his only chance.

The man lifted his weapon, and Lucian lifted his gaze to meet the man's eyes as he paused, holding there, letting the crowd enjoy the sight of what was about to happen. Lucian meanwhile, tried to look as helpless as he could, not a difficult task, as his left hand, shielded from the man's gaze, gripped something. Then, after savoring his kill for long enough, the man brought his blade down. Lucian had seen the muscles tense, and the moment the blade started it's descent, He forced his wounded and exhausted body to roll once more. He rolled to his back, bringing up the sheathe of his katana. He held it up and blocked the scimitar and thrust his own weapon upwards. The shock on the man's face as his katana found it's home in his gut would have been priceless if not for the way the man collapsed, falling forward on Lucian's prone and otherwise helpless form. His breathing had been labored enough from the wound on his side, and the exertion necessary to get this far, but he found himself pinned and helpless beneath his dying opponent.

Though he should have been glad to know he won, all Lucian could think about then, was the scream that rose from Tuona, and the sight of her charging towards him, weapon in hand.

Tuona’s rampage was stopped as Anat smoothly stepped forward, her small daggers somehow blocking the downswing of Tuona’s broadsword. Though Tuona’s massive frame dwarfed Anat’s in build, Anat did not seem to be struggling under the power of the other woman. Anat shifted, turning as easily as a dancer, and Tuona was knocked off guard. Flipping her daggers over her wrists, Anat prepared herself for the next attack.

“That is ENOUGH,” boomed Oya. Tuona, remembering herself, lowered her head. “My deepest apologies, Most Honorable, Honorable.” Her voice trembled, both with rage and with fear. It went without saying that a direct attack on either Anat or Oya brought a swift death.

“I have not been harmed, Most Honorable Oya. I recognize that Tuona was acting out of grief.” Anat’s voice was calm and did not belie the strain that she just suffered. “The battle was well met,” and something close to praise entered her voice. “The new man has won fairly.”

“But the man he killed was my beloved!” Anguish colored Tuona’s voice, and only now was it clear that tears were in her green eyes.

“Yes, but he himself is nearly dead. I would say that though he won, there’s not much for you to revenge yourself on,” said Anat wryly. Her voice was closer to Lucian now - she had made her way to the two men. Kneeling beside him, her voice was low enough for only the two of them to hear now. “Perhaps this will humble you a bit to know what it means to truly be a warrior.” Bracing herself in the sand, she began to lift the dead man from Lucian’s form. Tuona moved forward, helping Anat to do so. Once the dead man was freed from Lucian’s blade, Tuona stood for long moments, tears streaming her leonine face. Then, she knelt beside the dead man and gently closed his eyes.

“It is only fair,” she said, her voice catching. “He has killed many here, and it was a warrior’s death that he died. I will have honor this night - and he has left me with many strong children. His was a life that was full.”

“And in time, you will find someone new to love as well,” said Anat, not unkindly. Reaching out, she embraced Tuona. Surprisingly enough, Tuona returned the embrace, openly sobbing on the smaller woman’s shoulder. Rubbing the blonde’s shorn hair, Anat softly kissed her cheek. “Well met, my sister. You are honored.”

Struggling to smile through her tears, Tuona nodded, and embraced Anat so hardily that the smaller woman was lifted from the ground. “You bring me joy inside my tears,” it was said as a blessing and as a statement.

“Bury your love, Tuona, and spend time with your children,” said Oya. The commanding tone had slipped from it, and now she spoke as a mother to her child. Tuona bowed, and retrieved her dead charge from the sand, cradling him in her arms as if he were but a mere child.

Anat knelt beside Lucian’s side, looping her arm under his. “Can you walk, or will I need to carry you?”

Lucian knew that he was in no condition to fight Tuona. He couldn't even move the man that was lying dead on top of him, let alone defend himself. He simply closed his eyes and waited for the death that he knew would be swift in coming.

The sound of steel meeting steel made Lucian open his eyes. Of all the people he could have possibly expected to help him, Anat was probably the last one on the list. but help him she did. He watched her turn aside the large broadsword and prepare herself for another attack.

Oya's voice boomed louder than Lucian would have thought possible for her age, but it was loud and commanding enough to stop the two women and pull Tuona out her of rage.

Lucian was speechless as he watched and listened to the women console each other. It was another example of the way in which these women were different from the rest of the people around them.

He'd heard what Anat had whispered to him, but he didn't dare respond, not in front of the entire village. He let out a sigh of relief as Anat and Tuona got the man off of him, and when he heard Anat's question, he looked up to meet her gaze.

"I can walk Honorable Anat, but I wouldn't object to a shoulder to lean on." Lucian said softly, grateful for her help as the two of them worked together to get him to a vertical base. He grimaced with the pain that the motion caused, but he remained stoically silent in the face of it.

“Then a shoulder you shall have.” Humor laced her voice, but did not show on her lips. Her arm securely under his, she lifted him to his feet. She was not so oblivious as not to notice that he was in pain, but there was nothing that she could do until they were back to the safety of her tent.

Taking slow steps, she helped him through the crowd and down the beaten sand trails that laced through the village. The pit was on the outer reaches of the village, past the splendor of Oya’s tent. Passing the heavy blue and purple tent, it would not be too much longer until the pair reached Anat’s tent. It was smaller than Oya’s, but by no means was it small. The fabric that created the tent was of varying hues of red and orange - one of the more festively colored tents, true, but aside from the size, it did not stand out among the others. Truthfully, Leila had a larger tent.

Pushing aside the flap, she lead him inside. The air was dark and heavy with the sweet smell of incense. Thick carpets covered the ground, and she lead him to a plush sheepskin. “Here, you’ll want to lay on this.” It was hard to tell in the darkness of the tent where she was leading him to. Night still lay along the land, and the torch light was dim through the heavy fabric of the tent.

Her body slipping from his, she nimbly made her way through the darkness. In a few moments, a small flame licked from an oil lamp that she held. The pelt in which he sat was somewhat illuminated. The pelt itself was not white; it was far too old and much used to have been called that. Instead, it was a dull cream. Though it was old, it was well-cared for, and smelled clean. Dark rust colored stains along the pelt showed that it was used before for the same purpose.

She went about the room now, lighting various lanterns. In a few moments, the inside of the tent had a warm glow. It was not as bright as daylight, but more than enough for the pair to see each other. From a distance, she studied him and his wounds. Without a sound, she ducked back out of the tent, leaving him in silence.

____________

She returned a half hour later, her arms full with a steaming bowl and bandages. “I will clean your wounds and give you something for the pain. You will need to strip now,” and she gestured at his loin cloth.

Crossing the expanse of the tent, she sat down beside him, setting down the bowl and bandages. The bowl was full of steaming water - and something else. There was a slightly medicinal smell to the water that made it unpleasant.

Lucian was truly grateful for both Anat's assistance, as well as her strength. He was equally grateful though, that he hadn't been cut on either of his legs. That would have made even the short walk to Anat's tent a torturous one.

Anat's tent was actually a surprise to Lucian, not because it was smaller than Lelia, but rather the bright colors. Anat, it seemed, was full of surprises.

It was dark inside Anat's colorful tent, but it wasn't something Lucian was overly worried about. Anat had had two chances to either kill him or watch him get killed, and she'd denied both opportunities. It would make even less sense for her to do it here, in the privacy of her tent. Thankfully, Anat clearly knew her tent well enough to maneuver the pair of them in the darkness, and Lucian let out a low groan, but a happy one, when he was allowed to sink to the ground, which was actually an animal pelt on the otherwise heavily carpeted floor.

Lucian bent his knees as he laid back, his eyes following the path of Anat's shadow in the dim light that his eyes were beginning to adjust to, a task made all the easier by the lamps she started to light. His gaze lifted to Anat's then, but she was clearly preoccupied with her thoughts as she silently left the tent one more. He took the time to study the tent, a drastic difference from what he'd envisioned, both in comfort and decor. The bed itself, was particularly surprising. That proved that they were anything but nomadic, as if he needed further proof of that fact.

Though he wasn't sure how long he waited, Lucian had no doubt that Anat would return eventually, and he actually found himself smiling when he saw her lithe form reappear once more. Her arms were laden with bandages and a steaming bowl that could only have been filled with something medicinal. Only something medicinal smelled that badly.

When Lucian heard Anat's words, he simply nodded, keeping his gaze upon her as his right hand moved to loosen the knot that secured the only piece of clothing he wore.

"I don't get you Anat." Lucian said simply as he removed the dark red loin cloth and set it aside, his gaze never wavering from hers as he continued. "You could have killed me back at the camp, or let Tuona do me in, and yet you declined both times. I can't help but wonder why, especially since, by your own words, you have no need of me."

Lucian wasn't, and didn't even look hurt to be admitting that fact, but his curiosity was clearly reflected in the bright blue gaze that actively tried to hold Anat's dark brown one.

“Just because I have no need of you does not make me a merciless fiend as you so seem to think of my people,” she said wryly as she soaked a few bandages in the water. Wringing them out, she sat down beside him. Gently, she began to wrap his arm. Her fingers were deft; obviously used to having done this many times before. She said nothing while she worked. If it was not for the sound of her breath easing in and out from her body, it would have been easy to believe that he was alone.

Shifting, she took the last length of bandage. “I’m sure you think we just wholesale slaughter innocents and enslave men, treat them terribly. That’s what most people think of us.” She did not sound sad as she spoke. She yawned, ever so slightly, and his neck was stroked by the warmth of her lips. “I know not why I saved you. It seemed like....” trailing off, her fingers trailed down the smooth flesh of his side, carefully avoiding the wound. Pausing, she began to wrap the wound on his side, careful not to hurt him further. “A waste. And I would not have heard the end of it from Lelia if I had.”

The intimacy of the moment would have been tender, perhaps even welcome, if she had not stopped so quickly. Now that his wounds were bound, she damped a rag in the medicinal waters, and began to run it over his body. Bathing him as gently as she would a new infant, she hummed under her breath. First the arms - all the way down, between his fine boned fingers, under his arms, down his sides, gently around his wounds.

It would be easy to assume that the fierce women of the tribe carried hatred with them. That was not the case. She had no reason to hate Lucian; he was attacked, he fought back and won. For those who lived by the sword, there was nothing to be bitter about when it came to dying in such a fashion. No, if there was anything to be upset by, it would be because she felt that she had failed as a leader. If she had run things more smoothly....She shook her head slightly. She couldn’t think like that. Even the most wise of warriors lost fellow soldiers. There was no fighting that. The only thing that she could hope for was that her people were trained properly and that the causalities were low.

Running the warm rag down the muscular expanse of his thighs, she inhaled and paused. Her hands were not very far from his member. With a laugh, she gave him the rag. “I will leave the rest of your cleaning to you. Let me know if there is anything else I can assist you with. You will be bedding with me tonight. Tomorrow, we shall further discuss what your role is to be here.”

Lucian kept looking at Anat as she spoke and eventually sat down. Her words were interesting, and it gave him something to think about, or more specifically, focus on. He resisted the urge to flinch when her hands started to work deftly on the wound on his arm. It was clear that she'd done this before, and he was glad for that.

Anat's next statement was as intriguing as her first one, but Lucian found himself briefly distracted by her yawn, or more specifically, the feel of her breath on his neck that the yawn caused. The equally teasing feel of her fingers trailing down his side actually brought his eyes closed for the first time since he'd met Anat and her warriors. They opened soon enough though, but a soft sigh still slipped from his lips, even if he did end up tensing when she started to tend to the wound on his side.

"Can you honestly say you'd think anything different if our positions were reversed Anat?" Lucian asked softly. "What would you think if I slaughtered your village with a raiding party of barbarians and captured you to use as breeding stock?" Lucian asked, even as he felt Anat's hands bathing him with the rag. It was an unusual sensation for Lucian, but far from an unpleasant one. It didn't pass his notice though, when she stopped before reaching between his bared thighs though. His right hand gripped the rag, and he chuckled along with her.

"Perhaps something to dry myself with when I'm finished?" Lucian asked calmly before soaking the rag once more and picking up where she left off. He didn't dare lean forward to get all the way down his legs to his feet, but that was something that could be handled later. In the meantime, he simply put the rag back into the bowl and laid back on the soft sheepskin that had clearly been used for such purposes before. He let out another sigh and let his eyes close briefly, wondering what events tomorrow could possibly bring.

“I like how you assume that my position has always been what you see.” She handed him a blanket, woven from soft wool. Picking up the bowl and bloodied rag, she set them down on one of the tables within the tent. It would be something that she would take care of the next day.

Though the atmosphere of the tent was quiet, tiptoeing into restful sleep, the festivities still went on outside. In the distance, soft wailing filtered through the sound of the crowds. Anat stretched, wiggling her fingers as she reached for the top of the spacious tent. The day had been a long one for her, and she was looking forward to resting. If she trusted him not to run, or not to kill her in her sleep was something entirely different. Without paying him much mind, she began to undo the belts and loops of gold that held her orange tunic in place.

The fabric fell from her body and pooled around her feet. Reaching down, she shook it out and laid it across another table. Again, something to be dealt with tomorrow when she had more time to herself. Underneath the tunic she wore nothing, and her dark body slipped easily within the shadows. Her bed was a higher pallet of blankets and carpets - a little more than a bed roll. Within the tents and within the desert, there was no need for traditional beds with wooden frames. At the foot of the bed was a large wooden chest. Reaching in, she pulled out two loose fitting tunics.

Pulling on a pale blue one, she handed him the other. It was colored the same, and woven out of a thicker wool than the blanket she had given him to dry himself. “It gets cold in the desert. You’ll want to wear this.”

"And what were you before you were Honorable Anat and leader of the raids"" Lucian asked as he reached to take wool blanket. It was surprisingly soft, and he was glad for it, especially when he had to dry the parts of his body closest to the wounds that were still tender.

Even as Lucian dried himself, Lucian was acutely aware of Anat. His blue gaze watched as she stretched her lithe form, reaching for the top of the spacious tent. He was especially attentive though, when he saw her start to work at the golden belts and loops that held her orange tunic in place.

If Lucian had expected Anat to be wearing anything under the tunic, he didn't show it, even as he saw the colorful fabric fall from her body. He found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her dark form, especially when he saw her muscles bunch as she bent to retrieve the colorful garb so she could shake it out and lay it across one of the tables within the tent.

Lucian actually found it hard to keep his eyes on Anat's exact location in the dim light. Her dark form moved so swiftly and silently through the relative darkness. It wasn't until she moved to the chest at the foot of her bed that Lucian realized that he was staring, and had been since she'd bared herself before him. He forced himself to turn his head away, reaching his hand to take the loose-fitting pale blue tunic. Even as he grabbed it, he knew it was made of an even thicker material than the wool she'd given him to dry himself.

The process of pulling on the tunic was not as easy as Lucian would have preferred, and he actually found himself a little out of breath after he finally managed it. He laid back once more and let out another sigh of relief.

A wry smile crossed her face.

“A slave.” It was said simply enough. Nothing in her movements stalled. A wind gently beat at the fabric of the tent, adding a distinct heavy ripple to the sounds of the party outside. On the top of one of the tables was an ornately etched brass bowl. Inside of it was a pestle of sounds. Retrieving them, she knelt beside his pallet.

“Look,” it was a command and a request. Gently running the pestle along the outside of the bowl, the metal began to sing. The aoelian sound rang through the tent, overpowering the noise from the outside with a hypnotic chime. “If you need me in the night, then you ring this bowl. It will wake me and I will attend to you, for as long as you are wounded.” She added the last part, least he think that she was someone that would automatically cater to a man’s whims.

His tone had changed towards her. It must have been brought on by the delirium of his near death; she had seen several warriors react the same way. He used her title without spite now. But she knew it would be temporary; once he was well enough to have full recall of his wits, he would go back to being defiant. Perhaps he would try to escape. Lelia would definitely have her hands full with this one. Or, perhaps as a way to keep peace in the tribe, Lelia would train him and give him to Tuona.

The thought made her chuckle and shudder at the same time. As her hands touched his as she passed him the bowl, she thought briefly of how sad it would be to see him passed to Tuona. She would be cruel; perhaps even torture him. The woman was an odd one and prone to drastic humors. Ah well.

Standing, she left the bowl in his hands and walked back to her bed. It was not too far from his - perhaps a handful of steps. Settling under the thick blankets, she sighed and closed her eyes. It had been a strange night....perhaps with rest, she would be able to piece things together better in the morning.