
Part One 
Of 
The Erotic Adventures of Jaffa La’Felom

By Trystl


Hoit’s Girl

1
	Fihro Sigmar’s slave caravan returned to the small town of Habil Anek, during one of the longest wet seasons in living memory. It was still late, in the mid-afternoon, but the lateness of the season and the steady rain conspired to make it feel more like late, late evening. It had been raining, or drizzling, almost steadily since just shortly after he had arrived on the isle—a little less than four days ago. But for Sigmar, saying it simply, like that, didn’t adequately express the magnitude of the rain. He was from the isle of Meswitch, and a single day on Feilom was as long as eighteen days there. Thus, it was hard to know exactly how long it had really been raining, without reading the signs and doing the math to convert Feilom’s days into emdays, as Meswitch’s days were commonly called elsewhere throughout the isles. 
	Figuring thing so precisely was a duty that Sigmar invariably left for his Navigator, Stenz, but he had done enough traveling to have developed an intuitive sense about these things. 
	By his way of thinking, water had been falling from the sky in some form or another for about sixty emdays. That was a very long time by anyone’s measure—and the rivers and streets both showed it. The rivers by swelling into raging torrents that threatened to take out the bridges, even though he remembered thinking that they were ridiculously high during his previous two visits. Both had come during Feilom’s dry season, when even the best roads turned to several inches of dust on top of slabs of thick stone. He had always wondered why all the cities and towns in Feilom were built on the highest ground, always so far away from the farmland in the valleys. It has seemed like an unnecessary inconvenience to him on his previous visits. 
	Now he understood. 
	The bulk of the low farmlands had been swallowed up by large lakes. During the dry season the water level would go down, exposing the richest deposits of topsoil imaginable, with lakes in the center to provide water when there was none from the sky. But during the wet season, even the high ground ran with swift currents of water. In the cities, channels were specifically built to carry the water away, and a great deal of attention was paid to the slope of the land. Everything ran down to the channels, which had been overflowing more often than not during this rainy season. Travel of any kind was difficult, for all but the hi-roads had disappeared into a quagmire of mud—sometimes more than a foot thick—and the wheels of the wagon dragged through with a sloshing sound that was a constant reminder of just how slow they were traveling. Sigmar’s men were nearing exhaustion after being on the road for so long, sleeping as best they could by taking turns crawling into one of the moving wagon. The ground was too wet to sleep at the camps that they usually make, but with their slow pace they didn’t make up any extra time by not stopping. 
	Only in the towns with a large enough inn to handle a whole caravan were his men finally able to get any sleep in a real bed. Sigmar usually didn’t mind sleeping while he traveled, but this trip had been hard even on him. So he was pleased when Faldern headed the caravan straight towards the town’s only public stable, which was naturally attached to Habil Anek’s inn. The bump of the wagon’s wheels made a welcome sound as they meet the small uphill grade that lead under the cover of a roof. 
	Sigmar tied off the reigns and jumped down from his padded seat, noticing as he did that several of his men were already doing the same. They had been in the saddle and on hard seats far too long. Faldern, Sigmar’s first mate, wasn’t one of the men jumping down, of course. He was almost as tall as Sigmar himself and always seemed to be full of boundless energy, even when others around him were so weary they could barely stay on their feet. Now he was barking orders to the men, separating them into various groups: some to take care of the horses and others to shepherd the female slaves inside the inn. 
	“Faldern,” Sigmar said walking towards him. “Pick a few men to see the women inside and 
make sure they’re secure, then send the rest of the men off to find a meal and a bed.”
	“And leave the horses to the stable girl?” Faldern gave him a questioning look. “The equipment wont get the attention they need.”
	“I’ll tell the stable girl what’s needed and offer her a tidy bonus—half now and half when I see that it’s done properly. But the men are exhausted. It won’t hurt me to pay a little extra this once so that they can get themselves to bed.”
	“I’ll let them know,” Faldern said with a solemn nod that, as usual, gave no hint of whether he approved or not. 
	It took Sigmar several moments to make the necessary arrangements for the horses and wagons. Stable girls weren’t known for their meticulous care of a slaver’s horses and wagons. Perhaps that was why it was traditionally a job that the slave merchant’s men performed. This girl was younger than most, but despite the daunting chore before her, the bonus that Sigmar offered was large enough to make her eyes widen with a obvious hint anticipation. He was fairly certain that she would at least try to do a good job. 
	The slave women had been taken inside the inn, which was far too small to comfortably accommodate a slaver’s caravan the size of Sigmar’s. But it did have a large area in the cellar, which could be locked securely, and this made an acceptable holding area for the women. The men would be forced to share rooms, or sleep in the stables. Perhaps some would find lodging with the owners of  nearby houses, with whom the innkeeper had a standing arrangement for those somewhat unusual occasions such as this.	
	Faldern would, of course, secure private rooms for Sigmar, Stenz and himself, and the beds that were available were comfortable enough. Sigmar looked forward to falling into his own with a good deal of relish, but there were a few important matters that he had to take care of first—and he did not look forward to doing them. 
	He put off the inevitable a little longer by standing beneath the stable’s eves and looking out at the pouring rain. He could hear it pattering against the tiles on the roof; see it disturbing the surface of the large lake that had swallowed up the field where the horses were normally allowed to run. It made little craters in a small hill of mud which was slowly sliding away from the stone slope that lead into the stable itself. 
	Stenz, his navigator came up and joined him, looking out at the grey haze of rain. 
	“If I’d known things would get this bad,” Sigmar grumbled. “I never would have agreed to these foolish arrangements, you know?” 
	“I did warn you that it was the wet season,” Stenz said reasonably, his voice as unperturbably soft and placating as it always was. 
	“You never said anything about anything like this!”
	“I don’t think even the regular inhabitants of Feilom expected anything like this!” Stenz said. 
	Sigmar couldn’t really argue with that. He had no way of knowing for sure, but since everyone he meet remarked on how much it had been raining, he had to assume that the conditions were unusually extreme.  
	“What’s amazing is that the locals would even take notice of the rain,” Stenz said, almost as if he’d been reading Sigmar’s mind. “During the wet season, that is a rather incredible thing in itself.”
	Sigmar had largely discounted the extravagant claims of the locals as just another one of the typical exaggerations they were so fond of making. He couldn’t imagine a seasonal pattern that took a full one hundred and fifty emyears and caused the sun to shine all night during the summers while the winter nights were shrouded in a permanent twilight.
	“Do you suppose it’s true?” Sigmar asked. “What they say about their winters.
 	“I have no reason not to,” Stenz said. “The days have already become noticeably shorter since our last visit. 	In another fifty emyears or so the southern inhabitants will begun to migrate north, into warmer climates where the sun still provides a little light during the days. Some 80 or so emyears latter the migrations would start again—going back the other way to avoid the incredible heat of the northern summers.”
	“How can you tell?”
	“Hum?”
	“About the days being shorter? With all this rain, I mean? I’ve barely seen the sun a few times since we’ve been here.” 
	“The sky may be overcast, but there’s still a distinct increase in the level of darkness when the sun actually falls. Even on the most overcast days, I can still tell to within less than an hour. And the difference I’m talking about isn’t that subtle. It’s a matter of more than 25 hours, which is about what you would expect if the seasons are changing between constant light in the summer and constant dark. Since there are approximately 432 hours in a single day here, and approximately 1,674 days between the lightest and darkest day…” Stenz rolled his eyes a bit as he did a little quick mental figuring. “That means there are...” 
	“Stenz! I’m too tired to think about this right now.”
	“Of course,” the navigator said, giving an embarrassed little smile that none-the-less managed to seem just a bit smug. “I’m sorry. I get carried away sometimes. Why don’t we go to the bar? I’ll buy you and Faldern a round, if we can find him.” 
	“Perhaps later,” Sigmar said. “I’ve got to find our boy and make the exchange. That’s why we came back this way instead of taking the flatter route from Marnicar to Milnucent.”
	“This way isn’t really that much further.” 
	“Not in miles,” Sigmar agreed. “But this way takes us through the mountains, and that’s bound to be more difficult traveling. Not to mention that I’d hate to be caught on one of those tight paths when the sun goes down. If we were traveling across reasonably flat ground we could keep going all though the night, but not on a narrow mountain path. With this rain, I’ll be surprised if the damned road hasn’t been washed out all together. And I certainly don’t want to see my wagons tumbling down the sides of a cliff.”
	“Umm,” Stenz said in a rather non-committal tone. “I hope this young whip turns out to be worth all the fuss then.” 
	“If he provides the shipment of Faux Fiber, the way he promised, it will be.”
	“But you have your doubts?”
	“Lets just say I’m sharpening my knives, incase the little fuck tries to sneak out on me.” 

2
	Jaffa Oi’ Hoit looked at her father, the great Balon LeMeswitch and smiled with genuine affection. It was a fine thing for a daughter to truly love her father—not just respect him, but truly love him—with the kind of storybook love that the legends said Hekina Oi’ Landishmar felt for her father, before he was forced to sell her as a slave. 
	But Balon hadn’t sold her as a slave. He had allowed her to marry the man of her dreams, despite his own serious reservations. And so even when he was being stubborn like this she couldn’t help feeling a great deal of love, as well as admiration, for him. 
	Like virtually all full-blooded Clestions, Balon was a thin man. Without his expensive robes and the finely upholstered chair that he was sitting on as a backdrop, he would have looked far less impressive than most of the man Jaffa passed on the streets. But he had risen from a poor family and, without the advantage of being adopted, become one of the wealthiest man, besides the town’s Magistrate, in all of Habil Anek. 
	Sometimes she suspected that her choice in men wounded her father’s pride. Balon felt that she had chosen a man for all the things that he was not—but that wasn’t the truth at all. Even thinking that he might feel that way hurt her deeply. But Hoit was the only man besides her father that she had ever felt this way about, and if she could not be a wife to her father then she couldn’t imagine being happy belonging to anyone else beside Hoit. 
	Still, her father could be unmovable when he wanted to be. 
	Even with her. 
	He was looking at her now and shaking his head. But his eyes, when they looked at her, still  showed his obvious fondness.  “I’ve always indulged you as much as I could, Jaffa—sometimes I think it was more than I should. I’ve tried to warn you about what could happen, if you insisted on taking up with a man like Hoit, but I’ve tried not to interfere with the way you wanted to live your life, even if I’ve disagreed with it. I’ve even given you small amounts of money in the past, when you needed it. But if Hoit has gotten himself into some sort of trouble over a business deal, then this time it isn’t likely to be a small amount. Nor do I believe that if I gave it to him it would be the last time.” 
	“Please, father! I know it’s probably a lot of money, but I think he needs your help him. And if he needs it, then so do I.”
	“Did he ask you to come?”
	“No! And he would be embarrassed if he knew I had. He’s a proud man, father; and he wants to become something more. That’s why he tries so hard, but this time I think he’s in real trouble.” 
	“Hoit will always be in trouble!” Her father sighed. “I can’t imagine what you possibly saw in him. He’s a bumbling buffoon! You would have made a proper mate for anyone on this entire isle, yet you insisted on choosing him. A man who couldn’t even afford to offer a decent price for you, without me giving you a little money to help him come up with it. I’ve had magistrates ask about you, and merchants even wealthy than I am. You could have had any one of them, if you’d only wanted.”
	“That’s one of the reasons why I love you so much, father. You’ve always tried to let me live my own life as much as you could.” 
		Balon scowled at her. “Sometimes I think I should have ignored what you wanted, instead of letting you talk me in to giving you away to a man who still lives in a tiny hovel and doesn’t even have a single servant. It’s a disgrace that he has you cooking his food and cleaning his home like you were some common house girl—instead of my daughter!” 
	“Hoit could do great things,” Jaffa said. “If you would only help him and guide him.”
	“Don’t you mean: make him my heir?”
	“It wouldn’t hurt to make the gesture, father. Hoit tries so hard to please you, and you throw it back in his face. Besides,” she smiled slyly. “You can always re-declare if he doesn’t live up to your expectations.”
	“Don’t you try to handle me, young woman! A man who has to have everything given to him deserves to loose what he has—and in Hoit’s case, I have no reason to believe that he wouldn’t.”
	“All I’m asking you to do is to give him a chance. A child isn’t born knowing how to walk. It needs time to learn. And a man needs time to learn what it takes to be a smart business man. So maybe Hoit needs someone to hold his hand while he’s learning. Not everyone takes to business the way you did, father.” 
	“I’ll consider making Hoit my heir when he can afford to have someone else do the cooking and cleaning in his own house.”
	“I enjoy cooking, father. It relaxes me.”
	“Cooking for enjoyment is one thing,” he said sharply. “Cooking because you have no other choice is quite another. You’re a beautiful young girl. You should be reading poetry or learning to play a musical instrument. You should have the kind of man you can afford other women for doing such menial labor.”
	“I don’t enjoy reading poetry, father. I enjoy living with Hoit. I love him father, the way I’ve never loved any other man but you.” 
	“You’ve used that argument before,” Balon said. “But this time it isn’t going to work.” 
	“Oh father! It’s all this pressure on Hoit to provide a better life for me that gotten him into this mess in the first place. But I don’t care about all that. All I know is that he wants desperately to make himself a better man so that he can give me a better life. And I really think he might be able to do it this time. He won’t tell me much, but I know he’s already got a buyer, for some merchandise, and it sounds like it could turn out to be very profitable. If it weren’t for this rain I’m sure everything would have worked out just fine.” 
	“A wise man plans for the unexpected.” 
	“If you could plan for it, it wouldn’t be unexpected.” 
	Balon couldn’t help chuckling, as he took Jaffa’s chin in his hand and looked into her eyes. “If only you had been born a boy, what an heir you would have made! Then I wouldn’t have to worry about the quality of the wives you chose to take. You could have a dozen wives, and twice as many servants. But unfortunately, you were not born a boy. And a sensible woman has to be more choosy.”
	“I’m extremely choosy, father. In my whole life, I’ve only loved two men! And one of them was you. Surely that says something about the quality of my tastes.” 
	“With a bit more refinement, I swear you’d make a suitable wife for the emperor himself.” 
	“Father, don’t be absurd!” Jaffa protested in mock surprise. This was a little game that they frequently played, and she always enjoyed playing her part. “I’m not even of Aronian blood.”
	“No you’re not,” her father said with a smile, “so I suppose I would have to settle for a nobleman of the court, then.” 
	“Besides,” Jaffa said, warming to her role. “Why would I want to be a noble’s wife? I don’t have any wish to live the rest of my life getting lost as I wander through the palace and gardens. They say it’s bigger than most of the Zylomian isles. Why, I should grow tired simply walking from my room to the breakfast table in the morning. And every time they have one of those boringly ostentatious balls I should have to stand around clapping with all his other wives while midgets do acrobatics and Bremarian dancers perform for the emperor’s amusement.” She giggled playfully. “And then when it was time for bed, I would have to walk all the way back to my bedroom again.” 
	“Perhaps if you were at the royal court the emperor would see you and insist on sharing your favors in exchange for some of his own.”
	“And is he really so different from other men, father? Does he not put his cock into one hole at a time? Or do you suppose he has two cocks and a friend to satisfy all my orifices at the same time?” 
	Balon chuckled. “I’ve thought about doing that with you myself,” he said, growing suddenly serious. “But with your mother’s strangely unfeminine notions, she need more than just the assurance of being my first woman—she needs to feel that she’s my only woman. Else I’d have taken you for myself, and there would be no more talk about Hoit.”
	“I know,” she said. “Your love for my mother is another reason I love you so much father. But since you can’t take me as your own—I still need Hoit to take care of me. It’s not like he tries these money making ventures for himself, you know.”
	“You’re right,” Balon said. “The fool would probably be content to work as a laborer all his life, pissing away what little money he earns by drinking at the tavern and paying his friends to screw their women. But he fell in love with a woman who was clearly above him—and unfortunately she fell in love with him as well.” 
	 She batted her eyelashes at him. “I can’t help who I love father.”
	“If you weren’t such a loveable little minx, I’d have cut you off long ago. But there comes a time when I finally do have to say no. No more at all. Not even the little amounts that I’ve given you in the past.”  
	She opened her mouth to protest, but suddenly she didn’t know what to say. 
	 “I’m not going to change my mind, young lady. You were the one who wanted the kind of life that is the only kind of life that Hoit will ever be able can give you. So now that’s the kind of life you’ll have to lead. At least until you come to your sense or he proves to me that I might be wrong about him.”
	“You’re refusing to help him because you hope I’ll come to my senses and get tire of him.” Her words were sharp, but they were said without bitterness. Just a simple statement of the truth. “I love him despite his flaws, father. Time isn’t going to change that!”	
		Kishaun sighed. “I do understand, child. However unfeminine, I’ve always admired that foolish stubbornness of yours. But I’ve made up my mind.”  
	“Please father! If you give Hoit the money he needs this once, I promise I’ll never ask you for money again.” 
	Her father raised his eyebrows, and pursed his lips in serious consideration. 
	Jaffa bit her own lip nervously, knowing in her heart that he wouldn’t change his mind. 
	“Very well,” Balon said at last. “I’ll loan him the money.” He held up his hand to stall Jaffa’s elation. “But only under two conditions. In exchange for the money, he must sell you back to me, and the two of you must promise not to see one another until he has paid me back the full balance of the money he is borrowing. Further more, he must sign a contract which includes a provision of indenture for no less than five years, to be enacted at my discretion, if, and only if, I catch the two of you together before he pays me back. And I’m warning you, Jaffa! I mean to live by the letter of the law.”
	Jaffa felt like a large lump was stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t speak. She suddenly had the distinct impression that her father had been working her up to this very bargain the whole time they’d been speaking. 
	“If you have enough faith in his financial abilities to agree to that,” Balon said. “Then I’ll loan Hoit the money—no matter how much it is.”

3
	Terleen oi’ Zabee’adil ducked into the warmth under the canvas flap, dragging another one of the heavy, wooden skids behind her. It was her twelfth straight, and the rough wood was starting to wear at the skin on her hips. If it hadn’t been such hard work she would have been shivering in the colder than usual air that the steady rains had brought for she had chosen not to wear anything at all rather than fight with a shift or wrap that would cling to her damp body and make the work even more difficult. 
	Now she was paying for it. 
	By jutting her hip out and leaning forward she was able to shift much of the skid’s weight onto her hips and legs, instead of doing it all with her arms. The rain had softened the wood, which would have rasped her skin raw very quickly if it had been dry, but it had also softened her skin, and the constant rubbing as she walked was beginning to take its toll. Even switching from one hip to the other, her skin had become very red and sore, and she was forced to use her arms to do more and more of the work. 
	Terleen had always hated the rainy season for the extra work it brought, but this one was by far the  worst she could ever remember. 
	“It’s really started up again,” she complained loudly,  looking around for Zebee’adil, her fieflord. Perhaps if she whined and acted pitiful he would tell her she’d brought in enough skids for a while. She had gotten tired of the endless job of scooping mud into buckets and carrying it outside, so in a way she was glad he had finally decided to build the floor up with this layer of skids. But the rather simple sounding idea had turned into an awful lot of work, and the worst was yet to come. 
	There was plenty to do inside, thought; so it wouldn’t hurt to let her get out of the rain. At least here it was dry, and she wouldn’t have to tromp through the muck in her bare feet. Sharp rocks in the mud had begun to cut into the softening skin on the bottom of her normally tough feet. If one cut deep enough to make her bleed it might become infected—then who would do all the chores. Surely not her brother, Gerath, that was for sure. And Zebee’adil was too tight with his money to rent out a house girl. No, she’d be out there limping around with her foot wrapped up in rags. She might even die! 
	It would serve Zebee’adil right, if she did—making her go out into this infernal rain. 
	“Have you brought all the skids in already?” Zebee’adil asked as he came out of the house and saw her standing idly. 
	Zebee’adil was carrying items inside the house, where Gerath was placing them temporarily back on the storage shelves. The next step would be to remove the shelves as well, so that they could place the skids on the mud-covered, stone floor beneath them. Once that was done, the whole process would be reversed. Then they would have a relatively clean and dry floor, and the mud that customers dragged in could easily be washed down between the cracks in the wood with a mop and a bucket of water. 
	“I want to have this all finished before you go to bed, young woman!” 
 	“It’s really started up again,” Terleen said irritably. Having to repeat herself now made the comment seem like she was complaining, rather than like an off-hand comment. It would make Zebee’adil less receptive, but she didn’t have any choice unless she wanted to go back outside. She reached up and ran her hands through her hair, squeezing out some of the water that still clung to her long, brown curls. It would have created a much more impressive splash if he hadn’t waited so long to make his entrance.  
	“It always seems to rain just a little harder whenever I have to go out.” Terleen said. She wiped her hands down across her chest, intentionally tweaking her nipples so that her breasts bounced a little as she pretended to wipe away the water that had already dripped from her body. 
		“It seems to rain harder by the minute,” Zebee’adil admitted, eyeing her body with appreciation. 
“Perhaps you could work inside for a while, until you warm up a little. And dry off. Gerath’s almost got dinner ready, so it’s about time to eat.”
	Terleen smiled as she threw the skid on top of the others by the entrance to the house. She was pleased that her distraction tactics had worked. Even all wet and exhausted, she still had what it took to capture a man’s interest, even a half-senile, old coot like Zebee’adil. She bent over—a little further than she needed to so that he would be sure to get a good look at her ass—and picked up a small pebble from out of the dirt. She examined it for a moment, as if she thought it might be something important, then shrugged and tossed it back on the ground.
	When she turned back around Zebee’adil was watching her openly—and his eyes glittered wetly, the way they always did when he showed an interest in her. She smiled again, and forced herself to give him an inviting stare. He was a disgusting old man, but she couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride that she was always proven to be woman enough to take care of him—even when he came at her with the stink of his sickly breath and his rough, leathery skin beneath that stiff chin of whiskers. It was difficult to pretend it didn’t hurt when he rubbed his face against her nipples until they were raw—but she never complained or acted like a little boy about it. 
	Sometimes she couldn’t help wishing that he would just die so that she could take her chances with a new fieflord. Practically anyone would have to better than him. But she didn’t let such thoughts interfere with doing her womanly duties. Or with using his carefully concealed passion to get what she wanted from him. She walked over and placed her hands between his legs, rubbing gently, teasingly—the way she knew he couldn’t resist. “It wouldn’t take me near as long to bring the skids in, if Gerath could help me.”
	Zebee’adil frowned, despite his obvious pleasure. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Terleen! I know it’s difficult doing all the work while your sisters are gone, but surely you don’t expect your brother—my heir—to go out in this rain?” 
	Terleen blushed.  “I only meant if it lets up,” she said defensively. 
	Zebee’adil pursed his lips in obvious sympathy. “I think you’ll be able to stay inside for awhile,” he said, “There’s plenty to do in here. We’re almost ready to start moving the shelves.” He pointed towards a corner. “There’s some heavy stuff over there that I was going to leave for you, anyway. Why don’t you get started with that, and I’ll go see if dinner is ready yet.”
	Terleen gave a heavy sigh as she watched Zebee’adil walk inside, then she went over to take a look at what was on the shelves Zebee’adil had pointed to. It figured. The heaviest thing on the shelves were the large bolts of cloth, each one heavier than she was. Normally, she and one of her sisters would carry the bolts together—but the others were all away on a buying excursion, while she had been left to do everything around the house alone. And if she damaged the cloth, Zebee’adil would skin her hide. That meant she’d have to put the covers back on before she tried to move them, otherwise she’d get her womanly sweat all over them. 
	“Hello? Uncle Zebee’adil?”
	Terleen turned and smiled at the sound of the familiar voice. “Hoit,” she said, bouncing on her toes like a little girl. “You’re just in time to help me get the covers on these bolts.” She moved towards him for a hug and kiss, but at the last moment he turned his head to preventing the familiarity of the lip to lip kiss that she had intended. She wasn’t really surprised. Since he’d gotten married to that scrawny little rich bitch, he’d been pretending like he was too good for her anymore. Still, she was confident that eventually she could wear him down. 
	She gave him a wry smile. “I didn’t know you were so shy,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder with a gesture that strongly suggested her desire for intimacy. 
	“Is my uncle around?” Hoit asked impatiently. He lowered his head so that he wasn’t really looking at her. And she wondered if he did that on purpose. Surely he knows how appealing it is when that one lock of hair hangs down into his eyes. 
	She shrugged. “He may be around here somewhere.”
	“I need to speak to him right away, Terleen!” 
	 She was getting tired of his coy act. Maybe it was time to be a little more aggressive herself; let him know that she could take control of the situation, if that what he wanted her to do. After all, some men just needed a little more convincing than others. She licked her lips and let her eyes widen suggestively.  “I’m bringing in some skids from the shed. Why don’t you come help me?” 
	She reached between his legs. 
	“Terleen, please!”	 He blocked her hand with his arm. “I really don’t have time for your foolish nonsense right now.”  He tried to walk around her, but she moved with him, blocking his way.
	“Maybe my uncle isn’t here!” She said. 
	That stopped him. “Terleen! Is Zebee’adil here or isn’t he?”
	She was beginning to get a little irritated. Here she was pulling out all the stops and he was acting like she was some stranger he’d never had sex with before. “As a matter of fact he’s not,” she said. “He’s left for the evening, but I know where he went. I’ll even tell you—after we go out back to the shed for a while. Wouldn’t you like to feel your body pressing up against mine?”
	Hoit grabbed her arm and shook her so hard that in hurt. “Tell me where he is, Terleen!” 
	She ignored the pain and		 smiled. It felt good to have power over him; to be in control for a change. “Ever had your cock sucked while you were standing in the poring rain?” she teased, laughing at him. “Bet it would be kind of romantic.” 

4
	“Terleen!” 
		Zebee’adil had come through the door and was heading down the steps when he noticed that the girl wasn’t alone. Hoit was standing with her, and he was holding her arm, glaring at her angrily. That wasn’t like him. Terleen had obviously done something to offend him, and if he knew her at all, he probably knew what it was. The girl was at that age when her hormones were constantly raging. 
	She had frozen at the sound of her voice, and he could see her face turning red—so at least she had the grace to be embarrassed by when she had done. She bowed her head submissively, but she didn’t turn to look at him. “Be a good girl,” Zebee’adil said, “and quite making such a nuisance of your self.” He pointed to a large, but manageable wooden box that was sitting on one of the shelves. “Why don’t you take that inside, while Hoit and I have a little talk?” 
			Nodding, she went to pick up the box. She grunted a little as she picked it up, trying as usual to exaggerate how difficult her chores really were. Hoit wasn’t impressed either. “Don’t hurt yourself, little girl,” he said under his breath. 
	“I apologize for my young wife,” Zebee’adil said with a shrug. “She’s a young woman; her hormones make her forget her manners sometimes. But who can really blame her with an old man like me for a husband. Unfortunately she’s Gerath’s sister; and they came as a pair when I purchased your blood-brother1 as my heir.”
	“There’s no need to apologize,” Hoit said. 
	“Women are not like us you know? They are baser creatures. Their urges are not as easy for them to contain.” Zebee’adil shrugged again and scratched the large oval scar on the top of his head.  “What she needs is a younger man who can give her what every young woman needs. I try, but a man my age can only do so much. She would make a good wife for someone though. She’s strong, a real hard worker. She wouldn’t be a drain on a man’s resources the way some women I know are. 
	“I don’t have time for your lectures right now, uncle!” 
 	“She would have made a good wife for you. Still would, if you could afford her.  But you can’t! Not with that rich little girl of yours! I warned you, that she’d be more woman than you could handle.”
	“Jaffa’s not a drain,” Hoit said defensively, “and we’re doing just fine.”  
	“Oh? So this important little visit isn’t about borrowing more money? It’s just a social visit?”
	Hoit frowned, and rolled his eyes. “Okay, so we will be alright as soon as I get over this little hump.”
	“So?” Zebee’adil said, shaking his head sadly. “Money is what you’ve come to see me about after all? That’s a shame, because I don’t have anything more to give you. And I’m beginning to suspect that I was a fool to have given you what I already have. I wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for your unfortunate relationship to my new heir.” 
	“I’ll only need it for a day or so,” Hoit said. “Then I’ll be able to pay everything back. And as soon as I get the shipment I’ll be able to pay you back for both loans.” 
	Zebee’adil was still shaking his head. 
	“With interest,” Hoit said, obviously trying to sweeten the pot. “I swear, uncle, you won’t regret it!” 
	“I already do!” Zebee’adil said, suddenly furious. “By the isles, boy! I see your desperation! Do you think others don’t as well? If I didn’t want my money, I could melt it down to make my buttons. I certainly don’t need to give it to you, if I want to throw it away!” 
	“You’re right,” Hoit said, after a long, difficult pause. “I am desperate, but the shipment I was expecting should have been here by now. It would have been here by now, if it weren’t for this infernal rain. But that doesn’t matter, because I borrowed a lot of money to get it here. Not just from you, there’s another man: a trader. He said he was going to be coming back very soon, and when I don’t have the shipment I promised, he’s going to want his money back.”
	“What did you give him?” 
	Hoit shook his head as if he wasn’t quite certain what Zebee’adil was asking. 
	“He’s a trader. Don’t expect me to believe he loaned you that money because of your good look and your honorable looking face. You offered him something as collateral! So what was it?”
	“I don’t…”
	“What does the contract say? Let me see it!” 
	“I don’t actually have it on me. I didn’t want it to get w…”
	“Then tell me.” Zebee’adil said impatiently. “I know you remember. Don’t act like such a child if you expect me to treat you like a man.”
	“Twenty-five years,” Hoit said, his voice trembling just a bit. 
	Zebee’adil growled and scratched the bald spot on his head again. “For the sake of the islands, boy! Why did you wait so long?”
	“What do you…”
	“Shut up!” Zebee’adil snapped. “Do you think I’m stupid. If he’s a trader, he’ll be wanting to set sail on the next alignment of the isles. And that ends in little more than a day2 or so.” 
	“How do you…”
	“I can read an almanac as well as the next man!”
	“Will you loan me the money then, uncle? You have my word, even if it takes me the rest of my life, I’ll be good for it. I swear!”
	“I can’t!” Zebee’adil said coldly. “Even if I wanted to, I simply don’t have it.” 
	“But…”
	“I’m not made of money, you know? What you borrowed the first time wasn’t an entirely insignificant amount you know. 	And business has been very bad of late, what with this rain and all. Not to mention that I’ve sent my daughters on a purchasing mission. A great deal of what I can claim is tied up with the papers I sent with them. Why do you think their sister is the only one left behind to do all the work? And don’t think I’m foolish enough to go into debt to take another chance on you.” Zebee’adil shook his head yet again. “I swear, it’s a good thing I didn’t meet you first, or I never would have adopted your blood-brother. Knowing that the two of you came from the blood of the same man is enough to make me worry about him!”
	“I might as well be dead then,” Hoit said, his voice soft; his face pale. 
	“W	hat about the father of that fine little wife of yours? Balon LeMeswitch ought to be good for a little something, to protect the interests of his daughter. And he probably has more loose change in his purse than I’ve had access to in my whole life.”
		“I can’t ask him!” Hoit said. “He’s never given me anything.” 
	“Except his daughter.”	
	“He didn’t exactly give that to me either!” 
	“Perhaps not,” Zebee’adil said. “But you never could have bought a woman like her, if she hadn’t convinced her father to lower his asking price. If you want to remain a free man, I’d say he’s your best chance.”
	“I don’t like her asking him for money, but I know she does sometimes… Never for anything like this, though. And even if I thought he’d give it to her… I can’t ask her to ask him. He’d think I was some kind of failure for sure.” Hoit wiped at his eyes. “All I’ve been trying to do is prove to him that I could be good enough for his daughter. If I ask him for the money, he’ll never think any better of me. I’ll always seem like a looser to him.” 
	Zebee’adil sighed. The boy was right, but he couldn’t think of any way to get around it—and it was time to make sure that Hoit faced up to that. “I guess you’d better start getting used to being someone’s servant then. Unless you want to end up on the run. And if you run, you can bet your life this trader will hire someone to come looking for you. And when he finds you—which he will—it won’t be twenty-five years he’ll be after any more.”
	Hoit didn’t say anything; he was shaking his head, trying to deny what he knew was the truth. 
	 “I don’t know what else to tell you,” Zebee’adil said. He furrowed his brows in thought for a moment.  “Wait a minute,” he said, his voice suddenly full of hope. “What’s your source?”
	“What do you mean?”
	“Is it some fly-by-night individual, or an established trader?”
	“It’s a legitimate trading house,” Hoit said. “I checked them out at the magistrates office.”
	“Well,” Zebee’adil said, the hint of a smile touching his lip. “Perhaps you’re not a complete blithering idiot after all. So, what city is this source from?”
	“Just outside Sedill. Why?”
	“Excellent!”
	“You have a plan?” Hoit seemed doubtful.  
	Zebee’adil nodded. “Think about it boy! If you stay here, you’re his for sure. If you run, he’ll send someone after you. But, Sedill isn’t all that far, and if you take the path through the mountains the roads will be much drier and safer. On a fast horse—if you push yourself hard, and it doesn’t break a leg by stepping into one of those mud filled pot holes—you could probably make the trip before Deelia makes half a dozen rounds. That would leave plenty of time to get the money back from your source and meet this trader in Milnucent before his boat leaves.”
 	“He’s not going to like that,” Hoit said. But he was grinning from ear to ear. 
	“Maybe not,” Zebee’adil said. “But as long as you have the money there’s nothing he can legally do about it. Just make sure you have a magistrate’s representative with you when you see him. And make sure you have him sign the papers that say you’re free and clear of any debt. That way, you’ll have them to show any bounty hunters who comes looking for you later.” 
	“All I’ve got to do is not get caught long enough to get to Milnucent.” Hoit said.
	“You could even hire a wagon and try to deliver the good yourself,” Zebee’adil said with an off-hand shrug. “If you can get it from the source, that is. Milnucent is not much further from Sedill than it is from here. And once you get out of the mountains, it’s all flat ground over paved roads.” 
	“It could work,” Hoit said. He was obviously warming to the idea. 	“But where am I supposed to get the money for a good horse and a wagon? My old nag would take more than twice as long to make the same trip.” 
	Zebee’adil shrugged. “A wagon costs a whole lot less than what you need now! Surely you’ve got a little money saved up that you can get access to.” 
	“A little,” Hoit said with a frown. “I used most of what I had to set up this deal.” 
	“Maybe you can get the rest from Balon. Have your wife ask him real nice. He obviously can’t deny her anything, or he wouldn’t have let you buy her, right. So have her beg and pled if she has too. And if that doesn’t work take her out for a night on the town. Let her earn a little money for you, for a change.”
	Hoit curled his nose in obvious distaste. 
	“I know you’re not ready to start sharing your new wife with anyone else just yet,” Zebee’adil said. “And having seen her, I can almost sympathize. But there are a lot of men around here who wouldn’t mind dropping a few coins for a chance to spend a little time with her. Don’t look at me like that. You know it’s the truth, boy. And the way I see it, if you can’t get it from her father, you don’t have a lot of choice.” 
	Hoit nodded reluctantly, and turned to leave. 
	“Oh, and Hoit. Don’t be foolish enough to go taking her into the Golden Eagle. Your trader’s going to be going there to look for you. Take her outside of town. Maybe over to Pavilyn. It’s not all that far.” 
	“Right,” Hoit said. “Thanks, Zebee’adil.”
	Zebee’adil sighed heavily as he watched the boy leaving. “Just watching out for my investment,” he said under his breath. 
 
5
	It serves the frigid little bastard right, Terleen thought angrily as she watched Hoit turning to leave through the small hole in the wall. She understood why he was so abrupt with her now, but she still wasn’t completely mollified. He’d been unusually abrupt with her the last couple of times he’d come over too. 
	Terleen wasn’t a pure-blood, like Hoit’s new wife—or even like her brother, Gerath—but she was a strong, capable woman. And she would make a far better wife for a man like him than that uptight little minx of his ever would. If only she wasn’t just another sterilized mutt. Pretty enough to attract the attentions of a few men, but so far not of good enough breeding for them to offer to buy her papers. She had though Hoit might, before he’d meet his wife. But now his pockets had obviously been emptied, and she didn’t see him filling his purse again any time soon—despite Zebee’adil’s little plan. 	A cheap diversion beneath the sheets was probably the best she could hope for from him. It would have been enough for her tonight. But instead he had turned her down as coldly as if he had never held her in his arms. 
	“Father wouldn’t like you listening in on his conversation,” Gerath said softly from behind her. 
	She jumped at the sound of her brother’s voice and turned around a little to quickly for the movement to seem innocent. “I wasn’t listening in,” she insisted, non-the-less. 
	“Oh? I suppose you’ve always gone around with your ear pressed to cracks in the wood. Funny, how I’ve never noticed before.” 
	She looked around, seeking some believable pretext for leaning over against the wall like that, but there really wasn’t any. She had been caught, like a stuck fish. And Gerath was always trying to get her into trouble. He would eventually find some way to use it against her. 
	“Don’t worry,” he said smugly, blandly waving her fears away. “Why don’t you come and eat something. That’s why I came out, anyway: to tell you that it was ready. I didn’t expect to find your naked ass twitching in the air, like that. But I suppose it was not an entirely unappealing sight.” 
	“Har! Har!” she said, following him back into the kitchen. 
	She plopped down eagerly at the kitchen table, digging her spoon deep into the thick bowl of soup that had been laid out on the table for her. “It’s good,” she said enthusiastically. “How about some bread or crackers?” She dipped her spoon into the bowl of soup again and took another greedy slurp. 
	“There’s a fresh loaf of bread in the cupboard,” Gerath said. “And some petchnick jam. The delivery girl brought it over back when Deelia was on the far side.”3 
	Terleen loved petchnick jam. She jumped up and cut two slices of bread, slathering them generously with the brown, gooey preserve. 
	“	Who was father talking to,” Gerath asked as he ladled a little soup into a bowl of his own. 
	“Your blood-brother,” Terleen said. “He came over to borrow some more money and Zebee’adil  turned him down.”
	“You always sound so pissy after a man totally ignores you,” Gerath said. 
	She frowned. “What makes you think he ignored me?” 
	“I’ve got eyes and ears too; and I know where the same holes are that you do.” 
	Terleen’s frown deepened. “He was in a hurry, that’s all.” 
	“Seemed to me like he wasn’t interested in that naked, sweaty flesh of yours.” 
	“He was in a hurry!” Terleen said again, more sharply this time. 
	Gerath chuckled smugly. “Sure he was. But it, seems like a lot of men have been in a hurry lately. Maybe you’re just not as young and pretty as you used to be?” 
	“I’m not that much older than you are!” 
	“True,” he said. “But remember, I’ve already been adopted as an heir. You just came along for the ride.”
	“Oh, why don’t you sit on a sword!”
	“Now, now,” Gerath said. “Don’t be such a frigid little bitch.”
	“I’m not frigid!” Terleen said angrily. 
	“Maybe not,” Gerath said, “but sometimes you snap at me like a bitch in heat. Sometimes I think that you think you’re too good for me—just because I’m your brother and you’re a little older than I am. But my father’s an old man. He can’t live forever, you know. Which means that one of these days soon I could become your new husband and fieflord.” He paused to let the words sink in, then mused calmly. “Do you think I’ll forget how you’ve been treating me?” 
	“Keep your voice down,” Terleen said, nodding towards the door to the back. “Do you want him to hear you?” 
	“It’s not like he doesn’t know that he’s going to die.”
	“No,” she said. “But a man doesn’t necessarily like to hear his heir fantasizing about it either.” 
	“Are you going to tell him?” 
	The way Gerath chucked at the very thought irritated her. “I could,” she said.
	“And I could tell him that you hit me really hard. On purpose!” 
	“But I wouldn’t!” Terleen said, shocked to hear Gerath even suggest such an outrageous notion. She wasn’t a barbarian. A real woman didn’t hit a man, no matter what the provocation. 
	Gerath just shrugged. “Who do you think father would believe? At the very least, he would probably give you a beating, just to be sure. And if I asked nicely enough, he might even let me have a turn.”
	“You’d like that,” Terleen said bitterly. 
	“Perhaps I would,” Gerath agreed, and he leaned closer to speak more softly. “And you might remember that when you think about me being your fieflord.” He leaned back again. “Even if you manage to find someone to buy your papers, doesn’t mean that I’d have to let them, you know. I could make you my lowest serf and do virtually anything I wanted to you.” 
	Gerath had used these arguments before, but this time they seemed to have a little more significance—coming so soon on the heels of her magnificent disaster with Hoit. If the old man was getting rather old, and if he died before she could entice someone to buy her… she didn’t like to think about how serious Gerath was about his threats. 
	“I think I’m finished eating,” she said, smiling as warmly as she could. She leaned forward and kissed her brother on the lips. “I’m glad that I know you’re only teasing me, brother. Otherwise I’d think that maybe you didn’t like me. But I’ll try not to be such a bitch to you from now on. If I am, I certainly don’t mean to be.” 
	“Perhaps you can prove that—a little later, after I’ve retired to my bed?” 
	“I’m tired, Gerath…” she began, almost starting into her normal defensive spiel before she managed to stop herself.  “But I’ll come up later. Just don’t get mad at me if I fall asleep on you.”
	Gerath nodded in satisfaction as took her bowl. “Don’t forget,” he said. “Now why don’t you go tell my father that dinner is ready so that we can eat together, like a loving father and his heir should.”4 
	“Sure,” she said, barely able to suppress her scowl. “I’ll go tell him.” 
	Walking stiffly to the door, she resisted the urge to slam it behind her. She hated sucking that smug little shit’s dick. She considered making her visit to his room as late as possibly—maybe he would fall asleep by then—but she knew in her heart that she wouldn’t have the courage to try it. 
	“Dinners ready,” she told Zebee’adil as she walked towards the outside door. “I think I’m going to bring in the rest of those skids.” 
	“Good, good,” he said distractedly. “I was about to go in and suggest that you do just that. Have you finished eating?” 
		Nodding, she went to the door and closed it behind her. 
	For a moment she stood, looking up at the falling rain. Each drop made a streak of white and stung as it fell into her eyes. It made her blink, but she refused to close them. The rain was just one more little irritation in her life; and not even one of the worst one, anymore. 
	Walking across the muddy yard, she followed the fence around back, and across the narrow alley to the shed where the extra skids were kept. She picked one up, resting it experimentally against her hip. Her skin seemed more tender than it had been before, but somehow she didn’t seem to mind as much. 
	“It would be a blessing if I died from exposure or  an infection,” she said to herself, as she began to drag the skid towards the house. 

6
	Jaffa was sprinkling a little sage into her pot of stew when she heard the front door’s swollen wood being forced opened and looked up to see Hoit walking in out of the rain. He pulled off his oiled rain slicker, dropping it onto its peg beside the door.  
		“By my father’s rights5,” Jaffa said, barely suppressing a laugh as she watched Hoit run his hands through his dark hair, plastering it back against his scalp. “You look like a soaked river rat.” 
	 “It’s not as bad out as it was earlier today,” Hoit said, as he sat down on the only door chair in the tiny hut and began unwrapping his boots.6 “Although I’ve been out in it longer this turn than I was the sleep before.”
	“Well,” Jaffa said, as she grabbed a used match and stuck it into the fire to light it. “There’s more water on the ground than there is in the air, so I don’t suppose it matters how hard it’s raining at the moment.” 
	“I sweat so much in side that slicker,” he said. “Sometimes I think I’d stay drier if I didn’t wear anything at all. That’s the way Terleen does it.”
	“Poor baby,” she said, walking over to the portable stove and placing the match to its wick. When it was going she wet her fingers in her mouth and snuffed out the match, then angled the flue to reflect the heat directly at Hoit. He threw the used wraps into the bin with the others and wiggled his damp toes in front of the heater. 
	“Welcome home, my love,” Jaffa said.  
	She carefully leaned forward to kiss him, but he surprised her by grabbing her arm and pulling her down into his lab, kissing her more passionately than he normally did when he was still getting used to being home.7 She giggled with girlish delight and kissed him back just as passionately, despite his dampness.  “I see Deelia’s passing has been good to you?”
		“She’s been pretty good to me,” he agreed, a smile that she hadn’t seen in a long time bushing his full lips. “But I wasn’t thinking about that just now, I was thinking about what we were going to do, now that I’ve come home.” 
	Jaffa smiled with genuine pleasure. It had been a long time since Hoit had shown such enthusiasm for her. He’d been so distracted, ever since he’d gotten involved with his mysterious business plans. Maybe things were working out, after all—and she wouldn’t actually have to make a decision about her father’s offer. 
	“Should I put on that sexy little negligee you like so much? We could eat in bed and make love till the isle returns.” 8
	“Actually,” Hoit said. “I was thinking we’d go out tonight!” He smiled at her surprise. “Why don’t you go put it on anyway, underneath something a little warmer? It’s been getting cooler in recent days.”
	“We’re going out in this rain?”
	“It’s been a long time,” Hoit said. “If we wait for the rain to let up we might never go out.”
	“But you haven’t even dried off yet, and I’ve already prepared our dinner, it’s almost ready.”
	“We can eat a little before we go,” Hoit said. “That way we won’t be hungry. I just want to have a few drinks and show off my woman.” He cupped his hand lightly over her breast and squeezed playfully; then he shrugged, as if it was an after thought. “Maybe even share her with a few new friends.”
	So that was it, Jaffa thought with some surprise. Hoit had not proven to be the kind of man who liked to share his woman, and she didn’t think he ever would be. So he obviously needed a little money for something. It wasn’t the first time she’d helped to put a little money in his pockets, but she knew that Hoit felt like taking money for her favors was a sign of defeat. It was a symbolic admission that he was too poor to deserve her. 
	She couldn’t help feeling just a little disappointed too—she would have liked to spend some time alone with Hoit, especially seeing that he seemed to be in a good mood, for a change—but she shrugged it off. His lighter mood surely meant that he had a plan. Perhaps things were about to get better again. 
	 “So,” she said, making the best of the situation by smiling suggestively. “You’ve finally decided to take me out and show all your friends just how lucky you are, eh?” 
	“That I am,” Hoit said pushing her away gently. “Now go get dressed. Maybe that pretty little wrap thing that’s so easy to take off.”
	 She took a step back from him, lowering her head invitingly and smiling as she slowly unbuttoned the dress she was wearing. Her hips swayed, dancing in time to the music in her head as she peeled back the bodice and let the dress slide to the floor. She was naked underneath, and the flickers from the stove cast an appealing red glow over her honey colored complexion. 
	“Are you sure you wish to share me tonight?” she asked giving him a wicked smile. 
	Hoit’s growl told her that he was tempted, but instead of taking her back into his arms he simply nodded and said, “Go get dressed while I dry out a bit more.”
	I’ll bring you a new pair of socks,” Jaffa said, hooking her dress with her toes and flipping it into the air where she could catch it. 
	She walked over to the corner of the hut and tossed her worn dress on the bed. All her clothes were kept in one tiny chest beside the bed. In her father’s house she’d had seven tall chests, each of them with drawers! And each drawer had been filled with beautiful clothes. 
	Sometimes Jaffa missed them, but not tonight. 
	She pulled out what she was looking for, and closed the chest, slipping into the slinky garment that Hoit liked so much. It was simple, short, and blue; sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and a stretch weave that outlined her breasts and clung to the rest of her body like a snake’s second skin. She loved the way the material hugged her, slipping smoothly across her skin whenever she moved. And the hem had a devious way of riding up around her hips when she walked or sat that was also quite inviting. Perhaps it wasn’t quite as fancy as some of the finery that was part of her dowry, but it was a sturdy dress, despite the slick, cool feel of the material it was made out of—and she could never be embarrassed to wear it, even to one of her father’s fancy parties. 
	
7
	Terleen had just finished her third skid and was taking a few moments in the shed, where no one could see her resting, when she noticed the trio of horsemen slopping down the muddy alley towards her house. She moved back into the shadows of the shed—and out of the rain—as they approached. Even from a distance, she could obviously tell that they were wealthy men. And she couldn’t help wondering what would be so important that it could bring such men out into weather like this. Surely such men would have woman to do their menial tasks. 
	Perhaps they were traders! A trio of slavers come to find Hot. 
	The thought send a small chill of excitement up her spine. She had never actually seen a slaver before. Not close enough where she could step out of the shadows and talk to them, if she wanted to. But these men were definitely on a path that would take them right past her. What would it be like, to have slavers buy her? If she were of pure-blood it would probably be worth the risks—just to get away—but she wasn’t of pure blood. If they really were slavers, the only reason they would buy her would be to sell her as a full slave. Her life might not be all that different, but at least here she still a chance for something better. 
	Not a great chance, perhaps, but still a chance. 
		As the strangers drew nearer, she began to make out the saddle mounted canopies that sheltered both the riders and their horses from the worst of the rain. The middle rider was clearly the leader, she decided. He rode just a little in front of the others, and there was something about the way he held himself that screamed with authority. Not to mention that he was the only one who was draped with the heavy furs that shimmered like jewels in the grey drizzle. 
	Golden Badger fur!
	Only a very rich man could afford to wear that. 
	Terleen had never seen such a thing before, but was quite sure of it. Golden Badger was the only fur she knew of that was the color of watered-down honey, and glittered in the dimmest light. She couldn’t see well enough to tell if it repelled water like a duck’s feathers, like they said, but she didn’t need to know that final detail to be sure. 
	Suddenly, the middle stranger stopped and turned, staring in her direction but not speaking. The other two men stopped and turned towards her as well. She swallowed hard, wondering what to do. 
	“You there,” the man in the middle called loudly. “Come out where we can see you!” 
	Terleen thought about staying where she was, but he had obviously seen her. There was no use hiding any more. She wrinkled her nose nervously and stepped out into the rain. Without the darkness of the shadows she could get a little better look at the man’s face. She wondered if he were really as handsome as he appeared through the blurring rain. “I’m just collecting some skids for my uncle,” she called just as loudly as he had. “I don’t mean any harm.” 
	“Do you belong to that house,” he called, nodding back across the alley to her home. 
	She nodded; and took few steps towards him so they wouldn’t have to shout quite so loud to be heard.  
	“Is this the home of the merchant Zebee’adil?”
	She nodded again. 
	The man nodded to the others and reigned his horse towards the house, nudging his horse gently in the ribs. The other two men began to follow, and soon they would disappear. She would probably never have another chance to talk to them again. 
	“Are you that slaver who’s looking for Hoit Kishaun?” She called out, her voice filled with an apparent boldness that she didn’t really feel. 
	The three men stopped at the same time, turning around together; and the man in the middle brought his horse close enough to her that she could have reached out an petted its nose. He leaned forward and pierced her with a fierce look that did nothing to diminish his attractiveness. She felt herself shiver just a little. Perhaps it was because she was standing still in the rain. It was becoming a little cooler out, and the dissipating body heat that she had been generating through work was no longer enough to keep her warm. 
	“What do you know about Hoit,” the man said. 
	“Why should I tell you anything,” Terleen asked. “You’d only go to Zebee’adil and ask more questions, and when he found out what I’d told you he’d punish me severely. That he would.” 
 	“Yet you obviously wanted to tell me something, or you wouldn’t have revealed what you knew by asking if I was looking for Hoit?”
	Terleen eyes widened in real surprise. Perhaps he was right. Before he’d said that she wouldn’t have thought there was anything to it beyond not wanting to let this man out of her presence—and perhaps satisfying her own curiosity. But perhaps she had secretly been wanting to get back at Hoit. The idea of telling this man everything she knew, and getting Hoit into trouble, made her feel unexpectedly good. A sense of power that she wasn’t used to. 	But she wondered how much, if anything, she could actually tell without getting herself into serious trouble, as well.
	“Would it help if I promised not to bother anyone else inside if you tell me what I need to know?” 
	She wrinkled her nose nervously; tempted, but still unsure. 
	“I’m a trader,” he said, simply. “My word is my bond.” 
	From what she had heard about slavers that wasn’t much of a comfort. 
	“Lets start with something easy,” he said. “Are the two of you related?” 
	“Hoit? He’s my brother’s blood-brother.”
	“But  not related to you?” 
	“Not really,” she replied. “Hoit’s father purchased my mother and me, just shortly after I was born.” 
	“So you and your mother became the wives of Hoit’s father. But you’re not now?” 
	“No, this is no longer the home of Hoit’s father. She shook her head firmly. “He… died not all that long ago, with debts that couldn’t be satisfied, and Zebee’adil needed an heir.”
	“But because of the law Zebee’adil was forced to take you as part of the deal.”
	“It hasn’t been all that much of a burden for him,” Terleen said irritably. “I can assure you of that!” She knew it was foolish; she’d probably never see him again after the next few moments. But it was important to her that this handsome stranger think well of her. 
	“I’m sure you do quite an admirable job of taking care of his needs,” he said. “And what of Hoit? Is he tied to this house as well. ” 
	“No, Hoit declared himself a man and divorced himself from his father’s house to avoid being sold along with the rest of us.9” 
	“So he abandoned you?”
	“He didn’t really have any other choice,” Terleen said, suddenly feeling the need to defend Hoit as well. 
	“Perhaps,” the stranger said. “But none-the-less, he abandoned you. And unless I miss my guess, in more ways than one.” 
	She said nothing. 
	“Tell me where Hoit is.” His voice was gentle but persistent. 
	“I suspect he’s gone out of town with his new wife.” 
	“Hoit has a wife?” the man asked, obviously quite interested by this bit of news. 
		“Oh yeah. A stuck up little petchnick!10 But the guys all seem to go crazy for her.”
	Sigmar frowned. “What’s a petchnick?”
	“A sticky, little fruit—very small—used for making jams. You know? You spread it on bread to make it taste better.”  Terleen raised her eyebrows suggestively and smiled. Then she reached down and dipped her finger between her legs. “It’s very sweet,” she said, raising her finger to her mouth and licking her own juices. 
	“I see,” Sigmar said. He obviously thought it was rather strange to refer to a woman as any kind of fruit. “And why should I believe you? You obviously care for Hoit? Why should I believe that you aren’t just trying to send me out of town on a wild goose chase?”
	“No reason I can think of,” Terleen said with a shrug. “But if you were a man who needed to make a little extra money and you had a beautiful woman to peddle. Do you think you’d stay in your home town, where everyone has already gotten a taste of her? Or do you think you’d take her down the road, where no one was likely to come looking for you?” 
 	The man looked at his companions and they made shrugging gestures, implying that it made sense to them. “Do you know what town he went to?” 
	Terleen smiled and opened her legs a little wider. “I might,” she said. “Why don’t you come down off that horse and try a little petchnick yourself.” She used her fingers to carefully spread herself open. “You look like you could use a little sweetening yourself right now.”
	“I’m sorry!” the man said, looking away as if he was growing impatient. “I’ve made other plans for this evening. Do you know where he went or not?”
	Terleen shrugged. She hadn’t really expected her advances to be successful, but it had been worth a shot. “Try Pavilyn,” she said. “And after you’ve found him, maybe you’ll have time to stop by again?” 
	“I doubt it,” the man muttered under his breath, but loud enough that the other men laughed softly. Then he kicked his horse gently in the ribs, and the three of them rode away, without looking back. 

8
	Jaffa looked over at the two guys who were standing by the bar. Neither one of them looked like they had that much money tucked in their pockets. Even though the room was full, however, she hadn’t really seen anyone else who looked any more promising. She was afraid it was going to take several trips into one of those back room to earn the money Hoit needed. 
	She looked over at the empty table where Hoit was sitting, talking to an older fellow. They had decided to split up, so they could cover more ground—but obviously they weren’t the only ones working the room tonight. And some of the others looked like regulars. 
	Everyone seemed to know their names. 
 	She leaned forward and tapped a coin on the bar to get the attention of the men beside her.  “Can I buy you gentlemen a drink?” she said. 
	They looked over at her in unison, quickly sizing her up and down. 
	One of them shrugged. “I suppose you can, if you’ve got the money.”
	She flagged down the bartender and told him to give them another of whatever they were drinking. Then she turned back to her drink and sipped it slowly, keeping her movements as seductive as possible. When she put down her drink and looked back at the men they were still looking at her. 
	That was a good sign. 
	She took a deep breath and smiled at them confidently. “You gentlemen come here often?”
	“Not really,” the closer one said said. 
	“Yeah, pretty often,” said the other. 	He was the less attractive of the two, but she ignored the first one and fixed her eyes on him. 
	“I’m from out of town,” she said. “My husband is here on business, and I’m bored out of my mind.” She rolled her eyes suggestively. 
	“Did he come with you?” asked the attractive one. “How much is he asking for you?” 
	“Mejim! Don’t be so rude. She’s just trying to be friendly?”
	“Right,” Mejim said. “A pure-blooded Clestion comes on to us like that and you think she’s just trying to be friendly?” He turned back to Jaffa. “Get lost!” He said. “Neither of us has the money to afford you for the night!” 
	“Maybe I’m not asking for the nigh,” Jaffa said, hotly. 
		“So what are you asking for?” the friendly man said.
	Jaffa looked at him carefully. He still seemed friendly enough, even if he looked a little more suspicious now than he had. “Look,” she said. “I’m not the wife of some wealthy merchant, or something. I’m married to a working man, and things are tight. I’m just trying to raise a little money to live on.” 
	“Nothing wrong with that,” said the friendly man. 
	“So how much you asking,” Mejim repeated, obviously still skeptical. 
	“How much you got?”
	The friendly man dug eagerly into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, mostly of small denominations. Jaffa’s face fell just a bit. “I was hoping for a little more than that,” she admitted. “But it’ll do.” 
	“Wait a minute,” the friendly man said. He leaned towards his friend and bumped him in the arm. “How much you got, Mejim?”
	Mejim looked at him sourly, but he dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, showing it to her the same way the other man had. 
	The friendly man smiled. “Would that be enough to entertain both of us at the same time?”
	Jaffa shrugged. It wasn’t much, but it would get a couple of glasses on the table. She nodded towards Hoit’s table. “My husband’s sitting right over there. Why don’t you take him your drinks and your money over to him and see what he says.” 

9
	Like most men born on the inner isles, Fihro Sigmar was much larger than most of the men on Feilom. Sigmar, however, was tall even among men on the inner isles. Tall enough that he had to duck to enter through the tavern’s small door. Water dripped from his hair as he shook back his long, golden lengths and took a deep breath of the warm smoky air. Faldern, and Heatil, stopped just behind him as he stomped the mud from his brushed leather boots and shook out the thick fur of his Golden Badger coat. The few oil lanterns hanging around the walls were enough to make the beads of water glitter on the fur like tiny   amber gems.  
	Sigmar looked around, noted the group of locals near the fire pit who were involved in a betting game with cards and dice.  Their voices rose and fell in sudden bursts of chatter.
	Near them, attending the fire pit, was a young barefoot serf.  Her owner obviously didn’t take very good care of her, for she was much to thin and her face was covered in soot. Tattered clothes hung from her body, and she carried herself slumped over, as if her life was a permanent state of exhaustion. 
	Sigmar stepped around the fire pit, looking at each face as he passed. 
	The place was busy; people were packed tight. Sigmar caught Faldern’s eye and nodded towards the counter, and the barman wore a permanent scowl. Faldern nodded back and headed in the man’s direction to ask questions while Heatil and he split up and kept searching the room.  

10 
	Hoit Kishaun was sitting by himself in the shadows, counting the empty glasses in front of him. Nine empty glasses, all neatly stacked in three rows on the far side of his table.11 He took one of the glasses and turned it over, slamming it down on the table hard. 
	“Hey,” a bar maid said, as she came towards him. “Do you want me to clear those glasses away for you?”
	Hoit shook has head.  
	“Take it easy then. They do break, you know.”
	Hoit nodded. 
	“You look like you could use a little something for yourself maybe?”
	The barmaid scowled slightly when he shook his head again, but she turned and left him alone. He watched her leave, then flipped a second glass and placed it, very gently, over the top of the first. 
	With each glass that he turned over and added the fresh stack he becoming increasingly angry with himself. A table with stacks of empty glasses was the sign that a man was peddling his women. The number of glasses had slowly grown, along with the size of the crowd; and now there seemed to be no shortage of men who were interested in Jaffa’s good looks and her Clestion charm. 
	Nine empty glasses. One drink for each man who had taken her into the back rooms. And here came another: a young eager looking lad; but better dressed than most. Perhaps he was out spending his father’s money. “You looking for a little entertainment?” Hoit said, forcing a smile that he didn’t feel to his lip. 
	The lad reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of small coins. “My friend over there said this would be enough to get your woman into one of those back rooms.” 
	“The price has gone up,” Hoit said, nodding to the stack of empty glasses. “She’s in demand, my friend. And well worth a much higher price than I’m currently asking.”
	“How much more,” the lad asked. 
	Hoit shrugged. “Show me twice that much and I’ll think about putting you on the list. Four times that much and I’ll put you right at the top.”   
	The lad was already starting to reach for the purse beneath his tunic, and Hoit had begun to wonder just how much he’d be willing to part with when he heard a terrible and familiar voice. 
		“Hello, Hoit.” 
	Hoit looked up. 
	For a second his eyes meet with Fihro Sigmar’s, and he wondered just how far he’d manage to get if he tried to run. Then he saw the two men—both carrying large swords and looking like they knew how to use them—who were standing just behind Sigmar. 
	Suddenly, Hoit felt sick. The lad had disappeared from beside his table and he hadn’t even noticed. But he managed to force a smile that he knew couldn’t possibly be convincing, and said, “Fihro! Good to see you. Can I buy you a drink?” 
	“I didn’t come here to drink,” Sigmar said.  “I came for my money, Hoit.”
	“And you’ll get it...”  
	“Yes, I will! One way or another.”
	Hoit shifted nervously in his seat.  “It’s just this rain,” he said. “I’ve run into a little more of a delay than I anticipated. Just a bit of bad luck. You know?”  
	“Sounds to me like you don’t have it?” Sigmar said.
	“I’ll get it,” Hoit said.  “I swear!”
	Sigmar looked down at the glasses, then back up at Hoit. “Let me see how much have you collected so far?”   
	Hoit looked around nervously, wondering how best to make his break for it. And afraid that Jaffa would come back to the table while Sigmar was still here. He didn’t want her to see him talking to this man. He didn’t want her to know just how much trouble he was really in. 
	“I think it’s time for us to go,” Sigmar said. His men were closing in around Hoit. There was no way to get around them. 
	“Where?” Hoit asked, suddenly worried that they were planning to kill him.”
	“As per our deal,” Sigmar said. “We must find a magistrate who can process your papers of indenture; then I must be on my way.”
	Hoit froze. He couldn’t believe this was really happening, and even if he’d wanted to, he no longer had the strength to run. A loud crackling sound came from his own throat. 
	Sigmar sat down at the table opposite from him and smiled in an incongruously friendly manner. “Unless, of course, you have something else of value to barter with.”
	“Something else?”
	“Something perhaps even more valuable than yourself?” 
	Hoit’s eyes focused, trying to understand. Was Sigmar teasing him, or was he hinting that there was something he wanted. “Something like what?” 
	“Think Hoit! I’m a slave merchant. What could a slave merchant possibly want?”
	“A slave?”
	“Not just a slave, Hoit. A more valuable slave.” 
	Suddenly he understood. Sigmar was talking about Jaffa! He smiled at Hoit’s dawning realization and nodded. “I hear she’s a sweet little petchnick! Is she a full blood? Perhaps I should have a look at her and see if she’d be worth your freedom.” 
	“Wait a minute,” Hoit said. “She was never part of the deal!”
	“Oh,” Sigmar said, raising his eyebrows as if he were genuinely surprised. He shrugged casually. “Well, if she’s not, then I guess she’s not. After all, it’s only twenty-five years of your life, Hoit. I’m sure your sweet little petchnick will still be waiting for you when you’re finally a free man again—even if it has been twenty-five years.” 
	“Twenty-five long years,” Faldern muttered, shaking his head as if it was one of the saddest things he had ever heard.” 
	“You’d really take her instead of me?”
	“Perhaps,” Sigmar said. “If she’s all that I’ve heard she is—and your willing to part with her.”
	Hoit took a long time to answer, but finally he gave a faint nod. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll go get her.” 
	Sigmar chuckled and leaned forward sharply. “Not alone,” he said. 
	“Give me a little dignity,” Hoit pleaded. 
	Sigmar took some time of his own before he answered. 
	“Alright,” he said. “You can go in alone to bring her out. But my men will be watching you carefully.”
	Hoit looked at the two men and nodded. 
	“And keep them away from the table while we’re talking. It looks like you’re giving me a hard time—everyone in the room is staring.”
	“I am giving you a hard time, Hoit. But I’ll have my men stay away from the table while I take a look at her. That way, you can save some of your dignity if I decide to take her instead.  Satisfied?”
	This time Hoit’s nod was a little firmer. “I’ll go get her then, and let you have a look.”
	“Hoit.”
	The lad stopped to look back.  
	“Don’t try to run out on me. I’ll cut your balls off right here and feed them to you while the whole room watches. Then I’ll sell you as a eunuch on Rolaviar, to one of those slave merchants who pander to rich nobles whose tastes are even kinkier than just being raging homosexuals. Do we understand each other?” 
	Hoit swallowed audibly. 
	Sigmar’s eyes were so cold and intense; they seemed to bore right through Hoit’s flesh. He didn’t doubt for a minute that the slaver would do exactly what he said. And for the first time since Zebee’adil had suggested it, Hoit knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t run. 
	
11
	“Come on!” Pandel said. “I paid a lot of money for this! You got to bite it harder than that.” 
	Jaffa licked the tip of his nipple where it was sticking between her teeth, then bit down a little harder. 
	“Oh yeah,” Pandel groaned with the pain. “That’s more like it. Now do it some more. It’s no good if I have to keep telling you ever little thing!” 
	Jaffa looked up at his face and frowned. Even with his eyes covered by the blindfold he looked eager. She forced herself to twist on the ropes that were wrapped around his swollen balls. She couldn’t help wincing a little when she thought of what she was doing. Even the knowledge that he was enjoying himself didn’t make doing this to a man feel right. It would have been easier if he’d wanted her to do this to another woman and, although she’d never been with a man who liked to hurt her before and she didn’t think she’d like it much, she was fairly certain that it would have been easier to deal with than this.
	Hurting a man just made her feel cheap and sleazy inside. It was obscene and cowardly; and by far the most unwomanly thing she had ever done in her entire life. Still, there were two men she was striving to please here, and although she wanted to say no to Pandel, she desperately wanted to please Hoit. So she climbed off the end of the bed and began to tie the ropes holding his balls to the bed frame. “Should I use the belt on you?” she asked. 
	“Oh yeah! Right on my throbbing cock!” 
	“Or maybe?” Jaffa jumped up on the bed, and her sudden weight set the elastic weave of the straps to bouncing, which in turn caused the rope to jerk on his balls. Jaffa hadn’t expected the bed to bounce like that, and she almost laughed—half with embarrassment and half with delight over the irony that something so unexpected had worked out so well. Especially when she wasn’t sure she’d have had the nerve to do it if she’d know what would happen. She leaned forward and brush her lips so gently against his that it tickled. “Perhaps it would be even more cruel,” she said. “If I were to just tease you for a while?” 
		Pandel was too busy groaning to answer—but it didn’t really sound the way she thought it should if he were really in pain. She crouched down; moving so quickly that it set the bed to bouncing again and rubbed her own tender labia across his swollen member as she took his nipple into her mouth, but instead of biting down as hard as she had before she simply chewed on it, grinding it between her teeth. 
	Pandel cried out even louder. 
	Despite herself Jaffa was beginning to feel strangely excited.
	She wondered if anyone outside the room could hear what she was doing to him. The idea was mildly embarrassing when she thought about what she was doing to him, and yet it caused her to smile with immense satisfaction. His cries didn’t really sound like pain, and she had always taken a great deal of pride in her womanly ability to warm any man’s passions—even when he wanted her to do something that made her feel like such a frigid piece of scum. 
	Still rubbing herself against him, she asked, “Do you like to be teased?”
	He was about to answer when she pressed herself down on his cock so suddenly that the bed bounced again. She could feel his member bulging and pressing against her as he moaned. Leaning forward, Jaffa was about to take his nipple into her mouth again when she heard frantic knocking at the door. 
	Her eyes flew open and for a brief moment she had the wildest notion that someone had heard Pandel’s cries and had come running: to save him. She jump up, her face suddenly flushed and her palms sweating. 
	Then she heard Hoit’s voice. “Jaffa? Are you in there?”
	She breathed a sigh of relief. Her fears had been silly. It wasn’t like she was doing anything against Pandel’s wishes. 
	 “What’s wrong?” she whispered, opening the door just a little. “Pandel and I aren’t finished.” 
	“Something’s come up,” Hoit whispered back. “I need you to come with me, right now!” 
	“Hey,” Pandel said from behind her. “What’s going on here?”
	“Sorry,” Hoit said, looking over at Panel with an odd expression on his face. “I’ll ah… send in one of the bar maids. To ah… untie you.”
	“Hey! What are you doing?” Pandel said.  “You can’t just come in here and take her while I’m like this. I paid good money for that girl!” 
	“I’ll give your money back then,” Hoit said. Then he turned back to Jaffa. “Get dressed!” he said.  “There’s someone very important that I want you to meet.” 
	Pandel began to complain again as Jaffa picked up her blue dress and slipped it on over her head. She tugged it quickly down around her hips, then went over to the bed. Placing her knee in the middle of Pandel’s solar plexus. She could hear it forcing some of the air out of his lungs as she leaned forward and  kissed him roughly on the lips. Then she rocked back and yanked sharply on the rope to his balls. “Sorry lover,” she said. “That will have to keep you for now.” 
	Her face turned red when she saw the strange way Hoit was looking at her as she stood. “That’s what he likes,” she said with a defensive shrug. “Besides, it shut him up, didn’t it?”
	Hoit couldn’t argue with that.
	He picked up her wrap, but he didn’t offer it to her. Obviously, he still wanted to show her off, and Jaffa couldn’t help wondering just who could demand such urgent attention. Pandel may have been a bit strange, but he had paid more money than anyone else had so far tonight.
	“Come on,” Hoit said with a shrug of his own. “He’s waiting for us.” 


12
	Sitting at Hoit’s table, Sigmar kept a close eye on his men who were standing near the mouth of the small hallway that led to the back rooms. From there they could keep an eye on Hoit and if he tried to run, they could motion to Sigmar, who could be out the door in a matter of seconds. The boy wouldn’t get very far. As scared as he’d been of Sigmar’s threats, he wasn’t likely to run, but stranger things had occurred during his years as a trader. Fear played funny games with the human mind. It could make a man do unreasonable things. Sigmar enjoyed toying with the other man’s fear, but he was much more concerned with increasing his profits. 
	He had been foolish enough to go out on a limb for this Hoit, letting the promise of the extremely valuable Faux Fiber cloud his normally sound judgment. Of course, if it hadn’t been for this rain, things wouldn’t have become so unpredictable, and the fiber’s lure wouldn’t have been so appealing—but that was the same excuse Hoit had used and he hadn’t made allowances for the boy either. A wise man took acceptable risks and he was willing to pay the consequences when those risks didn’t pan out. 
	Sigmar had considered cutting his losses and forgetting about returning to Habil Anek. 	The flatter routes to the east had called out to him. But Sigmar was a man who didn’t normally take undue risks—and that was because he was a man who never took a loss gracefully. The idea of choosing between letting Hoit get away with this much of his money—or spending even more money to hire a bounty hunter to track him down—had rankled him enough that he finally decided to change his plans and risk the more dangerous and unpredictable trek through the mountains. 
	In a way, Sigmar knew that it was utter foolishness. He had half expected that Hoit wouldn’t have the shipment. And since he wasn’t of pure blood, the boy was unlikely to fetch a good price from anyone seeking an heir on Feilom. He did look strong enough to bring a half-way decent price from one of the mining houses on the inner isles, but such a slave didn’t bring much. It wasn’t because he would be a termed slave either. After twenty-five years in the mines, the better years of even the best men had been used up. The real problem was that on the inner isles, the abundance of men and the scarcity of women was just the reverse of what it was here on the fringes. 
	That was what made trading female slaves so incredibly lucrative, but it also meant that Hoit’s value was innately low. The amount that Sigmar had loaned Hoit wasn’t really all that much. Not considering what it normally cost to secure a load of faux fiber, but the collateral of twenty-five years would almost certainly bring less. It was only Hoit’s glib tongue and his greed for the precious fiber that had finally swayed him to take the risk. 
	Hoit had been shrewd enough not to mentioning that he had a woman during their first meeting, and Sigmar had reasonably assumed that he was one of those orphaned mutts without a house of his own. Perhaps the boy figured he would try to make her part of the collateral, had know about her—and the boy was right. Even it she was very plain, by inner isle standards, she would probably bring almost as much as Hoit would. If she was not plain, her price could be very high indeed.
	Fortunately the girl in the alley hadn’t been so coy. 
	Sigmar just hoped that her bucolic idea of a petchnick came even remotely close to his own. 

13
	Jaffa said nothing as she followed Hoit out of the room, but she could tell that he was unusually nervous as he walked down the hall in front of her. As they came out into the main room she noticed Hoit glancing over at someone. 
	She glanced over in the same direction as she walked past but all she could see was two men who were leaning casually against the wall having a private conversation. One of them turned slightly as she walked passed, watching her very closely. That wasn’t all that strange, but she decided there was something that she didn’t like about them. She couldn’t imagine what it might be, and realized that she was probably just feeding off of Hoit’s nervousness.
	“Come on,” Hoit said, reaching back and taking her hand. “He’s waiting for us.” 
	Hoit seemed strangely timid as he approached their table, and Jaffa wondered why. The man who was sitting there was obviously wealthy. His clothes were well tailored and made of the finest materials, and his boot covers were made out of Golden Badger fur. Not only that, but so was his entire coat. Even draped backwards over the seat, she recognized the Golden Badger fur. It was still a little heavy gear for this time of year, but there was nothing better at keeping the rain off—and nothing more expensive either. 
	Still, the man’s wealth did nothing to explain Hoit’s tension. He’d never been like this around her father, or any other wealthy man that she had know. Hoit’s boundless confidence in himself had been one of the things that had attracted her to him. It had been harder and harder to see that in him lately, but it was still there, just below the surface. This was definitely something more. 
	Whatever this was all about, it was extremely important to Hoit, and the realization made Jaffa a little nervous too.  
	“Jaffa Oi’ Hoit, this is Fihro’nee Sigmar.”
	“Just Fihro Sigmar,” the man said. He looked up at her casually—almost coldly—with his intense, dark eyes. Thick muscles knotted attractively beneath his short sleeves, as he raised his arm to sip at his drink. Jaffa smiled with sudden excitement. Had Hoit found a rich man who was interested in sampling a bit of her Clestion charm? A man like his could afford more for her than what she had already earned during the rest of the night. And he was quite attractive as well. His dark eyes told her that his Srowidian blood wasn’t pure, despite the curly, golden hair that he wore long, but she could feel the distinctly sexual pull of his Srowidian sex lure. A man like him might tempt any woman away—and there was no way that Hoit could match what he could offer. 
	Perhaps this man had shown an interest in more than just sampling her for the night.  If that were the case then it might explain why Hoit was a little nervous. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as confident in her love as he always tried to seem. 
		“Oh,” Hoit said in obvious surprise. “Before, I just assumed…”
	“It’s a mistake that’s commonly made when I sail the outer isles,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hands. “But my father’s name was not Sigmar.” 
	“Well,” Jaffa said, holding Hoit’s chair for him while he sat, then leaning down and kissing him affectionate. “I’ve never heard of an isle, or a town for that matter, that was called Sigmar, so if your name is Le’Sigmar you must be from near the center.”
	Sigmar gave her a slightly puzzled look, as if something she’d said was unfamiliar. She couldn’t imagine what, unless perhaps it was about being near the center. But surely that meaning would be obvious even if he were unfamiliar with the idioms. All the isles, even those that orbited other isles, were in orbit around Nimesphia, clearly making it the center. 
	“No,” he said, after a calculating pause in which he eyed Jaffa more carefully. “There’s no significator at all between the names.” He definitely seemed to find Jaffa intriguing, but with eyes as calculating as those she couldn’t be entirely sure. 	“I was born in Pelewahj, which is on Lemar.”
	“Then you’re not from the floating isles at all?” Jaffa asked excitedly. She had never actually meet anyone who hadn’t been born on one of the Floating Isles—and in fact, she had meet very few who hadn’t been born on Feilom itself. “What’s it like outside the isles? I hear it’s very different.” 
	“No,” he said, ignoring her second question. “Not originally, although I came through the gate when I was still very young.” 
	“Across the bridge you mean?” 
	“Yes,” he amended. “Across the bridge, as you say. In any case, the Floating Isles have always felt much more like my home than Lemar ever did.”
	“Then the naming customs on Lemar are not the same?”
	“No. I have two given names, neither of which requires a formal significant. But please, call me Fihro. That’s what my friends do.” 
	“Very well, Fihro it is,” she said with teasing playfulness. “And I’m Jaffa Oi’ Hoit, at your service. But you may call me Jaffa.” She bowed slightly and held out her hand, prompting Sigmar to hold out his own, which she took. Wrapping her thumb firmly around his fingers, she gently turn his hand over—while gracefully kneeling in front of him, so that her grip on his hand wouldn’t place his wrist at an uncomfortable angle—and gave his open palm an intimate kiss.12 “Since we’re being so informal,” she said, looking up with an impish grin. 
	Sigmar returned her smile, seeming to share her humor for the moment. She slid into the chair beside him and pulled it a little closer. 
	“You’re prettier than I expected,” he said in frank appraisal. “What’s your lineage?” 
	“I’m Clestion,” Jaffa said, raising her eyebrows in some surprise. 
	“I can see that. Are you pure?
	“As pure as Salabium worm silk,” Hoit said. 
	“And yet your father sold you to…” His eyes moved towards Hoit.
	“And why shouldn’t he!” Jaffa said, rising to her feet. “Hoit is a fine man.”
	“I’m sure he is,” Sigmar said, nodding with approval. Gently he took her hand, and even through her anger Jaffa was aware of the power of his sexual charm as he pulled her back down into her seat. His Srowidian sex magic was strong, and he definitely knew how to use its lure to full effect. She had never felt anything else quite like it, and now that she had, she understood why women of Srowidian breeding were so valuable as slaves and why men were willing to pay so much for a single night with one of them. 
	“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Sigmar assured her. “It’s just that… well, you’re a little shorter than most pure-blooded Clestion.” He reached up and cupped his hand over her breast, giving it a gentle, testing squeeze. “And your breasts seem a little smaller than might be expected.”
	“I didn’t know you were such an expert,” Jaffa said, with a girlish giggle. “But I assure you, my father and mother’s pedigrees are both in good order. Which, it would seem, leaves very little doubt about me.
	“You have your papers with you?”
	“Of course,” Jaffa said, a little surprised that he would even ask. A woman never left her house without a copy of her papers. “Not that it makes any difference when I’m lying on my back.”
	Jaffa was pleased to see Sigmar smile at her with mild amusement. He turned his attention to Hoit. 	“Is she fertile?”
	“She hasn’t proven herself with children yet,” Hoit said. “But she hasn’t been neutered, if that’s what you mean.”
 	Jaffa raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t uncommon for a wealthy man, who was bartering for a woman’s pleasure, to be concerned that she might end up having his child. An unscrupulous sex peddler could sometimes unload a woman and her child on an unfortunate man by claiming that he had gotten her pregnant without the owner’s permission. But that shouldn’t even be a worry when someone with his obvious Srowidian blood was contemplating a little fun with someone of her pure-breeding. Any man with a little common sense would be happy to buy her—even if she did come with a child, for such a child could always be sold to one of the slave farms for a nice sum of money. Moreover, there were a room full of witnesses who could testify to the stacks of empty glasses at Hoit’s table,13 tonight. There wasn’t the slightest chance Hoit could be trying to get rid of her—even if he’d had the right to do so. 
	So why had the man asked such an outrageous question? It didn’t make any sense. 
	Jaffa was already beginning to think that a lot more was going on than she’d first thought, when Hoit suddenly asked, “So? How many years are we talking about?” 
	Now Jaffa was even more certain that something strange was going on, but no less confused. For a moment she wondered if she’d even heard him right. She looked over at Sigmar and saw that he was shaking his head. “No years, Hoit. My offer is for a straight transfer of debt. Your indenture for her papers. Nothing less will do.” 
	Jaffa couldn’t believe what the man had just said. All this time, she had been so certain that he loved her. She had been so concerned about the way he’d been so nervous during the last few months. And all this time he had been secretly planning to sell her. She was so shocked… so dumbfounded that she couldn’t form the necessary words to make a response. 
	“That’s outrageous!” Hoit said, doing it for her. “Our deal was for indenture—and you know damned well you’ll make a lot more on her than you ever would on me.”
		Sigmar laughed. “The business of supply and demand, Hoit. In this case, the supply is what you have to offer me in place of yourself. And the demand is how badly you want to keep it for yourself!
	 “What would I tell her father? He’ll probably want to kill me if I do this!”
	“You might simply claim concerned ignorance, and let her father assume that she was kidnapped or killed. But if I were you, I don’t think I’d tell him anything. If I were you, Hoit, I’d think about simply leaving town and never returning.” Sigmar smiled nonchalantly. “But if you decide to do this, that’s a problem you’ll have to figure out on your own.”
	“He’d never believe she was kidnapped,” Hoit said. “I know him too well.”
 	Sigmar shrugged. “If you’d rather not? You don’t have to do this, you know.” He smiled again, more smugly this time. “Twenty-five years isn’t really such a terribly long time.”
	Jaffa waited, holding her breath to see what Hoit would say. She was beginning to understand what was going on, so she realized how desperate Hoit’s situation had been all this time. It was understandable how he might have been tempted by an offer of freedom. There had obviously been a misunderstanding. Hoit might have had thoughts Sigmar was offering to take both of them in exchange for lowering the number of Hoit’s years. She would have preferred that he’d asked her how she felt about it first, but even if indenture had been the only choice that would allow her to remain with Hoit, Jaffa would gladly have endure it. Fortunately, it wasn’t the only choice. She could still go to her father and ask him for the money. Surely father would give it to her now? 
	She and Hoit could still be happy. 
	It all depended on his next answer, and Jaffa held her breath waiting to see what he would. 

14
	Sigmar didn’t need to hear Hoit’s answer to know that he had the boy right where he wanted him. He suppressed the smug smile that was threatening to spread across his lips. His years of trading had taught him not to give anything away—and if he’d allowed himself to show what he was feeling Hoit would have had no doubt that his position for bargaining was actually much stronger than Sigmar tried to let on, for he was indeed very pleased with the girl. Even for a full blood Clestion, she was rather attractive. She had obviously led a pampered life and knew how to present herself. Like most Clestions, she was a little too short and thin-boned for Sigmar tastes. He preferred the typically larger breasts and deeper curves of the Mordian breeding and she didn’t even enough fat to keep her ribs from showing. Still, he knew that the wealthier men, the kind who had enough money to pay the most outrageous prices for a slave—and who were often of Clestion breeding themselves—would find her flat, hard stomach quite appealing. Her breasts, while small, were well shaped with plump little nipples that seemed to be begging for attention; and her coltishly thin legs were long and pleasingly shaped. Sigmar thought her best feature, besides her face, were her square shoulders and the small but well defined muscles in her arms. 
	Despite her looks, however, he was actually much more interested to see how she would respond to her current situation. There was a lot you could learn about a woman by watching her face during a moment like this. Sigmar prided himself on being an apt student of human emotions. He used such knowledge extensively during his business dealings, so it was of more than academic interest to him, but in this case his desires when much deeper than just that. He was fascinated by the emotions that played across a woman’s face during moments of extreme stress. 
	“So, Hoit?” He said, watching her as she watch him. “What—will—it—be?”
	“What would I do?” Hoit said. “Where would I go?”
	The girl’s face fell. She had been hoping her fieflord would say something else and who could blame her. But what surprised Sigmar was how calm she had remained. There were no tears. None of the normal play of strong emotions. Sigmar found that very interesting. 
	He turned to the boy. “I gave you a lot of money, Hoit. And unless you were lying, you haven’t actually lost it.” Sigmar raised his eyebrows questioningly. “You did get everything in writing, I presume?”
	Hoit nodded. 
	“Then all you need to do is go and demand your money back. It should be enough to tide you over for a while. Until you can figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of your life.”
	“It won’t work,” the girl said. 
	Sigmar looked at her again. Her face was surprisingly calm, but there was a new hardness in her expression that he wouldn’t have expected. If she were a man, that look would have been enough to make him consider hiring her as one of his guards. It spoke of a deep and growing bitterness—but no fear. 
	Such maturity surprised him. 
	The girl was even younger than he had expected her to be; but she was clearly a woman and not a child. And as the pair had come closer Sigmar had been surprised at how stunningly beautiful she was.  Her wiry body was a little thinner than he preferred, but her graceful movements made him think of one of the empyreal dancers. Even if she weren’t a pure-blood, her breeding was excellent. She had the aristocratic elegance of the Clestion line—but there was also a blatantly sexual quality. It wasn’t the sexual lure of his Srowidian line, but in it’s own way it was just as powerful. Perhaps more so, because an intelligent man would know that this wasn’t some trick that his hormones were playing on his mind. This was a sexual grace that came naturally. 
	So far, such a thing had only been breed successfully into emperor’s Bremarian dancers—and there the quality was imprisoned in the body of a permanent adolescent. Here the quality was captured by a body that was obviously a woman’s. With a little tutoring and the right clothes, she would certainly make a worthy wife for a rural magistrate, perhaps even one of the nobleman at the emperor’s court. At the very least, she would be capable of catching the fancy of some a rich merchant. 
	Such a transaction could net Sigmar a very fine profit indeed. If Hoit wasn’t so terrified over the possibility of loosing his own freedom, perhaps he would have proven to be better at bartering, instead of dealing his wife away so easily. And perhaps that was what the girl was so angry about. 	It occurred to Sigmar that she must have loved the boy. And as the saying went: the strongest hate is born from a bed of love. 
 	“You can’t barter for me, Hoit. I may be your serf, but you don’t have the right to sell me.”
	Sigmar frowned, as he saw the possibility of his grand coup slipping away. He turned to Hoit. “What is she talking about? Is this woman your wife or not?”
	“Actually, I’m technically his concubine,” she said. “Hoit purchased my papers, but my father retained the right of first repurchase. Hoit can’t sell me to anyone else.”
	“What do you mean?” Hoit said. 
	“By the isles, Hoit! Didn’t you even read what you signed?”
	“But you said you were going to ask him to include everything,” Hoit said accusingly. “You said you didn’t want there to be any reservations between us!” 
	“I did ask him,” she said, actually smiling now. “And now I’m glad he refused.” She looked at Sigmar. “I assure you that my father is a wealthy and important man in these parts. If you try to go through with this transaction my father will see to it that both of you are brought before a magistrate on charges of attempted theft.”
	“She’s right,” Sigmar said.  He nodded respectfully to Jaffa. Her demeanor was calm and graceful, despite her obvious anger—and he respected that. He also wanted her more than ever now. “You know the law,” he said with a sigh that he hoped would seem to indicate acceptance. 
	“I know the law,” she agreed.  “My father was an advocate before he retired and became a merchant. And I sometimes practiced my reading on his books.”
	Sigmar looked over her head, trying to catch the eye of either Faldern or Heatil—but both men had become distracted and neither of them were looking at him. 
	“On Meshwij, where I come from,” Sigmar said, “it would be considered unusual for a father to let his daughter study something as pointless as law, when she could be learning something more worthy of a woman’s station in life.”
	“Such as playing a musical instrument or writing poetry, I suppose?”  
	Sigmar shrugged. “Worthy pursuits for a woman, and far more likely to prove of value to her in later life.”
	“Don’t worry, I can play the flute reasonably well when I put my mind to it,” Jaffa said with a stiff smile. “But if I were as ignorant of the law as most women…” She glanced quickly over at Hoit. “Or most men, it appears… I would have found myself a slave today, I think.” She looked back at Sigmar. “So perhaps it was not so pointless after all?” 
	“So your father taught you the law because he feared you might fall prey to the wolves in this world?” 
	Finally Sigmar managed to catch Faldern’s eye, and he risked looking directly at Jaffa again, then back, so that his first lieutenant would know that something was up. 
	“My father taught me the law because my mother had failed to produce any sons, and he was not prepared, as yet, to adopt an heir. In fact, he still hasn’t, which means that Hoit might have inherited my father’s estate, if he’d been patient enough. But obviously he was right not to trust him, so now all he will get is the paltry sum that my father accepted as payment for me.”  
	Sigmar nodded meaningfully towards the girl, hoping that Faldern would understand. And that she wouldn’t realize what he was doing. It was important, for many reasons, to shut her up as quickly and quietly as possible. 
	“So he trained you to be his helper?”
	“I helped him a little, when I was younger.”
	Faldern understood. He tapped Heatil on the shoulder and the two of them began to move in behind the girl very slowly. Sigmar smiled and looked back at Jaffa. “And did your schooling include any other manly arts besides reading and writing?”
	“It did,” she said with a wry smile. “For instance, I know a good deal more about mathematics than just how to add and subtract.”
	“I’m glad,” Sigmar said looking back up at his men who were now in the perfect position to move.  “It means you’ll fetch more than your share at the slave market.” 
	Before Jaffa could respond with even a startled face, Faldern clamped his hands over her mouth and began stuffing the wad of cloth he was holding into her mouth. She tried wildly to struggle, but Heatil had made his move at the same time as Faldern had, wrapping his arms firmly around her legs while Faldern continued stuffing her mouth. When her cries were satisfyingly muffled, Faldern wrapped his knee around her legs while Heatil stood up and began to remove one of his belts. 
	“There are distinct advantages to the slaver’s custom of wearing more than one belt,” Sigmar murmured looking back at Hoit. 
	“What’s the meaning of this,” Hoit said, He looked as surprised as the girl did but he had finally found his voice.    
	“Calm yourself,” Sigmar said softly, “I simply wanted to shut her up while we had the rest of our talk.” 
	He looked back up to make sure that the progress with Jaffa was going as expected. It was. Faldern had used one of his belts to secure the girl’s elbows behind her back. The whole procedure had taken less than a minute.  
	 “What’s there to talk about,” Hoit asked uncertainly. He looked like he thought Sigmar’s men were about to take him now, the same way they had taken the girl. 
	“You still have a decision, Hoit.”
	“I do?” 
	Sigmar nodded. “The fact that your wife was dowered to you from her father is only a minor inconvenience to our plans. Assuming that you still want to go through with them?”
	Hoit nodded. His face was a little white, but otherwise completely blank. 
	“Despite the obvious advantages of receiving something for nothing—and the social ties such a union might provide—fit does invariably make future transactions more difficult. But not impossible for a man who is sufficiently motivated.”
	“What do you mean?” Hoit asked, a hint of hope returning to his face. 
	“Suppose you included yourself and all your estate—including her—into a single transaction, in order to settle a debt.”
	“But what…”
	“Now, now!” Sigmar said, holding his hand up to silence Hoit’s protests. “Hear me out. What I’m suggesting is perfectly legal and safe. If the debt is large enough to warrant it, my claim as a debtor would take precedence over her father’s claim. All that is required for this to work is for us to change the sum of your debt, so that the two of you would be reasonable compensation. Then you would have to sign a document which is binding on your entire estate, including you.”
	“All right,” Hoit said, even more uncertainly. “But I thought the point was to keep me from ending up as a slave?”
	“It’s a relatively simple matter to write up another agreement that releases you and turns the balance of your estate back over to you. In essence, the return of your freedom and your property is ensured before the contract is actually signed.”
	“Is that legal?” 
	Sigmar chuckled. “Technically, no. In fact, it is highly illegal…” 
	“So wh…” 
	“…but that doesn’t mean it isn’t done all the time.  All we need is a magistrate who can be bought. Once the papers are signed by the magistrate they’re as good as legal. Short of accusing him of lying there’s no way to prove the documents weren’t signed in the appropriate order. And I just happen to I know where we can find such a man right here in this town. He wasn’t exactly cheap the last time I used him, but he seemed to be amenable.” 

15
Reslin LeMeswitch frowned as he set down the book he was reading and leaned back in the thick padding of his leather chair, waiting to see if there would be a second knock. His daughters didn’t stop playing their instruments, but they never did. Even when there was a real interruption, they often continued to play for their own pleasure even as he dealt with whatever it was that needed dealing with.
	This evening, Reslin had given specific after-dinner instructions that he did not wish to be disturbed. As he waited for the knock that he knew was about to come, Reslin wondered idly what had be so important that Florment would risk disturbing his evening respite. Probably some traveling merchant who needed his documents notarized. Reslin was almost always willing to make time for matters that involved signing his name in exchange for monetary considerations. 
But this day, in particular, had already been very long and unpleasant, as he and the council members of Pavilyn tried to hammer out the details of their latest petition to Aschellion LeEapar in Milucent. Reslin had an intense dislike for all such matters of government, even when they didn’t involve the prospect of spending his own money. And it was for this very reason that he was so supremely jealous of the few evening hours that were his to enjoy as he saw fit. These hours, alone in his own home, were his time to relax and rejuvenate his spirits. 
	On this night, he had pampered himself by purchasing the reluctant services of one of the local slave merchant’s best women, whom he intended to take full advantage of soon. 
	Florment had mulled the fine bottle of wine he had chosen to her usual perfection, and now his boots were propped up on the bare back of the slave merchant’s girl, as he listened to a pleasant selection of music being played by his three eldest daughters. Sometimes he preferred to listen to the canned music that came from the music box he’d had imported from the inner isles at great expense. On the inner isles, such things were rather common, especially among the wealthy, but here, in the outer isles, it was quite an extravagance. The only problem with the music box was that he only had a limited number of playing disks to go with it—while his daughters, whose voices were sweet and their fingers nimble, could play a far wider selection. 
	“Come in,” Reslin called when the second knock came, as expected. 
	Florment entered and gave a respectful bow. “I’m sorry, sir. But there’s a merchant-gentleman who claims he can’t wait until tomorrow to see you.” She held out a few coins, as if they were proof of her good judgment. “He says he has pressing business that will be profitable for both of you.” 
	At least it wasn’t the leader of the council, Zaan Fremlik. He was just persistent enough that Reslin had actually feared he might have come right to his house to continue his lobbying. So far, Reslin had insisted that he would not make any financial guarantees to Aschellion, in exchange for the extra guards, who the council felt were sorely needed to deal with a particularly persistent and clever group of bandits. More and more women (and even a few men, it was rumored) joined up with this group every day, so it was important to secure the services of the extra guards as quickly as possible. Maintaining social order was one of Reslin’s most important jobs, but he was of the opinion that the best course of action was to wait until the rains let up and the dry season had made the land easier to navigate before enjoining the search in full. 
	With their advanced armor the imperial guards were generally all but impervious to the kinds of weapons that such bandits could normally obtain; and if the women continued to resist, the automatic weapons that the guards carried could make short work of putting down even the largest of rebellious groups. 
	The problem in this case was the weather. 
	It made it all but impossible to track the bandits down, as well as providing excellent cover for ambushes, which it was believed the bandits had already used. Two imperial guards, out on a routine patrolling mission, were believed to have been killed by this group and their guns stolen. 
	With the relatively limited amount of ammunition that each guard carried on such a patrol, the possession of those guns didn’t overly worry Reslin. The ammunition would quickly run out as they used to guns to hunt. What worried him was that the leader of the bandits might just be smart enough to use those guns to ambush more guards and get more guns. The only way to avoid that situation was to suspend the regular patrols, which had already been done, but this had only emboldened others to join the group. Now, they were left with two choices: they could either bring in more soldiers, as Zaan Fremlik wanted to do—at Reslin’s expense. Or they could simply wait until the wet season ended and the places to create effective ambushes literally dried up, as Reslin had suggested. Barring that, Reslin believed that they should first petition Aschellion for more guards without the promise of payment. After all, it was Aschellion who was ultimately responsible for putting down rebellions on the island of Feilom. 
	“Very well,” Reslin said. “I’ll see my visitor here in the library. Show him in.” 
	“Actually, there are five of them, sir. four men and what appears to be a rather reluctant woman.” 
	“Really?” Reslin smiled. “Well then, show them in.” 
	
16
	“Stop squirming,” Sigmar hissed. He increased the pressure on Jaffa’s arm until she gasped from the pain, but she refused to stop struggling. She wanted to make sure that anyone who might see her would know that she was a reluctant captive. With the gag they’d placed in her mouth, it might be her only chance of drawing someone’s attention. If the belt wasn’t pinning her elbows together behind her back, she would have removed the gag herself. 
	“Should I subdue her?” one of the guards who accompanied Sigmar asked.
	A shiver of dreaded anticipation ran through her as she wondered exactly what he might have in mind. She didn’t have long to wonder, for as soon as Sigmar nodded his approval the man rammed his fist into her gut. The punch hadn’t seemed all that hard to her, but it was surprisingly effective, for it knocked the wind right out of her. She didn’t even remember falling, but the next thing she knew she was writhing on the ground, her body heaving dramatically as she gasped desperately for air through her nose. The first breath she drew in was filled with dust. It would have made her sneeze, but there was hardly any air inside her to come out. For a moment she thought she might loose consciousness, but at last she managed to draw another breath, and this time she had just enough presence to roll her face away from the ground. 
	Almost as if she had just awoke from a deep sleep, she became aware of the men talking. Obviously they had been talking for a while, but in her desperate bid for life she hadn't noticed it. “All I’m saying,” Hoit’s voice, “is that you could have taken it a little easier on her.” 
	Like the little rat shit really cared, she thought, he was just trying to ease his guilty conscience. And as if Sigmar was thinking much the same thing he said: “The life of a reluctant slave is never easy.” There was a significant pause, and she was certain that Sigmar was giving Hoit a long hard stare. She glared at Hoit herself through his stare, willing the man she had once thought she loved to drop dead where he stood. Then there would be loophole in the law for this scoundrel to take advantage of. 
	“Are you sure you wish to go through with this,” Sigmar went on. “It’s your last chance to back out, Hoit.” 
	She rolled over and looked up at Hoit, for the briefest moment hoping that he might… but when her eyes meet his he just looked away, shaking his head.
	Sigmar looked over at guard who had hit her with a smug little grin. “You might have been just a tiny bit over zealous, Faldern.”
	The third guard snickered a little, but Faldern just shrugged without further comment. Even in the short time she’d been around him she had noticed that he seemed to be a man of few words, speaking only when there was a need.  
	At last, the door finally opened again. “You may foll…” the servant’s voice trailed off, and Jaffa knew that the woman’s pause had been caused by seeing her. Suddenly she felt intensely embarrassed to realized what she must look like, sprawled on the ground in such an undignified and unwomanly manner. She could feel where the hem of her short blue dress had ridden up around her waist, leaving her legs and hips totally exposed. Under other circumstances, it would have seemed like one of those clever and fetching maneuvers that she had been taught to do during her sexual training classes—there were so many useful little tricks that enabled a woman to catch the eye of the man she desired. But in her helpless state, with her dress soiled and probably torn, her arms bound behind her back and her face pressed into the dirt, her exposed flesh didn’t seem clever or fetching at all. 
	“Is everything all right?”
	“She’s feeling a little bit winded,” Sigmar explained, and the same guard who had snickered before snickered again.
	 “The magistrate will see you now. Please follow me.” 
	Jaffa could still feel the blood flooding to her face as Sigmar and Faldern pulled her none too gently to her feet. The blue dress clung persistently to her waist and wouldn’t fall. She wiggled her hips, trying to shake it down, but the dress was stuck to her own perspiration and wouldn’t go down. 
	“Should I ask Faldern to hit you again?” Sigmar whispered in her ear. 
	She shook her head and stopped dancing, hoping that the dress would work loose as she walked. It seemed ludicrous to be worried about something so ridiculous, given her circumstances, but she couldn’t seem to help it. This was the first time in her entire life that she could remember feeling the least bit self-conscious about exposing herself, and she didn’t like the feeling at all. 
	The two men kept a firm hold on her arms as they followed the servant down a long carpeted hall. When they came to a large set of double doors, the woman opened, ushering the group into a room that reminded Jaffa of the library in her father’s house, only a little larger. The shelves, however, were not quite as full as her father’s shelves, which were crammed full of nothing but books. These shelves held as many knickknacks as actual books. The walls without shelves were covered with beautiful paintings and there were a few decorative sculptures on freestanding pedestals, as well as the shelves. The polished, hard-wood floor was covered with lush carpets of a local design that was very similar to the design on the carpet in her father’s bedroom, and seeing it brought tears to Jaffa’s eyes. 
	In one corner, three lightly clad young women were playing musical instruments and singing. It was a delicate and beautiful melody that Jaffa didn’t recognize, but she thought it was designed to be unobtrusive. The kind of music that a man could listen to while he read or worked on his books. 
	“You look familiar to me.” 
	Jaffa’s spirits soared with sudden hope. The magistrate recognized her. Perhaps he had seen her with her father on one of the purchasing trips when she had accompanied him. He would no doubt demand that they remove her gag so that he could question her, and then she would tell him all that had happened. When he learned who she was and realized that her father would be willing to pay more for her return than these men would pay for him to sign their papers, he would free her and have them imprisoned. Everything would be alright again, and these men would be punished for what they had tried to do to her. 
	“I’ve done business with you before,” Sigmar said. 
	“You have?” 
	“I wouldn’t have expected you to remember me, your honor. We met several emyears ago, when I had a situation very like the one I need to resolve today. You were very helpful to me then and I thought you might be of service again.” 
	“Please, call me Reslin,” the magistrate said with a coy little smile. “And what is this service that you need?” 
	“Call it a binding, pre-contractual agreement.”
	“Ah! And what exactly is the nature of this pre-contractual agreement?”
	“The young man behind me wishes to consign his own freedom, and the rights to all his belongings, over to me. But he wishes to do this only on the condition that I will immediately return to him his freedom and all of his belongings with the sole exception of this girl.”
	“Let me see the girl’s papers,” the magistrate said. 
	“They’re in the hem of her dress,” Hoit said. Reaching for the reinforced pocket where she kept her papers, he retrieved the small plastic protector and pulled out her papers. His hand shook as he gave them to the magistrate. 
	“I see why he doesn’t simply sell the girl to you outright!”
	“Yes, this is a delicate matter. But I’m willing to pay for the extra service, if we can agree to a reasonable price.”
	“It is very late at night,” the magistrate said. “And you are disturbing my comforts for the trivial purpose of signing two papers. I should think ten times the standard fee for two papers would be an appropriate sum for my inconvenience.”
	“But my dear Reslin, surely since the selling of a girl normally only require the signing of a single paper, ten times the standard fee for one paper would be a more reasonable amount.” 
	“My reputation among other magistrates would surely suffer if I signed the paper for so little.”
	“I understand your plight,” Sigmar said. “And I apologize deeply for having disturbed your evening, but at such a steep rate, I’m not sure it’s worth purchasing the girl at all. Forgive me for taking up so much of your valuable time.” 
	“Wait a minute,” the magistrate growled. “Perhaps I could find it in my heart to accept 15 times the fee for one contract, if you’re willing to compromise.”
	“That is indeed most generous,” Sigmar said. “But by rights I can collect the boy to satisfy his debt, so unless he’s willing to pay the fee, I’m afraid I must decline your kind offer.” 	
	Sigmar and the magistrate both turned to Hoit, waiting to see what he would say. 
	“How much is the fee then?” Hoit asked, his voice shaking and his eyes rolling up into his head as he obviously tried to remember how much money Jaffa had put into his pockets with her evenings work at the tavern. 
	“Three fromeths of aluminum,”14 the magistrate said. 
	Hoit smiled and began to dig into his pocket. “I’ve got that much.” 
	“Three fromeths of aluminum is the price to sign a single document,” the magistrate said in a severe tone. “That means you’ll owe me 15 fromeths of silver.”15
	Hoit took a few moments to convert the amounts in his head, then frowned. “I thought we agreed on fifteen times the original…”
	“For an old friend,” the magistrate said shaking his head, “I would be willing to cut into my original price. But I don’t know you. For you the price is 60 fromeths of aluminum, which is 15 in silver.” 
	Hoit was obviously beginning to worry. He dug into his pocket and pulled out all the money he had, counting it up very carefully. In various denominations of coin, the total came up to a little less than 41 fromeths of aluminum. 
	“It looks like he would have been short,” the magistrate said. “Even at 45 fromeths.” He looked over at Sigmar. “Unless of course you’re willing to pay the difference?”
	“I might have been willing to pitch in 10 or even 15 aluminum fromeths,” Sigmar said in an aggrieved voice, “But I’ve already spent a gold frometh on our bar tab.”  
	She couldn’t believe how easily these men were manipulating Hoit. Sigmar did a good job of hiding it from Hoit, but he was actually smiling at the magistrate. The two of them were having a good little laugh at the fool. If she hadn’t been gagged, she might have told him exactly what they were doing—although in truth it served him right and she was beginning to wonder if he would even be smart enough to understand what she was trying to tell him. She couldn’t believe how enamored of him she had once been. What was it that she had seen in the loutish oaf. 
	“What about the girl?” Hoit said in obvious desperation. 
	The magistrate looked at her, as if for the first time; and there was something in his eyes that told her that he was indeed interested. Something else told her that she wouldn’t like the kind of attention that he would pay her, and for a moment she felt fear, like an icy cold hand gripping her heart. Her whole future might rest on this man’s answer. 
	He took a step towards her, lifting his hand as if to sample what she had to offer with his fingers, but she danced away from him—disgusted by the thought of his touch. 
	It was the first time in her life she had ever felt that way; and it was deeply humiliating. A real woman was always ready and eager for sex. She certainly didn’t balk at the mere thought of a man touching her between the legs. It was the right of any man who had the permission of her fieflord to do so, and he clearly had that permission. Despite her anger at Hoit and Sigmar, she found the way she felt rather humiliating. Mixed with her disgust at being touched and her embarrassment at the way her dress was still riding up a little higher than it should, it was by far the worst feeling she had ever had in her entire life. 
	When at last she looked up into the magistrates eyes she know that he understood her feelings, but instead of being shocked or disgusted, he was actually looking at her with even more interest than before. “I would be willing to reduce my fee a little in exchange for a couple of hours with the girl.” He looked over at Sigmar. “If you would be willing to add 10 aluminum fromeths.” 
	“I’m on a very tight schedule,” Sigmar said. “How about making that one hour?”
	“That’s not much time to do the kinds of things with her that I wanty to do.” The magistrate frowned, and thought about it for a few moments. “But perhaps… there is a letter that I need delivered to Aschellion LeEapar in Milucent. Would you be willing to throw that into the bargain?”
	“It is my destination, as I’m sure you know.”
	“I’ll need someone to wait for his response and bring it back to me here!”
	“I have locals in my crew who I’m sure would be willing to come by here before heading home, for an extra coin or two. Consider it done.” 
	“Well then,” The magistrate said. “I guess we have a deal.” 

17
	“Why don’t you all follow me,” Reslin said, looking pointedly at Hoit and then taking in the others with his sweeping gaze. “I have a special room below ground where I like to conduct this sort of business.” 
	“Shouldn’t we wait outside for you?” Hoit suggested. He felt bad enough already about loosing Jaffa, he didn’t think he’d feel comfortable being in the same room while this man did whatever it was he intended to do to her. 
	“No, not at all,” Reslin said, already starting for the double doors. “In fact, I’m going to need your help with her.” 
	Hoit hung back as Sigmar and his men took Jaffa in hand, forcing her towards the door; but in the end he didn’t have the courage not to follow. Now that his immediate concerns for his own safety were alleviated, he was already beginning to feel the weight of Jaffa’s loss. He did love her. If there were any other possible way he wouldn’t have dreamed of placing Jaffa in this situation, for without her his life would be a mere shadow of what it had been. And as poor as he was, he knew he wasn’t likely to ever find another woman with breeding the like of hers. 
	That was the greatest irony of all. If he hadn’t felt so guilty about not being able to give her the things he thought she deserved he wouldn’t have gotten into this mess in the first place. It was her own fault in a way, and so it was only fitting that she should be the one to help get him out of trouble. He would have to move away. He couldn’t live in the same town as her powerful father after this. In a way, his life was going to be destroyed as surely as hers. 
	Most of all though, he knew he was going to miss her terribly, and he couldn’t bare not to be around her as long as he possibly could, so despite his ill ease he followed the rest of the group as they walked down the hall, passed through a door and descended the stone stairs into a very large and gloomy looking room. Frightening looking contraptions of leather, wood, and metal hung on the walls, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine what many of them might be used for. Others were all too obvious. 
	Hoit hadn’t particularly liked the man before seeing this room, and now he thought he was beginning to understand why. What kind of man took pleasure in using such things, even if it was on a woman? His heart was beating wildly just from the thought of such things being used on Jaffa’s beautiful skin. Surely Sigmar wouldn’t allow her body to be seriously damaged! 
	“Nothing that leaves a permanent mark,” Sigmar said, as if his mind had taken a very similar train of thought. 
	“Of course,” Reslin said, taking a piece of wood down from the wall. “I intend only to place her in this pillory. It is quick and effective, while keeping her at our complete disposal.” The two pieces of wood in Reslin’s hand were held together by a hinge at one end. When they were placed together they would form a larger rectangle with three parallel holes down the center. The one in the middle was the right size for a woman’s neck, while the two outer holes would fit neatly around her writs. “Why don’t you remove her dress and then hold her still while I put this on her.” 
	Jaffa began to struggle even harder than she had been before, but it was no use—her efforts were no match for Sigmar and his two helpers. They ripped the blue dress from her body without any regards for preserving the material and then Sigmar grabbed a handful of her long, black hair and pulled her head down between his knees, while the other men each held one of her arms out in line with her neck. Reslin quickly snapped the pillory around her neck and limbs, securing it with a sturdy looking lock. 
	 “Is she a biter?” Reslin asked, looking at Hoit. 
	“I don’t know,” he admitted.  “I’ve never seen her in a situation where she wasn’t happy and willing to perform her womanly duties.” 
	“Maybe a little precaution then,” Reslin said with a smile, “She doesn’t look very happy or willing.” He walked over to the wall and took down a large metal ring-gag.
	“Here, let me help,” Sigmar said. Coming over, he took hold of Jaffa’s lower lip and hooked his fingers in her nose, then easily pulled her mouth open so that Reslin could insert the ring-gag.
	“Owh,” Jaffa said angrily. “You can’t do this. My father is an important man.” Unfortunately, it sounded more like, “Yow kanh ow nish. Wyh auner ish an inoranh anh.” 
	“Talkative little minx, isn’t she?” Reslin asked as he walked over to the table and grabbed a long, thick piece of rubber. Still trying to talk when he came back, Jaffa was only shut up when he pushed the large piece of rubber through the metal ring and into her mouth. It was long enough to make her gag a little, despite her extensive sexual training; and there were tiny spring loaded hooks on the top and bottom that looped over the metal ring and held the flexible dildo in place so that she couldn’t spit it out. 
	“Now,” Reslin said as he attached a short leash to a metal ring at the back of the pillory. “Let’s get spankin’.” Giving a yank, he forced Jaffa to stumbled backwards to keep from falling over, then led her across the room that way—with little jerks that forced her this way and that. Each stumble brought her closer to Hoit, and despite himself he found her helpless condition very stimulating, a fact that apparently hadn’t escaped Reslin’s notice. “This may be the last time you ever see her again,” the magistrate said with a wicked smile. “Why don’t you fuck her in the ass one last time? For old times sake.” Hoit shook his head, just a little embarrassed by the whole notion, but the magistrate wasn’t a man to be easily put off when he wanted something. “Go on,” he insisted pushing Jaffa’s naked body against Hoit. “This may be the last chance you’ll ever have with her.” 
	Hoit couldn’t keep himself from reaching around and taking her firm, young breasts in his hands. She squirmed reluctantly under his touch, and it caused her ass to brush teasingly against his trousers. Her muffled protests and heavy breathing were incredibly arousing. 
	“Go ahead,” Reslin said, reaching up to grab the corners of the wooden pillory and using it to pull Jaffa’s head down so that she was bending over at nearly a ninety degree angle. “Get your clothes off and take her ass. Use some of that lube on the table if you need to.” 
	Quickly, Hoit began to remove his clothes, tossing his shirt and trousers on the floor. One of Sigmar’s men—he couldn’t remember the man’s name—handed him the bottle of lube and he poured it liberally into the crack of Jaffa’s fine ass. Since this would be the last time he would ever see that ass it seemed somehow fitting that this would be the first time he had ever used that particular orifice. He pressed his hard member against her crack. It slid away from the mark as she clenched her cheeks together and squirmed with reluctance. It wasn’t easy to hold her still, and when he managed to do that he still needed a third hand to hold his cock in place. But despite the size of his throbbing cock he finally felt her sphincter giving way and knew with a great deal of satisfaction that he had breached the hole that she had never offered him. She groaned as if in pain, which surprised Hoit. Although he had never requested the use of this hole, he knew her father had trained her sexually, and ass training was almost certainly a part of that. She’d never shown signs of being frigid before, and with the lubrication he had used to ease the passage, it should have been no problem for her. It took him by surprise. He had never known her to express such unwomanly reluctance. Strangely, it aroused him and filled him with lust as well as pride that he was obviously more man than she could handle.  
	 Hoit slide his hands down to her hips, using them as a handle to propel himself forward more forcefully. And as his hips slapped against the cheeks of her firm ass, he was beginning to think that the angry sounding groans he was forcing from her lips were actually quite beautiful sounds.
	“That’s it,” Reslin said, striping off his own clothes. 
	When he was bare, he took hold of the wooden pillory again, using it to force Jaffa head down towards his crotch. “Now ram into her,” he said as he angled his cock between the metal ring-gag. “I want your thrusts to force my member all the way down her throat.”

18
	Jaffa could feel her fingernails biting painfully into her palms as she fought against the magistrate’s pull. It was humiliating to find the idea of having him in her mouth so repulsive. A real woman was supposed to be sexually ready at all times, not whimping like a frigid baby with the pain of her first sexual contact. But as rotten as it made her feel emotionally and as much as she knew that it was her own fault it hurt so much, she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t make her muscles relax; she couldn’t stop fighting what was happening to her. 
	For the first time in her entire life, having a man’s organ inside her body felt like a violation. 
	She never would have thought herself capable of being frigid—no matter what the circumstances. She was still a woman, wasn’t she? She still had a woman’s instinctual need to be filled up and completed by a man’s organ. It hadn’t been that long ago that her body had been lying on a bed, aching with eagerness to receive Hoit. Aching with eagerness to receive the cocks of men who Hoit wanted her to sleep with. 
	But now it was as if her womanhood had been stripped away, stolen so suddenly that she didn’t know where it had gone or if she would ever get it back. 
	Hoit’s prick seemed to be splitting her body in two. She could feel her muscles spasm in protest as he shoved deep inside her. He was a large man, larger than any of the teachers who had given her ass training had been—but she knew that wasn’t the difference. The difference was that she suddenly found the idea of Hoit being inside her offensive. And there was something innately repulsive about the fat little magistrate. 
	Unfortunately, he was too strong to resist. His dick slid into her mouth, forcing its way past her tongue, which bunched up in protest.
	“Use your tongue,” The magistrate growled; but Jaffa only fought his entry harder. Her tongue ached with the effort to push him back out. “Fuck this frigid bitch harder,” he said, pressing down on her head with his hands. “You!” he said, nodding towards Faldern. “Why don’t you get some clamps and a whip from off the wall? If she won’t cooperate willingly, maybe we can loosen her frigid mouth up the hard way. 
	“I don’t know about you,” Hoit said, “but this is about the best fuck I’ve ever had.” 
	“I think she sucks cock like an old woman on her death bed.” 
	“Never had anyone complain before,” Hoit said, genuinely surprised. He seemed to feel that the magistrate’s comment reflected poorly on him, as Jaffa’s previous fieflord.
	Faldern had returned with a set of weighted clamps and a whip. He gave the whip to Sigmar then knelt down beneath the arch that Jaffa made with her body. The magistrate and Hoit stopped their assault on her while he clipped a clamp to one of her nipple. The teeth bit painfully into her skin, and when he let it go the weight of the clamp made it feel like her flesh was being slowly torn from her body. Before the first nipple had time to become numb, he had attached the second one. As Hoit began slamming into her from behind again, the weights started bouncing. 
	Sigmar gathered up her thick, black hair and pushed it out of the way. Then he used the whip, flicking it underhand to strike her belly and breasts. Then, using the momentum that gravity gave to the strands as they fell, he flicked the whip up and around in a circle, bringing it back down with a loud crack across her back.” 
--------------------------------------------------------
1 The term blood-brother indicates a lesser relationship, not a greater one, than just saying brother. The primary relationship is determined by whose house you currently belong to. Blood-brother (or blood-sister) is only used when siblings who were born to the same father (or, less commonly, mother) have been separated and are no longer living in the same house. In the case of Hoit and Gerath, they had different mothers, which is why Hoit isn’t a pure blood, the way Gerath is. 
2 A day on Feilom is approximately 165 Earth-days long; or about 6 months. 
3 a) Deelia is one of the three innermost islets that orbit Feilom, collectively known as the sisters. Since Deelia has high mountains and is close enough to Feilom to be visible from most places on the parent isle, Deelia is commonly used to track time. It orbits Feilom about once every 36:40 emhours.  b) Originally, the three sisters orbited as one collective unit, but Hester, a shooting isle that was captured by Feilom, disrupted Deelia’s motion. This event is the source of a legend: it is said that Deelia and her very poor father had an uncommonly deep love for one another, but when the rich young Hester came to visit he was so smitten with her that he finally offered such a high purchase price that Deelia’s father could no longer refuse. Thus it was that Hester dragged Deelia away from her home. But she still longed for her father, and so she ran away to look for him while Hesper was asleep. When Hesper woke, he quickly tracked her down, and made love with her so furiously that he again fell asleep. Since then, that has become their eternal pattern, Deelia running away every chance she gets and Hester coming to find her when he awakes from his post-coital slumber. 
4 Although not a universal custom, it isn’t uncommon for women to eat first (generally as much as they want), and the men to eat what’s left when they’re done. This is because the women generally tend to do all the heavy and undesirable labor, and they are traditionally the one who fights to defend territory, so it is considered more important for them to keep up their strength. 
5 This is a typically female oath, common to many of the isles. It might be considered somewhat equivalent to phrases like “Sweet mother of God.”  
6 It is customary, on Feilom, to have pegs for one’s coat just inside the door. Also, during the rainy season, a chair or two are placed on either side of the doorway, forming an isle of sorts. Poorer houses might only have a single chair, and sometimes a bench is used instead of a couple of chairs, but in any case, it allows someone coming in out of the rain to sit down and remove their muddy boots without tracking mud all over the house. A stack of durable, water-proof, wrapping material is keep nearby—for residents and visitors alike—to place over their boots before going out. A receptacle is also placed out for receiving the dirty wraps that are removed. These can often be washed, re-seasoned and reuse at least a couple of times. If a host or guest wishes to unwelcome they can say something like, “Don’t bother taking off your boot wraps!” or “I won’t bother taking off my boot wraps!”
7 “Getting used to being home” is a phrase that implies all the activities of first coming home, especially during the wet season: removing the coat and hanging it, unwrapping the boots, and warming by the fire, if needed.
8 a period equal to the time it takes the isle you’re on to return to the same spot in the water. This is a full isle year—so especially on the outer isles it represents a very long time.
9 Since Hoit was not a pure-blood, it was unlikely that he would be made his father’s heir. The father still remains responsible for the son, just as he does his daughters. But once a boy reaches the age of manhood, he can choose to divorce himself from his father’s house, and go out on his own. This is not uncommon, especially for boys of mixed breeding who have an adventurous spirit. 
10 a) (Feilomian colloquial) A mildly derogatory term for a pretty female who has been pampered to the point of being spoiled. b) The Petchnick tree, which is common to Feilom but none of the other isles, produces a small, brown fruit that ripen very quickly, falls to the ground and spoils within a few hours. A mixture of the ripe and rotten fruit can be used to make a brown and gooey preserve which is commonly very sweet and heavily spiced. Because the preserve’s flavor is so overpowering, a little goes a long way. It tends to be one of those things that people either love or hate. 
11 Stacking empty glasses on the bar table is a sign that the man wants to peddle his woman.  
12 This is a customary form of greeting, very similar to a man kissing a woman’s hand. It tends to be overtly sexual and submissive in nature, and is generally used to indicate the woman’s strong sexual interest in the man. 
13 When a fieflord peddles his woman, it is an implied acknowledgement that he has given his permission to the men who have sex with her. This releases them from any future responsibility, for the woman or the children she might bare. 
14 On the isles, money has two denominators. The first is the type of metal it is. Gold is the most valuable, then silver, aluminum, tin, iron. The second denominator is a decimal-based weight value. A frometh is about .1 gram in weight.
15 Aluminum has five times the value of tin and is Ľ as valuable as silver, so 60 fromeths of aluminum is equal to 15 fromeths of sivler. 






    

