The humans barked at the elves, groped them, hit them spit on them and finally, just before dusk had started tying them all together with rope. They saw their wood and mud dwellings turned inside-out, and then knocked down. Their few valuables pilfered. The humans began making a wooden pyramid with the remnants of the dwellings over top of the bodies piled on the altar. They had begun drinking and celebrating even before the bodies were cold.
The pyre was lit and the elves softly sang their loved ones to Ehlonna’s bosom. The humans threatened the elves and sang songs of their own to drown out the elven dirge.
The revelry soon died down. The elves tried to stay close to the pyre. Sad as it was, it was the last warmth the slain men would ever bring their families. Some women and girls were loosed and dragged into the darkness by the humans.
Ireth thought she was to be one of the lucky ones, but just as she started to drift into the sleep she thought would never come, she felt hands on her. She shook and almost screamed. Relieved to find it was her mother. Which meant…? Merenwen saw the look in her daughter’s eyes and smiled wanly, trying to assure Ireth that she was fine. Merenwen laid a cold, wet hand on Ireth’s injured ear and began her healing chant.
Ireth knew some of her mother’s healing spells and potions, and desperately wished she had paid more attention to them now. She felt the pain go out of her ear and could actually feel the flesh stitching itself back together. She felt her mother kiss the top of her head, then Merenwen moved on to the woman tied to Ireth. Peace filled her and she passed out of the waking world and began to dream of her young nomad.
His embrace, they swayed in the breeze coming off of the falls.
The sway quickened. He was shaking her. Why was he shaking her? Her dream broken and her weary eyes greeting reality her heart jumped with hope! It was really him! He had come to save her. Her worries forgotten, her broken heart at her lost loved ones gone; he was going to take her away from this nightmare! No, his eyes were different, his smell that of the humans, not the exotic spices the nomads used to clean themselves with.
His ears were not as long, and the right one… “My lord wishes an audience wild rose,” he whispered in perfect elven. It was polished elven, not what one heard in the wilds. The word for wild rose, Clalas, sounded fragile to her ears, delicate. His teeth showing in his grin, Ireth felt her newfound hope stabbed and mutilated by piercing and sudden dread. The half-breed quickly untied her and led her towards a great tent set at the rear of their village.
It was nothing beautiful, but large and weather-worn with many patches. The half-human flung the flap open and pushed her inside, closing the flap behind him. At his shove Ireth fell to her knees. “Get used to that position,” the half-human seethed in elven.
Then in common, “As you requested, my lord.” He bowed deeply and winked at Ireth, then stood and was back out the flap as quickly as they had entered.
The man was dressed in thick furs, dyed to distinguish him as an important human. He stood and approached Ireth, speaking his titles and lands; words that were lost on Ireth in her fear. He cupped her chin and brought her to her feet, forcing her to meet his stare.
“My name is Rudyard Yasmin Pattan, Knight of King Eragaar, Duke of Greystone, and third in line for the throne. You are now my slave. Your ear will forever be your mark of servitude…” he trailed off as he turned her head to examine her ear. There was no mark. It was uncut. Pattan threw her aside in anger. He threw the flap to the tent open and yelled, “COROVAN!!!”
A huge beast of a man entered, short of breath. It was the man who had cut their ears earlier that afternoon.
“What in Hextor’s bloody tit is going on here?! I told you they were ALL to be marked! No exceptions!” Pattan boomed.
“I did my lord! I swear it! Every one! I j-j-just…” Corovan stammered. Suddenly, the half-human poked his head in through the flap, “A witch, my lord.
We caught her fixing the slaves’ ears.”
“How in bloody hell did she get loose?!” Pattan demanded.
“My lord, your granted…, well proclivities allowed by you with the slaves,” the half-human began.
“To hell with them! If you men can’t tie them back up then you damn well aren’t going to fuck them! Any man caught with one of my slaves in his bedroll tonight is to be flogged!”
“Yes, my lord,” the half-human quickly said.
“And this witch, tie her to a post.
I’ll want to make and example in the morning. Mydre, I want her stripped, cut off her hands, and cut out her tongue. No more of her witchery tricks tonight, Pattan ordered.
“At once, my lord,” Mydre replied. With that the two were gone out of the tent like a bolt from the sky.
“And you my dear, you will sleep in warmth tonight with me in my tent. No, no. I will be gentle with you my little wild rose.
No need to cry, but I will confess to you that it does quite a bit for my libido,” Pattan said with a grin. Ireth tried to explain. Desperately tried to convey that she would do anything he requested, but to take pity on her mother. Her pleas were mistaken by Pattan for pleas for her innocence. The language and accent barrier between his and Ireth’s common were too great when faced by his lust for her.
Ireth fought to get away, but Pattan was a strong human; tempered by years of conquest and massacre. He forced her into his bed. He tore her clothes, and then tore more than just her clothes. Ireth wept. She wept as she heard her mother scream as the humans chopped off her hands, almost in sync with the loss of her innocence. And the last strangled cry as Pattan finished with her and her mother’s tongue was removed in a sputtering cry.
Ireth lost herself to the abyss of unconsciousness for the third time that day.
The next morning came and Ireth woke to find Pattan himself bathing her gently with a warm rag. She curled up to hide her nakedness. Dear Elhonna, she ached and burned all over! Pattan brushed her soft blonde hair from her eyes and gently kissed her forehead. He finished bathing her and made her stand. He draped warm furs dyed a deep crimson over her shoulders, then placed warm fur boots on her feet.
He opened an unassuming chest and brought out what looked to be a necklace. Gold and ruby encrusted it glittered so! Ireth was spellbound by its beauty. Pattan opened it on a hinge and placed it around her throat, clasped it in the rear and spoke a funny word. It shrunk to fit her slender neck tightly and Pattan attached a small chain to it just under the hinge. The chain was so fine it appeared to be a golden rope necklace, but Ireth realized too late it was a leash. Her leash.
Pattan clipped it to his belt and tugged on it to lead her out of the tent.
The looks her tribesmen gave her as Pattan paraded his new prize to the smoldering pyre made her wish they killed her in the attack the day before. Now his whore, her tribesmen cast their eyes down, some in sadness, others in disgust and anger. Ireth couldn’t blame them. She deserved their hatred. Unlike the rest of her tribe, she had slept in a warm tent and wore warm robes.