Avarice Desperation Valley Ch. 24

Thank you everyone for your engagement and it's deeply appreciated. I really enjoyed writing this chapter.

New Order.

Nathan had been skittish all day, the boy was nervous, and with good reason. Tonight was the night he had planned to free his Master and he felt like a tightly coiled spring. In an hour or so they would leave this place of dark horrors for good, and go back to the valley where things would be as they had before. Not perfect, but better than this. Nathan's haunted green eyes remained averted, avoiding the glances of others lest they read the traitorous thoughts that lie within. He went about the tasks he had been set like an automaton, daring anyone to find a reason to break him from his work.

Fat Robbie had not picked up on the change in his slave's demeanor. All he could see as he looked at the angular boy was his beauty. Indeed Nathan was becoming more beautiful to him by the day. The constant diet of nutritious food had done the reed thin boy good. It was plain for all to see the changes wrought on him in such a short space of time. Robbie greatly coveted what he saw, his desires no secret to any who inhabited the greasy, stifling, space of the kitchens. The rotund man lusted after him daily, blind to Nathan's manipulation. The avaricious cook too thick-witted to realize he was being played the fool by this mere eighteen year old youth, who was incapable of uttering a word.

Robbie looked on him now with shameless lust, a satisfied grin on his ruddy face, as the boy placed more sawn wood in to the oven in readiness for this evening's meal preparation. His tousled, white blondish hair was well below shoulder length, partially obscuring his fine elfin features. He would have been considered by many a very handsome boy. The fat cook shuddered with delight at the thought of having him in his bed yet again, tonight and every night for as long as Nathan stayed this desirable to him. It would be a while before he would replace this one Robbie mused.

His newest boy was very pleasing to the eye, and did all he was bid both sexually and work wise. What an agreeable acquisition he was, the overbearing man reflected, fixing his eyes on Nathan's slender back. Since Nathan's arrival Robbie had procured for the boy some better clothing. His slight figure looked good in the black T shirt, and the tight low cut denim jeans that fit him exceedingly well, his toes peeking out under the hems. Tiger spiraled in ever tighter circles around Nathan's feet, purring her pleasure loudly. The boy occasionally acknowledging the cat when his hands were free with a loving scratch under her throat. Tiger ecstatic at the attention.

Nathan had carefully made all in readiness for the escape this night. His plan he had run over and over in his mind to the point of maddening repetition, so it would be flawless in its execution. His master wold love him for it and cherish him always. The contemplation was a warm one in Nathan's now usually very cold heart. He would be viewed at last worthy of his master's ownership. More than just a mere object who would at last be seen by his master's cold blue gaze, he would finally have a value, and a place.

He trembled, causing him to fumble clumsily with the pots and pans and come dangerously close to dropping them, his mind clearly not on the task. But no one there seemed to notice his edginess, all were possessed with the evening meal preparations which were by now nearing completion.

Scruffy Jimmy was scowling downwards, engaged in peeling the numerous mounds of potatoes, and the nameless miserable girl was beside him clad in her rags, assisting him voiceless. Just the noises of the kitchen, and the loud wheezing of Robbie could be heard, the background music to the life he had lead here, soon to be a thing of history.

Tonight another round of roast meat the usual staple here, and a plethora of roasted vegetables accompanied by delicious heavy gravy. Nathan tensing ever more as the time drew closer to enact his plan. He eyed the long sharp kitchen knife he would steal when the time came, meandering over to grasp it feigning nonchalance. Its sturdy wooden haft felt cold and heavy in his hand but somewhat reassuring, as he set to slicing the crackling pork on the huge wooden platter.

He certainly was not expecting the touch on his shoulder, or the grotesque perspiring bulk of Robbie pressing against his back. The man's soft, pudgy hand extracted the blade from his grasp before he had time to reason what was occurring. "I have other uses for you this evening." Issued Robbie's statement laced with thinly veiled lust. "The others can finish up here."

Nathan stiffened with fear, his mind in disarray, his plans foiled in an instant. He paused, resisting the force of the obese man's pushing for a moment. Luckily his meaning was interpreted by Robbie as his desire to finish his chores. "You are such a hard working boy, they will finish up here tonight." The cook gestured toward his private quarters waving Nathan forward, patting him affectionately on the head, and scowling at the others. They did not look up from the pile of potato peelings which now vastly outnumbered the size of the un peeled ones. "You will come with me." Robbie chided, the emphasis heavily on the word will.

Nathan was in a quandary, hesitating for a moment, glancing sideways at the knife, however he was not a seasoned killer. The boy had never taken a life, and did not have the conviction or the hardness to go on with the task, though he thought it. This was not how he had planned his exodus. His chance this night was lost and he would have to try again tomorrow. It was a poor consolation to how he felt at this moment, as the beefy man pushed him forward toward the dark maw of the bedroom, heaviness of resignation seeping in and cloaking him like a blanket.

*****

It was good to finally be back home, the familiarity of the red, dusty, valley comforting in its unchanging self, a security of a kind from the chaos which reigned on the outside. Aran paused a moment to catch his breath, and to survey the camp far below from the rocky head of the valley, before committing himself to the steep downward path swathed in prickly box thorn bushes. The formidable plants were burgeoning with terrible spikes, and created a tight almost impenetrable wall along its sides that would tear and scratch at one's skin all the way down should they be careless.

The past two days had seen his former strength return to him swiftly, and the young warrior's renewed zest for life had begun to dull the pain of his brother and close comrades lost. He was returning to make Frances his, gone were all impediments to his desire. He would assume his place here as leader, knowing he would be the rightful choice and none remaining would dare challenge him.

The young man had dwelt on his many plans extensively during the final two day's march home. It had helped pass the time and gave him extra resolve when his strength to keep up with the others flagged. Unlike his elder brother Sven, tempered by age and wisdom, Aran's youth made him somewhat impetuous, and he had not even considered the idea that Frances may have other opinions on the subject of their union. Aran had already decided how it would be and he was not willing to accept otherwise.

First and foremost he would seek to ally himself with Frances's father Stephan, through marriage to his beautiful daughter. Hopefully with the old farmer's blessing, and if not he would have her through violence if necessary. That being accomplished in a peaceful manner he hoped, he would then seek protection from the attack which he was positive would be mounted in retribution from the Wolf Lord's fort.

He wanted to stay here, and feel safe in this place, but sense told him that would be most unlikely. Trouble would arrive on his doorstep soon. If the situation arose he at least wanted to relocate his remaining people to the safety and security that Stephan's secluded little settlement represented. It was the least he could offer them as their new leader.

He could discern a small gathering of ragged inhabitants gazing upwards as the sentries announced the parties approach. However the golden woman Frances did not number amongst them. Aran shielded his green eyes from the glare of the sun high overhead that he might see clearer, his bushy blond brow drawn down in a scowl. Where was the woman he had returned for? She who had given him the will to continue and survive his ordeal, she who was his heart's desire?

Aran's stomach tightening in a hard knot as he felt the first cold clutches of realization grip him, that perhaps she was not there waiting at all. Had something untoward happened in his absence? It was possible, her beauty a magnetic draw to all the men, slave and warrior alike, bound to cause discord.

The panicked feeling spurred his feet into a fast run, dislodging stones and creating eddies of dust as he ran helter-skelter down the steep pathway into the camp. The small flocks of surprised little brown birds scattering in profusion from their thorny protection, chirping in terror in the path of his reckless descent. He caught the others at the bottom of the path, they shot him looks but said nothing, letting him lead the way into the crowd.

The inhabitants of the valley were at first jubilant to see their warriors returning, all hungering for details. The contemplation of a feast, the stories of bravado, and the riches of new plunder on their minds. As the torn and ragged remnants of their once proud force numbering only five emerged from the path into their midst the hubbub of conversation expired swiftly as the questions caught in their throat, and died there. It was obvious to all assembled that there was no victory here, even to the dull witted Marcus who remained respectfully silent, his dusty, rusted hoe still in hand beside Father Andrew, who looked older and more emaciated than ever.

Lucy and Warren stood off to one side, Warren's scrawny arms draped protectively around Lucy's round shoulders, they looked at one another in wordless concern.

The three of Frances's waiting women stood glumly, pressing close to one another the faint breeze stirring the remnants of their gauzy clothing. The trio looking faded and worn in their rent and dusty finery, eyes reddened from crying, their makeup and beautiful coiffures long gone. It was obvious the three had not taken to the rigors of captivity well.

Selene watched calmly from a rock overhang and darted off to the darkness in the cliff face. The two feral boys looked up quizzically for but a moment from their scavenging in the refuse pile teeming with flies, then straight back to the objects of their interest, the commotion meaning nothing to them the wild things that they were driven by the basics and nothing more.

Raissa alone went forward, fueled by her spontaneous nature, something she often regretted. She ran to Aran attempting to put her arms about his strong neck. She was so glad to see him again, his appearance marked a return to at least tolerable living conditions and rules. Life under Pig's jurisdiction had been far from easy or fair. Aran felt cold and indifferent to her, the blond giant shrugging her warm advance aside with a deft twist of his huge frame. Pushing her away without a word or a glance as he gazed over her head taking in the cave and the campsite beyond.

Raissa stood dumbfounded staring up at the man, sighting for the first time the large livid scar on his sword arm, and his ragged clothing. Further more it came to her attention Sven was not amongst them, and Raissa felt apprehension. Knowing her life was somehow ever changed. The disappointment on her face was there for all to witness, but few noticed as all eyes were trained on the returned men.

Aran continued to look above her head as though she was not there toward the mouth of the cave, and around the campsite. His scowling gaze coming to rest on the three pale women who cringed and trembled visibly at his stare.

"Where is she?" He bellowed at them. His loud outburst fracturing the respectful, waiting, silence.

The three women made little noises of fear and surprise but offered nothing, cringing away looking like startled birds. Aran made an abrupt move toward them, they fell to their knees on the warm orange sand, faces to the earth, trembling, eyes tightly closed.

Aran did not see their beauty, their fragility, their fear, and readiness to submit, as they waited to feel the slap of his hand or a hard tug on their hair. He was blinded to their charms, after Frances no other woman could exist for him, she had become his benchmark in female beauty.

Will bravely attempting to avert trouble, was close on Aran's heels, catching the solid man on the shoulder, offering in his quiet British accent an explanation. "Oh, I thought you knew?" He said circumspectly.

Aran immediately swung around, his eyes wide, a fierce look on his face, his perfect, strong white teeth clearly visible, lips drawn back in a vicious grimace.

Will a full head shorter than Aran countered quickly seeing the big man's ire rising. "Bennett hid her to keep her safe while we were all gone. We forgot you were not here, you had no idea of this."

The hot headed blond at once raising his bejeweled fist to strike the bearer of this bad news, not caring at all if Will was not actually to blame. Clint and the other two men raced forward, grabbing for Aran's mighty arms as the crowd scattered in confusion. Will ducking hastily in self defense, having no desire to be struck a savage blow.

"Argggg!..........." Aran roared in frustration, fists clenched, knuckles white, his outburst echoing off the stony walls, as the men fought fiercely to hold him in check.

"It's okay, we will find her, she has to be close by somewhere?" Will responded louder than he had intended, doing his best to sound reassuring though he himself had his doubts. He was saying anything he could think of to quell the violent temper of his henchman before someone got seriously maimed. There had already been enough losses and discord borne by the recent violence without the encampment turning on one another like a pack of rabid wolves. They all needed to settle down and work together now for the good of all.

For some moments Aran was speechless, his face livid with barely suppressed anger as the men clung to him looking at one another unsure if they should free him. Finally the tenseness went out of the big man's body and he lost his angry demeanor, the others only then feeling it safe to let him go.

All this commotion coincided with the swarthy Dwayne's appearance at the great cave's mouth. The shifty eyed warrior paused, the myriad of white bones gleaming his his midnight hair, his expression a mask of panic and confusion at the sight of the returned men. It was clear he had been caught by surprise and he had hoped to go unnoticed.

Dwayne glanced nervously back over his shoulder into the dark recesses of the subterranean shelter, then returned his gaze, fearful to see Aran advancing purposefully toward him. The weasel like man shrunk away against the cave wall as the warrior pressed by him. Dwayne acutely aware of the lengthy, ghastly scar on the man's sword arm and his blood encrusted, shredded, scarlet shirt as he passed. Even in his terror Dwayne could not help himself, privately hungering after the superfluity of gold that adorned Aran's personage.

Pig was crouching over Renard's bound, prone form, with sharp, silver dagger in hand, pressing it solidly against his immobilized captive's throat. Renard squirmed violently drawing his own blood, but avoiding his fate until the last, causing Pig great difficulty. Startled at the intrusion, Pig fumbled with the knife, but only for the merest moment, swiftly attempting to push it home, fearful of the ramifications if he did not succeed.

Aran's fist struck from above like justice barely saving Renard. The blow so powerful that Pig went sprawling in the dust his face cut along the cheek bone and temple bleeding profusely, the blade raked Renard's neck but achieved little real damage. The disgusting, one eyed man made no move to counter his attacker, deliberately raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. Pig was a cowardly bully of a man and only felt brave if the odds were stacked in his favor.

"He is mine to kill." Aran flatly stated, glaring around at the group, holding Pig's gaze to make a silent point. He was riled and spoiling for a fight with any who would dare contradict him on this issue. The men just stood in silent assent. Pig dusting himself off unsure if he should flee or stay, deciding to retreat to the outskirts of the crowd his dirty shirt sleeve pressed to his face in an attempt to quell the blood.

Aran grabbed Renard roughly by his brown hair pulling his head back in the most uncomfortable manner, then bending down near the object of his wrath he spoke. "You traitor." He hissed accusing. "You deserting piece of filth." Vitriol spewing from his words. "I will decide what to do with you later!" He announced, letting go just as suddenly, disgusted. The relieved to be saved yet surprised Renard grimacing as the hand let him tumble back rudely to earth with a resounding thud.

The attractive young warrior decided then to seize the moment as all had followed him into the cave, warrior and slave alike, including two of the posted sentries. Aran took them all in, appearing among them as a lion, golden and powerful, regarding each in turn with his fierce scowling gaze and vivid eyes.

It was an unspoken agreement but he said the words anyway, looking for a challenge anywhere in the crowd. "I am leader here now. You will address me as such, does anyone here dispute this?" All present looked around at one another and nodded their assent, there was not one among them who would have the heart, reason, or courage to tell him otherwise.

*****

The evening drew in rapidly and the smoke from the fire wafted gently on the cooling breeze. It was a pleasant smell. Aran was grateful for the warmth of the blaze, and the fact he was at last home, but disconcertion flooded his heart. He had spent the afternoon inquiring of all what had happened to his beloved Frances, no one seeming to turn up any viable clues to her whereabouts. Bennett had hidden her, but where? It made no sense. Aran was wracking his brain trying to conjure up places he thought she may be imprisoned.

He knew this valley like the back of his hand, and he could not imagine where she might be. He was afraid for her. All the men including himself had called and searched for Frances the remainder of the afternoon. Even the sanctity of Bennett's cabin was not spared as Aran went through it thoroughly himself seeking any clues. He found nothing of import there amongst the dusty belongings which had little meaning or relevance to him. Leaving them scattered like broken toys to lay on the sandy floor, a desecrated monument to their former leader.

As the shadows lengthened turning to bluish in the deeper recesses of the valley, Aran found his own stamina shortening. The march home and his injury had taken its toll on his powers of endurance. Finally he was forced to desist from his search retreating to the fire and some food. The roast goat was good but decidedly filling after so long with only meager food on the trail. It was hard to eat more than a few bites. He sipped at the hot, astringent, acacia seed tea Raissa had brought him and felt weary.

*****

Aran now occupied Bennett's place at the fire, he had often wondered in times past what it would be like to be leader of the band. Somehow it seemed a hollow victory. Always it had been just a fantasy to him nothing more than an evil subversive thought. The young man had entertained the likelihood of obtaining such a position was at best slim. Sven by rights should be sitting in my place tonight, not I, he mused. Recalling again the last moments of the battle and his brother's heroic concern and love for him. The only reason he was still alive today, along with Will's expert medical care.