Avarice Desperation Valley Ch. 49

Aran was caught unawares by the brutish man as he charged him, seeking to force him into an inescapable hold. Aran registered he was at a terrible disadvantage almost immediately.

He had hair, his opponent did not. The man already had a great knot of it in one hand and Aran could not find any means of escaping his grasp. He tried to struggle loose. The man was a skilled fighter and would not let him escape holding on to his mane doggedly. The two large men locked together rolled across the dusty floor.

It was one thing for him to stand on the field of battle, a four foot great sword in hand, keeping his foes at bay as he swung it in an arc, but quite another to wrestle an experienced fighter where the only weapons were his hands.

Aran had killed men with his bare hands many a time, and he sought to do the same. He had been warned this was not a death match, however it was hard to hold back, and he sensed the other man was also feeling the same way. In his each movement the golden warrior sought to grasp the bull neck of his adversary and choke him into submission. Lesser men succumbed easily to this, but Aran found it was an almost impossible mission on such a strong male.

The task was simple, overpower your opponent and chain him to the horse. Do this thing and you have won, Keith had advised. Aran wondered at this time just how easy that would really be?

The contest was no short one, the two combatants rolled, punched and kicked one another on the floor below. They did not stop at these things either. They even bit one another and sought to implement any underhanded trick they could use to get the other man to succumb.

For one moment Aurianne thought Aran had indeed won, he hit the man so hard with his fist blood sprayed. He was stunned and the blond warrior almost had him over the horse one wrist fastened to the wood.

Only one hand was all that was needed to gain victory, as once secured the unfortunate would be eventually overcome. Aurianne found she was on the edge of her seat absorbed in the brutal contest unfolding below. Though she had no personal love for the golden savage, she found herself drawn to his bravery and stoicism; the last few weeks for him had been brutally hard.

Seeing he had been almost bested the more experienced fighter found something else within, or had Aran grown too confident or careless. The two men by now were covered in dust, making handholds easier to secure. He kicked at Aran viciously, the blond giant winded rolled backwards and seemed dazed for a moment.

The older man did not pause, he was up and pulling his opponent toward the saw horse. The crowd made a collective sound as Aran's wrist reached the metal shackle mounted on it. He seemed to fight furiously then as he registered the cold band of metal clasping about his flesh, but it was too late. He fought bravely on in the face of gradual defeat, it took many minutes to secure his other hand. Once he was fastened in this way his ankles were bound swiftly.

Aran tasted the bitter bile of defeat as he gazed at the earthen floor. He felt his opponent clasp a handful of his hair in his scarred fist, pulling his head back that he may view the spectators above, knowing he was disgraced and beaten.

At that very same moment he felt the man's sex forcing into him from behind. He twisted in his shame, the sharp pain secondary, knuckles white, his veins raised as he struggled in the bindings. However the biggest struggle was in his mind, how could he live with the knowledge she had borne witness to his shame.

Victor gazed at the spectacle before him his face a mask of passivity, hiding what was inside. He could see the experienced fighters elation at his win, and even though the Doctor was not that way inclined the aberrant act excited him greatly. Victor keenly felt the warm rush of euphoria also inflaming his own more intimate desires. He looked across at his host, his eyes too were fixed on the gladiators in the arena covered in dirt, grease, and sweat, engaged in the most primal act of dominance and submission.

Victor was so affected it took him many moments to speak. He found he could not take his eyes from the broken warrior still chained to the horse. He had suffered the very thing most men feared even more than death.

"I am most glad that was not I." Victor said at long last finding his voice.

"Yes, I know what you mean." Jacques responded, rising to conclude the attraction. "Still it's better that he uses a male slave, than ruining the value of one of my much harder to come by slave girls." Victor nodded.

*****

Aran was left fastened to the wooden horse, head down. Long wheaten hair trailing in the dirt, until well after the crowds had dissipated and the victorious gladiator had been seen to his cell. He had never felt so shamed. I will never lose again he reprimanded himself viciously. He had not expected the taste of defeat to be so shameful, made even worse by her presence.

He felt a hand on his rump, he jumped and growled thrashing in his bindings. Tearing the skin on his wrists for his efforts.

"Take it easy, its over. Settle down!" It was Keith.

Aran did not listen to the man's voice, all he had felt was the touch, he snapped and went wild fighting with no thought nor reason. He could not escape from his predicament but he fought it anyway.

He was hit savagely on the backs of his legs then with the cat, in an effort to pull him from his stupor. They were nicely exposed to the lash, as was his rump. Aran did not care. He yelled and screamed all manner of profanities. The rest of the imprisoned inmates had begun to be stirred by his outburst, the entire complex erupted in a cacophony of strident yells and unruly sound.

The lash abated, in this case it was senseless punishment. Keith had realized this man was beyond the reach of pain at least for the moment. The experienced slaver had seen this reaction many times before. Some men did better in captivity than others. He sensed this man before him had always been proud and free. He will either learn or break he thought, it was that simple.

Aran's hindquarters now burned angry red and were cut in places. He was still struggling and screaming his incoherent wrath. He seemed to no longer see those about him.

"Quiet them," Keith said to the guards, the men leaving to dispense order to the unruly men in no uncertain fashion.

Aran almost choked on the dirty rag that was thrust into his mouth and tied there. He could only make muffled sounds of protest. Let him wear himself out Keith reasoned as he watched the flailing man. He stationed one guard to keep watch and left Aran to his private miseries and outpouring of emotion.

*****

Aurianne heard the disturbance from her second story window. To begin with just one anguished shout. She knew it could only be him. She put her hand on the black iron bars resting her face between them, looking out onto the pit. She had a good vantage point from this second story prison and could see him quite plainly. There was no glass in the window panes, and the room was cold.

The crack of the disciplining leather on flesh sounded loudly in the cooling and still evening air. She turned away unable to witness any more of the warriors suffering. We are all caged she reflected, some of us just live in more pleasing cages than others.

Jhary heard the cries as well, not unlike those of a wounded beast, his fingers were uncharacteristically sore from plucking his guitar, he had played much of late. He winced inwardly when he thought of the life his companion now had, and felt somewhat guilty too. Oh blessed I am he thought. Knowing implicitly he would not give up his profession for the world, glad he did not feel the lure of the sword, or the rush of the battlefield.

*****

Victor looked across at his host, he was thinking of a dozen polite ways to openly decline the transaction he had journeyed so far for. However he used none of them. He simply looked the flamboyant slaver in the eye and announced he would before anything was decided report to his Lord. It was far from what he wanted to say, and it was not satisfying to Victor either. He would have much mental wrestling ahead as he rode home in the coming days. Still, thinking was what Victor did best. He would come up with something clever that made all parties believe they had won.

It was time though to first plant the seeds of doubt. At the very least lower the slavers expectations of price.

"You say you captured that new fighter of yours along with that woman and another male slave?"

Jacques looked at his guest took another drink of his wine and coughed. He had let this fact slip initially to Victor, it had been careless of him and he could see where this was likely to head. He nodded, there was no point in denial.

The slave girl took the plates that now only bore the remnants of the meal. It was just Jacques and himself at the table. He saw the brutish man look lubriciously at her departing rump.

"How can you truly be assured of her purity? Do you really conceive an animal such at that." He pointed out towards the fighting circle indicating Aran. "Would just be content to look?" Victor allowed himself the liberty of a cynical laugh, deciding to just be blunt, after all it was a very large transaction at stake.

"You have me." Jacques conceded. "But this my good Sir is not about purity, it's about uniqueness, after all be blunt with me Victor. Where have you in these hard days seen such unsullied beauty? She is perfect."

Victor smiled, more a private one to himself, though he cared not if his host saw. He had seen the essence of pure loveliness, he bore it proudly in his possession. Yes, he was no stranger to unblemished female beauty. He had it for his own. Thinking of his beautiful daughter slave sequestered in his apartments. She whom existed only for him.

Victor again smiled, always his guarded self, never truly divesting himself of his imagined armor before anyone. Even those equivalent in his own rank and power. Yes, especially not with those. "I believe the price is a tad high, for something though very exquisite is not intact."

Jacques shifted in his chair, relaxed and most sated from the good meal and the days spectacle still firing his blood.

"I think men place a too high an importance on such things. However I guess that will be for your Lord to decide."

Victor was stung with a sharp sense of annoyance at the slavers words. Not at all happy at being so flippantly disregarded. However he masked it well, being very good at the art of subtleties with influential men. Most essential for one who pulled the strings from behind the throne.

*****

Victor sat astride his fidgeting horse amid his men, the ebon beast like him was restless and eager to depart. He leant from the saddle toward Jacques to the tune of creaking leather. He had one more matter to address before his parting. It was merely a thing of curiosity of which he had to know the answer.

Finally it had come to him possibly a way to test his captive subject. "Would you be interested in a very private contest, I believe I have a very interesting candidate I would like to pit against one of your better men?"

A smile flashed across Jacques' dark visage his yellow teeth showed, this man was always up for a chance at sport.

"I'm always interested, especially for the right wager." He replied, dark eyebrow raised.

"Most excellent. Shall we arrange it for my next visit along with my Lord's reply?"

"Consider it done." Jacques did not hesitate. Victor circled about on his horse and bid Jacques goodbye. Leaving the high walled compound at a flying gallop his black coat airborne behind him.

*****

Victor returned late in the evening after his return three day journey, seeking immediate audience with his Lord in his bedchamber. He was still flushed with cold from his long ride, adding rare hue to his usual pale coloration. He was tired, but his straight backed official manner did not show it.

He had dismissed his men to their lives and families. The Doctor had desired this also, yet he did not have that luxury. He had not even bothered to divest himself of his heavy overcoat or gloves. With the growing shortage of biodiesel and the strict rationing that had been implemented he also had no need, most of the fortress was now bathed in darkness and cold.

He neared his Lord's sanctum, his highly polished black, calf hugging boots resoundingly loud in the deserted hallway. The two men on duty saluted him and parted, and Victor went to do what he must.

The candles were still lit, bathing his Lord's chamber in an agreeable light. The entire surroundings were plush, closely reminiscent of a royal boudoir. It was much warmer here lulling him into sudden, unwelcome, tiredness. Victor fought his weakness. He must remain sharp.

"Greetings Victor." A swiftly executed curt bow in answer.

"I trust my understudy cared for you well my Lord?"

"Most well."

"I am pleased my Lord."

"Well, was she worth it, was she half a lovely as her picture?" Lothar beckoned his man to sit in a carved mahogany chaise lounge by his bedside, it was upholstered in rich burgundy velvet. Victor did as he was bid, careful not to get too comfortable that tiredness his enemy would cloud his thoughts.

"Beauty Sir is as always in the eye of the beholder."

"What are you saying, you were not impressed, she was not as advertised?" Lothar looked at him quizzically.

"It depends what you define as beauty my Lord." Victor evaded.

"YES, OR NOT!" Lothar's voice boomed, pulling Victor from his torpor. "I have no patience for your games. Give me a straight answer."

Lothar's dead brown gaze bored into his second in commands clear blue one, commanding and brutal in essence.

"She was tall Sir, very tall. Taller than many men." Victor said trying to consolidate his tact swiftly. In three days ride he had still found nothing to use conclusively short of telling a lie. However the lie would be found out in time, and Victor's standing would be impaired. He could not risk it.

"More a warrior woman Sir, certainly nothing like your formerly betrothed my Lord."

"Do you think a wheelchair bound man cares about her height! Perhaps a change is what a jaded man needs." Lothar ruminated out loud, stroking his almost non existent beard. Looking past his aide at the tapestries that blanketed the walls.

Victor felt panic, he must head him off. "She was no virginal bride my Lord, hardly worth the hefty price that Master Jacques places on her."

"How do you know this Victor?"

"Master Jacques in his careless excitement let it slip my Lord that she was captured along with two other men. One of them now resides to fight in the pit. I cannot honestly believe on seeing this savage he would have left her intact. That my Lord is my view."

"I see," Lothar seemed calmer, he was thinking. Victor shifted on the chaise restlessly hoping this would negate his Lords keenness to pursue the matter. Lothar caught his eye and held him. "Humor a sick man Victor, pay his price and bring her here. I wish to decide for myself."

"Yes, my Lord." Inside the tired man felt as though he had just swallowed splintered glass.

"Rest a few days, but do send a messenger forthwith to tell him he has a deal."

"Yes, my Lord, consider it done." Victor's face betrayed no hint of his restless emotions.

"In a few days you may return to collect my bride."

"Understood my Lord."

Victor rose stiffly from the lounge knowing he was at last dismissed, bowed, and departed for his own private domain. The grandfather clock chimed twelve resonantly in the dark hall beyond sight. The only upside he could see to all this was he would get to test his unusual captive sooner rather than later. He would think on this after he had rested and enjoyed her loveliness. He had been aching for her for days. She had no hold on him, and yet she was the center of his universe.