Rachael and the Warlord Pt. 01

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Foreword:

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This is the final story in a four part series about Rachael of Ashtarak. The series is set in the ninth century fictional country of Emarukistan, a world inspired by the artwork of Emarukk.

Stories in sequence:

Rachael, Slave of Emarukistan

Rachael and the Sultan's Daughters

Rachael and the Grey Monks (limited publication)

Rachael and the Warlord

Story so far: Twenty-six year old Rachael is the only child of one of Rahim's slave concubines. She spent her formative years as a hard working slave in her father's caravanserai at Wadi Halaf, tending to the needs of the trading caravans that regularly pass through Ashtarak. Unexpectedly given her freedom when her father became city warlord, Rachael initially struggles to adjust to freedom in a world where the strong enslave the weak without hesitation. After spending time re-enslaved at a slave training house called the Halls of Valhalla, Rachael ends up owning the Halls, along with its slaves. Her cousin Zoe is among those slaves.

Rachael purchases two former sultanas, Amina and Farai, who, along with their sisters, found themselves forced into slavery after fleeing a brutal war in the west. Rachael, Zoe, Amina and Farai successfully run the Halls of Valhalla for several years.

During a visit by the widely distrusted Grey Monks, Rachael becomes the unwitting victim of political intrigue. She is offered as a hostage to the visiting Grey Monks by Samvel, a city alderman. Rachael is taken north to the city of Bolnisi. Unable to prove that she is a free woman, Rachael spends several months as a slave of the city's ruler. Eventually she is given her freedom once again, and Rachael returns to Ashtarak...

Part 1: Rachael's Return

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Chapter 1: Return to Ashtarak

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I consign my soaking wet travelling robe to the wagon holding my small bag of belongings. I left Bolnisi with very little in the way of possessions. The heavy storms over the last few days, and Mikheil's refusal to order his caravan to stop and take shelter, has meant that everyone is drenched. Our progress has slowed to a crawl by the muddy road. I'm not the only one who is stripped to the barest minimum of clothing in the hot humid weather. I notice that several of the caravan guards and porters are sneaking glances at my exposed body and playing with their cocks. Even though I'm a free woman now, I've spent too many years as a slave to feel any embarrassment at their blatant sexual overtures. I'm used to wearing nothing but a loin cloth in all weathers. I encourage their implied offer of sex, but the men are too busy keeping the animals moving along the treacherous road to find the time to do more than admire me.

The caravan is brought to a halt by a fallen tree across the road. Mikheil orders some slaves to clear the tree out of our path. The rest of us take the opportunity for a much needed break. I find a tree that offers a bit of shelter from the rain, and wait. That's when two of the porters pluck up the courage to do more than admire me.

"Tits like that deserve to be touched," says one of the porters to his comrade as he approaches me.

"Yeah, just looking at them makes my rod start throbbing," replies the other.

"Are you two just going to compare the size of your cocks, or are you intending to do something about it?" I ask before they lose their courage.

Most caravan masters prohibit their porters and slaves from any sexual activity while the caravan is between cities. However, Mikheil isn't very strict about such matters. After stripping myself almost naked, I'm hardly in a position to complain if the men desire to exercise their cocks. In reality, I'm just as eager for sex as these two men.

We don't have a lot of time, and the surroundings are uncomfortable. I've had sex in numerous situations, and in many different positions, so I'm not put off by the less-than-ideal environment. What follows can only be described as a couple of 'quickies'. Both men provide a limited amount of foreplay, followed by my innards receiving three or four hard thrusts from their cocks. A minute later their cum is shot over my tits. I don't achieve an orgasm, but the sensation of a cock reaming my innards satisfies my immediate needs. We return to the caravan a few minutes later, ready to resume our journey. Much to the men's disappointment, I wrap a shawl over my shoulders to hide my tits as we approach the city.

There are a dozen wealthy families who collectively govern every aspect of city life. The five aldermen who form the city council are all appointed from the wealthiest of those families. My father's legal wife, Lady Gülnihal, descends from one of those families, although it is several generations since one of her forebears was an alderman. My father ranks in the next tier of twenty or so families who are prosperous merchants and tradesmen. Theoretically any free male citizen can be appointed an alderman, but the bribes and favours expected from the cabal of wealthy families are invariably beyond the means of the general populace. My father's political power, such as it is, stems from his position as city warlord rather than as owner of a large caravanserai.

Slightly less than half of the city's population are free citizens, whose numbers include skilled workers, market traders, scribes and city guards. The remainder of the population are slaves. Female slaves represent nearly four-fifths of the slaves residing within the city. A young female slave is more commonly used as domestic servant, or a pleasure slave in private harem. A few have the misfortune to find themselves working in a brothel, although that is an occupation generally reserved for destitute free women. Older female slaves usually end up working in commercial laundries and sweatshops where they labour until they die. Male slaves are often sent to toil in the mines and quarries, where life expectancy is even shorter. There's no such thing as an elderly slave.

Even though slaves are the lowest of the low as regards social standing, free citizens have a different attitude towards slaves depending on the slave's gender. A girl's or woman's enslavement is accepted as a simple misfortune in life. She is rarely harassed or humiliated in the street, and few owners will mistreat or punish a female slave without good cause. On the other hand, a captured male forced into slavery is regarded as nothing more than an animal. Men are supposed to protect their womenfolk from enslavement, or to die in the attempt. Captured males are looked down on like vermin. Male slaves born into slavery, like my half-brothers, Hugo and Prot, aren't treated any better. It isn't an attitude I support, but I have no influence on the subject beyond my own behaviour towards male slaves.

Mikheil's caravan enters through the city's north gate around midday, and we soon pass the large amphitheatre and arena. Fortunately the days when slaves were used for sport in the arena are long gone. The sight of hapless captives and slaves being torn apart by wild animals, or made to fight with blunt swords against trained warriors, was eventually considered to be a waste of resources that could be put to better use. Notably, it was economic considerations rather than concern over the bloodshed of helpless people that stopped the sport.

Wadi Halaf has a long standing reputation for being just and fair with its slaves. That's not to say that slaves are never punished. When I was a slave, I spent time in the dungeon on more than one occasion. My back has been marked by a lash at least a dozen times. My fiery spirit and inquisitive mind repeatedly got me into trouble. But unlike Dania's and Phoebe's late father, my father has never tortured or raped any of his slaves.

The city streets are crowded with people. A few are citizens going about their daily business. Many more are slaves, busy filling the runnels in the streets gouged by the rainwater. An unusually large number are travellers simply milling about like lost sheep. Fortunately our caravan has a destination. When it became apparent that the caravan would need to make an unscheduled stop to recover from the after effects of the storms, I persuaded Mikheil to call at my father's caravanserai, Wadi Halaf.

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Chapter 2: Arrival at Wadi Halaf

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I show Mikheil the way to the caravanserai. We soon pass through the stout gates and into the walled compound. Wadi Halaf is an old fortress that used to be part of the city wall defences before the city expanded outwards. Few alterations have been made to the fortress's structure, and if the city was under siege then Wadi Halaf could still be used as a bastion. The main building of the caravanserai is the old keep. The formidable walls of the keep are made of solid stone blocks with small slit windows designed for defending archers. The interior consists of five levels above ground and two below. The keep's cells in the lowest level are still functional, and are often in demand to hold prisoners and slaves in transit. A mixture of stone and wooden structures that form the stables, barracks and store rooms have been added in more recent times.

The forecourt is crowded with several caravans. I assume the muddle and confusion in the main forecourt is the result of one of the periodic mix-ups between competing caravan masters. Wadi Halaf can easily accommodate multiple trading caravans, although there are rarely more than three here at a time. However, it appears Mikheil's caravan is the fifth caravan requiring accommodation for tonight at Wadi Halaf. Normally the guards at Wadi Halaf quickly sort out any issues before fights break out. Somebody is going to suffer my father's wrath for allowing this shambles to go unchecked. The forecourt is packed with an assortment of merchants, caravan guards, porters, slaves, wagons, camels, donkeys, and an elephant.

"What's going on, Levan?" I ask one of my father's more seasoned guards.

"Mistress Rachael! Thank the stars that you're here. Aren will be needing your help. The recent storms destroyed the river bridge to the east, and caused a landslide that has blocked the road to the south. The city aldermen are trying to organise repairs. In the meantime caravans keep arriving from the north and west, but they can't continue their journey."

Even allowing for the unusually large number of visitors, this chaos could be better managed. Aren is my father's loyal seneschal, but he is long past his prime. His household duties have been extended to cover managing the arrival and departure of caravans whenever my father is absent. Aren is too timid when it comes to dealing with fractious caravan masters. Unfortunately, my father has nobody else at Wadi Halaf to call on to help.

My father's wife, Lady Gülnihal, has the social standing to command respect, but she has never demeaned herself by helping to run the caravanserai. Their son, Efrem, as the legal heir to Wadi Halaf, would be entitled to take charge, but he is only five years old. My half-brothers and half-sisters are in their twenties, but they are all slaves. They have never been allowed to learn any skills that would help Aren manage this situation. I only learned what I know because my cousin Zoe and I used to spend an excessive amount of time entertaining our respective uncles during their 'business meetings' before my manumission.

Although I'm eager to get back to my own home at the Halls of Valhalla, I sense that a quick 'hello, I'm back' to those at Wadi Halaf isn't going to be enough. Levan was right when he said that Aren needs some help.

My younger half-sister, Mia, intercepts me as I enter the main entrance to the former fortress's keep. She's dressed as all slave women in Emarukistan commonly dress; naked apart from a spotlessly clean loin cloth. I notice that her old iron slave collar has been replaced with a newer style of collar from which hangs a small disc with her name and 'Wadi Halaf' engraved on it. She's looking fit and well, but she is visibly worried.

"I'm really glad that you're back safe and sound, but we haven't time for a chat," says Mia giving me a quick hug. "You need to see father urgently. We don't think he'll last much longer."

This is the first indication I've received that the delay in resolving the chaos outside has something to do with my father's health. I haven't been inside his private rooms for several years, but I know the way well enough. I find him lying on his bed with my older half-sister, Jacinta, fussing over him. I don't need Jacinta's medical skills to know that his ragged breathing and sickly yellowing skin means that he is living on borrowed time.

Although I refuse to openly acknowledge that my father is lying on his death bed, I don't delude myself into thinking that somehow he will miraculously recover. Apparently Jacinta has been tending him since he was injured by an unknown assailant a week or so ago. Even her healing skills can't do more than provide potions to ease the pain of his wounds.

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Chapter 3: New responsibilities

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"Rachael?!?" croaks my father when he sees me. "I didn't think I'd see you again on this side of the afterlife."

"Alderman Samvel's scheming meant that I was unavoidably detained," I reply. "But I'm here now. I would say it is good to see you, but you look like shit."

"That's my Rachael," says my father in a half-hearted attempt at a laugh. "Never one to mince your words. You're right. I'm dying. Your family needs you. Wadi Halaf needs you. There's no one else capable of managing the place until Efrem is old enough to inherit his birthright. There's no one else I can trust to keep Wadi Halaf going until Efrem is old enough to take control."

Calling on family loyalty is a desperate act that I would be entitled to reject. For all but the last few years, my father has steadfastly refused to recognise any of the five children he sired on his slave concubines as part of his family. We were just beasts of burden to be used as necessary. Even now, I'm the only one of his concubines' offspring that he begrudgingly acknowledges as part of his family. Hugo, Prot, Jacinta and Mia are treated no better than the other slaves at Wadi Halaf. My elevation to being part of his family was only granted after Efrem was born, and my father had a freeborn son who could claim Wadi Halaf as his inheritance. However, despite him being an arrogant misogynist, he is my father, and I have grown into who I am today because of him.

Mia locates a robe for me. My travelling robe is still too wet to wear. I've few clothes of my own, and what I have are at the Halls of Valhalla. The robe Mia provides is one of Lady Gülnihal's. Consequently it's a bit small for me, but it will have to do. Thankfully Gülinhal won't know I've borrowed it. She went to stay with her sister as soon as Wadi Halaf started getting busy. While I would be more comfortable staying dressed little better than a slave, I'm mindful that at the moment I need to dress and behave as someone in authority.

"Your father had all the documentation prepared shortly after he became warlord," says Aren later when I leave my father sleeping. "Being warlord isn't the safest occupation. Of course he couldn't predict your abduction and delayed return, but fortunately that's no longer an issue. You are here now. If you accept the terms of the agreement, then you will become the mistress of Wadi Halaf on your father's death until Efrem reaches his sixteenth birthday."

I don't particularly want the responsibility of running Wadi Halaf. However, the likely consequences of my rejecting the role present even greater problems; not just for me but for all those working at Wadi Halaf. Aren hands me an official looking scroll to read. I quickly skim through the scroll, which at first glance confirms what Aren has told me. However, I will need to read it carefully before agreeing to accept its terms.

"What about the shambles outside in the forecourt?" I ask Aren.

"Caravans have been arriving from the north and west as usual, but for the last two days, most caravans are unable to continue their journey because of the blocked roads. We now have five caravans in our yards. The caravan masters all want the needs of their caravan attending to first. We are doing our best to provide what they want, but there are only so many of us. The aldermen have commandeered all the male slaves in the city to clear the landslip and remove the debris from the broken bridge. We've had to send all of Wadi Halaf's male slaves, including Hugo and Prot. It leaves us very short-handed."

"What about the other caravanserai in the city?" I ask.

"They are both in the same position as Wadi Halaf, and they have closed their gates to new caravan arrivals," replies Aren. "We should do the same, but Lord Rahim won't allow it."

"Summon the five caravan masters to meet me in the small reception room in fifteen minutes," I say to Aren. "Send word to Zoe at the Halls of Valhalla to let her know that I have returned, and that I will visit her later. I'm going to see if we can use some of the Halls' slaves to help out here."

"Yes, Mistress Rachael," replies Aren. "A few extra slaves will help a lot."

It's the first time Aren has been subservient to me. It feels strange given the two decades when our roles have been the other way round.

The five caravan masters meet me in the small reception room as I requested. Fortunately I know three of them from their previous visits to Wadi Halaf, and Mikheil was master of the caravan that I travelled with from Bolnisi. I've purchased slaves from two of them in the last couple of years, so I have some knowledge of their negotiating style.

"My father is indisposed and I've been placed in temporary charge of Wadi Halaf," I say in order to make my authority clear. "You have given Aren a list of your requirements, and they shall be attended to as quickly as possible. In the meantime we will need to clear space in the main forecourt in case there are more arrivals.

"I want you to move your animals to the rear courtyard. Those of you who haven't done so already should consider my offer of space in the barracks for your men to sleep... at the usual cost. Alternatively, your men can sleep in the loft in the stables. You will each be assigned an area of the main forecourt for your wagons and goods. Wadi Halaf's guards will patrol the outer walls and man the gate against intruders. Guarding your property inside Wadi Halaf is your responsibility. I'll not be drawn into disputes between you over ownership of your property.

"Until the roads east and south reopen, we are likely to get very crowded. If any of you need to use our cells for your slaves, then let me know after we finish here. Do you have any questions?"

"My men have been on the road for many days," says Arnolf, master of the caravan that arrived here an hour before Mikheil's caravan. "Will there be entertainment provided tonight?"

"Yes. Of course. In the main hall at the usual time," I reply, hoping that I can reassign enough of the slave women from other duties to provide the entertainment.

Visiting caravans expect my father's caravanserai to supply a nightly entertainment of singing and dancing by pretty slave women, followed by plenty of sex. It's a service Wadi Halaf offers than neither of the other two local caravanserai provide. Since I don't know the current number of suitable slaves at Wadi Halaf, I'm making a promise that I can't be sure of fulfilling. With all the male slaves taken away by the aldermen, I'm unsure what sort of entertainment we can provide. Dania and Phoebe usually provide the dancing and sex. However, five caravans worth of lusty men are far too many for them to handle alone.