The Last Lagharis Pt. 07

"She was once a humble porter," the auctioneer was saying, as the bards spun a wistful tune. "Tragically saddled with the heaviest of loads, forced to trudge through trackless jungle, but now she moves up in the world, in the waiting hands of whatever man has the courage to win her!"

As he talked, the woman posed, and she did it badly. She cocked her hips, trying to give a peek of big, muscled thigh out from under her slit skirt, but she overdid it, second-guessed herself and straightened up. She raised her arms, which had been dangling idly until now, and stretched them out in a weak imitation of the peasant girl's display. Her nervous face, more than anything, showed Samar that her heart was not in her performance. He could sympathize. He, too, had been an unenthusiastic whore once. He hoped, for the woman's sake, she could discover some spark inside her. If she didn't, she'd be consigned to the boring life of a cook or a clerk. That was the fate which greeted the most uninspiring slave men back at the Laghari company.

She still fetched a fair price--higher than what the priestess went for, which struck Samar as a kind of injustice. But that, he reminded himself, was not his concern. He watched the next slave pad out onto the stage.

She was pale and pretty, short and wide-hipped, walking with perfect balance even with her arms roped tightly together behind her. Small breasts, forced out by the arm bindings, displayed soft, unerect nipples. A ring gag held her jaw open in a tacit invitation. Her head tipped down, as if she found the rug more interesting than the crowd of men who would compete to hold her leash. Or as if she didn't take much interest in either.

Samar thought she almost looked confident, aloofly ignoring the crowd as she was. But he predicted a very low price for her, because she was listless. Where the priestess had at least been deliberate and signaled defiance with her quiet dignity, this woman looked as though she no longer cared what anyone thought of her. Her slowness did not make her seem mysterious or exotic, but only slovenly. When he looked into her slanted, half-closed eyes, he saw only weariness. It was a weariness that touched him more deeply than it should have. It touched him because it reminded him of...

"My god!" It was her. Captain Misha Laghari. The shape of the face matched. The eyes matched. Her steady, bow-legged gait matched. But in every way they could, the flesh-dealers had transformed her. Her hands, which had always rested ready at her hips, were now bound fast behind her. Her short, warlike hair had grown a little longer and made a fetching curtain that framed her face. The weapons and equipment she'd worn around her waist and on her back were gone. Gone too were the many, many layers of cloth she had worn. And underneath was only her bare, beautiful form, not covered even by her arms, an obscene and enthralling display of slim breasts, slim belly and slim, feminine muscle on a broad frame. Over and over, Samar compared this broken slave on the stage with the swaggering warlord he knew, and even through the terrible changes, it was undeniable. "That's her."

"Taken your pick, have you brother?" said a jeering voice beside him. He turned to see a swarthy, grinning man with a tiny abacus in his hand. For a moment, Samar had the sense that this man was poor, then realized it was only because he was dressed modestly. A practical sort. Samar liked him immediately.

Samar remembered that no one knew what he was. To them, he was not a faithful company man rescuing his captain, but of a common whore-hound with too much money to burn. He listened patiently to the auctioneer's introduction, describing her as a warrior-woman who had terrorized the plains, now bound and helpless for the men's amusement, and as soon as the story wound down, Samar barked out a price.

It was rash. It was most of the money he had brought with him. But he stood by it, hoping to scare off competitors.

The auctioneer looked at Samar with satisfaction, then looked around, challenging the rest to top his bid. Someone did, a plump, smiling, mustachioed patrician. He looked wealthy, but Samar did not let that scare him. As likely as not, he only looked wealthy.

"And you?" said the auctioneer, looking back at Samar. "Tell us, brother, what will you do with this fine catch when she is yours?"

Samar opened his mouth to answer, but the patrician cut in first: "I will have her as a decoration. She will fill out my collection, one beautiful slave girl from each of the six corners of the earth!"

"You're nearly there, my friend!" the auctioneer called back. "Unless someone offers more!"

"I'll give her to my daughter!" another man bellowed out. And he named a price that topped the last bid, but not by much. "My daughter requires female companionship and female affection. She will love those little pale tits."

Samar guessed that the daughter wouldn't be the only one to appreciate them.

The patrician slapped him down with a higher bid. But again, the new bid was not much higher, and Samar could tell he was close to breaking. So he gambled. He bid almost all the money he had.

The crowd turned to face him. He did not like this attention. In his experience, the more people knew what you were up to, the more likely they'd thwart it. He put on his bravest face.

"And what of you, fellow-traveler?" said the auctioneer. "You still haven't told us your intentions!"

Samar was not ready for that question. Mentally, he cursed his foolishness and made something up. "I want to play with that pretty mouth. I want that beauty and grace, and I want to hold it between my legs." He cursed himself again. That had been too much, he thought. Too ostentatious, too manly. Now the others would see that he was desperate. Then he realized that there was no reason for him to lie, and that he could have told the unvarnished truth and not been judged for it. He had lied simply because he had felt nervous. He cursed his foolishness a third time.

But his bluster seemed to work. The patrician and the father of the lesbian both fell silent. The auctioneer scanned the crowd again, clearly hoping that someone would be inflamed by the mental picture Samar had just painted. The modest man with the abacus punched Samar's shoulder and said, "Seal it, brother!"

The auctioneer made a last call for bids. None came. And the competition to own Captain Misha Laghari was over.

Samar stepped up to the stage, numb with relief as he slid a collar around Captain Laghari's neck, took up her leash and bade her to follow him. She looked equally numb as she padded after, not complaining as her feet negotiated the dry, gravelly ground.

One of Samar's men glanced at them as they walked by, and Samar flashed him a thumbs-up. The man beamed, and he scampered off to tell the others.

All the way back to the wagon, Captain Laghari was the picture of a defeated, apathetic slave. Samar sincerely hoped it was an act.

"You don't have to do that," he whispered to her. "We're in the clear now."

She only looked confused as he led her to the tent they'd set up next to the wagon.

Inside the tent, Captain Laghari knelt, looking up at Samar with sad, wet eyes. Now that they were out of sight, Samar faced her and said, "You're safe now, Captain. We'll take you back to the company."

Her eyes seemed to focus for the first time and opened wide. She gawped, and not because of her ring gag.

Samar laughed. "Did you not recognize me, Captain?"

She shook her head slowly.

"I'm hurt." And to his surprise, he really was a little hurt, but he kept that to himself. "Let's take that gag off you."

Gingerly, he untied the strap, then tilted the metal ring to ease it out of her mouth. Captain Laghari worked her sore jaw, drooling freely down her chin. Samar wiped her chin clean--it seemed like the proper thing to do--then got behind her to work at the knots on her arms and was stymied. He'd been expecting a simple twisted rope to join her wrists. Instead, an elaborate web of knots ran from her forearms almost up to her shoulders. "This," He said, "may take some time."

"I am in no hurry," said the captain. But there was a lingering edge of interest in her voice, and after long enough, she spoke. "When you have me free, what will we do?" Her tone was so flat that he could have sworn she was being sarcastic, except he had never known her to do that.

"What will we do?" He leaned forward to look at her face and saw that she was being serious. "We'll go home again, of course!"

"And when we do, what will become of me?"

Another confusing question. He ducked behind her and got to work on the knots. "You'll be captain again. You'll take your place at the head of the company and... do whatever you want to."

"Is that really so?" She turned to look at him, frustrating his efforts to untie her. "Do they really want me back?"

"Of course, Captain! It's been chaos without you!"

She looked at the ground. "I don't deserve it. It was my arrogance that led the company into defeat."

"What?"

"Do you know, Samar, that I founded the company as an altruistic enterprise?"

Samar did not know those words, but he tried to keep up: "But the company changed, didn't it?"

"I changed. I became greedy and selfish." She scoffed. "The more I had, the more I felt I deserved. The more victories I thought I owed to the Laghari name. My ancestresses, the Lagharis, were warlords. They terrorized the battlefield, just as that slave-hawker said. In fact, he was understating it. Whichever side the Lagharis fought on, wherever they were, they fought with tenacity and honor and guile, and they won. The legends were most clear about this. Always, they won."

Samar knew all of that already, but he waited patiently for her to finish. Then he said, "And you feel you have let them down?"

"No. Not exactly..." She struggled, and not against her bindings. "I tried to act as they did, to do what I thought would make them proud. But the more I resembled the legends, the more people we turned out of their homes, the more innocents we abused."

"Innocents like me, when I was your poor helpless plaything?" It was a joke, and it fell flat.

"And I wronged the company too. I exposed them to insane risks and wasted warriors, purely because I wanted to make my own name feared. To rob and plunder and kidnap random peasants is already wrong. I should have learned that long ago, but I only know that now because I shared a slave pen with so many women who had been exploited by people like myself. Slavery should be a way to transfer men and make marriages, not a way to make miserable peasants yet more miserable. Still I did something far worse than that when I treated my company as pawns. And the consequences fell undeservedly on them. And they fell, richly deserved, on me."

Samar was not sure what to say to that. He had never thought about it before, but it was, he supposed, true. "Well... we still want you back, Captain."

"Wait!" She stiffened up, again jerking the knots away from Samar's fingers. "By the gods! Chaaru! Did Chaaru reach the camp?"

"You mean your second, Chaarumathi?"

"Yes!"

"We haven't seen her."

"Are you sure? When was the last time you made a count?"

"Before I left, about two months ago."

"Two months." Captain Laghari relaxed. "So you left before she could have gotten there. She escaped from this camp, with my help, and I told her to ride for our last known location with all haste. She may be there now, waiting for us."

"We can worry about that later, Captain. For now, we need to get you home."

Captain Laghari fell silent, but for the first time she didn't look defeated. Her back straightened, and she steadied her breathing. And she let Samar finish untying her.

"There," said Samar, and he stood in front of her to offer his hand to help her up. It seemed like the proper thing to do. "We have some of your old outfits in the baskets. I'll give you privacy." He excused himself from the tent. When he left, he saw the rest of his crew gathered outside. They looked eager, and Samar liked to think they were only giddy at the prospect of having Captain Laghari returned to her rightful place as captain, but he knew that they'd been spying on his conversation. He knew they were desperate for some confirmation in their belief that he was in love with her. "You men," he said, as sternly as he could. "If you were listening in on that, then on your heads, don't say a word about it." He gestured at the Kurultai. "Don't say a word about any of this. The captain is getting dressed now, and I expect she'll have orders for us when she is finished. We need to be sharp for her, understood?"

They understood.

As he'd predicted, the captain came out of the tent dressed in one of her old traveling outfits, and she took Samar's report on the weather, the state of the camp and the best route that would take them there. She indulged in a brief meal break, then gave the order to move out.

Already, Samar felt himself slipping back into a comfortable routine. Captain Laghari was demanding, and ten years ago he would have chafed at that. But now he saw that her exacting command style brought out the best in him. It brought out the best in many people. And, as strange as it was, he was happy for her. He only now realized that it had broken his heart to see her in despair, and as she grew back into her old role, he could feel his hopes rising with hers.

Despite that, as they began the long trip back, Samar noticed that she was not completely the same. She said less and listened more. She held her head high, as before, but there was a cool practicality to her that there hadn't been before. Before, she'd done everything as if with an audience, as if she were showboating on a stage. Samar had liked that, a little, but somehow he felt a deeper respect for this humble, serious, commanding woman she'd become.

A few days into the journey, she surprised him again. She sent all the men except him on errands, then summoned him into her tent. He suppressed a smirk as he imagined what the other men and their rumor mill would make of this.

And Captain Laghari knelt before him.

Instantly, he was confused.

"Samar," she said. "At the slave fair, you purchased me as property."

Samar shrugged. "I pretended to, Captain."

"I trust that the rest of the company will never know about this?"

Samar wasn't sure what 'this' was. It seemed she wasn't talking about the Kurultai anymore. But he did not hesitate. "I won't say a word. I don't want your honor tarnished."

"Good. We have long weeks of travel ahead of us before we reach the company. In that time, if you wish to treat me as your slave, you may do it."

Samar creased his eyebrows. This was not like Captain Laghari at all. She was not joking, that much he could tell. But then why? He thought over what she had said at the Kurultai. "Captain," he said, "is this your way of punishing yourself?"

She demurred. "Maybe it is. You will do it strictly in private, of course. The other men cannot see it."

Now she was sounding a little more like Captain Laghari. Samar decided to treat it as an order. "Then I'll do it." He looked her up and down, thinking of the first time he had ever seen her naked. His lust, which he'd kept in check during the slave auction, flared up. "Stand up, Cap-" he stopped himself. "Misha. On your feet, and strip."

She did, and she wasn't hasty and graceless, nor was she theatrical. She coolly put the clothes aside, exposing the body he already knew well.

Samar had long had a fantasy. Back home, he had never dared order a girl to fulfill it, and in the company, there had been no women submissive enough to try it. Now he had his chance, and he took it. "Get on your knees," he said, "And touch yourself."

Her sly smile told him that, whatever she said, Misha was not punishing herself by doing this, at least not purely. She sank to her knees and explored her body with her hands. She massaged her breasts, her stomach and her thighs, and Samar could not tell if he did it to soothe her body somehow, or for his pleasure.

She didn't linger on that forever. Eventually, her right hand found her lower lips, teased them and then parted them. And she fucked herself with her fingers.

She did not moan loudly. Her breaths became long and deep. Her chest started to heave, raising and lowering her breasts appealingly. Then she started to shake, and an orgasm rocked her. She looked up at him, looking happy but guilty. Embarrassed, Samar thought.

"That's enough for now. You can put your clothes back on."

Her smile shrank. "You surprise me, Samar. Is that all you want me to do?"

He grinned. She wanted more. But he would not rush it. "Later, Misha, later. For now, put your clothes back on. We will have plenty more to do with each other before we reach the camp."

And they did have more to do with each other, once or twice every week, when they could find the privacy. But the trip did not last forever, soon they rolled back into the camp.

Warriors and slaves clustered around them, all eager for news of the fate of the mission. A few people hollered questions, but Samar, walking beside the wagon, did not answer.

It took people a while to notice Captain Laghari. They were expecting her to burst out of the wagon with a grand speech about her perseverance. Instead, she walked by the wagon on the side opposite Samar, unremarkable and silent. But one by one, people noticed her, and they quieted down. She waited until the whole congregation was silent.

"I," she said, "have returned. Thanks to your gallant efforts, I have been rescued from my captivity, and will resume my command of the company."

She let that sink in. Cheers rose here and there, and nobody challenged her, not even the chief, who came trotting up to the front of the line.

"I confess," she went on, "that one question has been at the forefront of my thoughts. Some few months ago, I assisted Chaarumathi in escaping. Has she returned?" Her voice was businesslike and crisp, but Samar had listened to her in private long enough to know that the question was eating her alive.

Nobody answered, and the captain's jaw tightened. Samar felt his own heart clench a little in sympathy, but he stayed quiet. Then Chaarumathi elbowed her way through the crowd. "Misha!" She cried. "Misha, you made it back!"

The crowd was keeping a respectful distance from Captain Laghari, and now Chaaru ran across that distance and piled into her with a hug. The captain swept her up in her arms, lifting the skinny girl off the ground.

A throaty cheer rose from the crowd. Captain Laghari made no attempt to hide her relief, and her company was following suit. The two women whispered things to each other, things that Samar could not hear, that he didn't want to hear because he knew they weren't for him. And when Captain Laghari squeezed Chaaru tightly against her chest, Samar saw what he'd been hoping to see. There was a big, warm smile across the captain's face. There it was. Captain Misha Laghari had forgiven herself.