There Must Be Peace Ch. 02

Lord Arcadian Sylver stood atop the highest peak of his realm, a craggy, rocky mountain called Pain's Peak. At the top had been constructed a stone watchtower, and a large pyre that would serve as a signal fire should the realm lord ever need reinforcements from the northern realms. His intense green gaze swept across the southern plains, home to the many villages now under his protection. From this high point, he could see the faint smoke rising in the distance from the closest of his protectorates, the small village his pet had been culled from.

Though well known among his men and servants as a severe man, not prone to smiles or laughter, he did find himself smiling as he thought of his Cailin. Her undeniable beauty was matched by her intelligence and inner strength. Thus far she had taken every excruciating game he had come up with and submitted quickly to all his sexual needs. She had so impressed him that one night he had even taught her a game from his homeland, a game called Stones played with small colored stones on a multicolored field. The rules were complex, and occasionally changed as the state of the field changed, but she had kept up with the changes with relative ease. Of course, being a woman, she had never received more than basic education, and so had not yet presented Lord Sylver with a serious tactical challenge, but the potential was there.

As far as he knew, none of the slaves of his family line had ever even been taught Stones, having been used as nothing more than a toy, a device with which to take out frustrations upon. Arcadian, breaking from what he saw as normal tradition, had begun teaching Cailin to read, to play tactical games, and had even begun taking to asking her opinion on policy. Of course, none of this occurred where his men could see or hear.

This extra intimacy, an intellectual intimacy, had led him to feeling that he'd like to mark her, but not by any of the traditional marks. Brands and tattoos were common among his people, and Cailin had already expressed an interest in taking such a mark, but Lord Sylver was not yet satisfied with his options. Having run into a familiar block in his thoughts, he scowled and finished his inspection of the watchtower, took his mount and began the journey down the peak to the castle.

His thoughts were still grinding against one another, still tumbling in circles as to how he wished to mark Cailin, but those thoughts were banished instantly by a clutch of tumbling rocks from the slope to his side. Reflexes borne of intense battle took hold, and his sword was in his hand before he even thought to draw it, but still too late. Something black and blurry crashed into his side, unhorsing him, and he was driven to the ground by his own weight, as well as the attacking beast, and the impact knocked the wind from his lungs.

The beast, still just a black blur to him, rolled away from him. Again his instincts kicked in and, even though he could not breathe and was still dazed from the impact, he struggled to roll and get to his feet. Blinking his eyes against the haze of his shaken state, he saw the beast clearly. The thing was essentially a black panther, though much larger, the size of a small horse. From it's shoulders rose four snake-like tentacles, four feet long and each ending in a wicked barbed claw: Displacer Beast.

He had heard of these beasts before, but had never fought one personally. He knew these creatures had a powerful magical charm on them which made them appear to be in a spot about three feet away from where it actually was. Going against his instincts, he took his eyes from the beast, casting his gaze at the ground for any telltale signs of movement. He saw a pebble knocked aside, but too late again, and even as he raised his sword he was struck by the invisible paw of the beast, it's claws ripping down his chest, rending chain mail and flesh with equal ease. Arcadian cried out and stumbled away, slashing wildly with his blade. His swing had connected with something, but he could tell it had been a glancing blow at best. He took several more steps back after regaining his bearing, eyes feverishly scanning the ground. The movements of the creature's displaced image working only to distract him.

His glancing blow turned out to be more of a benefit than he had thought, for he saw a telltale droplet of blood appear on the ground to his right, and without hesitation, he rushed forward and, using both hands on the hilt of his blade, drove the sword deep into the invisible beast. Not waiting to see if the single impaling blow had done the deed, he ripped the blade out and swung it in a mighty arc, once again connecting, but this time his blade biting deep. The beast's image faded away as the dead thing became visible. His impaling attack would surely have killed it eventually, but his swing had nearly cleaved the beast's head cleanly from its neck. It's back tentacles still twitched violently; Lord Sylver decided to take no chances, and drove his blade into the beast's head, twisting until the tentacles stopped moving.

Finally, the wound down his torso would no longer be ignored, and he nearly collapsed from the shock of it. He stripped away his chain mail and tunic, leaving them on the trail, and hauled himself back on his horse, and then very nearly passed out from the strain of even this simple action. He faded in and out of consciousness as his steed walked the familiar path back to the castle.

*******

Cailin shifted uncomfortably on her 'saddle'. She still became cramped and sore after only a few hours on this device, but she had learned the hard way not to ask to be relieved of it; a coating of ginger on the cock-like protrusions and a night with the pear of agony as a gag had taught her to suffer in silence. Though the strain on her knees, and the constant pressure of the phallus' in her holes was taking it's toll, her discomfort was not entirely in her body.

Master had fed her breakfast, as usual, and had told her then that he would be visiting the Pain's Peak watchtower, and should be back by noon. Though she had no easy way of telling time in Master's chamber, she had heard the noon bells come and go, as well as the one o'clock, then two o'clock bells. She could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Her fears materialized as the door to the chamber burst open, and several of Lord Sylver's men came in. At first she was mortified at being in such a vulnerable position in front of them all, but that feeling fled as she saw them hauling Lord Sylver into the room, his chest ragged and bloody, laying him out on his bed. "Master!' she cried, but was ignored by the men in the room.

At first she was scared he must be dead, the wound was so grievous and his body so limp in his soldier's hands. But then she saw him lift his head, looking over at her, and she saw that his eyes were still vibrant and intense, if pained. She nearly cried out from relief as he motioned for one of his men to come closer. Her Master whispered something, and the man nodded, then moved over to her to clinically remove her form her bonds and help her to her feet. As usual, she nearly swooned when being lifted from the pair of rods that had kept her impaled for more than half the day. She was further surprised when the soldier took off his own cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders. "The Lord Sylver says your nakedness is for him alone."

She stood back as the soldiers left the room, to be replaced by the court physician and his apprentice. She watched quietly as they fussed over his wound with poultices and tonics, assuring him that it was bad but hardly mortal. Throughout this, Lord Sylver's eyes never left her, and after only a few moments of the physician's fuss, he pushed the doctor away and said, "Leave your medicines and needles, and leave me."

"But my Lord," The doctor sputtered, but was stopped short by Lord Sylver's voice, roaring "I said leave me!" The physician and his apprentice apparently heard his command the second time, and nearly ran from the room. Lord Sylver watched her for a long moment before gesturing for her to come closer. Cailin rushed to his side, gasping at the rent flesh on her Master's chest.

"Take the sponge and the water, and clean my wound." her Master's words were quiet but firm, and she obeyed immediately. She tried to be ginger and soft with him first, but saw quickly that the blood crusted around the wound would take more than her normal soft touch. As she applied more pressure, she could hear him growling softly as the pain became more acute.

"What happened, Master?" she asked, braving a single question.

"A displacer beast in the mountains," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I hope you have some skill with the needle, my pet."

Cailin smiled and nodded, she had been the unofficial caretaker of her village, the one they all turned to for stitching and healing. Her careful cleaning had resumed the bleeding however and she had to use several rags to staunch the flow.

"This will hurt, Master and you are going to have some fine scars but you will heal" she said, offering him some wine from a carafe by the bed. He took the jug and drank deeply of it, then laid back his head on his pillows and said, "Do it."

Cailin went to work with the needle. His hisses of pain gave her a bit of satisfaction but she was careful to hide the smile in her eyes least she anger him. Even in his weakened state he was a force to be reckoned with. She worked swiftly to close the wound, then bandaged him and offered him more wine. He shook his head and tried to sit up, but the battle and the wound finally took it's toll on him, and he passed out.

*******

He was not sure of how long he had slept, but when he woke, the stiffness in his chest reminded him quickly that the fight with the beast had not been merely a battle dream. He looked over to his side, and saw that Cailin had slid to the floor, kneeling beside him. He could not help the small smile from creeping to his lips.

He sat up, grunting at the stiffness and sharp pain from the claw mark. He ignored Cailin for the moment, moving to his full length mirror. He gingerly removed the bandages, regarding the long, ragged wound, now sealed with Cailin's fine stitching. He examined the entirety of the wound carefully, noting how the jagged mark formed something of a lightning bolt down his chest. He would wear this mark for the rest of his days, a fitting battle scar.

As this thought filled his mind, his eye caught Cailin's reflection in the mirror. She was still kneeling, waiting patiently to be recognized. He turned to face her, taking steady strides to stand before her. At length he spoke, "Cailin, I have been searching for a way to mark you as my property, my possession. Something as unique as you are but that shows without a doubt that you belong to me." Cailin tilted her head in confusion as he reached for her, pulling her to her feet. He laid her out on his bed, and began securing her wrists and ankles to the posts with long scarves, tied tightly.

He continued speaking as he did this, "I have decided that you will wear my scars, girl." With her firmly secured, he reached over to the bedside table, taking up the needle and thread that had been used for his own stitches, and sat on the bed next to her. "Among my people, battle scars are proud reminders of the glories of days gone by. They are the evidence of our bravery and skills in battle. Years from now I will show this scar to my clansmen, and tell the story of how I slew the beast, and I will be honored. In this, you will be honored as well."

With no further word, he reached down with the needle, and began to sew a pattern of stitching into her flesh. The first stitch in her tender skin made her yelp, but to her credit, her eyes focused on his instead of flying open in panic. "Every time I take such a scar, I will give you one in return. In this way, you are marked as mine, but more than that, you will serve as a banner of my honor. When one looks at you, and sees the scars you carry, they will know you serve a formidable Master."

By the seventh stitch, Arcadian knew that Cailin had 'gone' from him, to that space where she was no longer in the present, but in a timeless void where the only thing she felt was each piercing of the needle and the slide of the thread through her flesh. Even her soft whimpers began to transform into coos of pleasure with each prick and slide. He took his time, occasionally whispering soft words to her, other times giving her firm directives to lay still.

As he started working on the twentieth stitch, he let his free hand roam down between her legs, and was pleased to find her wet and ready. He rubbed and fingered her as he lay in the final stitches. She impressed him by somehow writhing against his insistent fingers while at the same time remaining still where he was slowly sewing in the laces.

As he began on the last two stitches, he leaned in close to her ear, whispering, "Cum for me now, my pet. Your first of many marks is nearly done." As he pushed the needle through her flesh, she began to shake subtly, cooing softly as her orgasm began. She arched her back slightly as he continued fingering her and laying in the last stitch.

He used his deft fingers and teeth to put in the knot on the last stitch, and bit the remaining thread away as Cailin slowly calmed from her orgasm. When she finally stopped cooing, he slid his fingers out of her, offering them to her lips to be cleaned. Cailin sucked and licked at his fingers for a long moment, and Lord Sylver smiled when he realized that she had passed out, and was still working her mouth on his fingers.

He stood, placed the stitching materials aside, and looked down on his handiwork. He was no doctor or tailor, but he had laid in stitched on the battle field before, and was quite pleased with his work. The stitching would stay in for a few days, then be taken out, leaving only a fine but distinct scarring pattern that matched his own wound reasonably well. He glanced over at Cailin's saddle and smiled, and then gently undid the restraints on her ankles and wrists. Instead of waking her and taking her to her saddle, he lay down beside her, and was soon very content, and only moments later, deeply asleep.