barbarianprincess

This is the end of the first Zenaria story. Two more to come if you can stomach them.

Chapter 17: Balancing the Cha
As Zenaria stared at Tren, a whirl of emotions, spun through her mind; joy, surprise, trepidation, and a strange aching in her heart. For some reason she was short of breath and hot in places she should not have been hot. Tren’s first words, however, swept her initial reaction away. “So you have returned,” he said, his voice completely devoid of emotion and his comment was directed to Ulua.

Zenaria felt her heart twist. It was as if Tren had not even seen her. He was focused entirely on Ulua, his hands on the hilts of his twin blades, his eyes cold enough to frost his breath. “I am glad to see you too, brother,” Ulua said calmly.

Zenaria’s eyes widened. It was like watching two cats circle one another. What had come over the two assassins that they should show such animosity? Without thinking she drew her sword and stepped between them, her barbarian anger surging to the fore. “What is this? How can you give your sister so poor a welcome?”

Tren seemed to see her for the first time and his dark eyes widened in surprise. A strange emotion flickered across his face, one that was almost instantly replaced by his usual emotionless calm.

“He thinks I have betrayed the order,” Ulua explained. “Such an act is punishable by death.”

“I will not let that happen,” Zenaria proclaimed. She looked at Tren, her blue eyes flashing fire. “You will have to go through me first.”

“But she betrayed the assassin’s creed,” Tren protested. “She should be dead.”

“I care not for your muddled creed,” Zenaria growled. “Without Ulua I would not have escaped and without me she would still be a prisoner. We are bonded as warriors of the Snow Leopard.”

“I thank you, my sister,” Ulua said, touching Zenaria’s arm, “but there is no need.” She turned to Tren. “There was no betrayal, my brother.” And then Ulua explained her captivity and the predicament that had kept her from killing herself.

Tren appeared relieved and tears glistened in his eyes. It was the first time Zenaria had ever seen him display much in the way of emotion. He held out his arms and enfolded Ulua within them. They hugged only briefly and then Tren stepped back looking into Ulua’s eyes. “I thought I had lost you when you did not return and then when I heard that you had been taken prisoner and had not ended your life I thought you had betrayed the Beni Sidra and I would have to kill you. You must tell me of your adventures and how you managed to escape the High Thuski, but first we must decide how to deal with this harem you have brought me.”

The caves were large enough that there was room for all of the women. What was lacking was the sort of furnishings they were used to and the quality and quantity of food and drink. However, despite some complaining the young women seemed content to put up with the hardships of their existence in return for the promise of freedom. They knew that with the amount of gold each of them carried they had the means to set themselves up in a life of luxury and control who they selected as husbands.

“We will have to get them out of here as soon as possible,” Tren said. “It is only a matter of time before one or the other of them becomes discontent and decides to try and find her way back to the Sandakar.”

Zenaria and Ulua nodded their agreement. They settled in the harem girls as well as they were able and then prepared a meal by combining the rations Ulua had ordered the Thuski to provide for them.

While eating, Ulua and Zenaria told Tren of their adventures. The telling took until late at night at which time Zenaria and Ulua were more than ready for sleep. They slept in their robes, Tren commenting that tomorrow he would try to acquire proper bedrolls.

Tren was gone when Zenaria awoke. Ulua was busy working up some sort of breakfast for the two dozen young women, most of whom were still asleep. “You might want to see if you can work out some latrine arrangements. We can’t have them going just anywhere and the place Tren used is not large enough for so many.”

Zenaria nodded and trotted off to see what she could find. She selected a dry tunnel that branched off from the main cave and was not too far away from where the harem beauties were sleeping. It sloped appropriately away from the main cave and was quite dry. She acquainted the girls which her choice and then returned to Ulua to help complete the breakfast preparations.

“We can’t stay here long,” she commented when she saw how much food Ulua was preparing. Every one of Tren’s cooking utensils was in use and there still was not enough to feed everyone at once. In addition, the food was being used up at an alarming rate. They would have to find a way out of Uhra Don and quickly. The problem was, Zenaria was not sure that the pampered harem girls could make it across the desert wasteland she and Tren had crossed.

Tren returned near noon. By that time both Ulua and Zenaria had stripped off their desert robes. Tren eyed their black lacquered armour appraisingly. Was it Zenaria’s imagination, or did his eyes linger on her just a split second longer than on his sister? He set down a bundle of gear he had brought with him. I’ve arranged to have more gear brought to the stables tomorrow. But then we will have to leave. I dare not take any more chances in having this hideaway discovered.”

“What is our way our?” inquire Zenaria.

“The way we came in.” He went on after noting Zenaria’s look of concern. “I know it will be a tough trek, but here is really no choice. I can’t bring in almost thirty camels. I would be sure to be noticed. We will have to travel at night to try and avoid most of the heat and hope that these harem girls can stand up to a five day trek across the desert.”

The rest of the day passed with various preparations a good deal of which was explaining to the harem girls what the situation was. To Zenaria’s surprise most of them reacted well to the prospect of a five day walk through a desert hell. Setia, one of the girls who had been Zenaria’s servant summed up their attitudes best. “Better to die of thirst than serve our lives as the Thuski’s whores. We will follow you anywhere, mistress.”

Zenaria was not sure if most of the girls would agree with that sentiment, but no one contradicted her. Zenaria found herself flattered that Setia had pledged her loyalty to her rather than Tren, but she tried not to get too full of herself. It was Tren who knew that way across the desert, not her.

She busied herself during the rest of the day helping to sort through the equipment needed to cross the desert safely. Many of the girls helped, which was fortunate as it took awhile to fill and stockpile the numerous waterskins that would be needed for the journey. Tren had little faith in the ability of the young women to ration themselves on the desert march so he had acquired waterskins that would be carried by the three camels he had managed to acquire. That way he could ration the water use by having it where he could keep an eye on it. It took a good deal of the day to fill the large waterskins and make sure that they were not leaking. There was also the task of creating packs for each of the women of an appropriate size. Since the women ranged in size from petite tall it was necessary to create individual burdens rather than force all of the women to carry identical loads. It took most of the day to finish these various tasks, and after eating another meal prepared by Ulua with the help of some of the women, Zenaria felt in need of a final swim.

The noise of two dozen chattering young women was close to driving her to distraction. Zenaria found it difficult to believe the amount of mindless noise the girls could generate and she needed desperately to find some place away from them. It was dark when she entered the pool, but a quarter moon and the light of a billion stars provided enough light that she had little trouble as she slipped into the cool water. She sighed as the water caressed her skin. Even in the caves the desert heat was pervasive near the entrance and Zenaria had spent much of her time near the entrance where the light was better, but the temperature was higher.

As she stroked languidly across the pool she found herself longing for the cool isolation of her subarctic homeland. She thought back to the spirit quest that had started her on her long journey. Could it be that it had only been a few months ago that she had left the stockade of the Snow leopard? It seemed like years. After what she had accomplished she felt as if her quest should be over. Surely helping to free Ulua should count for something. However, she knew it was not so. There was still something lacking and she knew it with every fibre of her being.

She had reached a shallow area created by a rocky ledge that jutted out of the canyon wall on the far side of the pool. During the day it was the last part of the area surrounding the pool to be vacated by the sun and Zenaria could feel the heat radiating from the rock, warming the water. It was shallow enough for her to reach the bottom and she rested there, her mind buzzing with the question of her unfulfilled destiny. It was at that time she realized that someone else was there.

“Beautiful night for a swim,” Tren commented from the base of the cliff. He was almost completely invisible, hidden in the shadows, but Zenaria knew that he was almost certainly as nude as she was. Her mind shot back to the time she had seen him emerge from the sun-drenched pool in all of his naked glory. In spite of being immersed in water up to her waist she was suddenly so warm that she almost plunged back into the pool.

Zenaria stammered some incomprehensible reply. For the first time in her life her tongue was not working. She was burning up, barely able to answer, but more particularly it was where the heat was concentrated. Her loins felt as if they were on fire and an unnatural heat suffused her breasts. Her mouth was dry and her nipples were so taut that they tingled in anticipation. She stood uncertainly on the edge of the pool, the slight evening breeze playing around her overheated body.

Tren moved slowly toward her. “Come,” he said holding out his hand. “It is time to balance that cha you tried to explain to me.”

Zenaria tried to speak, but no words would come out. As his hand touched her an electric shock surged through her body. The touch jolted her, causing her to jerk back. “I…I can’t,” she stammered. “M…my vow.”

“Very well,” Tren answered, “then we will deal with your vow now.”

“Here?” Zenaria gasped, finding her full voice. “But we are standing in water and have no weapons.”

“We have what the gods gave us,” Tren replied. “What more do we need?”

Zenaria nodded slowly. “Very well, but I will not hold back.”

“I would not respect you if you did,” Tren answered and then he struck, but not in any way that Zenaria would have imagined.

He scooped water toward her, but with such force that for an instant Zenaria was blinded. She staggered back, blinking frantically to clear her vision only to find that when she could see again Tren was nowhere to be seen.

She turned in a circle, her senses tingling. Surely this was one of the stupidest battles she had ever been in. “Come up, you coward,” she raged, searching the surface of the pond for some sign of her opponent. All that was revealed, however, was the widening circle of ripples from where Tren had dived beneath the surface. She turned again, expecting an attack from below at any second and backed slowly toward the rock wall. When Tren did surface she would give him more than a warm welcome.

“Uuggh! A Tren-sized weight slammed into her from above. Zenaria realized as her head was forced beneath the surface of the water that she should have looked up instead of down. She also realized that taking a deep breath would also have been an even better idea.

She struggled to find her footing, but discovered that the impact of Tren’s body had driven her not only down, but out into the deeper water. She floundered, struggling to fight her way to the surface against Tren’s weight. Her lungs burned, her struggles consuming the very oxygen she so desperately needed. She twisted her body, attempting to break free of the assassin’s grip, but Tren had wrapped his arms and legs around her in such a way that he was impossible to dislodge.

Zenaria refused to panic, battling even as her mind began to fog. Her groping hands found one of Tren’s arms. Closing her fingers over it she pulled even as her strength began to drain from her body. She felt the arm loosen. Just another second and she would have enough leverage to break free. A buzzing sounded between her ears. Her grip weakened. “Tricked,” she thought. “Tricked.” And then the buzzing drowned out everything else as she slipped into unconsciousness.

The first thing Zenaria became aware of as she regained consciousness was a dim glow. As her eyes adjusted she realized that she was looking at a small stub of candle burning in a dark cave. She moved in an attempt to sit up and was hit by a blinding headache. Her lungs also felt heavy and it was difficult to breathe. Nevertheless, she persisted in pushing herself into a sitting position. A few feet away Tren knelt on the floor of the cave, his eyes fixed on her. He held out a small cup. “Take this. It will make you feel better.”

Zenaria was conscious that she was still unclothed, even though Tren had wrapped a loincloth around his middle, but she took the cup without comment and swallowed the liquid. It was bitter tasting and fiery with the taste of a mixture of hot spices. However, it had the effect Tren had promised. Heat spread though her mouth and sinus passages, clearing her head and loosening the thickness in her lungs. She coughed, bringing up some watery phlegm and immediately felt remarkably better.

“You tricked me,” she gasped. “You would not have beaten me otherwise.”

“You are probably right,” Tren agreed. “But one the first rules of battle is to know your opponent. You knew that I was Beni Sidra, but did not take into account that I might act like one.”

Zenaria managed to get to her feet, swaying slightly. She had been shamed as a warrior, but she would not go back on her word. “All right,” she said, bowing her head. “You have beaten me. You are free to do what you want with me.”

“You are forgetting what I said when we first met,” Tren answered. “I take no woman against her will. I will not hold you to a promise that was so rashly made.”

Zenaria coloured in anger. This was not how she had visualized her defeat. She had pictured herself being overcome by some valiant warrior only after a glorious and prolonged battle, after which the victor would pin her to the ground and ravish her until she was nearly insensible. Instead she had been tricked into fighting a battle at a place chosen by her opponent and held under water until she was reduced to a drowned rat.

“You are free to go,” Tren continued. “I will tell no one of what has transpired.”

Zenaria bristled like a wolf. Tren’s seeming rejection had her ready to spit blood. Had the assassin no concept of honour? “What is wrong? Am I not good enough for you? You invite me to give myself to you and then will not take what is yours by right.”

“I have no more right to you than the High Thuski did. No man should take a woman by force. You made a vow when you were only a child. You are now a woman of great beauty and intelligence and a promise made in such haste should not have the power to dominate your life.”

Zenaria opened her mouth for an angry retort and then two of Tren’s words sank in. “Beautiful?” “Intelligent?” She had never thought of herself as fitting either of those words. Worst of all, the comment completely disarmed her. Did Tren really think of her that way? For the first time she took a good look at where she was.

“Where is this place?” she asked, looking about her. She saw that it was a small cave, in which were a small sleeping pallet, two small cups, and a wineskin.

“It is where I hoped to take you had you agreed to my invitation,” Tren said. “No one except me knows where it is, not even Ulua.”

“You prepared this for me?” Crude as it was, she suddenly felt flattered. It was hardly the sort of place a woman dreamed about for a romantic tryst, but somehow that didn’t matter. Her anger flowed out of her.

“I’ve been a fool,” she thought. “I swore to submit only to a man who could defeat me in combat and then used my natural ability training to make myself invincible.” Probably not even as skilled an opponent as Tren could have beaten her in a straight up fight. What he had done was to find a way to remove the burden she had placed on herself.

She took a deep breath and turned to face him. “I will stay,” she said. Slowly she stepped toward him. Tren gently placed his hand behind her neck and pulled her head down to his level.

The kiss exploded through her. Her knees buckled and she swayed and would have fallen had not Tren held her. Slowly he eased her down to the pallet on the floor of the cave, but the kiss did not end. Their lips parted and their tongues entwined even as Zenaria lay back and Tren moved his body over her.

A soft moan of pleasure rose from deep in her throat and suddenly her body was on fire, heat suffusing her loins, her hands clutched at Tren, trying to pull him even closer. Her actions almost frantic.

“Gently, my barbarian,” Tren whispered. He moved his lips to her throat, and then kissed her eyelids, before moving back to her lips. At the same time his hands moved over her body touching, caressing, and stroking her to an even higher level of passion.

She arched into him, pulling at his loincloth and hooking her legs behind his knees. Her breathing quickened, becoming fevered. It seemed she had waited for this moment all of her seventeen years even though by the standards of her tribe she was only two or three years late. Tren’s loincloth slipped from his hips, helped by Zenaria’s fingers, and she pulled him toward her, opening her legs in wanton invitation.

Tren, however, appeared to be in no hurry. “Slowly, my beauty,” he murmured. “It will be all the more enjoyable for taking our time.” He continued to tantalize her, moving his hands over her body, teasing her into a mounting state of sexual excitement. She quivered as his fingers stroked her back and his lips moved over her throat, and then moved between her breasts, gently brushing her nipples. The touch caused Zenaria to gasp. She arched into him, inviting him to take the taut rosebuds of her throbbing nipples into his mouth. Tren, however, ignored her, instead moving his mouth and hands lower, his hands caressing her outer thighs and buttocks and his lips and tongue tracing an erotic path below her breasts and over her belly.

Zenaria moaned both in passion and frustration. Her body was on fire and Tren seemed reluctant to quench her desire, yet his every touch raised her to another level of sexual excitement. Her hands clawed at his back ripping long welts across his dark skin, and she sank her teeth into his shoulder. Tren grunted, and exerting surprising strength gripped her wrists and pinned her arms to the pallet. “Alright, my lioness; it is time.”

He entered her smoothly, Zenaria receiving him like a well oiled sheath as his sword parted her swollen lower lips. She cried out in carnal desire, her body rising to receive him. The brief moment of pain as she lost her innocence was submerged in a rising tide of passion that swept all other sensations before it. She struggled to escape his grip, her smooth muscles tensing, but Tren held her, riding her bucking body as she heaved against him in uncontrolled passion.

For several minutes Zenaria seemed inexhaustible, taking everything Tren could give her and then demanding more, but slowly her strength waned, even as her passion mounted. Something was building inside her, something indescribably powerful and wonderful beyond anything she had dreamed of. And then her body convulsed and she screamed, breaking free of Tren’s grip and using her legs and arms to pull him deep within her.

Again and again her womb contracted, her body gripping Tren’s shaft so tightly he gasped in disbelief. And then finally, she fell back temporarily exhausted, her chest heaving. She felt completely satiated. Never had she felt such complete fulfillment and she wanted to do nothing more than lie back and hold her lover.

Tren, however, was not about to let her off quite so easily. He pulled out of her, but now teased her nipples with his mouth and teeth, refusing to let her state of arousal slip away. And then his hands and mouth went lower, touching her in a way she had never dreamed of. Within minutes Zenaria was once again panting like a fish and then he entered her once more, moving in and out of her in a gentle rhythm that had her whimpering in desire. Slowly, like a pot coming to boil, Zenaria’s passion mounted until once again her body shuddered in sexual release. It seemed less intense than the first time, but went on and on, slowly mounting in intensity, until Zenaria was crying out as her body convulsed in uncontrolled ardour. Only then did Tren release into her, his own cry of passion blending with hers.

They lay quietly, their arms and legs interlocked; their sweating bodies too exhausted to move. After awhile Zenaria spoke. “That was wonderful. I feel like such a fool.”

“Yes?” said Tren expectantly as he softly stroked her belly.

Zenaria shifted her body invitingly. The touch of Tren’s fingers had her body tingling in anticipation.

“I could have had this years ago if I had not been so headstrong.”

“Sometimes,” Tren said, as he slowly sat up, “the gods have a way of placing us on a certain path for a reason.”

What do you mean?” Zenaria asked, sitting up and accepting a cup of wine as Tren poured another for himself.

“Did it never occur to you that your gods might have had some plan for you? If you had not taken your vow of celibacy you would probably not have undertaken your Spirit Quest, in which case you would never have met me and Ulua would still be a prisoner.”

The thought hit Zenaria like a thunderbolt. Although her faith in her deities was profound she had never considered that her life might serve some higher purpose. Perhaps her actions had not been so headstrong after all. “You are more than just a lover,” she said, nuzzling Tren’s ear. “You are wise as well.”

“I have been trying to convince you of that since I met you,” Tren answered. He kissed her gently, and then a little harder; and after that the only sound was that of their heavy breathing punctuated by their grunts of passion.

They made love twice more before morning. In between Zenaria chatted, telling Tren more about her homeland and her place in it. She had no way of knowing if it was the sort of thing that passed between lovers, but Tren seemed interested enough in it, especially the relationship she had with Jaree.

“As I said once before,” he said. There is more to you than meets the eye. Although what meets the eye is certainly worth looking at.”

“Is it really true that you find me beautiful?” Zenaria asked, rolling on to one elbow so that she could look Tren full in the eye. “Or was that just a ploy to get me to make love to you?”

“You are the most spectacular beauty I have ever seen,” Tren answered. “And I thought so from the moment I met you.”

Zenaria was not given to weeping, but a wave of emotion welled up within her. She had to swallow hard several times to maintain her composure, finally solving the problem by wrapping her long legs around Tren’s waist and pulling him toward her. After that time both she and Tren were too exhausted to talk. They slept until dawn, when a noise outside the cave awoke both of them.

Ulua’s voice floated through the cave entrance. “Breakfast is ready.”

Zenaria and Tren both sat up. “I thought you said no one knew of this place,” Zenaria said.

“I didn’t,” Ulua answered, poking her head around the corner, “but you two made so much noise last night that we thought the camels had come into season.”

“Did everyone hear?” Zenaria asked.

“Everyone who wasn’t deaf or dead,” Ulua replied stepping into the cave. She seemed completely unperturbed that both Tren and Zenaria were nude. “I expect even the High Thuski could hear you.”

For some reason Zenaria found herself blushing, especially given the fact that she had left her clothing and armour near the side of the pool and would have to appear nude when she returned to the main cave. However, Ulua neatly solved that problem for her. “I have left your clothing and armour outside the cave, but I expect after your night’s exertion you may wish to bathe first. However, do not take too long or your porridge will get cold.”

As Ulua left, Zenaria got to her feet or rather she tried to. She gasped as she discovered that there was more to the small ache between her thighs than she had thought. “What is it?” Tren asked, noticing her discomfort.

“I… I’m a little bit sore,” she answered, blushing even more furiously than she had before.

Tren smiled. “That is to be expected. I too am in a little bit of pain. The next time we make love I think I will have you declawed.”

He turned as he spoke and Zenaria stared in shock at the deep lacerations on his back. “I did that?” she gasped.

“You become somewhat excited when you are in the throes of passion. I will get Ulua to put some ointment on these. They will heal.”

Zenaria nodded dumbly, barely able to stop her mouth from forming a huge grin. Tren had said “next time.” It was hard to concentrate on anything else as she walked to the mouth of the cave, gritting her teeth to hide her pain and trying to walk normally.

Outside, the tunnel was deserted. Zenaria sighed in relief. She had half expected all of the harem girls to be waiting for them. Picking up her clothes she followed Tren to the pool and took a quick swim.

The cool water leached some of the soreness out of her. She emerged dripping wet and dressed without bothering to dry herself. Even though it was early morning the heat was already impressive and she knew she would dry quickly. She entered the main cave and found to her chagrin that every one of the harem girls was assembled for her entrance. Her embarrassment was more than evident as she turned the colour of a beet. Her mortification was made even more complete by the knowing grins of most of the girls. She might have fled the cave had it not been for Setia. “Welcome, Zenaria,” the girl said. “You have now become a woman.”

Zenaria straightened. “Yes,” she thought. “I suppose I have.” She smiled and joined the girls for breakfast.

Chapter 18: Home
It took another two days to fully prepare for their desert journey and then they set out in the dark of night, having rested during the heat of the day. It was still oppressively hot, but bearable. All of the harem girls were equipped with proper walking shoes and they were dressed in their desert robes. They were as lightly burdened as possible, the camels carrying most of the heavy goods, especially the water. Tren had taken a chance and had acquired three more of the animals, bringing their little herd to six, and he had laden the animals with the waterskins. Although Tren did not say so, it was clear that he did not trust the young women to discipline themselves well enough to drink only when necessary. As a result all of the water was on the camels where he could keep an eye on it.

To give the girls credit, they did remarkably well. For a bunch of harem-pampered beauties there was an amazing lack of complaining in spite of the fact that the desert march left all of them footsore and exhausted at the end of each night. But luck was with them as well. They encountered none of the desert hazards that Zenaria and Tren had encountered on their crossing although they did come across the place where she and Tren had fought off the lion-spiders.

The heat and unceasing desert wind had sucked the lion-spiders dry, leaving them as nothing more than dried out husks. As they passed the once-fearsome creatures, Tren stopped and took out his knife. He walked over to one of the corpses and pried out several of the smaller needle-sharp fangs, and then handed them to Zenaria. “The poison is not longer potent,” Tren said. “You might want these as a souvenir.”

“Thank you,” Zenaria replied. In spite of his expertise as a lover Tren was not given to emotional displays and she figured this was about as close to a gift as she would ever get. While she watched he went to a few more of the spiders and collected their fangs as well until she had quite a collection. They were impressive and unique and she already had ideas as to how she would arrange them. They would make a fine necklace.

There were no more stops after that except the daily periods of rest when they pitched camp and waited out the inferno that was the desert day. It was so hot that most of the girls could not sleep and even Tren and Ulua seemed bothered by the heat. Eventually sheer exhaustion eventually brought some sleep. However, it was a brutally fatigued group that finally reached the relative cool of the grasslands.

Remarkably the Zuni were waiting for them, lined up along the edge of the cliff as Tren reached the top of the arduous climb from the valley floor. If the grassland nomads were disappointed not to be ambushing a Sandakar expedition they did not show it, welcoming Tren and especially Ulua like long-lost cousins. Even Zenaria received a warm welcome in spite of the bad manners she had shown on her last visit. Targah regarded her with his usual appraising stare, but this time Zenaria was prepared. Before Tren had lied about her and Tren being bedmates; this time there was no need for the lie and it showed. Targah nodded once, a slight smile playing about his lips and then turned his attention to the two dozen harem beauties.

It turned out that three of the girls were Zuni, having been captured in Sandak raids. For them the journey was over as they immediately merged into the tribe. Zenaria could not tell if the reunion was joyful or not, but Tren reassured her that in spite of the fact that the Zuni were polygamous, women were well treated and the girls had not been forced. “As a matter of fact,” he commented, “with the amount of gold each of them carries they will become women of some influence in the tribe.”

Zenaria nodded. She was slowly beginning to understand that as much as she disapproved of the customs of other people they were something that she was in no position to change, especially when they were offering her protection and hospitality.

That night for the first time in a week Zenaria and Tren shared a tent. There had been no opportunity for lovemaking on their desert trek, but now they made up for lost time. In the morning Zenaria emerged from the tent, tired but more than content. She had gotten very little sleep, but the sacrifice was worth it. Tren had been more than inventive, showing her techniques she had never dreamed of. As they lay in one another’s arms, her loins throbbing in pleasure, Zenaria had but one question. “Why did you not show me that before?”

“It is best to hold some things back,” he said, kissing her nipples. “If I showed you everything at once our lovemaking would become stale. This way I can keep it fresh for a long time.”

“How many things are you still hiding?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.

“The Beni Sidra are highly trained in the ways of love,” Tren answered. “Seduction is sometimes a useful art form.”

Zenaria’s brow furrowed. “What about Ulua?”

“Especially Ulua,” Tren said. “She is much more skilled than I.”

Zenaria’s eyes widened slightly. She had never considered a relationship with another woman, but there was nothing in Snow Leopard mores that condemned such relationships. Far from it, there had been several female pairings in her village, and the thought of a tryst with Ulua was more than intriguing.

“That interests you, does it?” Tren asked, his eyes shining.

Zenaria blushed. She was still so transparent that Tren could read her every thought. She wondered if she would ever be able to hide what she was thinking from others. “Not as long as I have you,” she answered. But even as she uttered her reply, Zenaria knew that she and Tren did not have much time left. Once their little expedition had crossed the grasslands she would leave her lover and return to the lands of the Snow Leopard. It was something that weighed on her, but it was a step she had to take. She was not an assassin and she could not hope to join Tren and Ulua in their world. All she had was the time left before they reached the end of the grasslands.

She made the most of it or rather she and Tren made the most of it. The Zuni did not travel quickly and they stayed with the grassland nomads until their slow circuit of the grazing lands led to a point near enough to a Kivalian trading outpost. It was there that Tren intended to cut loose the gaggle of ex-harem girls. Many of them were Kivalian and the few who were not had indicated that they though it as good a place as any. Tren, as usual, had contacts in the town who he could depend on to make sure that the young women would be well taken care of, especially considering that they were all women of wealth.

They made love every night, usually more than once, but the dawn of each day reminded Zenaria that her first love affair was coming to an end. She refused, however, to become despondent. Tren had known from the start the end would come eventually and she refused to become miserable as the end approached.

They reached the trading post at last. Zenaria was not quite sure what she was expecting, but the tiny settlement the Kivalians called Singleton was not at all impressive compared to what she had seen in Uhra Don. True, it was much larger than her tribal stockade, but it could have fitted very nicely inside Uhra Don’s market square.

It was surrounded by a palisade inside of which was a deep ditch. Earth from the creation of the ditch had been heaped up to form an embankment on top of which a second and higher palisade had been built. The heads and spears of armed guards could be seen as they patrolled the top of the wall. On either side of the entrance to the town was a wooden gate tower that flanked a heavy ironbound gate that was currently open. Two guards wearing chain mail and holding eight foot spears stood in the gateway. They warily eyed the strange procession that moved toward them.

“Hold,” one of the guards ordered as Tren rode through the outer palisade. Thanks to the Zuni all members of the party were on horseback and Zenaria expected that from a distance the score of riders probably seemed rather threatening.

“Identify yourself, and state your business,” the guard ordered. Zenaria noted that the ramparts held several archers who had fitted arrows to their bows as a precaution.

“I am Tren of the Beni Sidra, and I am escorting the Princess Zenaria and her entourage. We wish accommodation for the night and wish to hire an escort to Normos. Take this token to the Guildmaster.” Tren bent and handed something to the guard who had spoken. The man took one look at it and suddenly snapped to attention.

“Immediately your Excellency. Shall I call for an escort for the princess?”

“That will not be necessary, Tren replied. “We will wait here until the Guildmaster receives us.”

“What did you give him?” Zenaria whispered.

“A silver piece and a token the Guildmaster gave me the last time I was here. I don’t expect we will have to wait long. The amount I gave the guard is more than he makes in a month and the Guildmaster is acquainted with me.”

Tren was proved right. Within the space of a few hundred heartbeats there was a commotion from inside the gate and a large man with a florid complexion rode up. He was so stout that Zenaria wondered at the ability of the horse to hold him, but he seemed friendly enough.

He was dressed in what Zenaria considered very uncomfortable looking clothes. Skin tight leggings sheathed flabby legs that ended in a pair of rather useless-looking shoes with bright brass buckles. A bright green tunic covered his torso over which was worn a loose-fitting yellow coat cinched at the waist with a wide brown leather belt. His head was crowned by a large red shapeless hat formed from some soft material. A dark brown beard covered most of his chubby face, which was split in a wide grin of welcome.

“Quaram, my friend. How good to see you. What have you brought me this time?”

Zenaria raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. It was obvious that Tren had more than one name at his disposal. Behind him Ulua sat, her face hidden by the hood of her robe.

Tren turned in the saddle. “May I present her highness, the Princess Zenaria of Leopardia. I have the honour to be her escort as she passes through your lands. Your highness, this is Master Truckle, Guildmaster of Singleton.

“Enchanted, Princess,” Truckle said, making an effort to bow in the saddle. How may I be of service?”

“Her Highness seeks accommodation for the night for herself and her ladies. And then more dignified transport to Normos.”

“Nothing could be easier, Your Highness,” Truckle replied. “Please follow me.” He turned his horse and rode farther into town, Zenaria and her companions following.

“Master Truckle seems very cooperative,” Zenaria observed as she and Tren rode into the town.

“Truckle is realizes that every time I show up he gets a little richer. This time is no exception. He will be well paid for his services. However, if never hurts to play the royalty card.”

Zenaria observed the town with interest as she rode toward its centre. Although completely insignificant by the standards of what she had seen in Sandak, it was still impressive compared to the compound where she had been raised. It was, also considerably smellier.

She saw why at once. There was a single main street which just happened to be dry at the moment, but Zenaria guessed that it would be a muddy mess when it rained. However, it was the large accumulation animal manure and what appeared to be human waste that explained the pong that hung over the town. Zenaria wrinkled her nose. While she did not expect so small as settlement to rival Uhra Don in its amenities she wondered that the Kivalians did not even know enough not to throw their kitchen waste and excrement into the streets. She looked at Ulua and saw that the assassin had wrapped her scarf over her mouth and nose and seemed to be trying very hard not to breathe.

The accompanying harem girls were not quite so discreet, several of them voicing their shock and dismay at the sickening stench. A look from Tren, however, quieted them. They might not like it, but there was not much they could do about it.

On either side of the street rose a variety of wooden buildings, each two or three stories high and built so that their upper stories overhung the street so that in some places it was almost like riding through a tunnel. Zenaria eyed the upper windows warily realizing full well that the heaps of excrement and pools of urine had to come from somewhere.

Truckle turned in the saddle, no mean feat for a man of his bulk, and offered an explanation. “Always a bit smelly this time of year, and the tanners haven’t been using as much as most years so they haven’t been collecting it. Should be better when the barbarians bring in their furs and hides this winter.”

“Barbarians,” Zenaria thought. That meant people like her, although dressed the way she was in her desert robes, Truckle had no way of knowing what she was. She returned her attention to the town.

Off the main street ran various smaller streets, some little better than dusty tracks between buildings. Where the street was wide enough merchants displayed their wares right out in the street, a pattern that continued until they reached the main square. Here there was a market similar to that she had seen in Urha Don, only much smaller. Canvas-covered booths displayed a variety of goods from fruits and vegetables to spices, bolts of cloth, iron and copper wares, and a variety of other products. The inhabitants of Singleton stopped and stared as their procession passed and Zenaria could hear a buzz ripple through them.

“Princess. Which on is she? Must be the tall one. Looks regal enough. No, it’s the one with the scarf over her face. Bloody oath; the tall one looks like a barbarian. Look at the sword she’s got slung over her shoulder. Can’t be a real sword. Must be ceremonial. No you’re wrong. She’s riding at the front. Must be the princess.”

The murmuring faded as they passed though the market and halted in an open space in front of a large four story building. Master Truckle dismounted and threw the reins of his horse to a waiting boy.

“You and your ladies will stay in the Guildhall, of course, Your Highness. “The stableboys will care for your mounts. Please come in.”

Inside there was a large foyer off which ran twin staircases, one on either side of the room. It was obvious that modest as the building was, the room had been designed for effect, and it was still grander than anything in her village.

It took awhile to portion off the various rooms so that every one of the girls was taken care of. Zenaria, as a princess, got one to herself, an arrangement she found somewhat awkward until she realized that it would be her last chance with Tren. It was a sobering thought. Singleton was as far as Tren intended to go. From here he would return to Sandak and his never-ending battle against those who had enslaved his people, and she would head north into the wilderness of Erogenia and the track that led back to the land of the snow leopard. However, she put the thought from her mind, refusing to dwell on it. She was still a princess of the Snow Leopard. She would not weep or become melancholy over the loss of a lover. She turned her attention to helping Tren and Ulua settle in their female entourage.

It took three days to settle everything to Tren’s satisfaction, partly because with so many lovely young women in the town and with a princess in attendance, Mayor Truckle decided to throw a massive feast and invited everyone of importance in the town to attend. It was held on the last night of their stay in Singleton in the main hall of the Guildhall and it was something that Tren simply could not get out of. “I am sorry,” he said, “but we are the guests of honour. We will have to attend whether we like it or not. I am not given much to feasting, but I do not want to damage my relationship with Truckle. Over the years he has proved most useful. And he is one of those very unusual things; a semi-honest merchant.”

“Semi-honest?” asked Zenaria.

“It means that he will only cheat you half the time,” Tren smiled.

“Don’t worry about the feast,” Zenaria said. “Feasts I can handle. But don’t expect me to wear those cumbersome heaps of clothes the Kivalian women wear.”

“What are you going to wear?” Tren asked. “I hope it is a bit more than the first time I saw you.”

“Perhaps I will surprise you,” Zenaria grinned.

“You do that all the time,” Tren commented. “But I will not interfere in your decision.”

Zenaria grinned back. She had just the thing to set her off.

The feast was everything Zenaria hoped it was. An entire ox had been roasted and was carried into the hall by four men. There were also two roast pigs, several deer, and more chickens, geese, ducks, and partridges than she could be bothered to count. It seemed enough food to feed an army and along with all of the sauces, breads, and bowls of vegetables, seemed impossible to consume at one sitting. It reminded Zenaria of the feast held by her tribe to celebrate the turning of the winter sun. In that feast it was not unusual to consume several elk and deer as well as many smaller animals. The main difference was that in the Snow Leopard tribe every man, woman, and child attended whereas in Singleton only the wealthy were invited. Tren assured her, however, that any food that was left over would be distributed to the poor, provided any food was left over.

Zenaria’s entrance to the hall was impressive. She had taken the armour Ulua had given to her and had gone to a leather worker. Although the man had protested the impossibility of the task on such short notice he had changed his mind quickly when offered the gold coin Zenaria displayed. The impossible suddenly became possible even though he had to work all night to achieve it. However, Zenaria was pleased by the result.

The brass-studded armour was expanded to link up with the wide leather belt that protected her waist, affording her full protection from her hips to her breasts. Along with the fitted leather that protected her upper arms and shoulders her torso was now completely protected although she deliberately left her throat bare and had unbuckled part of the leather to flaunt a generous portion of her rounded breasts. Other than that display she was almost completely clad in highly polished black armour from the long wrist guards that covered her forearms almost to the elbow; the well-designed leather gloves; and her greaves, and thigh guards. To set it all off she wore a blood-red woollen cloak she had picked up at a market stall and something else she had made herself.

She wore her hair unbraided, bound only by a gold diadem that circled her brow. Around her elegant neck she wore a necklace of lion-spider fangs. Zenaria had arranged them in a geometric pattern from largest to smallest, with the most impressive three inch fangs placed in the middle where they could not help but draw attention to the perfection of her breasts.

With her sword jutting out from behind her left shoulder and her cloak swirling around her, Zenaria made a spectacular entrance to the hall. Since, as the guest of honour, and the supposed reason for the feast in the first place, Zenaria entered last, and every eye was upon her when she entered the hall. The seneschal gulped when he saw her, but recovered quickly to announce her. “The Princess Zenaria of Leopardia,” he boomed.

Heads turned in her direction. From the women there were a number of gasps of disbelief and then the muttering of the word “barbarian.” The men, however, said nothing other than a general murmur of what sounded like approval. Six-feet-three inches of barbarian warrior strode into the hall, moving like a personification of the animal that symbolized her tribe. Head up, Zenaria looked neither right nor left, but fixed her eyes on Tren, who watched her with an expression she could not quite fathom.

Tren rose as she neared the table. As guest of honour she sat to the right of Truckle with Tren just to her right. As her seat was held out for her Tren leaned over. “Well done, princess; you are magnificent.”

Zenaria felt a warm glow suffuse her. She wanted more than anything to have Tren make love to her right then and there, but she was forced to sit through five hours of eating and drinking before she was free to go. The time was not entirely wasted. Erogenian warriors were good at eating and drinking, and the flagons of wine and platters of food that were placed in front of her disappeared with great regularity. Only when she had managed to drink most of the other guests under the table did Tren signal that she was free to go.

She stood, a little unsteadily, but her head cleared in excitement and anticipation as she and Tren neared her room. It was their last night together and she and Tren made the most of it, making love at first with an urgency that signalled the depth of their passion and the knowledge that they would part on the morrow. It was a frenzied coupling that left Zenaria quivering as her loins convulsed in sexual delight. But it did not stop there. They made love twice more before morning; each time more slowly, drawing out the last moments of pleasure, before their parting.

Morning found them still wrapped in one another’s arms, but there was no point in delaying the inevitable. They bathed and dressed, Tren in his assassin’s robes, and Zenaria in her warrior’s armour. There was time for one last embrace before they separated.

“Goodbye, my barbarian warrior,” Tren whispered as he held her. “I will not forget you, and something tells me we will meet again.”

Zenaria did not speak. There was something caught in her throat, and anyway she didn’t have to. The fierceness of her grip told Tren everything he needed to know. He released her from his arms and stepped back and without another word left the room.

Zenaria waited a few minutes to compose herself, and then wiping away a very unwarrior-like tear she followed. She didn’t look for Tren, instead she sought out Ulua. The girl was where she knew she would be, in her room with one of the girls who had decided to follow her and Tren.

Her farewell to Ulua was not nearly as long as her goodbye to Tren, but it was almost as emotional. Then Zenaria headed down to where her horse waited. She had given instructions to the servant to have it ready while she was taking her bath and everything was as she had asked. She had to admit that Guildmaster Truckle was good at making sure his servants did what they were told. She rode out immediately. The less time spent in the stink of Singleton the better. She had said her goodbyes and she suspected that prolonging them would not make them any easier. She galloped through the gates and turned her mount’s head toward the north.

Her return home was uneventful, except for an encounter with several Urtts who were ravaging a forest homestead and a run-in with a pack of dire wolves. The first incident cost the Urtts their heads and a few other parts of their bodies. Zenaria staked out their reptilian skulls in a neat row alongside the trail as a warning to others. The second skirmish got her three fine new pelts and a string of teeth for a bracelet.

Other than that and a brief and very one-side battle with a band of outlaws Zenaria’s trip home was without incident. Oh, there was the narrow escape from an aurochs stampede and the surprise encounter with a cave bear that was browsing the same patch of blackberry bushes Zenaria had chosen to snack on, but those were too minor to consider remembering.

She experienced a joyful reunion just before reaching the lower slopes of the mountains. A noise in the brush to the side of the trail startled her and she had her sword out in an instant, but quickly sheathed it as Jaree bounded out of the undergrowth. The old bond was instantly re-established, something that helped her to think a bit less about Tren and Ulua. After that she experienced not the slightest threat from anyone, she and the cat hunting and sleeping together until she reached the climb to the Ice Gates.

It was here that Zenaria let her horse go, hoping that it would find its own way. She knew that almost certainly no horse could make it through the pass at this time of year.

She was right. She encountered deep snow long before she reached the summit. However, it was nothing that Zenaria had not dealt with before. She strapped on the snowshoes she had previously fabricated and continued the climb. The huge snow leopard didn’t even slow down, her huge paws moving her over the frosted surface almost as if she were floating.

It was as tough a journey as Zenaria had ever made, rivalling even her first trek across the desert wasteland where she and Tren had first bonded. Crossing the Ice Gates during the summer was tough enough. Making the same journey in early winter was almost suicidal. But Zenaria had no intention of waiting. An overwhelming urge to see her family and friends and the familiar confines of the stockade she had been raised in drove her forward.

It was Jaree that made the difference. Each night she hollowed out a shelter in the snow and bedded down with the huge cat, her warmth keeping Zenaria safe and secure through the coldest weather. They also hunted together, Jaree with fang and claw and Zenaria helping with her bow. Between the two of them they easily caught enough food to feed themselves and slowly but surely they made their way toward the top of the pass. It took a full month to finally reach the Ice Gates. Frequent stops were necessary due to the frequent white-outs and fierce storms that swept through the pass, but Zenaria was relentless. Step by step she mounted the pass until finally she began her equally slow descent.

And then, three months after leaving Singleton she looked down on the stockade of the Snow Leopard. Her throat closed as she looked at of the place where she had spent her childhood and where everyone she held dear lived. Well, almost everyone. One day she would see Tren and Ulua again. She made that promise as a silent vow as she slowly stripped off her clothing.

She had timed her last day’s journey to reach the village in mid-afternoon, but she was not going to show up covered with the sweat and filth of more than a month without bathing. Completely nude, she took a quick snow bath, rubbing her skin until it glowed red and then she dressed again, packing away her furs and setting out for the last fifteen minutes of her trek in the armour and crimson cloak she had worn to the feast in Singleton.

As luck would have it, no one saw her until she was almost through the gates. It was not so much a lack of vigilance as the fact that no one had ever attacked the stockade in the middle of winter; as a result she strode through the gates unchallenged and found her mother and queen staring at her from the middle of the compound, where she had been drilling young warriors in the techniques of the sword.

It was a poignant moment, but Zenaria had learned a little in the time she had been away from her home. She went to her knees in the snow and bowed her head before her queen. “Mother,” she said, “I’m home.”

Epilogue
Zenaria swept the furs aside and ignoring the cold and her nudity stepped across to the rough planking and opened the shutters. It was still dark, but already she could hear the familiar sounds of the stockade stirring. She had been back only a week and sometimes it seemed as if she had never left. But some things had changed. One was the attitude toward her of the other warriors in the village. Where before she had been looked upon as a brash and foolish young woman, now she was accepted as one of them. Several of the men had already proposed sexual liaisons with them, at least until they learned her condition.

Tren had given her one final gift. She ran her hand across her belly sensing the gentle swell of early pregnancy. She wondered whether the child would be a boy or a girl. She really didn’t care, but now she had one more reason to find Tren again. He had a right to know that he was the father of a barbarian warrior.

Her eyes sought out the place where she and Garrod had duelled. She had thought his betrayal unfinished business, but she had discovered that Garrod was no longer a factor in anyone’s life. A hunting party had come across what was left of his body. Apparently he had been set upon by Urtts and dismembered and eaten. Out of respect for his family Zenaria had kept his treachery to herself. What was past was past and revealing Garrod’s deceit would have gained her nothing.

She was home now and in a few months she would be a mother and would also celebrate her eighteenth summer. Already her mother was integrating her into the leadership of the tribe, saddling her with minor duties in preparation for the time she would become queen. Zenaria did as her mother asked, but she knew that it would be many years before she became queen if it ever happened at all. Cirilia was not yet out of her thirties and still more than energetic, if the number of lovers she currently had was any indication. And Zenaria had plans of her own. Her adventures had given her a small taste of the world, but it had only whetted her appetite. Her unborn child came first, but children in Snow Leopard society were looked upon as belonging to more than the mother or the father, if the father could be found. With some rather active young women it was difficult to tell.

Once the child was weaned he or she would became the responsibility of the tribe. There would be no lack of young girls and older women willing to take over the raising of the infant. The custom was so strongly followed that Zenaria had not even realized Cirilia was her mother until she was three years old, and she regarded several other women with the same affection normally reserved for a loving parent.

It left Zenaria free to choose. She could remain the dutiful mother or assume some other career. Whatever path she chose no one would fault her. She closed the shutters and climbed back under the furs. “Tren,” she murmured, “you’re not rid of me yet.”