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-- Here he comes.

Meleth nudged my hip with his elbow, and I stood to attention. The living relic advanced at a slow, crumbling pace. Every five minutes or so, a cloud would grant us a few moments of shade. The rest of the time, I had to endure the harsh sun and the warm wind, standing at the top of the palace stairs. Meleth loved it. He constantly looked up, leaning backward to absorb more rays. In the end, even he got bored.

"Alright. Go and help."

The chaos of my existence had solidified into a temporary routine over the month after the assassination attempt. Meleth transformed back into his previous friendly self, and no further efforts to engage with me sexually followed his first catastrophic one. I almost forgave him, but an obligatory discomfort would strike both of us when we'd happen to be alone. As a result, he didn't know what to do with me, and when the second Black Guard dormitory more-or-less adopted me, he gladly gave them his blessing. During the day, I was put on scrubbing duty close to fulltime. Needless to say, Cane couldn't take all of the shifts, and I suffered a lot of Oran. Oran days were hell. I'd have panic attacks as soon as I saw him. He'd beat me as a precaution to make me more pliant. I'd meekly take place over the inverted chair, I'd let him blind my senses, tie me, and sell my holes. His enterprise boomed. After hours of merciless sodomy, swallowing cocks, and other playful uses of my helplessness, Oran would decide when I'd earned him enough. I would then drag my abused body to my adoptive dormitory for nursing. The Black Guards frowned at my mistreatment, but apparently none were willing to denounce their fellow, and I was still forbidden to speak. Moreover, I was too terrified that the worst consequences of such a denunciation would befall me rather than Oran. Shockingly enough, though, most other days were fine. Cane or Lackey would make me clean floors for a few hours so that people saw me, and then I would enjoy relative freedom. They were discreet about it at first, until it became obvious that no one in the Quiet Palace cared whether I scrubbed or not. In fact, as long as I kept up the appearance of being supposed to be wherever I was, I could move around unimpeded. I grew bolder, and discovered that I could even head to the kitchens for daily meals. The cooks, having received no instruction to oppose it, assumed I was supposed to be there, and served me as if I was part of the garrison. To top all of this, I awoke one morning from Kherada's bed -- she often worked the night patrols -- to find an extra pair of Black Guard tunic and pants over the blankets that my new bunkmates had chipped in to order. It seemed strange for the first ten minutes, maximum, and then I rediscovered the exceptional joy of not systematically feeling inferior in front of people. Yes. Putting on my clothes in the morning provided me with an exceptional joy every single time.

It was under this context that the Blood Circle arrived. Their presence threw quite a spell over the palace. In truth, the band of mercenary shamans looked like a bunch of ragged beggars. I assumed they dressed by ripping many dirty shirts and trousers to shreds, only to wear them all on top of each other. They were all systematically missing an eye. My initial impression was that they were ridiculous, but perhaps seeing how everybody else behaved around them convinced me that they were no joke. Meleth said that their reputation for battlefield insanity and horrendous curses was well earned. They mastered the paradoxical art of imposing their presence while keeping to themselves. Everywhere, they meandered silently, observing, drifting from one interesting scene to the other, as if in judgment. Soldiers, servants and chiefs alike watched themselves in their company. Curiously enough, toward me, they proved to be at the very worst indifferent, and at best indisputably amicable.

The day before we welcomed their leader, one of them approached while I was pressing my tattered washing cloth on the polished bricks of a corridor. Cane moved closer, just as he did whenever anyone entered a perimeter of three meters around me. The walking pile of mangy rags crouched next to me, and considered me with interest, comically tilting his shrouded head. I suspended my chore, and acknowledged the gray feline by briefly lowering my snout. The reaction was an immediate large grin that revealed surprisingly undamaged fangs, with a profound bow. The shaman dragged himself away, leaving Cane and me baffled as to what had just occurred.

Heeding Meleth's order, I ran down the stairs under the hot sun, stripped. In this formal circumstance, my status as a slave was important to emphasize. I offered my arm to the barely mobile, discolored leopard. I got way more than I'd bargained for when he fully leaned into me, grabbing not only my arm but also my shoulder with his other hand. That being said, he was an old bony shaman, and I had no trouble carrying him up the stairs. We reached Meleth. He embraced the frail figure, taking over the role of feline support. The shaman spoke first.

-- I am happy to see you again, my friend.

The old cat over enunciated with a shaky, rasping voice. Every word challenged his meager capacity to produce sounds, or maybe even breathe.

-- You seem much worse than the last time I've seen you. How many more lives have you bought with the ruins of this body?

Meleth was teasing him, of course, but the master of the Circle gave a straight, immediate answer.

-- One hundred and sixty-seven.

That seemed like a lot. I found myself unable to decide whether or not the shaman was messing with us. Meleth's embarrassed silence informed me that he was in the same situation.

-- Well, it's a good thing you've arrived, in that case. You can take a well-deserved break from... massacring our foes.

The caster took that response as a compliment. He stood with us. "Stood." Meleth actually had to pass his arm around the rounded back of the brittle old thing to prevent him from tipping over.

-- I understand that the Child-Seer is unavailable.

Child-Seer? I'd never heard the Outsider called that before. Meleth had explained that the Blood Circle loathed being overlooked, and that the king's inability to welcome their leader would displease them. I'd been assigned the task, in no uncertain terms, to attend to his every need in compensation. It was plain that Meleth expected the dusty cat to be too ancient and upright to make any lewd demands, but that if those should occur, I'd have to comply.

-- Yes, sadly he was wounded, and is still recuperating. Your acolytes have already settled into the guest rooms, but our very best one has been saved for you. This is the Silver Warrior, greatest hero of the South, vanquished and tamed by our liege himself. He's been assigned to your disposal, as a mark of respect. He'll bring you wherever you need to go, and satisfy any of your wishes.

-- I may not see the Child-Seer at all?

Meleth exhibited a severe frown.

-- No.

Feline and reptile challenged each other. The Circle leader slid away from Meleth's stabilizing arm and wobbled to me with rapidity. I felt his clawed grasp on my naked shoulder, and thought it was some eccentrically heavy stroking, until I realized he was propping himself up. He lifted an unsteady index.

-- I dislike this.

-- We haven't identified the faction responsible for wounding our great leader. Until he is on his feet, and able to assure his own protection, no one will see him but me. I allow no exceptions.

The shaman lightened up.

-- I understand. It is wise even if I do not like it.

After a few minutes of platitudes, I ended up escorting the caster into the throne room. A few Northwestern lords were discussing the state of the armies with Captain Einar, who'd recently been granted a rest from marshaling the kingdom's forces. They were at the other side of the room, at the banquet table behind the throne. I made certain to stay very far away, for Einar despised me.

The mercenary artifact sat down in one of the long benches meant for the audience with a satisfied moan. I pleasingly settled to his paws within petting reach, as I'd been taught to do. The trembling hand barely skimmed the side of my neck. I displayed an agreeable smile.

"Tamed. That is what Meleth said. I refused to believe it when I first heard that your will had been overcome. It was months ago, near Cierra. The Boneheads celebrated. They said that the Southern hero was beaten, and made to crawl in nothing but chains at the Demon's feet. Seeing you now, it is hard to deny. I remember the way you were. We have fought before."

I lost my smile, astonished. My mind raced. I could honestly not remember where or when I'd encountered him. Still, knowing how often I'd battled unidentified rogue casters in regions bordering the Lowlands, his claim appeared very less than improbable.

"You were a wild thing. You sliced my neck with your sword. You slew many of my acolytes. It was in... Whistlegrove."

Yep. That had definitely happened, nearly a year before the invasion. Dark mages -- well, shamans specifically, as it turned out -- had taken the town hostage to force the local lord to give them supplies during a harsh winter. The lord said no. He would have otherwise been forced to buy grain and meat at insane prices to feed his own people. By the time I made it there, the town was a graveyard. I had no idea these guys were Blood Circle. If that was the case, it was evident that they had been hired by another starving village on the other side of the frontier.

The feline licked his lips. As far as I could tell, he showed no anger at all.

"I thought I was going to die so I put a death curse on you. I lived. A surprise! It is still there, waiting for the energy to be released from me when I croak. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh."

The old coot had the most surreal, mechanical way to laugh. He was either completely bonkers, or I had been freakishly lucky that he'd survived for so long. Heck, the way he was laughing right then might finish him off.

"I know what you think. The old cat is losing it. No, no. Blood Circle curses are good, insidious; people do not sense they are there until it is..."

The elder shaman wore a juvenile expression. He shrugged with his hands and shoulders.

"Too late!"

So that was what amused the other blood shamans so much. They sensed that I was marked by their leader, bound to his fast shortening lifespan. The Circle leader laughed again. What was I supposed to do? Tell Meleth? Beg? Offer myself to be debased by the aged mercenary leader in the dim hope that it might invite his mercy? He calmed my distress.

"You do not worry. I remove the curse right now. No more bad blood with the Blood Circle. We are on the same side now, maybe we always were. You look."

I didn't notice how he barely raised his hand to point to the banquet table, so I kept looking at him. He shakily grabbed my nose with the tips of his fingers, and oriented my head in the right direction.

"This is the side of people like your master and captain Meleth. We Blood Circle, we like them, but they are not on our side."

He turned his open palm to us.

"This here is our side. We witness. They wait and they hope while we just live. We do it better than they do, do you not think so? I think you are on our side. Hmm. Maybe not too. Your future is... liquid."

The shaman enjoyed a private joke from himself to himself that I couldn't even touch, and much less grasp. Meleth showed up to silently overlook what was going on, ensuring we were both fine. He listened and rolled his eyes with a smirk.

"I like the way you are now, very polite to your elders. The Child-Seer and the captain of the Black Guards are the same as you: respectful. That is why we like them anyway. They are not quite as docile, but I can see why they want you that way. Yet, I preferred you when you tried to kill me. You were more alive, even with a death curse."

I definitely had the impression that the shaman was trying to express something, but he was increasingly heading down a path where I was unable to follow.

"Regardless, I think you will remain on our side. Yes, very much on our side. You are fortunate; you are the one on the bridge."

Meleth stepped up, suddenly wary.

-- The bridge? he asked.

-- Not you! The silver bridge. You all think it is about an object. You think it is about who chooses. Heh. Heh. No. It concerns who lives. Silver Warrior, you are not the keeper, you are the subject. And some will think it is a curse. Ha! Ha! Heh!

What the holy fuck. The shaman laughed and laughed, completely out of control. Meleth wasn't amused in the least.

-- I think that will suffice.

He pulled me up by the collar rather brusquely.

"Why don't you show our guest to his quarters? He must be very tired to be discussing such inappropriate topics."

I had no idea what was going on, so I coasted the wave as passively as I could. I offered my hand to the shaman leader, but instead of taking it, he squinted at Meleth.

-- You captain are no fun. The book opens and the book closes. Are you afraid of fate, Meleth?

-- The only thing I'm afraid of is to get a second daily dose of this Silvergate nonsense.

-- Can you not hear its call from here?

-- I'm not a caster.

-- Everyone is called. Casters simply learn to listen.

-- Then that's the one thing that I'm not going to do, so stop.

The old feline finally gripped my hand. I drew him to his paws, and placed myself under his arm to shoulder his weight as comfortably as I could.

-- Since you are our gracious host on this occasion, I will abide by your rules.

-- Thank you.

The living fossil poked my side.

-- Bring me to my chamber. I will rest, and have you called later if I have any further need of you, but I will not.

Meleth approved that plan, and departed. I dropped the shaman off at his luxurious room on the second floor. He moved in, wobbly, but before he closed the door, he stared at me.

"He must be terrified. Take care of him."

The door closed. I wasn't sure if Meleth was terrified, but I did have the impression of escaping a bizarre morning. The Diviners in the Northwest were as influential as the Wizards Guild was here in the Southern Kingdom. Many shamanistic traditions had roots in old necromantic arts, themselves derived from divination. Apparently, people with a view on what was meant to be hidden could get a little... odd. Or downright crazy. It was hard not to feel sympathy for the shrouded leopard, but I hardly aspired to share in whatever was warping his mind.

I encountered three roaming heaps of shredded clothes on my way to the second Black Guard dormitory. I bowed warmly to each. The very best part about the Blood Circle's intimidating presence was that, since their arrival, Oran hadn't volunteered for a single shift of being my guard. Either he was afraid, or he assumed his clients would be. The best explanation for this phenomenon that I managed to piece together from overheard conversations between the garrisoned troops was that Northwesterners believed Circle members to be able to lay down hexes so subtly that it was impossible to know whether or not they did by simply watching them. This fairly silly superstition, combined with the knowledge that most shamans observed the Diviner code of conduct, led any Lowlander in their presence to behave at their best.

I fucking loved it.

As far as I could tell, the Circle themselves appeared acutely aware of the effect they provoked, and made purposeful efforts to be everywhere. Did they do it because of a moral sense? Did it amuse them? Did they simply use their presence as a tool to accrue their mythical value as mercenaries? The answer wasn't in my hands, and it didn't matter to me. They made my life better, and I honored them for that.

Most bunks were empty. Cane and Kherada were absent, but Lackey was waiting for me. A few soldiers said hello when I stepped in the room. I waved back at them. One of them wordlessly pointed to Cane's bed. My clothes were there. I dressed up. I made for the river reptile, for he was to be my keeper that day; he'd told me so himself the previous evening. He seemed cheerful enough to see me.

Lackey picked an area at random on the second floor. I dropped to my knees with my bucket, glaring menacingly at the stone slabs. My tolerance for this meaningless, daunting menial chore was wearing thin. Memories of how hard and painful scrubbing had been the first few days floated up to my mind. This was different. I'd toughened up, but scrubbing was a boring, unpleasant waste of my time. It didn't even save any work for the servants; they redid everything. If I had to be a slave, they could at least make me do something meaningful, that I might not feel so damn useless. Then again, that was surely the point. The work I did wasn't helpful -- I knew it and they knew it -- but it kept me on all fours, bent and humble. It reinforced my status as a slave, but I didn't need that anymore. I accepted my fate. If I said that to Meleth, would he do anything about it? Probably not. Meleth had no vision, no plan for me. I wasn't his. In a terrifying way, I missed my owner. Why was that so scary?

Shortly after my capture, I'd been disobedient. I resisted, wrathful, and it caused me to suffer. The Outsider told me to breathe. I learned not to fight when I couldn't win, and I ceased rebelling against him. When I witnessed my resigned submission, it caused me to suffer. The Outsider told me to breathe. I learned not to feel ashamed for what I couldn't control, and I ceased rebelling against my own life. What exactly was I rebelling against now? I heard the Outsider in my mind. He told me to breathe -- what else?

I breathed. I calmed down. I envisioned them lucidly, those feelings of mine, those thoughts I couldn't control. I'd betrayed my enemy, and the guilt was unbearable. Now, I missed him, and the sensation was equally as atrocious. I thought about my owner. He'd taken away my freedom, he'd hurt me, he'd lowered me to a sexual object. He was abusive, and cold, and sadistic. He was also perceptive, and brutally honest. He made significant efforts to understand me. He fed me, he talked to me, he made sure I wasn't injured or too bored. If I struggled with the difficult conditions that he forced on me, he helped. He often seemed to know exactly what I was going through, and what I needed to hear to find some peace.

Holy shit!

The Outsider had been a slave. It dawned upon me like a clear white sun. That was why he was forbidden from hiring troops during the Bonehead Unification wars! Not only was he not a chief, but he was a freaking slave, probably to someone highly ranked among the Blood Mask leadership. In his personal worldview, he might genuinely believe that having been a slave contributed to making him what he was. Was he trying to share that? Did he truly believe his own rhetoric about "training" me? It mattered little.

In the end, I was in conflict because I hated him, and because I loved him. Why not, indeed? These feelings didn't cancel each other out into a neat equation that could be resolved and added to the sum of my being. My life was messy, changing... how did that shaman put it? It was liquid. I was allowed to have contradictory emotions about stuff. Were they even contradictory at all? So, I'd been enslaved. I'd lived closely with the one responsible for months. I'd gotten to know him. Of course I was confused! It didn't mean that I was glad about what happened, or that I'd secretly been pathetic and inferior all along, waiting to be leashed. I didn't have to take on any of these extreme judgments about myself. Perhaps, perhaps there were some parts about yielding to my owner that I didn't hate. I liked when he was gentle, and when he said I was good. I liked the simplicity of it. I liked when-

Oran slapped Lackey's upper back. I was so lost in thought that I hadn't heard him coming over.

-- Hey, Ralad. Having fun?

Hearing the tiger's voice plunged me in a murky, dark ocean of terror. He was a dire sight to behold. Lackey, or Ralad -- I guess -- was quite a brute of a Lowlander himself, but he was nowhere near as aggressive as the feline. He was of no protection for me. Ralad simply followed the leadership of whichever of his two feline buddies happened to be on top at any given moment. I watched Oran push him around with sincere dread in my heart.

-- I dunno, the reptile responded. I'm just watching him for a few-

-- Yeah, that's a bore, isn't it?

-- It's, I mean, I don't-

-- Go and take a break for a while. I'll handle the slut.

No. No! I scanned the corridor, but no one else was around. I glowered at Ralad, begging him not to be stupid enough to leave me alone with Oran while the latter was not responsible for my wellbeing.

-- But I'm supposed to be the one to stay. I'm in charge of-

-- No one will notice.

Oran slammed his hand over Ralad's shoulder, and whispered something. I watched in horror as the reptile quickly caved in. The battlehammer-wielding maniac leered at me with the small eyes lodged in the middle of his wide, charmless face.

-- Oh, okay then, thanks. I can check back in a bit. I'm hungry anyway.

-- Enjoy it.

This was worst nightmare scenario bullshit. I couldn't stop desperately searching every dark corner of the passageway for someone, a Blood Circle shaman, anyone. I was in real fucking danger. Oran choked me and lifted me by my throat. I squirmed, lightly tapping his arm to get him to release.

"Proud little cunt. You think I care about those Circle bitches? You think you can't be touched anymore? You're better than me, huh? You're a Black Guard, now?"

The pressure in my head was building up when he dropped me. I fell, twisting my ankle. I was kicked in the ribs. As I curved in pain, gasping, Oran stomped my head. The world flashed a bit. I was barely conscious when my neck was grabbed and I was moved over my bucket of dirty water. My pants were forcefully pulled. They hadn't been unlaced, so the fabric began to tear. Once the upper half of my ass was uncovered, a clawed hand slid along my crack, and ripped away the rest of my pants. He nearly tore off my tail as well, holding it up.

"See? You're still a cock-sheath slave to me. Always will be. Come on, work, cock sheath! Soak in that bucket."

Oran's hands broadened my buttocks while I dipped the cloth. His fat sex welcomed itself to rule over my rear end, pounding my anus into abject servitude. I started to clean the floor as best I could, still dazed. He rolled my tunic up to reveal my curved back. He put one hand over it. The other spread my left knee open to the side.

"I said soak!"

Oran laughed and shoved his length harder in my rump. With every thrust, he leaned heavier over my back, bending me lower and lower above my bucket. I made feeble sounds of alarm to warn him. I protested louder when my nose reached the water, but the pressure merely augmented. My head kept on descending deeper in the bucket as I tried to wriggle out of the feline's unforgiving hold. I barely had time to hear him laugh again before my entire head was submerged, and he put even more weight behind his thrusts. I panicked. I struck the base of the bucket with my hands in an attempt to tip it over. Some water spilled, but my head stuck at the bottom held the bucket in place. I stopped my pointless resistance, hoping that capitulation was the goal of the exercise. I began to drown. The fucking continued on. There was some commotion above my aquatic world. I thought I heard some shouting and perhaps a tremor, as if someone was trying to push the feline away from me. The commotion came to an end, though, and my head remained in the bucket while Oran's dick remained in my ass. I couldn't hold any longer. I breathed some water in. It felt... strange. Dying was simultaneously ghastly, and not that bad. I breathed more water. I was pretty sure I was still held firmly. A vague sensation of being stuffed eventually replaced the eternal agonizing seconds of gruesome urge to expulse the water. I stopped feeling much of anything. I became aware of the gaping maw and terror-widened eyes that would constitute my death mask. It didn't really matter anymore, I was so sleepy. My mind sent a final message of adieu. Then, I faded.

Kherada's face. It was nice. She was worried. I felt pressure over my chest. Cane was there too. He was also worried. I felt good, until...

Suddenly I didn't feel good at all. Water came out of me. I coughed. I was in pain, everywhere, as if I'd just performed some terribly demanding exercise. I coughed and coughed waves of dirty water, rolling to my side. It was the worst moment of my existence. I needed air, I needed air so desperately, but I couldn't stop coughing up that damned water. It was perfectly awful, mind-bending torture. Kherada wrapped her arms around my back to prop my upper body up. I coughed one more giant gulp of water, and air, sweet wonderful divine air finally managed to make its way in me. I didn't get nearly enough, and resumed coughing smaller amounts of liquid. I pushed the manacharian back, and flailed my arms to get everyone away. I managed to heave myself to my knees, and, curled forward, I expulsed yet ever more fluid from my lungs. I breathed, and coughed, and breathed, and coughed. Hell was it painful. Dying sucked.

That's when I figured out that I was not, in fact, dead, but alive. I was in the middle of the corridor, in a thin puddle of water, much of which had resided in my body a few seconds earlier. I was exhausted. So exhausted! The bucket of water lay empty on its side with my scrubbing cloth. The destroyed remains of my trousers sponged sadly behind me. Oran! I tried to speak without success. I gurgled and coughed instead. I looked around in panic. Kherada immediately cuddled me.

-- Its okay! Everything's okay. You're safe with us.

Cane knelt and inclined his head in front of me to stare into my eyes. I stared back.

-- Yeah, I think he's all there. Can you hear us?

I nodded, and coughed some more. Another voice manifested its presence.

-- Is... will he be alright?

It was Lackey, or Ralad, whatever. He hid behind Cane. I fumed, seething, enraged, and even more synonyms. My fists clenched, and I heard a spontaneous threatening rumble arise from me. I pushed words. They refused to come out, but I forced them to. Lackey was responsible for letting me get murdered.

-- You... fucking... piece of-

I coughed, and then I resumed growling words at him.

"... shit lizard!"

-- Yes, commented Cane, he's all there alright. Would you fuck off, Ralad? I don't think he wants to see you right now.

The colossal gator seemed in pain.

-- But I'm sorry. Will you tell him that I'm sorry?

-- He heard you now, didn't he? Now, fuck off. Go!

Ralad moved away in shame like a chastised child, but he didn't leave. He waited further, pacing and twiddling his thumbs. I couldn't summon the strength to care yet. Cane rubbed my back. Kherada spoke.

-- He did save your life, though. Ralad tried to stop Oran when he saw what was going on, and then he fetched us just in time. Take it easy on him.

I coughed, and threw her a black look. She withdrew.

"I guess he also pretty much allowed it to happen in the first place. But, I mean, he's a dumbass. He didn't imagine Oran could go this far. None of us did, I guess. We should've... We didn't... Yah."

And thus, Kherada did my job for me and fittingly sprinkled the rest of the Black Guards with blame. She and Cane went silent. I deemed the situation under control, so I took multiple minutes to sit there and rest. The others demonstrated patience, as they should've. When I was able to, I asked the question. I snapped toward the long-eared feline.

-- Cane. Where's Oran?

-- He ran. He thinks he killed the Outsider's slave. I don't suspect he'll ever come back. Who's Cane?

-- It's you. It's what I called you in my head before I knew your name. I got attached to it.

I took a new breath, and I stared at the Black Guards accusingly.

"Why did he even bother running? Apparently he can snuff me in the middle of the Quiet Palace without anyone giving him too much trouble."

They took the blow. They knew they deserved it. Cane quickly recovered. He wanted to say something important. He obviously wasn't sure of how I'd take the news.

"What? What is it?"

-- The Black King's back. He wants to see you.

I searched, and came up short of something to answer to that. I was eventually obliged to admit to myself that I had no idea what I thought about this. Perhaps, somewhere, a part of me had truly assumed he was gone, and that Meleth pretended otherwise to hold the kingdom together. He was alive. I hadn't killed my owner. There was no sense in putting off the inescapable. I stood carefully. My twisted ankle would give me a slight limp.

-- Is this good or bad for you? asked Kherada.

-- I don't know yet. Bring me to him. Please don't tell him I spoke without permission.

Cane scratched his head.

-- We won't, but you're hardly presentable. What if he wants to know what happened to you?

-- He definitely will.

-- What will you tell him?

With his thumb, Cane designated Ralad, moping pitifully in the back. I spoke loud enough for him to hear.

-- I won't mention him, but if he ever lets someone touch me again, I _will_give him away just to see what happens.

-- I promise I won't! shouted the river reptile.

As I padded along the corridors of the second floor, passing closed doors and one or two of the nobles that were gradually being permitted to come back to their lives at the court, I noticed that the sounds, smells and sights seemed off. Some very powerful prankster had switched the universe for different one while I was... while I was drowned. I wanted the confusion to end. I wanted the worry and the guilt to end. I merely wanted to live a life again, any life. I wanted to be happy. I was so tired of suffering. It killed me.

We went down some creaky stairs. It was the royal staircase. Cane showed me to the king's chamber -- a place that I knew well. The door was shut.

-- He's in his room.

Cane gave me one last look of encouragement, and left. I considered knocking. I entered instead.

The Outsider was bare-chested, sitting over the side of his bed. Clean white bandages contrasted his abyss-black scales. His pale eyes moved slowly over me. I was humid, half-naked, my fur was a mess, and I limped. We faced each other.

-- Meleth mentioned many interesting stories about you, slave.

The reptile designated the floor in front of him. I moved there, descended to my knees, and bowed low until I was curved into a cute little ball of surrender.

"There is a lot that I want to tell you, but first things first."

A moment. I raised my head. My lizard owner held his wound, and, with a subtle grimace, sat cross-legged near me.

"How is your paw? You limp."

I touched the side of my snout.

"Yes, of course you may speak. I asked you a question."

-- My paw's fine, my owner. The cut is all healed up.

-- Show me.

I settled onto my rear, unfolding my leg. I placed it in the Outsider's hands. He handled it firmly and carefully, palpating along the diagonal scarring under my pads. I twitched when he touched my inflated ankle.

"That is a different wound. That is recent."

I concurred with a head gesture.

"I see. I assume it is related to your deplorable state?"

I confirmed again. The king was irritated.

"I knew that Meleth would not be able to handle you. He told me that you stay in one of the Black Guard barracks, now. Did they punish you like this? What was the reason?"

-- Only one of them did that to me. It was not a punishment. He held my head into a water bucket while he fucked me. I died. I would've stayed that way if other guards hadn't happened to find me in time.

The Black King exhibited no reaction, but the length of his muteness told me plenty. He was shocked. Maybe he comprehended the profound vulnerability he'd imposed to me.

-- Who?

-- Oran.

-- That is one of your watchers.

-- Yes. And he didn't wait until you were gone to have his fun with me.

-- What? Why did you not say anything?

I got angry.

-- I was muzzled! The first time he tried, I resisted him! He stormed off, and then I was fetched by your soldiers, beaten to a pulp, and left freezing in a cell overnight! The morning after, you offered me to his tender care again! So, you know what? I figured you didn't give a damn.

The Outsider rose.

-- Mind your place, slave! You will be punished at my whims. Whether or not it is reasonable is not for you to consider! You have no rights. You live for my pleasure!

I returned to my curved stance, conscious that I'd been a bit too brash. I could've explained the situation without giving too much attitude. Damn it. I was out of practice.

-- Yes, owner! I apologize, owner!

The Black King rubbed one of his horns.

-- Still, you are not incorrect. This unwanted consequence occurred by my fault. I should have made the rules concerning you unequivocal to the entire garrison. I will fix it because it displeases me. You are mine, not anyone else's. You will refuse to offer yourself to others unless you are given specific instructions to the contrary by me or Meleth. If events of this nature should threaten to happen again, you will tell me, for this is against my will.

I had to clarify a detail.

-- Even without speaking permission?

The reptile hummed.

-- You will do as you did before, and touch your snout when you want to say something important. I will grant permission when it is convenient for me.

-- Yes, owner.

It was better than nothing. At least, the rules were clear. I pondered how to handle the rest of this story. I didn't want it hanging over my head. I had enough of the guilt and secrets.

"There's more."

-- I am listening.

-- While you were gone, Oran, he, well, he forced me to... He sold me.

-- He what?

-- He tied me up, and blindfolded me. He let other soldiers pay to have me. It happened a few times.

It was cathartic to say it out loud. I studied the Black King's reaction. He was not happy.

-- I will kill him.

-- It might be difficult. Oran ran away.

-- Meleth. I will kill Meleth. I put him in charge.

-- Meleth didn't know. The Black Guards wouldn't denounce one of their own.

The Outsider laughed dryly.

-- You think the captain of the Black Guards ignored something that all of the Black Guards knew about? No. He knew. He let it happen.

That was impossible! It made no sense.

-- My owner, why would Meleth allow this?

-- Why do you think?

Reptilian claws digging in my flesh, and cocks filling me with manacharian seed flashed in my mind. One of them could've been Meleth, but why? It made no sense!

-- Meleth said you gave him permission to have me. He lied?

-- No, but you do not know Meleth like I do. Meleth is a coward. He does not like to pay the price for what he wants. He prefers to scheme and hide. Meleth needs people to think he is kind and proper. Initially, I planned to take you alive for him, you know. For me, you were just another obstacle, but he kept talking about you, and about your exploits. He was tremendously excited about the fact that, one day, we would fight you. Hearing him all day long, I guess it made you special for me too. When we met, the way you defied me, your contempt, it pissed me off, but it also attracted me more than I expected. I wanted to break you, to bring you low, and to make you docile. It must have been driving Meleth crazy with lust, but he did nothing about it. He might be physically incapable of being true, even to himself. Too weak to make up his mind, I suspect he tried to have it both ways. That fool. He should have fucked you openly, and been done with it.

-- He did once, I whispered. I don't think it helped.

-- He did? Good on him! I will choke him with my hands.

I pictured Meleth's smiling yellow eyes.

My owner crouched next to me again. I tightened my curl over myself.

"That is a Black Guard tunic. Are you a Black Guard, now?"

I shook my head.

"Then, take it off."

I passed the tunic over my head, and placed it before the reptile. A single claw traced its way along my prostrated body, from my lower back to my nape, following my spine. As soon as he touched me near the crack of my bum, I lifted my tail, out of habit.

"At least, you didn't completely forget your place. Meleth said you've been spotted strolling around. You walk alone, wear clothes, and did you sleep in my soldier's beds?"

-- Yes, when they were unoccupied, my owner.

-- That is not right. You took a few liberties.

-- I'm sorry.

-- I hope it was fun.

I didn't know what to say to that.

"Who fed you? My soldiers?"

-- Yes, at first.

-- At first?

-- I started going to the kitchens.

-- Of course, you were moving around by yourself. Silly me. They fed you scraps?

-- No... They served me alongside the garrison.

My owner began to laugh. He held his wounded side, obviously in pain.

-- Well, now, that is rich. Why not, right?

-- I'm sorry, owner. It won't happen again.

My owner approached his open hand to my face. I slid my collar over his fingers. He brought me over him, and he sat down against the bedside, legs stretched to the floor. I settled at his waist, spreading my thighs in complete sexual servility. One hand petted my round butt, the other played with my ears.

-- I get the impression that it did not cause too much damage to your training. Do you disagree?

-- No, my owner.

-- In this case, I may not have to rush into discarding everything too quickly.

I gazed hopefully, and waited patiently for him to go on. I wanted to let him know that I appreciated the direction in which this was headed, but he was also checking if I'd grown too bold. I toed the line masterfully.

"I never got the opportunity to inform you of how much I enjoyed watching you on the day of... you know."

-- The attack?

The Outsider stopped petting me, but not long.

-- Right. You were great. That dueling outfit was adorable on you. Victory suits you just as well as defeat. It was glorious. You crushed that aggravating little chieftain. Why did you concede? Why not force him to admit your supremacy?

-- I got spooked.

-- By what?

-- Being like you.

It was a mistake, but it was too late to take it back. My owner was astounded by my daring.

-- Oh, wow. The things a king hears every day, you would not believe, but this was unexpected. What, pray tell, does it mean to be like me? Powerful?

I lowered my muzzle, and tried to compensate my misstep with a timid tone.

-- Merciless, my owner.

-- Mercy? Really? Was it mercy to spare that cretin's absurd pride? I think it was weakness. It made you feel sad to collapse his illusions, so you let him leave just as unable to face the reality of his flaws as he came. Who does that benefit?

-- There was no point in humiliating him further.

-- Yes! Yes there was! You should have taught him his place so that he might learn to fit better into it, instead of being a pompous jackass who believed himself to be a great fighter.

My owner's hand interrupted its petting of my butt. A finger dove between my buttocks, and the sharp tip of a claw dug into my ring, pulling at it hurtfully. I squirmed a bit, but I remained obediently in place.

"I am hurting you to prove a point. What can you do about it?"

-- Nothing!

-- Exactly. You are powerless in this situation, and you know it. I spent a lot of time and energy teaching it to you. If you ignored it, you would make your situation worse. What do you do instead?

-- I, I can beg. Please, owner. I see your point.

The claw released my anus, and the hand gently resumed petting my bum.

-- Anyway, I was not trying to provoke an argument with you. I merely meant to say that seeing you strong, and noble, and fighting only made it better to picture you stripped, spread open and squealing. It made me proud to be your owner.

-- I thought pride was a bad thing.

-- Do not play with words with me.

-- Okay.

-- Therefore, I am not hostile to the idea of granting you increased independence, within reason. From now on, as is appropriate, you will sleep at the side of my bed, or in it, according to my daily preference, but I may eventually consider arranging some quarters for you alone. You will no longer have to wash floors, but you will entertain me during the day. I will also have you trained in important arts for entertainer slaves, such as cooking and dancing.

Dancing? I must've made a face, because the Demon interrupted his monologue. Using my ears as a handle, he brought my nose to his face.

"Yes," he confirmed with cruel amusement. "I think it will be very cute when you dance for me. Bells on parts of your body might be involved."

I gulped. He continued normally.

"I will allow you a few hours for yourself every once in a while. You may roam the palace freely on these occasions. I will not require you to be accompanied anymore. I trust you to be a loyal slave and not to run."

-- To where, my owner?

-- Good point. You will not feed yourself again. Only I get to feed you. Unless I instruct you otherwise, you will eat right here, from your bowl, thinking of how lucky you are that your submission amuses me. Is this very clear?

-- Yes, my owner. The contents of my thoughts will be strictly under your control.

-- Are you giving me sass?

-- I am surprised by what I can get away with.

-- I think I like it, but do not push it.

-- Yes, owner.

-- You will be permitted to wear clothes, but not the Black Guard tunic. I will have something suitable made for you.

I saw Baron Jan's slave in my mind. What he wore had so little textile that it barely qualified as clothes. I winced at the idea of being outfitted like this.

-- Will it be degradingly revealing?

-- Would you like it to be?

-- No, owner.

-- Me neither. It will be more entertaining when you strip it away.

I gulped.

"I am certain that we can choose something that will please us both. If not, well then it will just be me."

The Outsider released me. He stood by the bed.

"Climb."

I knew about that part. I moved over the covers on all fours to position myself. I stretched open, lowered my upper body, elevated my rear, and held my tail aloft.

"Nope. On your back."

That was less frequent. I rolled to my side, and then to my back. I drew my legs to myself and to the sides with my hands, offering a nice, complete view of my privates, and still decent access to my tail hole. My owner didn't kneel behind me. He went to my right side. He chased my hands away from my legs. He took my wrists and placed them together above my head. I kept them there. After that, he laid my left knee down on the covers, and took my right leg with him. He held it vertically against his chest, forming a comfortable ninety degree angle with my other leg. He slid his scaly arm along my thigh toward my broadened ass. He played with my presented anus, teasing it, pinching it. Sometimes, his fingers moved a tad higher, and massaged under my testicles, but he left my penis alone. I lay there. I felt relaxed; somewhat optimistic too.

Yeah. I was happy that my owner was back. I didn't want any politics, war, confusion, or guilt. I wanted things to be simple and easy. I wanted to obey my owner. When I thought about how submissive that was, with the anal stimulation I was under, I hardened. My cock slowly began to rise.

"There we go. That is the right attitude."

Moments flowed together. My fully erect penis waved coyly as I was played with. My owner released my leg. I left it in his care. He leaned over my chest, and fiddled with my collar. He rotated it so that the plaque faced forward. He stared at it and me.

"What a nicely domesticated Southern hero."

This gave me pause.

-- What does Sakorum saelev mean?

-- Southern hero.

-- Really? Saelev isn't "slave" in daom?

-- That too, yes, but I would not translate it that way. I like the irony.

-- Saelev is both "slave" and "hero" in the language of the Diviners? That's insane.

-- I told you. Diviners do not consider that anything can be objectively good or bad. They avoid value judgments without a context. To them, a saelev is forced to act in the interests of others. A hero does it out of a moral imperative, but none have a choice. If a saelev proves able to choose otherwise, they cease to be a saelev by definition. You necessarily imagine a happy hero and a sad slave. They do not. Both are simply saelev. Without additional information and criteria for measurement, they are equal.

-- That's... kind of awesome.

-- Daom is the language of truth.

-- I'm not sure if I would go that far.

-- It is.

-- Okay, okay.

The contact continued. It wasn't bad at all. I was getting aroused for my owner, but I didn't anticipate any release. It was how he liked me. He demonstrated no hurry, however. I wondered once more if this was going to be the rest of my life. The appalling dread that used to fill me when I thought of this had shrunk to a slight pinch to my pride. If offered freedom, I would take it, but was I still willing to make sacrifices for it? I remembered how painful it was to witness my owner getting stabbed. If there ever was a next time, would I risk the peace of the kingdom again? Or would I let the Outsider rule the South like I let him rule me? I envisioned myself, collared and displayed on the bed, serving as his entertainment. Not so long ago, I would've regarded this humiliation as excruciating. Was it bad that I'd changed my mind about it? The answer seemed to be both yes and no. If something that used to make me suffer didn't make me suffer anymore, it had to be good. If I'd become broken and submissive, wasn't it necessarily bad? I felt like I missed something, some enlightening detail. I'd have to keep thinking about it. In the meantime, I decided to do something for which I'd been awaiting an opportunity since the assassination attempt.

"May I ask an important question?"

-- Ask.

-- Why do you want to rule the Southern Kingdom?

-- There are many reasons.

-- Which one made you rise from a slave to ruler of the Lowlands and the Midlands?

The Black King froze.

-- Did Meleth tell you that?

-- I guessed.

-- Hmm. Well. First, you should know that I am not the ruler of the Lowlands. I lead a massive army from the Lowlands with support from the Blood Masks. I was influential there because of the number and motivation of my troops. They feared me, and they required my help at the same time. I got a large number of mouths to feed out of the region when starvation was threatening to undo the matriarch's efforts to unite the Bonehead clans. I do not technically rule the Lowlands, but, in practice, I could come back and take the Northwest by force when I am done here. The Lowlanders know that. When I am ready, I will annex them, probably without bloodshed, but I do not rule them yet.

-- Alright then. Why do you want to rule the Southern Kingdom and the Lowlands?

-- I need the Highlands as well.

I thought of the Tsam ambassador. I hardly held any affection for him, of course, but that wasn't a reason to wish war on a mostly peaceful nation.

-- What? Why? You said to Councilor Ghamed-

-- I know what I said. I said that I would not attack the Tsam, and that we would never be at war. It was my intention, and it still is. Once I have the Lowlands, I intend to annex them peacefully as well.

-- If they refuse?

-- I suspect they will not, but if they do, I will have to break my word.

-- But, owner, why?

-- Once I have the entire continent stable under my control, I will construct a great fleet.

-- Oh my god. You want to retake the lands of your exiled ancestors.

-- No. I mean, yes, I do want that very much, but it is not the reason.

-- What is? Why do you want to conquer so much?

-- I do not want to conquer, but I need it for what I want. I want to prove that it works.

-- What works?

-- The way I plan to rule.