The Sighs of the Priestess Ch. 01

"Well, it still makes little sense to me, " the servant said. "When I travel, I ride in wagons," he remarked with an attempt at superiority that was not lost on the fighter.

"With the women," the warrior said quietly as a gentle retort, "and others who have no bollocks and cannot or will not fight for themselves but somehow expect ones like me to protect them when they have need of us yet point at us and laugh when they feel safe."

He nodded once, "You would live longer on a horse. The wagons are the first of the inexperienced archer's targets in an ambush, since they are large and move slowly."

The servant stopped. "Is this true?"

"Yes," the fighter shrugged. "The archers that I work with are told never to shoot at wagons first. It wastes arrows better used later in the fight when you need them."

He looked the servant up and down a little dismissively, "You ride in the wagons, just how much of a threat could you be? The archers are supposed to remove the real opposition. The ones in the wagons are as calves for the slaughter and put up just about as much of a fight. Yet this is what all archers try to do at first. I have trained archers before, and usually I must find the one bowman who cannot listen. I take his bow from him and send him to be a wagon driver and then the rest are cured of the malady."

The soldier decided then to have a bit of fun at the expense of the foolish and hopeful young man. The gods knew he had little enough in his life to laugh about. But at the same time, he liked the boy and wanted to offer advice.

"You have never been even close to a fight. But there may come a time when you could have need of other skills than what I see. You should learn to ride a horse so that you might live longer and be of more use to your master. It is something that you should think about."

The servant didn't like the sound of it since there was the distinct possibility of getting dirty, but then it came to him that he might find himself near to men such as this one much more often.

"Well I am glad that there are those such as you here now to teach these leather-covered savages," the servant said a little haughtily.

Not being a warrior, he couldn't have known that his remark could be seen as an insult when in fact it had been an awkward attempt at a compliment. Walking behind him, the fighter smiled a little, knowing what was meant and why.

The servant stepped ahead nervously and almost jammed the key into the lock in his hurry to open the door to the soldier's quarters. He suddenly realized the rashness of what he'd said and felt afraid to find himself caught and with nowhere to go. He opened the door and stepped back.

The fighter walked past him into the chamber, but as he did, he caught the servant's arm and pulled him inside. He closed the door and pushed the young man against it, leaning close.

"If you think about the wagons," the fighter remarked impassively, "and If you try to put yourself in my leather-covered savage's sandals, you would see that it is no treat to have to pull the injured and dead bodies off the contents of the wagon after the fight when one searches for something for oneself."

He leaned closer to the thin youth. "Something sweet and ..."

He reached out his hand slowly.

"Pretty and, ..." his large and calloused hand brushed the backside of the foppish servant lightly with his fingertips. The youth almost jumped at the touch.

"Soft and edible," the fighter growled quietly as the servant whimpered.

But the fighter hid his smile at his own fun and caressed the youth's flanks to squeeze once, knowing exactly the response that he'd get, and when the servant tried to move his bottom away from the touch that he'd longed for out of sudden uncertainty, he felt the fighter's arm reach around and then he felt a tiny portion of the fighter's vast strength as he was pulled and crushed a little painfully against the studded leather.

The young servant gasped but knew that he couldn't move, not even a little, and though he was frightened, he also felt the thrill of the solid hardness of the warrior's body under the leather armor. The fighter chose this moment to complete his sentence as he looked into the doe-eyed expression on the young man's blushing face.

"And hoping to be fucked slowly for an hour at the least."

He smiled, "Each time."

He almost burst out in laughter when he heard the longing sound of the servant's soft groan.

"P-please sir," the servant pleaded as he trembled, "I -- I have duties, I -- "

"You'd love to be kissed by a leather-covered savage, I know this," the fighter nodded a little as he moved his hand to stroke the servant's ass.

"No," the youth pleaded, I - I must go, I-"

"Just think, "the soldier whispered, "there is no one here now and I am sure that there is a bed here someplace that you have made up very nicely for me. You could come and lie in my arms while I kiss you all afternoon."

"No, please..."

The soldier wanted to laugh, but instead put on a surprised face, "You do not want this, boy?"

The servant shook his head with wide eyes, absolutely terror-stricken now. He wasn't inexperienced, but the thought of a man this large and strong...

The fighter released his hold and took the servant by the throat. "Then tell me why your little stick here is as stiff as a rod. I don't even have to look to know that you have already begun to wet your robe from only my touch."

He gathered a handful of the servant's tunic in his large fist and picked him up to press him against the door of his new quarters so that he could look into the young man's eyes. The young man felt the discomfort of the cloth pulled tight under his arms and the strange feeling of having nothing under his feet. He was scared to death and yet, he was beginning to feel a bit of excited joy at the same time.

The warrior's expression changed suddenly,"We are not all as stupid as you seem to think. While you laugh and pretend to be better, we all know who the dying will fall to. Since you seem to like me so much, you can ride in my wagon with my supplies the next time that we go to war and you can please me in my tent at night -- every night."

He leaned in close while doing his best not to laugh as he growled, "all ... night."

He was surprised when he heard the groaning gasp from the servant. He hadn't meant for it to happen and had misread the state of the servant's arousal. The only reason that he didn't show his slight disgust was that in spite of this ruse, he actually liked the youth, though he wished that he'd drop the mannerisms that he showed. Even taking his desires into account, there was no need to fawn.

He sighed to himself. He'd brought this on himself with his play-acting, after all.

"A soft and sweet sound you make for me for so little effort. I could make you do that all the night long and you would ache for it again the next night."

The servant groaned softly, and his eyes told of his fear. But all the same, the scarred soldier heard his almost silent whisper when he'd said it. "Yes."

"We both now know what it is that you crave," the fighter growled, "If I hear of any disrespect from your lips toward the fighters who keep you safe inside the walls here, I will make your dream come to pass and it will happen as a certainty. And I am not always gentle."

He wanted to roll his eyes here. If he spread the horseshit only a little thicker on this, he could begin work as an actor in the plays.

"Now, what is this of a slave for me?" he asked, "I need no slave. I want no slave."

"You are given one nonetheless." the servant groaned in dismay, feeling his erection beginning to twitch again to give him away, and it hadn't even softened yet. "Some she-demon from out of the dunes, they say, one who will not be tamed."

"Say all of it," the fighter whispered, closing in on the young man's ear. "Tell me that she can't be tamed as easily as you."

The youth nodded and whispered, "Yes, it is so."

He let the servant down and let go of his tunic. As the youth tried to straighten his clothing while unsuccessfully trying not to look at the dark spot from his semen on it and how his erection strained painfully out before him the fighter reached out and took the youth's face in his hand, though gently.

"Mark you this," he said, "I know what you want, but I do not want the same thing. There is a lesson here for you and it is as important as anything I would teach a fighter. Hide your young lust better than you do for your own good. You will still find many chances for what you want, but I do not think that you would want the roughness of being used by a callous fighter."

"I do like you," he said, "but I don't want you in my bed and I have no want of you in the way that you would hope. Seek me out when you can, and I might find a way to arrange that I teach you a little so that you learn to ride a horse and also some ways to protect yourself. You could do with a bit of muscle on you and I can help you put it there if you would work at it. Then, with a bit of luck, I might arrange for you to work where I train. You would find some for what you want, and be a little less helpless and prone to be hurt. I have no wish to see you with painful tears in your eyes."

He smiled, "You should stop looking like a frightened deer now."

The servant smiled shyly and nodded, though he couldn't bring himself to face the warrior now, "I think I would like to learn these things if it can be done"

"Good, that is the first thing that you have said to me today which does not make me wish that this was a bad dream. Now go and dream of me in your bed this night. What happened here is all that you will get from me, and I did not mean for it to happen," he chuckled, "You are far too fast."

The young man hung his head in a bit of shame, but also to hide his happiness. He held out the key to the chamber and as the fighter took it, the servant threw his other arm around the thick and muscled neck and pulled himself up quickly to kiss his cheek and then he was reaching for the door latch in less time than it took to blink.

"Thank you," he whispered before he opened the door and ran away down the long corridor, trying to hide his new arousal and knowing that he had a hard task in doing that. The battle-scarred veteran had him pegged and he knew it. He needed to get to his own quarters for a clean tunic. He hoped that there was no one there now so that he could find some relief.

The warrior grunted in shocked surprise and looked at the key in his hand. If the youth ever tried that again, he thought, there would be some pain in it for him, though he supposed that he could understand. He shook his head and wondered what it was about living in a palace that turned so many of the servants into fops. It had been amusing for a moment, but he had about as much interest in the young fool as he did in owning a slave.

He looked around. He supposed that it wasn't much to some, but to one such as he was who had lived his life outside for months at a time, this was a palace. He looked at how his things had been stowed carefully by the young servant. It was a shame that he didn't know how to do it in the most efficient manner. If you've had to carry your home on a horse or on your own back for any length of time, you learned pretty quickly the best ways to do it.

The sad thing about it was that he knew why it had been done so carefully. He knew that it had been well-intentioned. The youth had obviously done his best, and he knew the why of that as well. The servant was infatuated with him, it was bloody obvious. He didn't know how he should feel about that. He'd never been the kind who wanted that kind of thing for himself, though he'd seen a bit of it around him in his day.

He didn't want that. "Sorry for your luck, boy," he muttered as he set to getting his things stowed properly. With that done, he looked for and found a slightly loose paving tile in a storage room. Working it out further with his old knife, he removed it and set it aside. Within five minutes, he replaced the tile over the things that he'd carried for half a year and carefully swept some dust between the tiles.

----------------------

He was standing at the wall of the small terrace when he heard the knock on his door. He acknowledged it with a bellow and began to walk inside.

He stopped and stared in a bit of disbelief. There were two of them now in his main chamber, the hopeful one was back with another, laying huge platters of food on the table. There was more food here than he'd often had to eat in a fortnight while on campaign.

His eyes took in the two of them. By the gods, they were interchangeable, he thought. They looked different between them, but he saw the same shy and hopeful gleam in their eyes.

He muttered his thanks, but they stood there side by side, looking at him a little expectantly.

He sighed, "I have much to think about here," he said, "and I must plan how to begin to train many fighters very soon with only two days to think of how I am to do it. I have no time for anything else and even less for subtleties of speech. If there is something which you would say, then say it."

The one who had led him here earlier stepped forward nervously. "I understand what you told me before and I now wish to do what you said if it can be. If you have need of servants at this school of yours, we would want to be considered. We will work hard and when there is time, we want to learn as well."

He almost wanted to groan. What would he do with two such soft-looking servants in a fighting school?

He shook his head, "I have to think of a place for storage to be built and I have no place for servants or food to feed them or any of that."

The smaller of them spoke up, "I can build what you need and ... we can build it, and would work hard. Our overseer has too many and would want to be rid of us." He struggled for a moment, but then just said it, "He sometimes sells ones like us to the brothels and we want to stay together."

He thought about it and looked at them. "You are lovers as well when you aren't lusting after fighters, correct?"

They nodded shyly and he rolled his eyes. "Send your master to me tomorrow afternoon and I will see what may be done, but I warn you both. I want no foolishness here, and you must hide at least some of this, especially what is between you. Go, and do not be too hopeful. You may regret this, for I am a hard master, knowing little of the soft ways around this place and I do not care a fig about sore and tired bodies who suddenly decide that they do not care for the work."

He found himself alone staring at the food. This was getting worse by the moment. He hadn't said anything, but he'd already asked for help and been refused with the explanation that no fighters could be spared to assist him. So now he was faced with two soft and hopeful-looking servants who wanted to work for him. He could only imagine the two of them in the midst of a pack of soldiers. At least two-thirds would want to kill them and the rest?

He didn't even want to think about it.

But he had an answer at least. It they were all that he could get and they were really interested in learning, then he'd teach them, he decided. He didn't really care what people did together in the dark, but those two? They weren't going to stay soft and helpless-looking for very long.

His mind suddenly came up with an image of them chained together and being dipped in honey before being thrown into a pit full of warriors. It was an absurd notion, but at least it made him laugh for a minute until he heard the conversation outside his door.

He stood up and stepped closer, overhearing the talk of - at least three jailers - he gathered from what was said. In another few moments, knew that his unwanted slave was about to be dropped into the confusion of his day, and a few minutes after that had come to him, he heard at least some of what had been attempted to break her -- unsuccessfully if he understood them correctly. He also heard their fearful talk of how she'd been able to resist or thwart them. Then he heard an approaching sound that he hated to hear, the sound of one in chains shuffling.

He shook his head for a moment and then yanked his door open.

"What in the nine hells are you doing holding meetings outside my door?" he growled at them.

All but the chained one bowed low to him instantly, "We come with your slave," one of them said.

He glanced at the girl quickly and meant for it to be only that, but his eyes went right back as he took in some of the beauty that they'd tried and failed to abuse, by the look of it. He could smell their unwashed sweat, but what he smelled most was her, standing there glaring and filthy.

He began to regret the actions that had won him all of these "honors". In fact, he now wished that he hadn't seen the general fighting all alone in the battle surrounded by foes.

"I want no slave."

The most self-important looking one of the bunch stepped forward, plainly used to implying threats to others. "You have been given this one by the lord general," he said, with an obviously smug-looking grin, "You are responsible for her. You may refuse her, and we will throw her into the refuse pit to die. I will have to make my report that you refused the kindness of the lord."

Finally, the soldier nodded, something in this day of mild horrors which makes sense.

"I wish to speak with the head jailer," he said, looking concerned.

"Well that is me," the toad grinned, beginning to stand up straight in an important way.

"Ah," the fighter nodded again in understanding.

His fist flashed out and the stooge stumbled backward. He held himself back, but even so, it took only a few more plus a kick in the ribs to bring the jailer to cowering on his knees. The fighter pulled him up and pushed him to the wall. He turned to look back quickly and the others backed away instantly.

He looked at all of them, "It is my belief that jailers are less than worthless," he said, "you all like the job because it allows you to hurt or kill others with no fear of reprisal. You get a soft life out of it, but I have never seen a jailer yet who is as hard a man as he seeks to show."

He began to slap the head jailer as punctuation. "You have no honor. You have no pride in how you look. You do not bathe," he looked down at the belly before him with disgust, "and you eat food that is meant for those in your charge."

He swung his hand again and slapped the jailer before him hard enough so that his eyes took a second to refocus on his face. "Go and make your report. Say whatever you like. I will make my own report to the lord general of how poorly you treated the slave of a fighter who saved the lord's life. I will tell of how you brought her to me covered in her own filth and her sores from that and whatever else you have done. I am certain that you were only told to keep her there, not to do this."

He punched the man several times faster than any of them would have believed possible and when he stepped away, the man was on his knees again, spitting out his teeth. The warrior felt a little better now, having taken out some of the day on this slug, but he was a little sad that in this place, it was likely considered bad form to kill anybody in the corridors.

He glared at them all, "Show me that I was wrong when I said that you have no honor. Are there any of you here who would like to avenge your leader? That is what fighters do. None of the proud and mighty jailers wish to play? Come on," he said with a smile, "so that I might offer this chained one some amusement."

The other three wouldn't even return his look. The one on the floor kept spitting. The fighter stepped over and pulled the head upward at a cruel and painful angle. "You. You will clean this mess before you do anything else. Hurry before your eyes close from the swelling. Then you will leave. I will tell the lord general that his jailers have gone soft from beating helpless prisoners and recommend that at least one ..." he looked down at the man, "be sent to my school to be trained."