Our story began here.
The Invasion of Timbre
The cliffs of Challis stood like a wall for as far as the eye could see in both directions. They weren’t high as cliffs went and unusually from a Precips perspective they were topped by sporadic clusters of pine trees that grew so abundantly here in the north. Facing the cliffs were the combined fleets of Precips and Timbre ranging the seas in patrol.
Prince Jason viewed the shoreline with grim satisfaction. Every so often a horseman would break cover and go racing along the edge of the trees atop of the cliff before ducking into the undergrowth. We have them rattled, he thought. He knew that his smaller faster ships had eyes on every port and possible landing site ready to turn on their keels and signal the larger flotillas should any western ship try to run the blockade.
Since his previous battle, his fleet had dominated the northern ocean, a situation that coupled with the internal collapse of the kingdom of Challis, had taken that nation out of the war.
Jason knew that victory was in no small part due to the magical intervention of Maxine Du Jared and he regretted that she had been recalled to Timber for the battle there. Still, the blockade was working and a good part of the Western Army was bottled in Challis, unable to swell the ranks for the invasions elsewhere.
“Does it matter then?” Captain Timorous asked.
The Admiral shrugged.
“We might have prevented the landings at Precips if we had known, but nothing could have prevented the fall of Motra Mundy,” he said. “In any case, the army on Challis is going nowhere. Those were our orders.”
“What if they use magic against us?” Timorous remembered the mountains of ocean falling on the foe at a word. Thanks to Maxine, that had served them well, but the captain feared what would happen if the tables were turned.
As if reading his mind another authoritative voice answered his fears.
“Wild Magic holds no dominion over the sea and even without the presence of a magus; my fellow adepts and I are more than a match for any threat here.”
Captain Timorous turned to view the old man. He hadn’t liked the look of him since he had first been dispatched to replace Maxine in leading the cadre of wizards. It wasn’t just that the captain felt they were being palmed off with a mere wizard, but the ancient sage looked too frail for war and he was far too condescending.
“Mr Dniester, you are confident that you can contain any magical threat then?” Prince Jason asked.
“Any magical threat, you say, well that is a big ask indeed,” Dniester replied, “But I know I can meet any challenge that is likely to arise.”
*
Motra Mundy was still burning and even though his forces would need the city largely intact Maiestatis had given no orders to halt the carnage. This after all was what he had foreseen and victory was in his grasp.
Draken watched the demon shuffle from side to side and at first he was puzzled by what he saw. Surely the Wolf of the West and last of Triptych could see that their army would need the port before the war was done. The enemy may have been out manoeuvred, but it still held a threat at sea and if Maiestatis knew where the King of Precips and those damn mages were, he was not saying.
“The fire is spreading,” the warlock offered tentatively.
But the demon ignored him as he continued his grotesque dance.
“Don’t we need the port?” Draken tried again.
“The port will survive the onslaught,” Maiestatis said chokingly, his mouth and head twitching. “I have seen it, seen it.” His voice scratched like rats’ claws on marble.
From the hill he not only saw the city as it was, but how it had been and would or could be again. There were still hopelessly hopeful people fighting for their homes and resisting the invaders. Maiestatis could feel the song of their pain and frustration as he danced.
“What about…?” Draken tried one more time.
“The mages?” the demon cackle-croaked, “They come, they come, but he is not among them. Not yet.”
Draken was not sure of whom he spoke, so he said nothing. The latest reports had been that Castle Maelon was under siege and even without reinforcements from Challis they outnumbered the allied armies in Timbre by five to one or would until the King of Precips arrived with is paltry army. Why was the damn demon so complacent? They should strike now before the allies combined their forces.
The warlock looked back at the city and to the land beyond stretched out before them. Soon it would be time to do his part.
*
Nansi Pyke hated that she had no magical ability. It meant that as a woman she had been relegated to a commissary role in the coming siege on Timon. At least she hoped there would be a siege. If there wasn’t and the fools of Timbre decided to meet them in open combat then the battle would be short and fierce and she would have no role to play at all.
Nansi, the Sword Leader of the Fourth Battle Coven, was half a head taller than most woman of her clan, that is to say a foot shorter than most of the men. But what she lacked in physical presence she made up for in determination. Her hard grey eyes had seen much in her 25-year life and if anyone had every thought she was beautiful, they had never said.
Formerly she had been second upper housemaid at Griswold Hold far to the West, a bitter remote place that had afforded her little authority and 18 hours a day hard drudgery. There had been few men of her social rank and her time had been spent bitching her way to the top of an inferior heap of females. Foolish women who did nothing but preen themselves for imaginary men they would never see and do as little work as possible.
When the conscription order had come most women had been horrified. This had been the first war in history that had ever admitted women; war was no place for them, or that was the common view.
But Nansi was an uncommon girl and ambitious. Cropping her dusty brown hair like a boy, she had quickly transferred her paltry domestic leadership role into that of marshalling sergeant. Unlike many other more reluctant women she had applied herself diligently to every task assigned her. This had included three extra hours a day at weapons drill while other warrior maidens slept. Added to that was the fact that she was one of the few women who could read so she had quickly risen to be an officer.
Up to now the women cadres had been assigned to rounding up the surviving civilians and guarding supply wagons. There were great many slaves to be resettled in the West and even with men to spare the War Leader had demanded every one of them for the coming battles.
Nansi drew her sword and scythed a stand of grass just outside Motra Mundy’s city gates. Nothing but a glorified housemaid again, she thought bitterly. Then she caught an under-sergeant watching her display of temper.
Under-sergeant Rondel was a tall nervous woman whose face had a permanently startled look as if she had no idea where she was or what she was doing, which in her case was probably true. The woman was a hopeless warrior and had probably only made under-sergeant on account of the fact that she could read.
“Get on with your work girl,” Nansi bellowed at her.
The woman jumped and unconsciously grabbed at her behind.
“Eh… Ma’am… one of the prisoners…” the poor women looked like she wanted to flee.
Nansi wondered how the stupid girl had ever made under-sergeant, but then on reflection it wasn’t that much of a mystery, few enough wanted the job. No wonder we don’t get a proper job.
“What about this prisoner? Spit it out girl,” Nansi barked at her.
“Ma’am, she was complaining and the sergeant beat her…” the under-sergeant said meekly.
“So,” Nansi shot back angrily.
She hated the sergeant. She was a brutal woman who provoked the prisoners beyond reason and made everyone’s job more difficult, but in this army such reasoned stances might be seen as a weakness.
“She didn’t just… ma’am… eh… it was one of the highborn women that… our orders…” the under-sergeant was obviously terrified that the whole coven could get crucified if they disobeyed standing orders.
“For the gods’ sake,” Nansi groaned as she strode back through the city gates.
Inside the city reeked of burnt flesh and stale smoke. Just one of the reasons Nansi had opted for hanging around the gates. She was a country girl and hated cities at the best of times. This was so far from the best of times for Motra Mundy that very stones might weep.
There was an open area to the right of the gates where wagons had been stored and beyond it was a tavern that served as the Fourth Battle Cadre’s headquarters. The cadre’s pennant hung next to the Wolf’s head of the Western Host’s flag, obscuring a large ugly painting of a great red head of a boar, which Nansi presumed was the tavern’s name.
To the left, opposite the pub, was a burnt-out building that could have served any purpose. And although its walls still stood the floors inside were gone as was the roof, so that building was exposed to the sky right down to the cellar.
It was in the basement of this ruined structure that prisoners had been secured pending dispatch to wherever they had been assigned. In addition an impromptu whipping post and pillory had been set-up by the hastily repaired doors and next that was a small block of wood over which women warriors were disciplined when the need arose.
The difficult highborn women were supposed to be taken down a peg by being caned across this block like her warriors, but Nansi could now see that Lady Merringham, the self-appointed leader of the slaves, was sitting on the floor nursing a bloody face while the sergeant stood over her bellowing.
“I don’t take no shit from the likes of you, not anymore,” the sergeant was yelling.
Lady Merringham glowered up at her defiantly. The woman has spunk, no question, Nansi thought.
“Callous, Sergeant Callous,” Nansi called over, thinking and not for the first time that it was a highly apt name, “What is that woman doing out here?”
“Complaining,” Callous sneered.
Callous was a tall girl of around Nansi’s age. She was a city girl and although pretty, was given to rough ways. Nansi suspected that she may have had a less than respectable occupation before the war.
“Reasonable complaints are to be brought to me. Unreasonable complaints… well just cane their backsides or birch them in the pillory,” Nansi said with a sigh, adding pointedly, “Highborn ladies are caned, remember?”
“I don’t need no help here Sword Leader,” Callous did not even turn round or salute.
Nansi had been here before, but not while there was still fighting all around. She couldn’t let this pass. Furthermore all the guards were watching them.
The sword leader turned and glanced at the headquarters building. The Cadre Leader had strolled onto the street and was leaning on the door post. No doubt she had seen the beating and was considering what to do about the breach of standing orders.
“Callous,” Nansi said sharply, “Stand to attention when you are talking to me.”
The sergeant was still bending over the fallen noble woman, but she turned her head with a look of scorn in Nansi’s direction before slowly standing upright in a poor semblance of ‘at attention.’
“Ma’am,” Callous said belatedly in acknowledgement.
“Highborn ladies are caned; don’t you remember the standing orders?”
Callous shrugged and mumbled something.
“What was that?” Nansi barked, striding forward to close the gap between them.
“The bitch had it coming,” Callous sneered, adding, “Ma’am.”
Nansi pressed her face in close to her sergeant and whispered, “I decide what she had coming, get it? If you want to have some fun, then do it as if you at least gave a shit about orders. Or don’t do it at all.”
“Not one of these bitches could fill me shoes and you know it. So it looks like we are just stuck with each other,” Callous said with a yawn. The absent ‘ma’am’ was deliberate.
Nansi had never killed a woman, or a man, come to that. She had seen it done though. An officer had been crucified for a breach of orders on the long march to the coast. That had been before the ships and that long horrible voyage. Callous was pushing it.
Damn this stupid woman, Nansi groaned inwardly.
The only difference between a sergeant’s rig and one of the ordinary warriors was the red rope that was wound around her shoulder. Nansi gave Callous one long hard look willing her to say ma’am and stand down.
It soon became horribly clear that the woman was never going to. Damn, Nansi thought and snatched the rope from the sergeant’s shoulder.
Callous gaped at her for a moment, giving Nansi time to bark an order.
“Under-sergeant, put this woman over the block,” she yelled, then seeing that no one moved, she all but screamed, “Do it.”
Even then it took a moment before the under-sergeant motioned to three other warriors. By then Callous was smirking.
“You think you can handle this mob without me,” she sneered.
But there was no resistance. The former sergeant just walked casually to the block and dropped her breeches. Then kneeling with her bare thighs touching the dust, Callous bent over so that her bare bottom was sticking upwards and her head was down.
Nansi studied the proffered bottom in some awe. If this woman hadn’t been selling it back before the war, she certainly could have, she thought. And then someone handed her a cane.
*
Callous was an athletic woman, but no less feminine for that. There was a defiance to her posture and from her place over the block she seemed to thrust her bottom up at Nansi as if daring the Sword Leader to do her best.
In her own way Nansi Pyke would normally take some pleasure form having a comely bottom at her mercy, just as Callous did. But for the former sergeant it was a brutal way of life and she had demonstrated no finesse or art to her sadism. Whereas for Nansi it was just good sport and she had long dreamed of this moment.
However, it was no game and Nansi’s limited pleasure came at a cost. The demotion of Callous would be a sore loss to their battle coven. Damn the woman.
With that bitter thought Nansi brought the cane down with a will and struck Callous hard across her firm hard buttocks. The former sergeant did not even flinch. Although the Sword Leader noticed that the ninny of an under-sergeant did. By the gods’ rotten teeth I can’t promote her, Nansi thought bitterly and in frustration she struck Callous again across the bottom.
There were now two hard red scores across the woman’s behind. In contrast to the pale ruddiness of Callous’s flesh, they stood up like mountain tracks and looked twice as raw. But still she made no show of discomfort.
“How many do you think Rondel?” Nansi asked the under-sergeant with a hint of mockery.
Rondel gaped and began rubbing her hands on her thighs in some agitation. Her eyes, Nansi noticed, had not left Callous’s bottom. I would love to have you across this block, Nansi thought. And then she recalled that she already had. The woman had a ridiculously small bottom, Nansi remembered and she had not taken her punishment well.
“I… eh…” Rondel swallowed and continued to stare. “A standard is 15, ma’am,” she said nervously.
“I know what a standard is woman,” Nansi barked, “So you think gross insubordination and disregard for standing orders only rates a standard then do you?”
Rondel looked panicked and finally tore her eyes away from Callous to look at Nansi.
“No I… a double standard I should think,” she spluttered.
“You think far too much woman. I ought to give you a double standard,” Nansi snapped.
Rondel blanched.
Returning to Callous, Nansi laid on three more strokes just about as hard as she could and then added another with some real vim. This stroke finally got a grunt from the former sergeant. But it was Nansi who was doing all the heavy breathing.
Looking down she saw that the bottom was heavily scored now and the redness from each welt had ‘bled’ out into the surrounding whiteness. I’ll have her bleeding in earnest if she doesn’t… but it was just Nansi’s frustration. That sort of extremity was something that was more Callous’s line.
Nansi looked at Lady Merringham on the ground. She was still bleeding from her nose, but her eyes were clear and sharp. You don’t want us here do you? Nansi thought. She had been so determined to get away from her drudge ridden life that she had never given the least thought to the justice, necessity or the indeed the value to the war.
Somewhere someone screamed and there was a crash of falling masonry. Parts of the city were still burning, mostly for the pleasure of brutes like Callous, Nansi realised.
Nansi put nine hard strokes down with a more artful follow through of her wrist. With 10 or 15 seconds between each Callous began to twitch a bit and for the last three she groaned louder than she yet had.
There was no sign that the skin was broken, but for mischief’s sake and as a precaution she ordered one of the more brutish women in her command to fetch a scrubbing brush and some styptic before she continued with the second 15.
Callous’s bottom was raw beyond belief before Nansi struck again and this time the former sergeant felt it. A fact which she announced through gritted teeth at each stroke.
Damn the woman and damn this war, Nansi screamed inwardly, damn it all.
To be continued.
