“The trees grow more frequent,” said Tuvo. “Surely the forest is near.”
“It may be hours away,” said Julian.
One gathers that little has prepared denizens of sparser, more open worlds, denuded worlds, so to speak, those unfamiliar with original, natural worlds, to anticipate the nature, the breadth and density, of the forests commonly found in the northern latitudes of Tangara. Indeed, the Otungs, the Wolfungs, and such, as earlier noted, were all tribes of the Vandalii, the etymology of which term is apparently related to “van land,” or “forest land.” The Vandalii, then, despite the more recent semantic accretions, perhaps unfortunate, of the word, and related words, are perhaps best understood as the “forest people,” or “people of the forest,” such things.
The unwillingness of Heruls to penetrate the forest in large numbers, to transgress it in force, so to speak, aside from its preclusion of their common tactics, is understandable. The empire had lost divisions in such locales.
“When the tracks turn,” said Julian, “the Heruls will have discharged their mysterious passenger. At that point, the forest, or an Otung enclave, at least, will be near.”
“There will then be danger,” said Tuvo.
“There is danger now,” said Julian.
“Our most pressing need,” said Tuvo Ausonius, “is not to encounter an Otung enclave, which might prove our misfortune, but to make contact with the expedition sent to support Captain Ottonius.”
“It is the intent of the expedition to make contact with Otungs,” said Julian. “Thus, one hopes the two matters will coincide.”
“There may be many Otung camps, or halls, or villages,” said Tuvo.
“True,” said Julian, grimly.
“Presumably the imperial camp will now be in place,” said Tuvo.
“Almost certainly,” said Julian. “And it need not search out Otungs. Otungs will recognize its presence, and, doubtless, make the first contact.”
“A bloody one?” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“Perhaps,” said Julian.
“The expedition, in place, camped,” said Tuvo, “will be relatively impervious. It has armored vehicles, and hoverers. It will have a defensive perimeter. The area will be guarded, and flooded with light.”
“One expects so,” said Julian.
“At the camp we will be safe,” said Tuvo.
“We do not know that,” said Julian. “The danger there may be greater than here, in the forest.”
“We are not assured,” said Tuvo, “that we will find the camp.”
“No,” said Julian.
“The expedition may not have followed the course set in Venitzia.”
“Possibly,” said Julian.
“Perhaps we will not find it,” said Tuvo.
“Perhaps, not,” said Julian, leaning forward, straining against the harness.
“It might have been attacked, and overrun,” said Tuvo.
“Pull,” said Julian. “Pull.”
The two men continued to press forward, in the still-fresh tracks of the Herul sled.
“Masters,” said a woman’s voice, behind them.
“She is awake,” said Tuvo.
“Masters draw the sled,” said the voice.
Nika, bundled in her fur, and in her boots, slipped from the sled. She struggled to match the pace of the men.
The shallow, brittle snow continued to crackle beneath the boots of Julian and Tuvo.
“I remember nothing,” she said.
“You slept,” said Julian.
“I am awake,” she said. “Harness me.”
For much of their journey, Nika had drawn the sled. This was appropriate, for she was a slave.
“Remain on the sled,” said Julian.
“Masters?” she asked.
“Or you will be left behind,” said Julian.
“Yes, Master,” she said, taking her place on the sled.
Julian and Tuvo continued to follow the tracks of the Herul sled.
“Masters!” said Nika.
“We hear them,” snapped Julian.
In the cold, frosty air, the baying, even far away, was clear. It was most dangerous when the baying stopped, for then they were close, and approaching silently.
“They may alert others,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “They will arouse suspicion. They will mark our position.”
“We will proceed,” said Julian.
“Otungs, or Heruls,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“Or imperial troops,” said Julian, “anticipating our presence, and intent to intercept us.”
“To bring us safely to the camp,” said Tuvo.
“Or guarantee,” said Julian, “that we will never reach it.”
“The baying is louder now, closer,” said Tuvo.
“Continue on, pull,” said Julian.
7
“You are here?” asked the barbarian.
He had just emerged from the comparative brightness of the tunnel. The chamber was not much illuminated by the two small hanging lamps.
He looked about the chamber, and to the foot of the couch.
Was the slave not present? Such a lapse might call for punishment. Surely then she must be in the chamber.
“I am here, Master,” said Filene.
“You are on the couch, concealed within the covers,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“What are you doing there?” he asked.
“Awaiting Master,” said Filene. “In my collar I am heated, and filled with longing. Remove your robe, and join me.”
“Do you think that you are a free woman?” he inquired.
Filene’s heart skipped a beat. “No, Master,” she said. “Certainly not, Master!”
“How is it, then,” he asked, “that you would have me remove my own robe?”
“Master?” she asked.
“I am to disrobe myself,” he asked, “and hope to be invited to your furs?”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“You are indeed new to your collar,” he said.
“Hurry to me, Master,” she said. “Join me, within the furs. I wait!”
Her hand, moist, was tight on the handle of the knife.
He must approach. He must be closer.
“A slave,” he said, “is not a free woman, on whom one might attend in darkness, beneath covers, as though in modesty, or shame. A slave is to be seen, not hidden. Every bit of her is to be exposed, displayed for the Master’s perusal. Every one of his senses, his touch, his hearing, his sight, everything, is to be stimulated in the feast of the furs.”
“But I am new to my collar, Master,” she said. “Take pity on me! I am afraid! Be kind! Join me here, within the furs!”
The barbarian strode to the chest at the side of the chamber, lifted up the whip which lay upon its lid, shook out its coil, meaningfully, and snapped it once, sharply, in the chamber.
Filene cried out in misery.
The barbarian pointed to the floor before him. “Here,” he said.
“Master!” she cried out, in protest.
Again the whip cracked.
Filene then, in consternation, loosed her grip on the oval handle of the knife, leaving it well concealed, and slipped from the furs, and hurried to kneel before the barbarian. She was not at all sure she could have, knife in hand, its menace in sight, sprung from the furs and crossed the distance between them. And what if the blow of that terrible device in his hand should arrest her progress, coiling like fire about her, perhaps binding her very arm to her side?
“An ignorant slave begs forgiveness,” she said, head down.
“You are very pretty,” he said. “Do you require the instruction of leather?”
“No, Master,” she said.
“Good,” he said.
One regrets putting a lovely slave to the leather, but sometimes it is appropriate, quite appropriate.
One desires perfection in the service of a slave.
He coiled the whip, and tossed it to the foot of the couch. This action much relieved her apprehension. She did not wish to experience the excruciating pain of a punished slave, and she was not sure, were she lashed, that she could muster the strength or will to fetch the knife. She was not sure she could have managed to rise to her feet. She might have found herself foiled and defeated, before him, lying at his feet, scarcely able to move, alone and helpless, in the misery of her beating.