The big predator turned its head back to me, and I could feel its deep satisfaction and gnawing hunger. It had what it had been after, and it would take it now. From twenty feet away it began to launch itself at me.
My mind found no way to attack it from within, but I couldn’t turn my eyes away. In two bounds it was ten feet closer, and I knew that running would be useless—even if I’d been able to run. Then it left the ground in a savage spring—and twisted in the air, screaming at the shaft in its chest that was ending its life. I watched as it struck the ground, thrashing in the mud in spite of being already dead.
There was a pain in my chest and I gulped in air, not having realized that I’d been holding my breath. Weakly I turned my head and saw the barbarian standing only five feet away with a bow in his hand, and never had he looked so magnificent—or welcome. I wanted to go to him, but instead I squatted down where I was to keep from collapsing in the mud.
“My apologies,” he said as he came closer to where I squatted with whirling head in trembling hands. “I am hunting for fresh meat, and did not mean to come between you and the death you seek. I shall continue on my way at once.”
He started away again, his thoughts calm, but I was frantic. “No!” I screamed, staggering erect and running after him to throw my arms around him. “Don’t leave me again! I’ll admit it if you have to hear it, but don’t leave me again!”
“What is it that you would admit, wenda?” he asked softly, stroking my hair as I shivered against him.
I had to swallow the sour taste in my mouth before I could answer him. “I admit I’m afraid to die,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “I’m afraid to die, so I must be a slave. You were right to put chains on me.”
“You are a great trial to me,” he sighed, continuing to smooth my hair. “It is truly said that the smallest of bands may surround the greatest of difficulties. Know you, wenda, that there is much difference between fearing death and not wishing to die. Because you do not wish to die, you do not, prelta, become a slave. I, too, do not wish to die, yet I am no slave.”
“I don’t understand,” I moaned in misery, clinging to the pulse beat I could feel in his chest. “I just know that I don’t want to be hunted again. That thing was already tasting me, it could feel its teeth sinking into me.”
I broke off at the sickening memory, shuddering beyond my control to stop. I felt again the death of the two men, and I knew that I had almost shared it. The barbarian held me tight against him, and I knew, too, that the shuddering disturbed him.
“I had not realized you would feel this so sharply,” he said, almost to himself. “The thing was a mistake. Come, the camp is not far.”
He urged me along with him, and I couldn’t bring myself to loosen my hold on him. I had come so close! If I couldn’t submerge the memory, I would never be able to stop shaking again.
When we reached the camp, he made me sit down on the camtah’s veranda, dry and warmed now from the sun. I hugged myself, rocking back and forth, trying to gain control of my emotions. I was almost to the point of projecting what I felt, and that couldn’t be allowed to happen. The seetar were already snorting and throwing their heads around, and if I let loose, they might stampede.
The barbarian came back with the metal bowl, but it wasn’t steaming. He helped me put it to my lips and I swallowed gratefully- until I realized it was that vile drishnak. It had had water added to it, but it was still awful, yet he made me drink it all. I coughed and choked until it was down, then he put the bowl aside.
“The drishnak will help to calm you,” he said, taking my face in his hands to study me. “You are pale yet, but there are no tears. Why do you not cry when there is reason to cry?”
“Don’t say I cry for no reason.” I muttered, trying to rid my mouth of the drishnak taste. “if you were never going to see your home or friends again, you’d cry, too.”
“Truly, an excellent reason for tears,” he agreed solemnly, but there was some emotion he was holding back on. “I would know how the knowledge of this came to you.”
“You told me so yourself.” I said, starting to feel warm and a little drowsy. “You’re going to give me away to anyone who wants me, and I’ll never be able to go home.”
“I had thought this was but a possibility” he murmured, his eyes half closed. “Have you decided then to give me no help in my cause?”
“No.” I answered vaguely my eyes meeting his. “But I know something will go wrong, and I’ll be blamed. Then you’ll give me away because I’m your slave. I want to go home.”
“And so you shall,” he said softly, letting me lie down right there on the veranda. “Did I not give my word to return you to your embassy? You will give me your aid to the best of your ability, wenda, and I shall keep my word. Now you may sleep awhile to restore yourself. Later, we shall continue on.
“Nothing but wenda to him,” I mumbled, getting very comfortable. “Why can’t he see me as more? I’m not crippled any longer...”
I let it trail off because it was useless. I would never be anything but wenda to one like him. I wanted it not to matter, but it did matter. It mattered a lot.
I slept for a few hours, and the sun was still bright when I woke. I sat up groggily and stiffly looking around at the peaceful camp, and then the barbarian noticed me. He brought over a piece of meat and a waterskin, watched silently as I bolted down the meat, then sat himself cross-legged near me.
“Have you restored yourself?” he asked, concern and something else touching his thoughts. I wanted to see what the something else was, but it was too well covered.
“I’m all right.” I answered, trying to see through his beautiful blue eyes. “Did you mean what you said before I slept? That you would let me go home?”
“I did.” He nodded. “I gave my word. I ask only that you aid me as you gave your word to do. Is it agreed?”
His gaze was level and serious, as though the decision were really mine. “What choice do I have?” I asked with a shrug, picking at the outside of the waterskin. “I’m your slave, aren’t I?”
“Belonging, not slave,” he corrected, and I could feel the flash of impatience that he didn’t allow to show “There is a difference between belonging and slave. The Hamarda, in the desert to the west of my people’s lands, hold slaves. These slaves are chained closely and beaten upon whim. Do you not see the difference?”
I fingered the chain around my neck and remembered the last switching. “There’s a difference?”
He stared at me, fighting hard to keep his temper, then he took a deep breath and muttered, “There is much to be said to the benefit of tears. Let us see, wenda, if we may find a difference. Fetch for me that saddle strap.”
I stood up and got the saddle strap he’d pointed to, then brought it back. “Good.” He nodded, taking the thing out of my hand. It was heavy leather, thick and stiff, and its edges felt sharp. “Now do you kneel here beside me.”
I knelt down, wondering what he was getting at, and was surprised when he took me across his lap and put my arms behind me. When he let go of my arms I tried to get them apart, but the wrist bands were clipped together. He lifted my ankles to him, and in another minute they were clipped tight, too!
“What are you doing?” I asked, squirming on his lap to see if I could get loose. I got nowhere, of course, and his hand stroked my bare bottom.
“I am about to beat you,” he announced calmly. “With this strap you so kindly brought. I shall tie you by the throat to a tree, and then I shall beat you. It will, you must know, cut your body terribly, but I may do as I wish with my slave:”