She'd been called Melody for as long as she could remember, most of her 20 winters of life. It wasn't her true name; she didn't know her true name and those who did had been sworn to keep it from her less they lose their heads.

They wouldn't have been the first to lose their heads in her presence, of course; as she looked down upon the now burning village from where her horse stood still as a statue on a nearby hillock, Melody was sure heads had rolled this very day. She hadn't meant things to go this way, of course. She'd sent an envoy down to the small community shortly after sunrise to peacefully request food and shelter, only to watch as the man and his four escorts were taken down by arrows loosed from multiple directions.

Melody couldn't know what had led to the attack: misunderstanding, language barrier, fear on the villagers' part that their visitors were not as peaceful as they seemed. Whatever the reason, the attack had to be answered. It was, of course, by fire arrows, cavalry, and foot warriors. In the end, as their homes burned behind them, the two dozen survivors of the attack found themselves herded away from the inferno, forced to squat in the mud of a recent rain, and surrounded by their captors.

The ankles of the males were shackled with chains, the women by rope; the children were left unsecured. Once the survivors were trussed up, most of Melody's force set about collecting the stock animals, harvested crops, and other valuable resources.

It wasn't only men serving Melody; her Clan was not simply an invading horde of blood thirty adult male warriors but was in fact an ever-traveling community that included men, women, and children of all ages, much like the village they'd just destroyed.

By now, those on the hillock had descended and dismounted near the collected captives. Melody found there was an almost equal number of men, women, and children. The men were mostly elderly, infirmed, or injured; as expected, the majority of the fighting aged men had engaged with the attackers and been killed.

Many of the women were of childbearing age; many of those had children clinging to them for safety and reassurance; and, Melody was happy to see, many of the rest could easily be considered young and beautiful. These women would fetch a pretty price at the slave market in Yalla.

"Kapiten!"

One of the nearby men who was directing other men's actions heard Melody's call. He sent his subordinates off to continue with their pillaging and hurried to her, pressing his fisted hand to his chest in salute before responding, "Yes, m'lady."

"We will make camp here for the day to give the men rest," she told him. She looked to the hostages, then directed, "Kill a bullock and put two of these men to preparing it for the fire pit. Select six women to slaughter the chickens, ducks, geese."

"All of them, m'lady?" he asked.

"All of them," she instructed. "Easier to transport dead, cooked birds than live ones, wouldn't you agree, Kapiten?"

"Yes, m'lady," he answered, nodding his head respectfully.

"Look for rabbit hutches," she continued, again looking into the crowd of survivors. "If the cages can be transported..."

Her voice trailed off as her gaze fell upon a man who was only just now rousing from unconsciousness and sitting up near the center of the crowd of survivors. He was an incredible looking man: ruggedly handsome, physically fit; he was intriguing in a way Melody couldn't explain, which caused her just enough excitement in a certain part of her physique to lead to her chastising herself over her spontaneous and sometimes uncontrollable urges.

The Captain completed his Lady's unfinished command, "We will load the hutches onto the carts, m'lady. If they can't be transported, well, we'll be eating rabbit tonight as well."

"Tell me about that man," Melody inquired with a soft voice, still looking at the villager.

The Captain followed Melody's gaze, then explained, "I don't know what I can tell you, m'lady, sorry. He was found unconscious and bleeding from the back of his scalp. I presume one of our warriors struck him, knocking him unconscious. The other villagers must have carried him away from the fire ... or perhaps a couple of your warriors."

When Melody only continued to stare at the man in silence, the Captain asked, "Shall I have him executed, m'lady. A man who looks like that ... it is likely that he is a trained warrior and could be a problem--"

"No," Melody cut the man off. Still feeling a bit entranced, she ordered, "Ensure he is shackled properly--"

By properly, she meant with metal chains and shackles, of course. His feet would have enough movement relative to one another to allow him to walk but not run, and his hands would be just far enough apart for him to lift and carry things. A third chain would run between the middles of the other two chains, preventing the man from raising his hands any higher than his belly unless he was crouching down to take a shit or splash water over himself at a creek or lake to cleanse his body for example.

Melody continued her order "--and put him to work emptying my carts. I want my tent erected immediately and my bath filled with steaming water. You can put him to work gathering wood, Kapiten."

"Of course, m'lady," the Captain responded with a nod. He was about to turn but looked at the man once again. Concerned for his petite superior, he asked, "Shall I leave a guard or two to watch over this slave?"

Melody's lips spread in a slight smirk at the use of the word slave. It was so natural to automatically consider those caught in battle as such. The men captured here today who were physically up to it would be sold as slave labor or sent to the Fighting Pits to entertain their Masters and possibly earn them coin; the men who weren't up to such endeavors would instead likely be executed or simply left behind to fend for themselves in the ashes of their village.

There were, of course, two other options for men who looked like this one, with both of these opportunities employing the tool they carried around with them down below their belt line. Women from the Royal, Noble, and even Merchant classes often paid good money to be serviced by such men, particularly if their Masters -- or in Melody's case, Mistress -- portrayed them as mindless, heathenistic, groin thrusting barbarians. There was something about a man who was barely more than an animal -- whether actually so or simply made to seem that way -- that caused women of means to quickly and eagerly drop their coins and their undergarments to be serviced by such.

Breeders, of course, didn't require any specialized equipment down yonder to pass on their strength, endurance, size, and more. As for that other service ... well, Melody couldn't yet know whether or not this particular man had would fill her purse with coins. But she'd find out soon enough.

Melody looked to the man again, studied him a moment, then ordered the Captain, "Ensure that he knows that if he becomes any sort of a problem that I will have all of the children disemboweled before the rest of the slaves."

The Captain reacted with a bit of surprise; Melody was known for sometimes being ruthless, but this was a new one for the Captain. He gave her a respectful head nod and fist to the chest again and said, "Yes, m'lady."

And with that done, Melody headed off into the midst of the conflagration to see if the damage for total or there might be something worth saving from the flames.

Barely conscious, Kengetar found himself being forced to his feet and led away from the huddled circle of wounded captives by a large Northerner. As he was brought unsteadily to his feet, a second Northman locked a pair of iron shackles around his ankles, with a chain and a second pair of shackles ready for his wrists. As he tried to reach down and throw off his imprisoner, the first Northerner grabbed his arms and whispered in his ear words that chilled his blood.

"If you do anything we don't tell you to," he hissed, "anything at all, the children of your rathole village will have their own entrails for gibbets."

Stunned by the threat, Kengetar allowed the shackles to be placed upon him. He was then brought to the rear of one of the invaders' carts and forced to unload their baggage, like the rest of his people who were still standing. It was slow going. Kengetar was still bleary, and each time he dropped something or slowed down, the guard that had been assigned to him would threaten him and smack the backs of his legs with the flat of a sword. But despite his pain and shame, Kengetar refused to show any sign of weakness to his captors, except for the occasional stumble or fall that he was unable to control.

Kengetar remembered that the battle had begun with arrows shot at the Northerners' messengers, but after they had returned with the full horde and broken through the village wall, he and the other bravos tried to retreat back towards the houses. Kengetar had been one of the last to abandon his post however, and was slower than some of his kin, and when a rider overtook him and struck him on the back of his skull with a club, he lost consciousness. Once he had awakened, the battle was already over. Kengetar knew the wound had brought forth blood, but the chains he now wore made it impossible for him to raise his hands and check if it had stopped bleeding. He caught glances around him, and was disgusted by what he saw. The houses were burning, and his people were now chained out in the rain. He saw the treasures of his people being passed around as booty, and their livestock being slaughtered to fatten their destroyers. He heard the weeping of the women and children, and he could very well guess what their fate would be after the invaders tired of them.

After Kengetar had stumbled too many times and dropped too many loads, it became obvious that Kengetar was no longer suited for unloading carts. So Kengetar was then set to the impossible task of finding dry wood for burning on the muddy ground. The chain connecting his wrists and knees forced Kengetar to get down on all fours to grasp through the muck. He still didn't understand what made him special compared to the other captives. He had clearly been set apart from all his kin and the guard that watched him hadn't taken his eyes off him once, when other guards were left in charge of a handful of slaves each. The cold rain dripped down Kengetar's hair and around the contours of his face, hiding his tears. Anger and hatred blazed in his heart. He swore to himself to find a way to escape and free his people. Even the threat of the children's lives didn't hold him back, as he was sure that death would be a more merciful fate for them than whatever these monsters had in store for them.

Almost an hour after entering it, Melody emerged from the conflagration that once was the barbarian clan's village, her face tattoos almost imperceptible beneath the soot and ash that the on again, off again sprinkles had smudged upon her skin. A dozen men and twice as many women were either following her or waiting for her at the community's edge; they'd pillaged the buildings not afire or risked entering those that had been to salvage as many items of value as they could.

"Take it all to the tent, Kapiten" she instructed her senior military officer as he arrived. "I'll be in my tent, which I assume is standing...?"

"It is, m'lady," the man named Broon acknowledged. "It will still be some time before the fire is--"

She waved off the remainder of his news and gestured him back to his duties. The Captain passed Melody's instructions to the others, directing them to a large tent that was just moments away from being fully erect and secured. Broon gave sharp glares to those pillagers who might be contemplating keeping the more valuable items for themselves.

Unlike many cultures where battlefield loot was kept by he or she who'd discovered it, Clan Yalla was well disciplined to deliver every coin, cloak, candlestick, and chamber pot to a specified location for disbursing by Melody herself. The division of the spoils would have to wait, though; the smoke and soot were becoming annoying, and all Melody wanted was to strip out of her filthy field clothes and wash herself clean.

"M'lady!" an older woman, Haanya, called out with surprise when she saw Melody enter the tent. She rushed from the crackling, still growing fire assist her Mistress out of her weapons belt, cloak, leather armor, and layers of outer and inner clothing, all the time chastising her quietly for walking into the burning village. "You are the Lady, m'lady. You have people to do these dangerous things. Why you go into fire and get your clothes dirty and face dirty and hands dirty and..."

Melody had ceased listening to the old woman long ago, having heard it all before. The Lady as Haanya had called her had never been a stand back and watch the action type of leader. Sure, she hadn't engaged directly in today's fighting, but that was only because she'd hoped there wouldn't be any. More often than not, the leader of Clan Yalla was right in the violent mix of things, as the dozen or so scars gracing her body from the back of her neck to her belly to both arms and her left leg would attest. Haanya -- who because of her age and years of service to Melody -- felt far more comfortable with chastising her Mistress than did the typical slave, and one of her more often spoken complaints was that the 20 year old woman was far too young -- and beautiful -- a woman to be displaying so much dëme të shëmtuara -- ugly damage -- on display when she undressed for a bath ... or for a man.

"Men like scars," Melody told the woman for the umpteenth time when again she got dressed down while literally dressing down for a bath. "They are a measurement of life experiences."

Haanya guffawed: "On another man, yes, m'lady; not on a woman. You should be sitting in an elegant chair wearing satin and jewels while men kneel before you, laying gold and silver at your feet in the hopes of seeing your unscarred body naked in the marital bed he hopes to share with you upon your wedding night, not riding a horse into battles for which you have men who will gladly give their lives for you."

Melody laughed loudly, moving across to the wood cask tub into which three slave girls had been dumping pitchers of hot water. She ran a hand across the surface, finding its temperature perfect. As she stepped carefully into the almost too hot water, she said to Haanya yet again, "Those men of whom you speak, the ones who will gladly give their lives for me ... how long would they continue to do so if I did not show them that I, too, was willing to give my life for them?"

As the woman better than twice Melody's age began a long, rapid rant in her first language, she moved to behind her Mistress and began the time-consuming task of loosing her small-of-the-back length hair from its braids until finally it was fully freed. Melody only laid back into the water and let the heat envelope her. Haanya delivered a platter of cut up meats, cheeses, fruits, and more to a little table to her Mistress's left; she put a large glass of thick red wine on the matching but oppositely place table.

"Call the Kapiten, please, Haanya," she said as her head fell back and her eyes closed; the steaming water was already having the expected effect. The slave woman did as told, and Broon arrived shortly thereafter; he saluted with his head bob and fist to his armored chest, showing no reaction to clearly being able to see his Lady's dark, pert nipples just barely above the already dirty water. "That slave you put to work..."

"Yes, m'lady," he confirmed recalling which man about whom she spoke. "He is gathering wood for your fire."

"Bring him to me," she instructed. "I wish to talk to him."

The Captain only stared for a moment. Only now -- and just for a brief moment before again looking up -- did he let his gaze fall conspicuously to her display of womanly perfection: "Now, m'lady? Would you like to finish your--"

"Now, Captain," Melody insisted. "And ... I need you to do something else for me, too."

She gave Broon his second instruction and the man departed. Melody slipped down beneath the water's surface, ran her hands through her hair as it floated in the water, then lifted her head above the surface and smoothed it back away from her face. A guard entered, followed by the Sedent barbarian and yet another guard. Melody had returned to her previous position; once again, the brown nubs decorating her firm, young round breasts were visible just above the gently moving water.

A moment later, the Captain returned as well; he manhandled an uncooperative yet obviously frightened Sedent girl of perhaps 6 years of age off to one side of the tent. Melody looked to the two guards and said, "You may leave. But first ... unshackle my newest slave."

They didn't move, but when their Mistress repeated her orders and threatened the removal of their left nuts if they didn't obey, they each hurried to get the shackles off the man before hurrying out of the tent. Melody gave the barbarian a slow, up and down survey, then said to him in a polite tone, "Take your clothes off. I want to see all that I will be selling at the slave market come Full Moon."

He didn't seem to enthusiastic to do as Melody requested, so she glanced Broon's way. The Captain pulled his knife and held it tightly against the little girl's neek. Melody said with a soft, almost loving tone, "Please."

When Kengetar was shoved into the big tent, still muddy and bloody, he was prepared for the worst. When he saw the young girl enter shortly after him, his sense of trepidation grew. But when the naked woman in the tent ordered his shackles to be removed, and his guards to leave, his fear turned to confusion. He looked at the woman, who was apparently some sort of leader to these reavers, and appraised her with his distant, gray gaze.

The woman was enclosed about by what was, by his tribe's standards, decadent opulence. The large tent was carpeted and hung with tapestries. There were slaves to prepared to pour hot water into a private bath, within reach of which was rich food and drink. By all conventional wisdom the person who dwelt in such surroundings could only be soft and weak. But that's not what he saw.

The woman languorously lying in the tub was muscled and scarred, and like Kengetar, her body was marked according to her peoples' customs. While her marks were different from the Sedents', they were similar enough that Kengetar could still read them. The marks around her forehead, nose, and lips stated that she was of a warrior caste, much like Kengetar.

Kengetar's analysis was halted, when the woman impetuously ordered him to take his clothes off! His hackles raised at being ordered to do anything by someone who was not his elder. Immediately, Kengetar began calculating ways he might take his revenge. His first thought was to attack her and attempt to drown her in the tub, but he realized that even if he somehow succeeded, he would not be able to stop the remaining guard from slashing the neck of the girl, then slaying him in turn.

So, he realized that he would have to play along for now. He turned to the young girl and ran his hand down over his eyes in a mimic gesture, while mothing the word "close." Once he was sure the girl had shut her eyes tight, he turned back to face this foreign woman and removed his clothes.

Since the Sedents lived in the far South, where the climate was often warm, its people had no call to wear much clothing. Kengetar only had a loincloth and a pair of soft leather shoes, after his piecemeal armor had been taken from him while he was unconscious. After removing these bits, Kengetar looked straight ahead, with his arms by his sides. He would not show any vulnerability to this woman, even in his sorry state. He deliberately avoided looking at her perfect chest or her entrancing eyes so that his body would not betray him. His chest and arms were lined with the mementos of previous trials, whose scarflesh were ghostly white against his already pale skin. Where the scars were absent, his skin had remained smooth and unblemished.

Melody couldn't prevent a smile from spreading her lips at the barbarian's gesture to the little girl, instructing her to hide her eyes as he prepared to bare his all to his captor. She couldn't help but wonder whether he did so because he was lacking and feared the girl might point and giggle ... or was hung like a stallion, which would haunt the girl once she'd reached womanhood, leaving her wondering why her future husband was instead the one who was lacking.

In truth, once the new slave had shed his minimal amount of remaining clothing and was standing before her naked, Melody found herself fairly impressed. She mused, "Your father should be proud to have passed on such a mighty sword."

The man was conspicuously diverting his eyes from Melody. She understood this, of course; he could hate her for what she and her warriors had done to his village and people all he wanted, but nature would not prevent his body from reacting if he was to look upon her as she was.

Melody gestured to one of the slaves to bring her a robe. Before the girl reached her, though, Melody was already rising from the tub; a rivulet of water streamed down her body, washing downward over her womanly curves. Would the barbarian slave lift his eyes to take in the sight? Would he see that -- like the women of the Noble Class -- Melody's body was free of hairs below her neck, carefully shaved from her flesh by the girl now delivering the robe? Would he catch sight of the Snake Dragon tattoo -- the Holy Symbol of the Faithful of Tella-Un -- that began as a thrice forked tail just above her right ankle, encircled that leg twice as it climbed upwards, then cut across her belly to wrap around her torso and finally cease as a magnificently detailed and somewhat frightening, fang-bearing head just below her sternum?

She wouldn't know whether or not Kengetar glanced at her as she herself had turned her attention to the slave girl giving her a hand out of the tub. They worked to drape the silk gown over her still wet body, then tie it at the waist. When she turned back to the man, the thin cloth did very little to hide the shape of her bosom.

"Kapiten Broon," she said as she eyed the naked slave from head to foot and back up again. When the man acknowledged her, Melody gestured him to pull the knife from his hostage's throat. The little girl opened one eye, then the other; she glanced toward the man standing naked in the middle of the tent but then turned her attention firmly to the woman in the colorful and -- because of her wet skin -- body-clinging gown. Melody said in a tender voice, "Come to me sweetheart. It's okay, no one is going to hurt you."

Broon's expression conspicuously relayed to Melody his discomfort with releasing hold of his insurance that the barbarian wasn't going to do anything ... rash. But Melody gestured the knife from the girl's neck, took up the platter of food, and moved closer to the pair. She leaned in, held the platter of treats out, and asked, "Are you hungry, sweetheart? It's okay. You can take one. You are not in trouble ... and no one is going to hurt you. I promise."

The girl was hesitant but finally reached out to take a chunk of cheese. She didn't immediately put it into her mouth, but when she finally did her face lit up with delight. Melody explained, "They call it Djathë i ëmbël ... sweet cheese. Would you like more?"

Again hesitant, the girl nodded and reached out -- this time with both hands -- to snatch up four or five pieces in each eager set of fingers. Melody laughed, warning her, "Don't put so many into your mouth that you choke, sweetheart."

The girl stuffed two more pieces into her chomping mouth, glanced toward her Tribesman, then back to Melody. The Lady of Clan Yalla reassured her, "Nothing is going to happen to him either, sweetheart. He has something of great value that makes him important to me ... just like you do. Do you know what it is that you have that makes you important to me?"

The little girl shook her head, and Melody rose to height again. She handed the platter to her Tent Slave, then walked over to stand before the Sedent male, easily within his reach, easy pickings if he were to decide to reach out, grasp her by the neck, and snap it with what Melody could see were strong, capable hands.

"Leverage," she said, looking into the man's eyes. She looked to the girl again, asking with a sweet voice, "Do you know what leverage it, sweetheart?" Again the girl shook her head; her lower jaw was moving up and down as she chomped on yet another piece of cheese. Melody looked back to her new slave again, explaining, "It's something I have that assures me that your friend here will do as I ask."

She hesitated a moment, then in a soft voice meant just for him, Melody said in a reassuring voice, "All of your people ... the survivors I mean ... they will be well cared for ... feed well ... giving shelter ... protected from harm. Your men will not be executed simply because they are men. Your women will not be raped simply because they are women. I can make you this promise because my men are faithful to me and will do as I say, without question."

Melody backed just a bit, let her eyes fall to take in the Sedent's manhood again, then began an unhurried walk around him as she continued: "We are traveling to the Capital City--" She meant the Capital of Yalla, of course, and didn't feel a need to actually explain that. "--where I would normally sell the lot of your people into slavery. Customarily, they would be sold to a multitude of buyers who would then take them to far distant lands. Your tribe would be no more. It would cease to exist. An abandoned campfire; ashes and smoke into the wind."

Behind the man now, Melody took in the view of his muscular and equally scarred backside as well. The barbarian had seen a great deal of violence in his life, as had she. Perhaps I will have a chance to hear your stories...? She continued her slow stroll: "However ... I will make you a promise. Serve me without question ... show me loyalty ... let this little ... unfortunate incident that has happened between our peoples here today be forgotten ... and I will keep your people together. Your tribe will be preserved."

By now she was once again in front of the barbarian, once again vulnerable to his attack should he choose to make it. She looked him in the eyes, then looked to the little girl. Smiling sweetly, Melody told the slave, "Take food to the Sedents. Let them eat and drink. Do not be stingy. Feed them until their bellies are full." To Broon she said, "Have the Brown Tent erected and move the Sedents to it for shelter. Find them blankets and let them build a fire."

"I'll put a man on it, m'lady," the Captain said, looking to the door and preparing to call for a guard.

But Melody cut him off, saying, "You do it, Kapiten." Broon gave Melody a concerned look, but she waved him off, looking back to the new slave again as she said, "I think I'm safe here, Kapiten. At least ... for the moment. I don't think our new friend is in a hurry to kill me. I think he might want to eat and drink first. Then he can break my neck or cut out my entrails."

Broon wasn't eager to leave his Lady alone with the barbarian, but he knew better than to disobey her. Reluctantly, he gestured the little girl and -- after Melody asked to be left alone -- the Tent Slaves to follow him. A moment later, there were only the two of them left. Melody stepped back, putting some space between them, make a conspicuous sniffing sound as she looked at his body, and smiled.

"You should bathe," she said softly, not meaning to imply that he stunk to high heaven or anything like that. Melody swept a hand toward the bathtub, saying, "If you don't mind that I used it before you..."

She didn't know what he might do now that they were alone: would he take the sure opportunity to snap her neck like a twig; would he grasp her and take her hostage, as she and her warriors had his people; would he bend her over her clothing trunk and rape her to death as was done to so many female hostages following bloody battles; or -- as Melody hoped -- would he take the opportunity to slip into the tub of still-warm water and shed his flesh and hair of the blood, dirt, and grime?

They were both exposed now, and as she circled him it felt like they were in some primal state. A vision suddenly came to him of her as a lioness and he as a wounded buffalo, both probing for a weakness in the other, waiting for the moment to tear the other to shreds. He knew that a buffalo could overcome a lion by standing its ground and charging at the last moment, and he reasoned that he would, too.

"What game is this?" he spat, tracking her with his eyes, but not moving. "You have defeated us utterly. You can take what you want, and do as you wish. Why do you now curry favor with honeyed words and gifts? And who am I that you should parley with me? Why do you not speak to our chieftain or our master of the hunt, or their sons if they are already slain?"

"What game is this?" the barbarian spat. He spoke of the utter defeat of his people and questioned Melody's intentions. "Why do you not speak to our chieftain or our master of the hunt, or their sons if they are already slain?"

Melody couldn't know whether or not the men of whom he spoke were dead. Knowing how few men had survived, though, told Melody that they likely had perished. That didn't matter, though; Melody had no interest in speaking with any of the men.

"That little girl," she began as she turned to retrieve more hot water from the large pot over the fire. "I told her that she had something that was important to me: leverage."

She carried the steaming pitcher to the tub and dumped it, turning to refill it again. "You have something important to me as well."

Melody conspicuously glanced down to the barbarian's still dangling manhood, then back up to his eyes. She smiled, then chuckled. She said only, "No."

Dumping more water into the tub and checking the temperature with her fingertips, Melody explained in a very calm, matter-of-fact tone, "I have someone I want you to kill for me, someone to whom I do not have access. A woman. A woman--" Again Melody glanced to his groin before looking up again and adding, "--who likes men like you."

She turned for yet one more pitcher to warm the tub as she continued, "I will take you and your people to the Capital City ... to the slave market. There, I will ensure that this woman finds you on the sale block ... ensure that she buys you. Once you are alone with her, you will slit her throat ... you will cut out her heart and bring it to me."

More water spilled into the tub, and Melody promised, "And in exchange, your tribe will be sold as a single block to a Master who I know will keep them together ... will keep them safe and healthy ... until you can buy them back with the money that you will earn while in my service."

Melody looked to the tub again, gestured him toward it, and said, "Please. I need you bathed and clean so that I can judge with certainty that you are the man for this mission. Or ... you could go ahead and kill me now, after which Kapiten Broon will kill you and what remains of your tribe. The choice is yours. Oh, and please ... what is your name?"

The plan that she outlined sounded preposterous to him, but right now playing along with her mad plot was the only thing keeping him and his people alive, whether it be a lie or no. "My name is Kengetar," he muttered in answer to her previous question. At the same moment, he suddenly moved to the tub, though he made sure to keep himself on the side of it opposite from Melody. He did not know her name, or care to ask.

Kengetar did not step into the tub to bathe. To him, bathing was a communal affair, and was done in a natural body of water more often than not. Instead, he leaned over the side of the tub and dunked his head in, snorting and bobbing like a horse. Next he plunged in his arms, and scrubbed them, then splashed water over his shoulders and back, careless of the water he was splashing onto the rug. Between scrubbings, Kengetar stole a glance over at Melody. He had to admit, she was beautiful... physically at least. And her lascivious glances were making him nervous. He hunched over the tub a little farther. The clear steaming water was quickly turning murky from all the caked mud and blood Kengetar had washed off into it, and he was hardly half done.

Melody smiled in humor at the barbarian's version of bathing, chucking softly when some of the water he was wrecklessly splashing about found its way onto her robe. He was coming clean to a degree, but on only a portion of his body. Melody knew he wouldn't get it done to the level she required this way.

She moved to the tent's door flap, calling for Haanya and a second servant, Frandy.  She spoke to them in the Old Language, after which -- without hesitation -- they gathered up some soft, plush rags and moved to the barbarian to bathe him.

They didn't know if he would allow them to help, but if he did, they would get to work with the rags and their Lady's soap. This was not new to the pair, as they'd performed this duty for other guests of their Lady in the past.  They would leave the barbarian squeaky clean, even below his belt line which, of course, was now imaginary with Kengetar standing there naked.

Melody didn't know much about the Sedent culture, but she thought she'd once heard something about bathing being a communal activity; she'd never heard about the natural body of water aspect of it though, asking, "Would you be more comfortable if I brought in some others...?

Then, unsure whether communal meant multigender, she added, "... some of the women perhaps?"

"I can clean myself," Kengetar grunted. "I'm not a baby." He threw one leg into the tub, giving Melody an eyeful. Kengetar waved away the slaves and resumed scrubbing and splashing. He could get himself clean enough without being mothered by his captor. The change in attitude and influx of new people was catching him off his guard, he realized. He had to somehow regain control of the situation's flow or he would be in big trouble, he decided. He switched legs. Once he finished washing himself, he stood and turned his head to look at Melody. Gazing through the veil of dark hair that was plastered to his face by wetness, he gave the impression of an animal lurking between brambles.

"There," he said. "What now?"

(OOC: I didn't realize until now how difficult it was to read the blue dialogue on a cell phone. If the orange doesn't work, PM me about it.)

"I can clean myself," Kengetar grunted. "I'm not a baby."

Melody smiled once more to the man. She nodded her head to him in the same vein of respect that he'd seen her Captain do for her: "Of course. Please, forgive me, Kengetar."

She waved the women off, speaking again to them in the Old Language of her own people; she gave each of them a new task to which they hurried off to complete.

Melody continued to watch the man bathe himself, unable to prevent herself from occasionally taking in the impressive view offered at the meeting of his thighs. She would be a liar if she said she hadn't contemplated taking Kengetar directly from the bathtub to her bed.

But Melody had plans for the barbarian that went far beyond her own sexual fantasies. Kengetar was her ticket to achieving an act of vengeance that had haunted her the entirety of her life.

"There," he said when he had finished. "What now?"

After a gesture from her Lady, the young slave, Frandy, hurried up to Kengetar to offer him a towel to dry and/or wrap himself. She lowered her eyes as a servant would to a Master, seemingly out of respect; in truth, the not-shy and also-no-longer-pure servant was only trying to sneak a final peek at Kengetar's swinging manhood before it was put away for the day. 

"Largohu tani,," Melody chastised the too-bold-for-her-own-good slave. "Ushqim, tani!"

Frandy backed away from Kengatar to leave the tent and retrieve food as ordered, once again in the Old Language. She couldn't help but look up to make eye contact with the man -- and give him a flirtatious smile, unseen by her Lady -- before she hurried out of the tent.

"What now?" Melody repeated, returning to the Common Tongue. "Now, we talk. But first..."

By now, Haayna had returned with a blanket which was now pulled up at the corners and bound into a large ball shape, held together with a leather thong tie. The older slave had set the bundle on the carpeted floor of the lavish tent and now pulled loose the thong; an array of relatively clean clothes pillaged from the now destroyed village spilled out.

"First, you dress," Melody suggested as she turned to watch Frandy and yet a third slave girl bring in a large platter of meat, vegetables, and roots that were still steaming from having just come off the open pit fire just outside the tent. Melody turned to sit on a padded stool near the table on which the new food joined with fruits, berries, and drinks earlier provided. She told Kengetar, "Then, we eat ... and talk about the future."

(OOC: The orange is readable, but so was the green you picked earlier. The orange stands out better, though.)

Kengetar tried to feign appreciation, but it turned out as a stare and a grunt that made him seem bored instead. In an economical fashion, he dried himself off with the blanket before picking out his new clothes. He picked a new loincloth, a pair of buckskin leggings, a pair of soft leather turn-shoes, and a tunic made of woven fiber. The tunic was white, with an abstract pattern of red thread embroidered around its hem, cuffs, and its deeply v-cut collar. Kengetar had known the people whose clothes he was wearing. And while he had once envied them for their fine clothes, he hadn't wanted them like this. Not like this.

Kengetar went over to sit cross-legged in front of the platter, grabbing hocks of meat and sweet fruit with his bare hands and stuffed them unceremoniously into his mouth. As he ate he looked up dumbly at Melody, apparently sated. The woman apparently thought that he was childlike and unintelligent. Well, he would allow her to think that for a while longer. He would let her mother him, so he could regain his strength, and have her explain everything to him slowly and clearly, so he would understand everything about her plans.

Melody watched the squatting Kengetar eagerly dig into the platter. She sat on the stool again, sitting more near the man than away from him. Her Captain would have pitched a fit to see her so exposed and vulnerable to the man to whose people her people had done so much harm today, but Melody wasn't concerned; she had confidence that Kengetar was more interested in hearing her tale than in breaking her neck ... for the moment, at least.

"All my life, I've been told that my mother was a very special child..." she began, adding, "...and a beautiful one at that. When she was but 10 years old, she caught the eye of a very powerful man. This man essentially stole my mother away her parents and her people, none of whom would ever see her again.

"She was, of course, far too young to join him in his bed at that time, even for a man of such power. He sent her to the Holy House of Tella-Un, where -- for the next eight years -- she was guarded by and educated by the Priestesses of the Fire. She was taught Mathematics, Letters, Art ... Politics, Finance, History.

"For eight years, she didn't again see the man who'd ripped her from her mother's arms ... nor any other man for that matter.

"Six years after she'd been taken, when that little stick of a girl had grown tall and curvy as most women do at by that age, my mother's education as a Consort began. Oh, don't misunderstand me; it would be almost another three years before the man who had taken her or, again, any other man would touch her.

"But men she did see. During this period of her education, the Priestesses brought men to the Holy House to lay with some of the servants who had surrounded my mother all those years. They did things with each other ... for each other ... to each other ... than man husbands and wives never imagined. My mother watched ... listened ... learned ... and remembered.

"When she was nearly to her 19th Winter, the man came for her. He took her away to the City that would be her home for the next six years. There, she revealed to him just how well she'd been educated in those final years of her education ... revealed how well she'd paid attention and how eager she was to share that education with him, despite how she'd come to be in his service.

"This man quickly became enamored with my mother. He began spending more time at her City, in and out of her bed. She had become so much more to him that simply a warm, energetic body that served his carnal urges and needs. He had traded lust for love.

"He nearly ceased his travels to the other Cities under his rule ... and to the beds of the other Consorts under his rule as well. He had little use for those other women. She and the City she ruled in his absence soon became the focal point of his life.

"And she gave him a child..." Melody continued, a slight smile appearing on her lips as she added, "...a daughter ... who many said then and still say today was as beautiful as her mother ever had been. And this man loved his daughter ... professed his love publicly ... something for which he hadn't done for any of his previously born daughters or even many of his sons.

"And this was the beginning of my mother's downfall," Melody said with a tone that was more solemn at this point. "Others ... other Consorts ... became jealous of the attention, support, and power my mother was being given. One in particular, Lady Gwenneth of the House of Youln, became determined to ... correct what she felt was a mistake on her Master's part ... on my father's part. She conspired with others to see that my mother fell from her lofty position of power. And she succeeded."

Melody paused, unsure if she wanted to explain the details of how her mother's second life had been torn away from her. She decided this wasn't the time and instead continued with, "Lady Gwenneth of the House of Youln has been in the Capital City of Yalla for several months. She is in talks with the Republic's Prime Minister regarding control of the waters and coastline of the Dead Coast..."

Her tone and expressions became conspicuously harsher as she told Kengetar, "She is serving as the Imperial Ambassador for her Master ... Emperor Frenk the Hearty ... my father."

Melody studied the barbarian's reaction, wondering whether or not he'd already picked up on the clues she'd dropped and concluded that it was indeed the ruler of the Frenkish Empire about whom she'd been speaking all this time. Was Kengetar fluent in world politics such that he even knew who Frenk the Hearty was? Most of the world's population had heard of the Emperor, but most of those couldn't tell you his name, let alone anything about him other than the fact that in less than 40 years, he and his brutal and ever growing army had taken over nearly a fifth of the world's landmass, including at least four major, walled cities.

"This is the woman I want you to kill, Kengetar ... lady Gwenneth," Melody went on, spelling out the details that would matter to him if he took the mission. "I cannot get to her, but you can. She has a ... fondness for men such as yourself ... men who are -- and please, do not think that I offend you intentionally -- men who are wild ... men who are barbaric ... animals--"

She let her gaze fall toward his now-thankfully hidden crotch before she added, "--and endowed enough to bring out the barbaric animal in her, too. You can get to her as few men can ... and once you have gotten to her ... once you have served her ... once she is sated and off her guard ... vulnerable ... you can kill her and escape ... and lead your people back to the mountains with more silver and gold than you and they have ever imagined."

For the first time since they'd met, Melody reached out and touched Kengetar, laying her hand atop his as it rest on the edge of the tiny dining table. Would he withdraw it in surprise...? In anger...? In hate? Or would he allow it to sit there while she squeezed it softly in an attempt to show him that she was being entirely sincere in her offer?

Either way, Melody would finish with, "Will you do this for me, Kengetar? Will you do this for your people?"

Kengetar had been listening attentively. Most of the names were meaningless to him, except for Tella-Un. According to legend, Tella-Un was a sacred land where the Gods made their dwelling on the fiery mountaintop of Un, and was the center of the world. Though many of the names meant little, Kengetar understood the situation perfectly. In times past, a chieftain of his tribe had once insisted on taking multiple wives, and it had ended in much the same way. The feuds it had sparked were legendary, and grudges were held to this day over it.

When Melody placed her hand atop his, he started at, but did not withdraw from the unexpected contact. He looked directly into her eyes, and held the contact. There was no madness or deceit there, only sincerity and... Deep in her eyes, like a distant star, shined a light that was not wholly sane. He liked it. Kengetar still did not understand why she could not challenge and duel Gwenneth herself, and the promises of treasure and exodus still seemed like a wild dream, but given he was her captive, it did not seem he had much choice.

He turned his hand palm up and squeezed her hand. Her hand was warm, but calloused from hard riding and combat. As he slipped his hand away, their different roughnesses caught on each other, prolonging the contact. He rose to his feet, and still looking into her eyes, said, "Yes, I will do this for you." Kengetar said nothing more, for his word was his bond.

Melody hadn't expected Kengetar to actually clutch his hand, even if the moment had been short. Again, as she had when first she'd seen his impressive manhood dangling before him, Melody found her mind overwhelmed by lewd thoughts of things she could be doing with him other than eating, drinking, and telling stories. But their hands separated, and Melody forced the lustful thoughts out of her brain.

"Yes, I will do this for you,"

She smiled slightly, responding only, "Good."

Melody stood and moved to the tent's door flap, speaking to someone beyond it. She returned, and a moment later Broon entered. She told him, "Kapiten, please escort our guest to one of the Sedent tents." She looked to the officer, asking, "How many are erected?"

Broon's face filled with an expression of confusion. "They are all erected, m'lady ... for your people."

"I think we can spare one tent, can't we Kapiten?" Melody asked; of course, she really wasn't asking. Broon nodded.

Melody turned to Kengetar again. She studied him a moment, during which she found herself thinking This is either the greatest idea I have ever had or the worse ... and if it's the latter ... I have not long to live.

"You are free to return to your people, Kengetar," Melody said, adding with emphasis, "Without shackles." She looked to her Captain; he once again sported that confused expression. She ordered, "You will remove the bindings on the Sedent, Kapiten ... now."

As expected, Broon didn't immediately react, but after a long moment, he dutifully nodded and saluted, saying before he turned and left, "Yes, m'lady."

Melody looked to the barbarian again, turned sideways to him, and gestured a hand politely toward the tent's exit.

Kengetar nodded and exited through the flap. Outside, there were still dying flutters of activity as camp preparations ceased. The village had been completely transformed. About the burned out husks of wooden dwellings, tents had sprung up like fungus around carcasses. Eventually Kengetar found the large tent where his people had been herded into. He recognized it for being the one with guards posted at each corner. It was high, long, and brown. Inside, his people were huddled together in darkness. As he entered, people looked up at him with gaping mouths, amazed to see him enter cleaned and dressed in finery.

As Kengetar stepped his way through the crowd, looking for the chief, he saw that people were already organized in a circle in the center, having a hushed conversation in the Sedent dialect. Good, Kengetar thought. A Council's already started. This makes it simpler. He stepped into the circle and sat down as astonished onlookers cleared him a space. The chief, dignified in his many tattoos and immaculate topknot, carefully regarded Kengetar before speaking.

"Kengetar," he said slowly. "We thought you had been killed. And when we were all unshackled and brought into this tent, well, we feared the worst. But you seem to have been at some venture. Tell us your tale, for everything learned may help us reach a decision."

"I was not dead, merely wounded during the assault," said Kengetar, trying to control his emotions. Displaying emotion at a Council meeting was a faux pas. "When I awoke, I was put to labor on certain meaningless tasks until I could barely stand. After this was done, I learned that I had been selected by their leader, a woman, no older than me, and brought to her tent." As Kengetar spoke, a woman who had managed to smuggle a comb was straightening out his tangled hair. He took a breath before speaking again.

"She told me that she needed me for her plot of revenge in some familial feud. I did not understand the specifics of it all. She promised me wealth and the freedom of the Sedent tribe in exchange for cooperation. I was bathed, fed and clothed, and sent here."

The chief interrupted before Kengetar could launch into the next part of his speech. "But why can she not seek revenge herself? Why pick you, and why make these promises and give you such treatment?" he asked.

"As to your first question, I can but guess. There may be something in the ways of Northerners that prohibits doing one's own work. As to your second..." Kengetar hung his head bashfully. "I believe she is, uh, smitten with me." There were chuckles and smirks at this statement, and an arm of someone on his right gave him a congratulatory slap on the back. Kengetar disliked being at the center of such sport, but he allowed the moment of levity to pass, and loosen the tension in such dark times. The chief, however, remained impassive.

Kengetar took the lull in the conversation to launch into the next part of his speech. "Her plan requires us all to travel with her, and pose as slaves!" Immediately the jocular air in the tent soured, as the listeners scoffed in disgust. "I am not naive! I know that her promises of freedom seem unbelievable!" Kengetar pleaded. "But right now, playing along is the only way to prolong our lives! And thus far, she has at least made a show of keeping to her promise. We can use this time to regain our strength and prepare. I will stay close to her, and learn and gain what I can for you. If I learn that there is no hope for our release, I will signal by calling twice as the crying dove, and once as the sea hawk. Then the plan of escape will be in your hands."

The chieftain said nothing for a while, frowning and stroking his chin. He did not like accepting any plan that he did not come up with himself, but he did not see any other option. "Very well," he said. "We shall put it to a vote. All who agree with Kengetar's plan, raise your hands." Around the tent, hands went up. The chief counted them; there were far more hands up than down. "And are there any voices who oppose this plan?" he asked. No hands went up, and no voices spoke out. No one had any better ideas. "Very well. We put our fates in your hands, Kengetar," he said.

Kengetar relaxed. The Council disbanded. Others who were listening during the meeting, came up to him and asked questions, which he tried his best to answer. He also went around and gave away the articles of clothing he was given to those who needed it most. They could be used to warm the cold, or bind the wounded. At the end of it Kengetar was back down into nothing but a loincloth.

As ordered, Broon reported to his Lady's tent to make his report; Melody had ordered that the Sedents be giving freedom of movement between it and other locations of need, such as the now-destroyed village's well or the shit pit, and the four guards stationed outside the tent and conspicuously watching these comings and goings had been giving the Captain frequent reports on what they saw.

But it was a mix of men, women, and children not officially on guard duty but who were inconspicuously keeping an eye on the barbarians who provided Broon -- and through him Melody -- with the best intelligence on the group.

"There are reports of a great deal of secretive chatting between Kengetar's people," Broon told her, "and on a couple of occasions, the perimeter guards have had to turn back Sedents who were ambling toward the forest."

"Were they trying to escape, Kapiten?" Melody asked, looking for clarification. "Or were they simply wishing to hunt fresh food ... or, perhaps, find a private place to take a shit?"

Broon smile and even chuckled a bit. There were, in fact, two Shtëpi muti ... 'shit houses' on the perimeter of the former village, away from the residential buildings such that the smell didn't wash over the town during high winds. The nearest of them had caught fire, though; the other was now off limits as it was on the other side of the community's ruins and, therefore, out of sight of the Yallan Guards.

"I believe they were likely testing the perimeter established by my warriors, m'lady," Broon said. Then he smiled, adding, "Or perhaps looking for a private place to shit." He donned a more serious expression as he continued, "We dug a pit and put a tent around it to replace the Shtëpi muti. I will make sure that the Sedents are informed that they, too, may use it."

"I will go with you, Kapiten," Melody said. "I have other business with Kengetar and his people."

She rose from the pillow bed on the tent's carpeted floor where she'd been resting to step into her boots and donned a heavy cloak; a chill was becoming ever worse with each passing hour that was uncommon for this far southern region. The two of them headed for the biggest of the Yallan tents, and upon reaching it, Melody immediately noticed several unfortunate things about it:

First, it was far too small for the number of Sedent survivors. There was virtually no walking room between the clusters of people, who she presumed were grouping of families or friends.

Second, there was only one fire -- below the smoke hole in the center, of course -- and it simply wasn't sufficient to keep warm all of the tent's inhabitants. Melody knew it was only going to get colder, too, and she feared that those sleeping near the tent's wall might become too cold during the night and, quite possibly, die from hypothermia.

Third, despite having supplied food and water to the Sedents, Melody saw none of either now; the group had already devoured and drank all that her troops had delivered to them.

And finally, throughout the tent, Melody could see and in some cases hear the suffering of those who had been injured during the attack. Broon had reported earlier that an old man and a young woman had already perished from wounds inflicted during the fight, and less than 10 hours had passed since the first blood had spilled.

She turned to her Captain and the two men with him, Broon's Oficerë më të vegjël; there was no real Common Tongue translation for the Old Language phrase, with the closest meaning being Lesser or Junior Officers, sometimes simply called Juniors. After some quickly dictated orders, the Juniors immediately hurried off.

"M'lady, please," Broon said softly but with obvious concern when Melody began to enter the tent. When she looked to him for clarification, he glanced at the Sedents -- some of whom were looking at Melody with dagger eyes -- and said in whisper, "I'm not sure you should be here without more security."

Melody looked to those crowded throughout the tent and wondered if perhaps Broon wasn't correct; Kengetar hadn't broken her neck when he'd been alone with her, but he'd had a reason for not doing so, which had been to learn if maybe there wasn't a good reason for delaying such revenge until later. He had delayed, of course, but would his people have the same restraint?

She caught sight of a squatting woman clutching an obviously cold toddler in her arms, and she knew she couldn't simply turn and leave the tent without making some sort of attempt to help the situation. She unhooked the chain that held together the collar of her cloak, peeled it from her shoulders, moved to the woman, and -- after asking, "May I?" -- draped the thick, war, fur-lined cloak over her. Melody tucked the garment around the woman, smiling as she said, "You keep this as long as you need it. It is now yours."

One of the Juniors who'd rushed off returned now, leading two slaves who carried a goat carcass between them on a pole; it still smoked from having just come off from over a roasting fire, and while it was missing one entire hind quarter, the rest of the meat was there for the consuming. The slaves jammed the ends of the pole into the dome-shaped tent's supports, letting the animal dangle over the dirt floor at about chest high.

Melody gestured to the Junior for his knife, and after slicing off a hand-sized chunk of the remaining rear leg, she offered it out to the nearest child. "I uritur?" she asked the boy, and then unsure if she was using his Tribe's language correctly, expanded on her question in Common, "Are you hungery? Eat. Please."

The boy took the meat and eagerly sunk his teeth into it. Melody cut free another chunk of goat and offered it to a little girl who hurried up to her with a smile and outstretched hands. Melody laughed at the child's eagerness, warning, "Është e nxehtë ... it is hot."

It only took a moment for a line of hungry Sedents to begin forming. Melody had other tasks she wished to pursue, so she offered the knife out to one of Kengetar's female neighbors. She hesitated, uncertain; Melody used it to partially cut another chunk of meat but left the blade in the animal's carcass, gesturing to the woman while telling her, "You cut."

As Melody backed away, the woman moved in, and soon she was cutting slices of delicious, red meat. The Clan Yalla leader turned to the Junior and ordered, "Bring me chickens, ducks, and geese ... five each. And bread. And water.." When the young officer gave her a look that she interpreted as For them, the enemy, the prisoner? Melody growled, "Do it ... or I'll feed you to them instead."

Melody looked for Kengetar; when she found him, she found herself taking in his once-again scantily clad body, reminiscing on the view he'd offered her in her own tent earlier in the day. When they were together again, she said, "My tent is warm and dry with a carpet floor. I want all of the children moved there, where they will be protected from the cold. Send which ever women feel they need to go as well.

"And my Healer and my Kirurg are both on their way here to tend to the wounded." She didn't know if the man knew the Old Language word for surgeon, so she translated it for him. She continued, "I am having a floor and a second layer of tarp put over another tent to make it warmer and cleaner ... for the injured. They should not be here, Kengetar."

She gave him an opportunity to respond to what she'd done so far and to either accept or refuse what he offered before finishing, "My Kapiten tells me that survivors have been seen by our scouts in the woods. Sedents, I mean, of course ... your people. You are welcome to invite them into the camp if you wish. Or, if this frightens them ... if they won't trust me like you do--"

Melody looked for Kengetar's reaction to her presumption that he trusted her but continued without waiting for a response, "--you may feel free to venture to the forest's edge to speak with them ... to make whatever arrangements you wish for them. They may stay in the forest ... join us ... built a camp of their own on the other side of the village. I will provide them with food if they need it."

She smiled to the man, hoping that what he had to say after all of this would only strengthen what she thought was becoming a bond of sorts between them.

Kengetar nodded. His face was no longer in a perpetual scowl, and something of an imperceptible smile crept onto his lips. He began relaying her words to the chief. He assented that those with children would be kept in the single tent, and said he would allow healers into this one. Kengetar took a few people who were uninjured with him to the forest outskirts of the town. They all gave out the coded cry for safety, hoping that any survivors who had fled into the woods would hear it and return. They could do no more.

Kengetar returned to the large tent. The healers had arrived, so he allowed one of them to clean the wound at the back of his head, and apply a salve to it. Finally feeling exhaustion from his wound and the day's events, he laid out on his side in the tent to rest. He wondered idly where that woman was going to be now, since she had donated her tent.

"I will sleep here, of course," Melody told her Captain when sometime later he asked her the same question Kengetar had been thinking. "I will be safe, Kapiten. They are just children."

"How old were you when you took your first life, m'lady?" Broon asked, his tone respectful. She didn't answer. He said, "I'll post guards in the tent to ensure--"

"You will not," Melody cut in. She smiled to her Captain: "I will be fine."

Broon left with several end-of-day orders, and Melody made her way about her tent, reassuring the children and the women watching over them that all would be well. Some returned her kindness; others did not, their faces showing their fear, hatred, or both.

Eventually, with torches extinguished and only candles lighting its interior, the tent fell into near silence as its occupants fell asleep. Melody had given up her own bed to several children orphaned by the morning's attack. She herself laid down in a corner with Haanya and one of the Healers; she rested her head on a pile of clothes and -- having distributed all of the bedding -- wrapped herself in her cloak, which was insufficient against the cold that would deepen through the night.

Melody's last memory of the evening was hearing a soothing lullaby being sung by one of the Sedent females. Hours later, she awoke with a start to Haanya shaking her at the shoulder. In the low light, Melody eventually focused her eyes on the issue: a Sedent woman pointing a knife at her chest.

The woman growled in her Tribe's dialect, and while she didn't understand all the words, Melody understood that she was being blamed for the death of the woman's mother in yesterday's attack. Melody slowly rose to a sitting position.

"Please ... before you kill me ... will you let me give my cloak to one of the children?" Melody asked softly. "I do not want it to be soiled with my blood as they sleep in it ... for warmth."

The knife wielding woman looked confused. Melody pulled the cloak from where she'd been using it as a blanket and handed it to a second Sedent. Melody continued, "My mother, too, was murdered. I want revenge on the woman responsible for my mother's death ... just as you want revenge on the woman responsible for your mother's death ... revenge on me."

Melody was fully sitting up now; the blade's tip had made physical contact with the flesh of one of her breasts. "I will not stop you from getting your revenge ... here, now." Melody glanced toward Haanya, then the healer, directing, "No one will try to stop you, and no one will harm you for doing this. It is justice. Do you know this word...?"

A Sedent woman who was watching the drama unfold translated, "drejtësia."

"Yes, drejtësia," Melody repeated. "You may have your justice now, here. Or ... You can let me live long enough for me to get my own revenge first. And then ... you may kill me without any harm coming to you or your people."

The knife-wielding woman glanced downward to find a slow rivulet of blood running from the point of the knife down the Yalla Lady's bosom. She pulled the knife back, and after a moment, she turned it, offering the hand end to Melody; the Yallan moved slowly to take control of the weapon, then handed it to the second Sedent, who hid it in her own bedding.

Haanya pressed a cloth to the wound on her Lady's bosom as Melody herself was telling the Sedent, "You will have your justice, and no one will harm you for taking it ... if you will allow me to get mine, too. I promise."

The former would-be-assassin broke down in tears and sobbed. Melody took her into her arms, and after a long moment they laid down together; the second Sedent covered them both with Melody's cloak, and after some time had passed, the tent returned to its calm as if nothing untoward had occurred.

Somewhere in the near darkness, a southern lullaby was again being sung softly...

Morning:

Outside her tent, Melody found Kengetar and told him to pick those who would be feigning enslavement for our mission. She could see the confusion in his eyes and clarified: only those willing to volunteer to pretend to be captured would be going to the Capital, while the rest of the tribe would remain here. She explained that most of the captured stock animals -- the ones not killed, roasted, and eaten last night by the hungry Clan Yallans, obviously -- were being returned to the Tribe; she also tossed Kengetar a small purse of mostly silver, telling him with a solemn tone, "It cannot make up for what happened here yesterday, but ... nothing ever will.

"I want to be moving within the hour," Melody told Broon. She looked to Kengetar, asking, "Are you ready?"

That Night:

As Kengetar was drifting away to sleep, an arm grabbed his bicep and a voice hissed into his ear, "What is this? This isn't part of the plan. She has our women and children!" the chief whispered angrily. Kengetar moaned.

"She's changing the game. But if she's put herself in a tent with all our children, she'll be dead by sunrise." It was only half a joke. "And besides, there's nothing we can do. Playing along for now is the only thing keeping us alive. We'll see what tomorrow brings and plan again."

"For all our sakes, you'd better be right," the chief said, and slipped away. Kengetar drifted to sleep, but his dreams were haunted by a three-tailed snake with a woman's face.

Morning:

Kengetar was surprised to see Melody looking so well rested after a night with the children. He was even more surprised to hear that the whole tribe would not be travelling with her, it would only be him and a few other volunteers. He returned to the tribal tent and explained the situation and asked for volunteers. The chieftain gave Kengetar a nonplussed look, and Kengetar shrugged. In the end, only two males, younger than Kengetar, were willing to join, hoping that this would be the adventure that gained them their first tattoos.

Kengetar and the two boys prepared quickly. Each of them was given a pair of shoes, a leather vest, and some food that had been spared from last night. Within an hour, they were ready. Kengetar and the two boys joined the caravan as it headed out.