One was a girl....
THE VIRGIN BLADE
She swung around from unbridling Delilah's horse as she heard the three men approach. She'd removed her cloak while taking care of the mounts. She now regretted it.
She hadn't wanted to stop. But Delilah, sitting hunched in her saddle, blanket draped about her, had insisted. They'd ridden late into the night.
"This is good for you," the older woman said, indicating the world about them. "Night is a friend. It protects you, shelters you, makes you invisible. Embrace it and you will be rewarded. It will always give you an advantage."
The land was vast and empty. The road stretched endlessly on ahead, no hint of a village or keep where they might take food or shelter.
Delilah's dark skin and clothes blended her into the darkness so that she would have been invisible except for her teeth and eyes which flashed white from time to time in the black as she talked. Her hair was short, cropped for combat.
At the end of a good day's ride Delilah hated making camp—not that she did that much anyway, delegating almost everything to her. So seeing a ready-made one in the night had drawn her the way rotting fruit draws flies. The ground cleared, the fire already roaring and fresh meat hunted, skinned, seasoned, spitted and roasting. They—no, Cassandra—would only have to unsaddle, feed and groom their horses before they settled in for the night—if they dared. No, they would not. One would have to stay awake at all times lest.... Cassandra sighed.
She had to admit there was a beauty to the night: the crispness of the air, the darkness which matched their skins and seemed to imply they were a part of it, perhaps born of it. The winds that soothed her, banishing the day's heat. The vast vault of stars overhead. Sometimes she just looked up and lost herself in them. Surely the Gods resided up there.
"Maybe they won't want us to stop," she said hopefully.
Delilah snorted, looking at her, running her eyes up and down her young companion's body. Though it was dark and the heavy traveling cloak hid Cassandra, she knew what it concealed.
"Girl, they see you, they'll break out the best bowls and spoons and probably even duck off to shave and wash themselves down there. Just for you."
"Oh, Gods!" Cassandra said, disgusted at the very thought. Men were so tiresome. So one-minded.
She didn't understand: Delilah was attractive in an older woman's way, so why did men rush past her to get to her? She sighed. Perhaps she never would understand such things. Simply knew that it was so.
She exhaled. Would she ever see her land again? Where her ancestors were buried and their spirits roamed? Where everyone was as dark as her and Delilah. To see her father and mother and brother and sisters again. To see those nieces and nephews she'd never seen at all. To find a warrior dark like her to sire her children. She wiped her tears away as they rode in the night. Someday they would find the end of the world or Delilah would admit defeat and return.
It never got this cold there or snowed. Her heart grew sad, for she knew she might never return. Her bones would lie forever in this strange, cold, barren land. Hers and Delilah's.
She had come to the conclusion there was no end to the world. They had traveled far, seen so many strange lands and people and still no end. Always more land, more water, more mountains. The world was far more vast than they had ever imagined. Did it go on forever? It seemed so.
Her young eyes picked the men out easily in the night. The fire of their small camp behind them silhouetted their shapes, cast their faces and bodies in shadow. They were large hulking men, arms big with muscle, swords long and heavy at their sides. Mercenaries or thugs, she guessed. Not that there was that much difference. Most important of all, they were men—and men always wanted one thing from her.
Clouds moved grandly behind them beneath the bright moon.
She looked around into the night. Two women out here alone. Stopping at a camp with three men ... it just wasn't wise. But Delilah was Delilah.
"We hungry and we cold and the dead of night is coming," Delilah had said.
"But three men ... trouble." Her young eyes had long ago picked out the three horses and three bedrolls off the road in a flat area out of the steady wind.
"No, they're not," Delilah said with assurance. "They'll share their fire, give us something to eat and drink."
"You're asking for trouble."
"Girl, I ever ask for trouble?"
She looked off into the night, resigning herself to what would be. Trouble always seemed to find Delilah.
"Okay, ... don't tell them I'm a virgin."
"I won't," the older woman said, but though she could not see it, Cassandra knew there was a hint of a smile on her dark lips. There always was....
The men halted in a semicircle around her and the horse, inside the area she had cleared earlier of rocks and stones. Never leave anything to chance, Delilah had always taught her.
They were silent, studying her, eyes hot and hungry with a need she could almost feel.
"The old woman," one, a big man, barrel-chested, said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder "says you're a virgin."
Cassandra pulled a braid, placed it back out of the way.
"She's not an old woman," she said to set him straight. Maybe, if he had any sense....
The three laughed at that, picturing the bent-over, arthritic old woman who had hobbled to them. True they had not seen her face lost in the cowl, but this one was a lot better to gaze upon. All of her.
She looked past them to where he'd pointed, saw Delilah's hunched shoulders going up and down as she laughed, mouth stuffed with their meat. Cassandra hoped she choked on it.
In the silence, she heard their need-filled breathing. She sighed and cursed Delilah.
"The question is, are you a virgin?" one asked.
She exhaled. As if it made a difference whether she was or not. "Yes, I am."
The three began to breathe deeper, their chests almost heaving. Their hands had fallen to their crotches. They did not see her flush, for she was dark as the night, though from the way the stark whites of her eyes moved, she knew they knew she had noted their movements. And for a moment she was out-of-body, seeing them as they saw her—a seventeen year old girl, five-ten, coal-colored, broad of shoulder, slim of waist, with hips starting to bloom out like the petals of a flower, with breasts and thighs that packed her leather kilt and tunic almost to bursting. A broad flat nose and full lips. A girl of Africa.
The men began to smile and the smiles grew broader in anticipation of what was to come. They licked their lips much as four- legged animals do in anticipation of a meal. She had no doubt as to what their intended meal was to be.
"We were getting kind of bored," one said.
"Yeah, but looks like we've found the night's entertainment." He had wild hair—it stuck up like a porcupine's.
"A defenseless young girl shouldn't be traveling alone—things happen," another said almost apologetically. The youngest. Apologizing, no doubt, for the lesson they were about to teach her.
"Especially to a virgin," one said with a voice heavy with lust. The middle one in terms of age. Cocksure. Confident of his maleness. Of the right of the strongest. And they were the stronger. Three to one. And the one a young girl. Out here. Alone. Defenseless. Except for a sword called Nyrobi and a woman they thought old.
They could have made eye contact but their eyes kept searching over her. The usual male treasure hunt. And she was the treasure.
"Yeah, with a bunch of horny men like us about."
And now they grew serious. Their pants bulging now. End of games, time for fun.
She motioned toward her hip where Nyrobi hung, her two pigtails swinging at the movement.
"Not defenseless," she told him. All of them.
They laughed, throwing back their heads. One had to lean against another to keep from falling down. His feet danced in the dirt with the humor. The third wiped the tears from his eyes.
They did not know the sword was named Nyrobi, that it had been forged and tempered in the land of the Saracens, whose eyes had lit up with profits every time they'd looked at her and Delilah. They did not know she had made Delilah proud in the land of the slavetraders, did not know of the desperate battles they had fought there.
She watched until they finally quieted. Their eyes still feasted hungrily on her. The uneasy silence grew.
"Might as well get started," one said finally. His hand reached for her breast. "Teach you a lesson."
His hand never made it.
She knocked it aside, planted her feet and went into a crouch and threw a short punch, the power of her body behind it as her shoulder traveled in the direction of the blow, into the man's crotch, as she had practiced ten thousand times under Delilah's guidance.
He fell as if he'd been hit over the head by a boulder.
"Bitch!—" the one next to him cursed, seeing his companion down and unmoving in the blink of an eye. He rushed at her, swinging a big fist at the side of her head, intending to knock her out or stun her.
Then they could take their vengeance.
And their pleasure.
But Cassandra wasn't there.
She flowed like water around a rock around him, winding up at his side, facing his profile. As his head swivelled to her and he saw her dark unforgiving face looking at him, he realized he was defenseless and off-balance. And at the same time that he did, she left-hooked into his gut, her shoulders and hips following through in the direction of the punch, putting the entire power of her body into the point of the blow.
"Never do anything half-assed," Delilah had taught her. "Throw every punch as if your life depends on it."
She grunted with the effort of the punch, her teeth clenched.
The man bent double, the back of his neck exposed. Her right arm fell like the wrath of the Gods. Her wrist, encased in a heavy steel band, did the damage. He dropped forward on his face, joining his other companion, out cold.
A blade rasped free of its scabbard. The third man grinned at her cruelly, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I'm going to cut you for that. And then we'll have our fun. You will remember this night." He caressed the words and his tongue stroked his lips. His eyes rode up and down her body so she would have no doubt of his intentions.
Cassandra let her empty hands open. "I was only defending myself. Delilah taught me to react without thinking."
He laughed. "For what I have in mind, you won't have to do any thinking. And then my friends." He chuckled. "We'll take turns ... all night long." The tip of his sword wove a design in the space between them.
He had been inching forward as he talked, narrowing the distance until he was within sword-reach. She never stopped watching him. He acted as if he had done this many times—herded young girls. He was dreaming of what he would do with her. And looking on, enjoying himself doubly so. Anticipating making her acquaintance.
Cassandra relaxed, stood up from her defensive crouch. "We will be on our way—Delilah has eaten and warmed herself."
The man shook his head ominously. "Girl, you're not going anywheeeeeere!"
He lunged—swinging low, intending to cut one of her legs and cripple her so she would still be good for what he intended.
Once again Cassandra flowed like water, moving to his left faster than he could turn or pivot so that his shieldless, weaponless left side was bare to her. As she moved, Nyrobi seemed to leap out of its scabbard into her palm and it swept up and as part of the same upward motion, tucked itself in under his chin. She drew her arm back, the whole move so fast and fluid he did not see it—like the tongue of a snake—but much much swifter. He did see the spray of blood. His blood. It filled his field of vision as it spewed out. And he knew he was dead.
As Delilah had told her: "If they pull sword, kill them! Don't think about it. No mercy. No hesitation. Just put them away! If you must go to the Gods, go there with the blood of your enemies on you!"
Cassandra watched him fall.
She held her sword in two hands as she had learned in the land of the yellow men, alert for another attack. Quick to battle, slow to relax, Delilah had taught.
There was no threat.
She sighed. She checked the other two—still down, wiped her blade clean and sheathed it. Anger flared in her. She turned, looked at the fire, at Delilah. She stalked toward the woman.
The older, but not old, woman's ebony face was greasy with meat. She wiped her mouth with a rag as Cassandra stopped across the flames from her. Now that the fire had warmed her, she threw back the cloak. The device of an Amazon captain glinted in the light of the fire.
"You told them I'm a virgin!" she accused.
The wind howled softly about them and quieted.
Delilah shrugged helplessly. "It slipped out."
"It's dangerous!" Cassandra said.
"Yes!" Delilah said, nodding emphatically. "For them!" And she laughed until she tore out another mouthful of the well-roasted meat.
Hi. John Faucette here.
If you want to read this and the other stories in the comfort of your bed or lounge chair or get this for a friend or loved one, you may order below.
I hope you're enjoying the story so far. If not, tell me why. Use the email address below.
For those of you who aren't into fantasy under any circumstances, you'll find horror and science fiction stories listed in the Table of Contents. Hopefully, you'll find some that you like.
For those of you who will continue with Cassandra and Delilah after this interruption, you're in for a real treat. If the ending doesn't make you get up and yell, nothing will.
Good luck.
John.
