Taming the Warlord

Feeling refreshed after the vigorous scrubbing and dressed in his now clean and shining armour, the Warlord stepped out into the dim light of dusk. Imperium guards, almost as tall as he, stood at either side of the pavilion's entrance. They snapped to attention, their wickedly edged polearms standing straight before them. As the Warlord left, the two guards followed a few paces behind him.

Now was some time to solve the mystery of this Erra, the Warlord mused to himself as he approached the rows of cages where the prisoners were restrained. A soldier ran in his direction, skidding to a kneeling position before the Warlord.

"The woman escaped, my Lord." the soldier blurted, still his knees with head bowed.

Clenching his fist, the Warlord growled within his full helm. Stepping past the cowering soldier, he quick-marched to the cages where guards and soldiers were moving in a flurry of motion. They all stopped and stood to attention at his arrival.

"Explain!" He commanded to the assembled throng.

"We had put her in this cage here." A soldier said, pointing to an empty cage. "Later we noticed that one of our men was there in her place. She had obviously overpowered him and escaped."

"And where is this man now?" The Warlord asked, malice dripping from his tongue.

"He was wounded, my Lord. She had struck him to the side of the head so we let him go to the chirurgeon."

"You simple-minded fools! That man was her. She had cast a glamour over you." The Warlord growled. "Search the camp! Look for anyone with a head wound and restrain them."

The soldiers scrambled away from the Warlord's fury to obey his commands. He stood in thought, looking at the empty cage with his guards standing quietly behind him. He spun suddenly and strode towards the peasant camp. As he walked, he ordered those soldiers he passed to follow him.

Marching into the chaos of the campfollowers' hovels was a stark affront from the order of the warcamp. Mothers gathered their children and cowered, soldiers enjoying whores stood to attention watching their Warlord with fear. He ignored them all, scanning the mass of people. He gestured to the left and then the right, soldiers split up and started moving among the throng.

His attention was drawn to the loud cries of a woman. She was wailing beside an older woman tending to a small child. He approached this group of peasants, others scrambling to get out of his way like a sea parting. The mother stopped her wailing and looked up at him while the old woman continued her ministrations on the small child, who appeared to not be breathing.

The Warlord watched the crone work, her gnarled hands pressing against the child's chest rhythmically. With a cough, the child started breathing, startling the mother who scooped the child into her arms. The old woman stood weakly, bending over as she hobbled away, seemingly oblivious to the Warlords presence. Reaching over, the Warlord grabbed the kerchief from her head. A thick welt on the side of her face was clearly visible.

"Give that back!" The old woman croaked as she swung feebly at the Warlord, trying to snatch her headscarf from his hand. Murmurs rose from the surrounding peasants at this bullying. The soldiers nearest the Warlord fidgeted and watched the crowd cautiously.

Catching hold of her hand, the Warlord pulled her up high enough that her feet barely touched the ground. Drawing his honour dagger, he placed the cold-iron blade against the old woman's cheek. She screamed in pain as her form shimmered; reverting to the leather clad Erra.

"You'll not get away from me that easily, witch!" The Warlord remarked. He held the flailing wild female, who beat at his arm and kicked ineffectually against his armour. She spat at his helmed head, her raven hair billowing like storm clouds.

She stopped as he brought his dagger closer to her again. Her eyes filled with fury and her teeth clenched. The Erra strained to get away from the blade as it approached her chest. The Warlord held her still as he cut the bindings of her armour. Sheathing his dagger, he then reached with his free hand to the collar of her leather cuirass. Ignoring a bite from the witch, he ripped the armour from her revealing a thin shift beneath.

The sweat soaked silk clung to her full breasts, her hard dark nipples taut against the fine cloth. The woman bit back a shocked cry and with her free arm lashed out but her fist rang against his vambrace. Her eyes flashed to the Warlord promising to make him pay for this indignity.

The leather skirt was the next to go then the shift which he ripped from her shoulders, leaving painful welts on her pale soft flesh. Taking her free arm, he used the torn silk to lash her wrists together, despite her thrashing. The muscles in his arm corded as he lifted her off the ground by her bound wrists. He reached down to the silk loincloth and with a sharp tug he divested her of that covering too. He noted with distaste that her sex was bare unlike the thick fur of the females of his species. Balling up the undergarment, he shoved them into her mouth to gag her.

Setting her feet back on the ground, he kicked them out from beneath her so she landed with a gasp on her exposed buttocks. Turning back towards the bivouac, he dragged her through the dirt and muck of the peasant camp. Her muffled screams of pained outrage prompted no form of mercy from him. Soldiers lined up to watch their leader and the naked woman he dragged.

With a toss he returned her to the cage from which she had so recently escaped. She curled up in the corner, hiding her nakedness from the gathered group of men. When the Warlord turned to stare at them, the men rapidly dispersed until only his guards remained. Their attention was on the surrounds and not the nude captive.