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Old 04-06-2007, 12:45 PM   #1
tom8517
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Default Lord of the steppes

I reigned in my horse, pausing to let the frost tinged air fill my lungs. The snows would come soon, and the clans would be encamped for the winter. This last chance at solitude, to hunt the steppes alone was welcome.

I am Drojin, nephew to the high king, Radok, the dread lord who had united all the clans of the plains. Under his banner none had stood against us, for a thousand leagues in any direction men trembled at our name. Letting my mind drift back, our last campaign had been to the east, a land rich in silk and spices, but divided and weak. We had raided at will, the last caravan yielding a prize to me sweeter than any spice. She had been the mistress of the high merchant who had led the caravan, a blubbering weakling unworthy of such a woman.

We had taken them at dawn, falling on them as they rose, my warriors slaying the few guards by bowshot as they we rode past their wagons, the shrill war cry of my clansmen increasing their terror. The fat merchant, unworthy of a warrior’s death, was pushed into a circle, taunted relentlessly, slapped with the flat of their blades, he ran to and fro, begging and offering gold for his life, the game continued until his bloated heart exploded and he collapsed in the dust.

Laughing with the rest, I dismounted and entered the wagon of the merchant. I saw her at once, huddled in the corner, not yet dressed. Her skin the palest yellow, almond eyes and long jet black hair with the luster of the silk her land was famous for. We had been in the saddle for a week and I fell on her like the wolf takes a fawn.

She knew of us, had heard the tales, and as such was petrified with fright. I would have liked a struggle, but she lay still as my hands roamed over her, my mouth greedily pulling her nipple in with my tongue, the coarse stubble of my face reddening the smooth skin of her breast. I tossed my sword belt to the floor of the wagon, quickly yanking my britches down, I took her hard and fast.

Crying now, in a tongue unknown to me, but sweet nonetheless as she pleaded and begged. I raped her cruelly, not lasting near as long as I would have liked. Pulsing into her, watching the horror in her eyes as my seed filled her.

I wrapped her in one of the rich carpets on the floor, binding her hands with a leather thong; I flung her over my shoulder and left the wagon. My men had finished looting and they raised a cheer as they saw the prize I had claimed. The wagons were in flames, the smell of smoke mingled with the sweet perfume of my captive. It was a good day.

My mind is drawn back to the present as my falcon flaps his wings on my shoulder. I remove his hood and fling him skyward; he spreads his wings and screams a fierce cry of joy as he climbs higher. My hounds trot forward, huge brutes, more wolf than dog, a matched pair bred and trained for me since they were pups. Again I think of the woman, tethered to the pole of my tent, her tears dampening my sleeping furs. I feel myself stir at the thought of her, how I will spend the winter bending her to my will.

My falcon screams again, and then dives; I see a small explosion of feathers and fur on the floor of the steppe as he takes a fat rabbit. I smile; one hunger at least shall be sated tonight. I make camp shortly, the sun rapidly fading, roasting the rabbit; I slice off both hind legs, tossing one to each dog, feeding the bird delicate bits by hand. All our bellies full I roll into my blanket and sleep without dreams.

As I prepare to ride back toward the encampment the next morning, I hear the unmistakable creak of wagon wheels. I motion quickly to the hounds; they drop to the ground and lay still.

I slither through the brown grass to the top of a small rise, five wagons, moving south, a rich prize, a dozen soldiers ride along, men from the far west, tall and pale skinned. My first thought is to alert the clan, my falcon can carry a message with the speed of the wind. My uncle would be pleased, one more rich haul before the snow comes.

Then I see her, she leaves the back of the wagon and takes a seat next to the driver. Never have I seen the like of her, tall, almost as tall as man, her skin a flawless white, perfect and unblemished, with long flowing light brown hair. All thought of the clan vanishes, this is a prize for me and no other. I slip back down the rise toward my mount, making plans as I go.


more later, Tom.
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Old 04-06-2007, 12:55 PM   #2
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I'm so glad to see your writing Tom! A fascinating start...xLx
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Old 04-06-2007, 12:56 PM   #3
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As always, your stories and writing intrigues me. I don't want to wait too long for more...
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Old 04-06-2007, 01:00 PM   #4
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Not too much later i hope Tom... its an intriguing opening, looking forward to more.
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Old 04-11-2007, 01:54 PM   #5
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Default part 2

I steady myself as I reach my horse and dogs. Truly this woman from the west has captivated me, but I must think as a warrior, twelve soldiers and five wagon drivers stand between me and her. The odds do not concern me greatly, I am one with the steppes, and these clumsy foreigners do not know the ways of the plains. And if I should fall the clans will sing songs of my death, a warrior’s death, with my sword in my hand and blood in my mouth. But I do not plan to die.

I ride far ahead of their caravan, easily outpacing the wagon horses. I pick a spot between two small hills, where I know they must pass between. I leave my mount and hounds hidden away, the three of them and I have done battle together many times, they will stay still and silent.

I reach the wagon track and hollow out a depression in the earth using my axe. The soil is not yet frozen and yields to me easily. Once done I stretch a hide over two sticks and weave grass from the surrounding plants onto the hide. I lower myself into the shallow hole with my bow pull the cover over myself and wait.

The time drags, but I lay still. Many times have I lain in ambush for deer or man. I clear my mind and concentrate on what is to come.

After what seems like many hours I hear the jingle of the horse’s harness and the familiar creak of the wagons. Slowly, ever so slowly I knock an arrow to my bow, taking pains that no movement can be seen from above. The wheels of the wagons pass ever so close, the massive weight would crush me, but my luck holds and they pass by, so close I can smell their horses, and hear the soldiers talk amongst themselves.

I raise from my hiding place, the last two soldiers ride side by side their backs to me. I rise draw and shoot in one motion, the arrow thudding deep into the one on the rights back. As he slumps forward in the saddle his companion turns in alarm, but another arrow is in flight, for we are the finest archers in the world, the shaft catches him in the throat.

I lay flat and the pull the hide over me again. The horses of the dead men run wild, the other soldiers shouting in alarm, looking around they see nothing but empty grassland.
And then they were ten.

I can hear the hoarse shouts of the surviving soldiers. I sense their fear, they are not cowards, but they are unnerved by the death of their comrades at the hand of an invisible enemy. After a few moments I hear the rumble of the wagons as they make haste to flee the unseen danger.

Waiting until I’m sure they are out of sight, I leave my spot and return to my horse. I dig my heels in his flanks; we fly across the grass, the hounds following. I can see the dust in the distance from the wagons, giving them a wide berth; I overtake them unseen and move ahead of them.

Dusk has fallen when I strike again, exploding from a gully as they prepare their camp, screaming the war cry that has chilled the blood of multitudes.

One of their number draws his blade as I ride in, parrying the slash of my saber. He has some skill with the blade, but my mount is far superior. Our minds almost one, partners in a hundred battles, my horse deftly places me at the back of my foe, and I run him through, blood exploding from his mouth as he dies.

Moving swiftly then as the rest try to hem me in I ride past one of the wagons, slicing the driver from his seat. I spur my horse forward again, back into the gully, draw my bow and wait.

As expected they divide, four of the remaining nine soldiers gallop into the ravine after me. The others stay with the wagons, guarding the woman.

I let fly with an arrow in the failing light tumbling the first from his saddle and then draw my saber. The other three thinking me trapped, exchange grim smiles and begin to slowly advance.

A sharp whistle brings my hounds snarling out of the tall grass, leaping, they knock the nearest soldier from the saddle. The man disappears under a howling pile of fur and fangs.

The others hesitate; horrified by the sight of their comrade being torn apart, their indecision is fatal as I cut them from the saddle.

For the next two days I watch, letting their fear grow, letting it gnaw at them as they move across the endless grass.

On the third night I slip into their camp, sliding and crawling the whole way, never leaving my belly. I roll unseen under one of the wagons, as the soldier on watch moves past I clasp my hand over his mouth and drive my dagger into his heart, his last gurgles stifled he dies unheard.

Moving to their water barrel I work the bung free, letting the life giving water to spill onto the brown grass.

The next morning to their horror they find the body of another soldier and the empty water cask.

I sit astride the trail in plain sight now, within earshot but not so close I cannot escape if I choose. I can see the survivors eyeing me with trepidation.

In a loud voice I address them, “You trespass in the lands of Radok, dread lord and master of the plains, many of your number have paid for their crime already. I am Drojin, and I enforce the word of my dark lord. Yet I am merciful, and will spare those that remain for a price.”

“What do want?” one of the soldiers cries back.

“The woman, leave her, and you will live, defy me and none shall survive.” You have no water, and I know every spring and stream for a hundred leagues. If you try to drink from them my arrow will find you before a drop reach your throat.”


The woman herself answered, “How dare you, mangy cur, I am the betrothed of Gregor of Rus, and the daughter of a great king in the west. My Lord and my father shall send armies to avenge this outrage; I’ll see your head on a pole.

“Your fire becomes you lady, but we have no fear of the men of Rus. As for your father, we are not savages, a suitable gift will be sent to him, perhaps a pair of matched stallions, our steeds have no equal. But not until our union has been duly consummated Lady. My leer is blatant.

“Die you filth, one of the soldiers cry, as all five draw their blades.”

“Have it your way then”, I reply, “You all shall feed the worms of the steppes before the week is out. And then I shall come for you”, I tell her, the hatred in her proud eyes causing my cock to stiffen for her.

Without waiting for their reply I wheel my horse about and ride off into the grass.

Last edited by tom8517; 04-11-2007 at 11:27 PM.
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Old 04-15-2007, 09:55 AM   #6
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Its good to see the continuation of this Tom, your writing is entrancing x
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Old 09-11-2008, 09:34 AM   #7
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Not too much later i hope Tom... its an intriguing opening, looking forward to more.
yeah
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