THE NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON
In the full moon, the forest trees seemed like spirits, wavering, soft, unearthly. The clearings, natural or caused by the fall of the tallest trees, were silvered – no, like polished pewter, softer, not glinting back. Every rustle was a forest creature; only a crash of undergrowth could be a bigger creature or a Karnagion.
Or someone sent with a message from Iura, Jusnan admitted, but it was good to keep Karnagions in mind. He was a sentry, after all, and a Karnagion scout would not stop to ask questions.
Not long now. At midnight, the attack. The revenge. The return. The reversal.
Iura did not like them to talk of revenge. They fought for the ancient rites, the learning, the ways, the beauty, the freedoms of Salumis, not to force pain and humiliation on their enemies, though pain and humiliation must come. Jusnan was not alone among the men in thinking otherwise, but he kept his different thoughts to himself. After all, Iura was an inspired commander. Fort after fort, formation after formation, all the sister cities, had been crushed by Karnagion power with utter ruthlessness and consistency. Their message was simple: fight and all will die. Submit and become as us, and you survive. Abandon your language, your worship, your ideas, your customs, adopt ours and move on to the next ripe fruit to be plucked.
But Iura had fought not only with valour, but with cunning. Karnagion armies were invincible in open country – so fight them in marsh and forest. No fortification – except, so far, the greatest, HalSalumis itself, could withstand them? So give them no fortification to attack: use speed, mobility, surprise. Was it not the ancient Gods who had given Salumis a princess like her? Better that they had not given rise to the Karnagion – and that thought led down difficult alleys.
He heard the slight crack of dry sticks. Surely, one of them, not an enemy.
A girl he had seen before in their camps, though he did not know her name. One of the Falcon Sisters around Iura. Nice eyes. Nice breasts. Somehow more intriguing in the moonlight. If he were not a sentry, if they were not at the height of conflict… He suppressed the thoughts. She smiled uncertainly. Not been a Falcon Sister for long, probably, not yet learnt that warrior confidence that bordered on arrogance.
“Jusnan – it is time to gather.”
“Good. You have others to bring in?”
“No, it’s one to one. Follow me,” Until Iura had arisen, there might have been men in Salumis who resented that instruction, but not now. In any case, Jusnan hoped she would have a nice grabbable bottom, not that he would grab it, of course. She did. Always better in motion. That magnetic strangeness between magic and brave absurdity, the swaying female plump-bottomed walk. Not a thought of which Iura would approve.
If the girl suspected his thoughts, what could she do? She had summoned him to the gathering and he was coming. Right behind her, praise the Gods.
Strange shapes shifted in the magic light. Not human. But then, here and there, human sounds, human shapes. The gathering was coming together. The Falcon Sister, having done her job, was no longer close to him.
Better sights, clearer sounds. Some fighters he knew. Others he knew not as individuals, but by some mark or weapon – Ancestor Guard, Falcon Sister, Forester.
The biggest clearing, deep in the forest, impossible for the powerful, numerous, ignorant Karnagion to find without making the noise of a clumsy army. The fighters of Salumis gathering, waiting. Too many for the clearing, so some in the trees around the edge. Waiting.
Jusnan felt power. He felt determination; but above all, anticipation – of Iura. Without her, he suspected, the resistance in the forests and marshes would crumble and HalSalumis would be left to starve or surrender.
A movement. Something moving which made ripples, like a swimmer. Other people turned; conversations stopped. It must be her – her and her Close Guard of chosen Falcon Sisters. At first he could see them, but not her. They reached the centre of the clearing. The guards melted back. Her.
Iura Lallasma Peris Ensalum Kerix, Second Princess of the Throne, Torch-holder, First Voice, Protector of the People. Warrior general. Inspiration. Beauty.
He was not immune to her magic. She was such a voice, such a spirit, for Salumis – and such a commander, brave, decisive, inventive, calm in her decisions. A Priestess-warrior. But also, in that pale grey tunic and dark grey skirt-kilt, what a figure of a woman, what legs! Some time ago, he’d realised he was two people. Whatever priests and philosophers said, the two Jusnans were best just kept separate, both treated with care and respect, and as far as he could see, they rarely conflicted. After all, they shared a body and had no other. Live and let lust.
Iura was speaking. She was reminding them of HalSalumis – of its beauty, its fountains, its temples, its taverns, its people, all depending on them, her brave band. They had endured. She compared Karnagion attacks to the discomfort of sleeping without a bed. Laughter rippled round the band. She pointed out how many of them, who could now live off the forest, would have failed miserably back before the Karnagion. She reminded them, subtly without boasting, of how she shared their privations and dangers. But now the time had come for a decisive strike and on this holy moonlit night depended the whole future of Salumis. As she said this, she turned, arms wide as if to embrace all her warriors, and Jusnan enjoyed the view of her tight and shapely buttocks shifting under the kilt. Most kilts were heavier than that and showed the underlying shape less. So why had she chosen this one? Princess Cock-teaser. Well, after all, wasn’t her magic fired by a good infusion of sex? Ice-cool in battle – and hot…?
Then, like a sudden shift in a dream, his sweet imaginings collapsed. That Falcon Sister, the one who had summoned him, the one with the arse, was standing close to him again and watching his face. What had she seen? Fuck her. Rearrange his face. Hope she had just seen a good soldier who had twisted sexual fantasies. If she had seen more, the world could fall apart. His world, that was.
Iura was dealing with specifics of their plan, clearly, efficiently as always. Jusnan was sure few of the band had any doubt the Karnagion main camp was doomed: their ray-friers, their drop-bombs and oh, their stocks of rich food would belong to Salumis, to these hungry warriors. The Falcon Sister had stopped looking at Jusnan and was concentrating on her princess’ words. Nice face, Falcon Sister. Nice arse.
Iura had finished with the specifics. Now was the time for the final words of inspiration, hope and courage. Now, thought Jusnan, was the time, or something had gone wrong.
A light not of the moon bathed the clearing.
Those precise tones they had learnt to hate.
“You are surrounded. Submit or die.” Well, there was a first. Iura speechless and not knowing what to do. What’s your next move, general? Come on, you’ve responded swiftly to reverses before. What now? Lost it, have you?
Many of her band were cautiously looking round, avoiding sudden movements, to see if the situation really was hopeless. Everywhere, there were Karnagion. Because of the trees, it was impossible to judge their number. They might be well out-numbered – but they were in good firing positions while the Salumisans were crowded together in such a mass, that most could not fire without hitting comrades and all of them presented a juicy target to a Karnagion excited by killing.
Iura had pointed to the cause of her own downfall, thought Jusnan. She herself had said that someone’s outstanding strength could become their weakness and their downfall. Her magnetism, her power in speech, had made her troops deaf and unwatchful. Just as he had hoped.
But now there was a point of real danger. If his silly sheep comrades surrendered quietly, no problem at all; but if they fought, he was as likely to die as any of the rest. He must move slowly, calmly, towards the Karnagion, doing nothing they might see as a threat while hoping against hope that some Salumisan within knifing distance didn’t realise it was he who had betrayed them.
“You!” He turned. The Falcon Sister with the juicy arse. Eyeballing him (nice eyes) with real wonder, how can he, what is this, why is life not like I thought it was? He reached out and pinched her cheek (the face-cheek would do for now). He smiled.
“Yes, me.”
No-one knifed him. But he did not get to the Karnagion.
A group of seven Falcon Sisters had been whispering without turning towards one another. They had made their decision. Swiftly, in unison, they went for their spearshots. They just had time to raise them before the Karnagion got them. One of the horrifying things – or fun things – about the Karnagion ray-frier was that it froze the target enemy before it burnt him – or her. Or more precisely, as Jusnan well knew, the process went: freeze the target; nine second delay; strip the target; eleven second delay; then the burning stripped flesh away until the bones crumbled into dust – 38 seconds in all. He timed it. Immaculate. Hot – yes, both senses. The dust of the seven Falcon Sisters was mixed in one heap till someone would kick into it.
He realised Iura had said nothing, had given no order. Useless piece of royal cunt. Now she spoke (too late for those stupid Falcon Sisters):
“Surrender.” The male fighters seemed dazed – or accepting. After all, the Karnagion didn’t execute prisoners who didn’t resist. Slavery probably meant regular meals. Many of the females broke into loud wailing, which usefully made their breasts and buttocks wobble around. Jusnan continued on his way – until blocked by a Karnagion C4 trooper.
“Identify!”
“Sub-sergeant Jusnan Jusnan. Ahxuxux cgk xexik zve.”
“Ahg. Zve gn.” The trooper stood aside. Behind, Jusnan’s former comrades were realising who had betrayed him. The short zipping sound of a ray-frier told him someone had let their anger overcome their sense. Well, what was that to record for the Battle of the Full Moon? Salumisan fatalities: eight. Karnagian fatalities: none.
“My friend! Hruxx gh.”
“Hruxx hegh. Garnakar, well met!” A glutinous chuckle erupts low down in the big Karnagian.
“Well met, my friend Jusnan. Well done.”
“I get what I asked for?”
“You get what you asked for.”
“I have one additional request.”
“Ask. It may not be given, but ask.”
“I want one additional slave, A Falcon Sister.”
“That is easy. You shall have her. Ah, the aberrant bitch is coming to us.” That was a simple description as one might say, “a black and white cow”. The aberrant bitch, Iura.
She came eyes not downcast, head high, step regular, unimpeded till she reached Garnakar and Jusnan. She looked at the Karnagion general first; then at Jusnan, her eyes a frightening light. He felt his spirit start to retreat, shrivel, kneel – but he forced it to resist. He summoned up all his resentment and his lust. Oh Gods, lust conquers all. His gaze matched hers. His power against hers, locked in a trial of strength. Her weakness was that she had never met such resistance before. Her light was broken. She retreated. He pursued. She could not hold his gaze any more. He looked her up and down: tits, legs, cunt, throat. She was defeated by a simple lecherous foot-soldier; and yet, neither he nor she had moved.
He reached out and pinched her cheek.
“The Karnagion have given you to me as my slave.” She searched for her pride.
“I came to surrender to the Karnagion general, not to you.”
“You have surrendered,” said Garnakar. “You are slave cunt. Hold out your hands.” And so the slim metal bands were fixed on her, the same that were being fixed on all her followers, the same she had struck from rescued Salumisans, the same she had seen on the bodies of wounded or exhausted captives abandoned on Karnagion marches. Garnakar patted her bottom. “Now your master may do with you as he chooses.” She did not reply.
“My friend,” said the Karnagion, “you said there was another one of these beetles you wished to own. Point her out.” Jusnan began to search among the defeated for that one proud girl.
A whole band, a whole hope, was crumbling, its parts to be repurposed for Karnagion. Warrior women and men were submitting quietly. Few even wept. But there was one disturbance.
“I challenge! I challenge! It is my right!” A young female voice. Movement. A Karnagion raises his ray-frier.
“No – let us see her,” Garnakar barks. It was the Falcon Sister who had summoned Jusnan, the one he wanted to pick out. How convenient that she should draw attention to herself! Who was she challenging?
“You! I challenge you! Single combat to the death!” She was pointing, staring, at Jusnan.
“You have no right. You are Karnagion slave,” Garnakar told her. What impulse made Jusnan intervene?
“No, General, I pray: let us fight.”
“My friend, there is no need – you could lose. But let’s ask Princess Cunt here.” He turned to Iura. “You make the choice, valiant Salumisan leader. What do you want more – that this foolish girl of yours should live, or that this fine traitor should die? Shall they fight – or not?” For the first time, Jusnan realised the Karnagion had a sense of humour. One thing of the many he must learn. What would Iura answer? The former princess was considering the cruel and amusing dilemma. She spoke.
“I want most that my people have their own wishes. So if Enleiy wishes to fight, she should fight.” Jusnan was furious. The cunning bitch had got herself off the hook. Maybe he should fix up real hooks for her. But first he must fight the big-bottomed piece he now knew as Enleiy, a stranger name, a name from burnt and destroyed Iyamma. He was happy to fight: he was a soldier. A man.
Garnakar gave orders to a subjant and the subjant shouted orders to others. A place was cleared. Karnagion lights were hung, driving out the moonlight. Two fighters faced one another.
The Falcon Sisters bore swords longer than the Wessalumis Infantry, from whom came Jusnan’s sword and uniform. Longer, but lighter. Jusnan’s tactics, then, had to be to get in close; hers, to keep at a moderate distance. Jusman lusted for her, but knew if his lust overpowered his calculating mind, he might die for it; while his hope was that her anger would make her too eager. He must ignore the watching Karnagion, lusting for the Falcon Sister’s humiliation and blood. He must ignore the Salumisan captives, watching with childish loathing for him, praying for his defeat and death.
Enleiy made the first move. She rushed him. He waited, chose his moment and stepped aside. She was wrong-footed, slicing thin air. He struck. It was a matter of cool calculation. He wanted to fuck her, she was his in fact by Karnagion authority and law, and he had a reasonably strong preference for live girls over dead. He also wasn’t one of those who prefer them limbless. But if he was too mild, she would get another try at killing him and she wouldn’t be mild. She froze, the sword dropping from her hand, the red patch at the shoulder of her sword-arm growing. He kicked her sword away. Then he gave her time – time for her utter failure and defeat to sink in; time to realise that whether she died and how depended purely on his choice. He sheathed his sword.
She did not resist as he ripped her tunic from her. Thin material, well-worn by the rough life of an irregular soldier. Pert breasts. Now for her arse and cunt. But as he bent, she kicked. She aimed for his testicles, which was a mistake because his legs were not apart and his clothing gave some protection. She missed, but struck his upper thigh, which was less well-protected. It hurt: he yelped. She would suffer for that. She kicked – so he kicked. Right into her nice squelchy cunt. Laugh! Down she went. The Karnagion applauded. Jusnan bent down and pinched her cheek again. He nodded to a Karnagion, who clanked cuffs on her wrists and ripped off her remaining clothing. Those big bouncy buttocks came into view and (peer round to see) a discreetly hairy cunt, which the Karnagion poked, laughing. Enough of her for the time being. The Karnagion were ready to deal with Iura.
Organising something like this was something the Karnagion did very well. Their new slaves arrayed, the shortest at the front, to see the humiliation of their princess and warrior-heroine; Karnagion warriors, arranged by rank, the most powerful at the front, A pole hammered deep into the ground with a mallet. A young woman bound to the pole, bronzed by the sun and scratched here and there by bushes, but having known a mere twenty years. Sometimes the Karnagion staged executions like this of defeated enemy leaders, with a joyful and expert executioner, but this was no execution. But there was an executioner.
“Let the executioner step forward!” barked Garnakar.
Jusnan stepped forward.
“You!” spat Iura, with contempt, not amazement. He smiled and patted her head.
“A woman leading warriors – didn’t you realise it couldn’t work? Women are for five things – cooking, weaving, waggling their arses, getting fucked and bearing children.” He didn’t really quite believe this: she’d done a lot better than any male Salumisan general. But he did know his words would fill her with helpless fury. That was amusing. It was amusing until she spat in his face. He controlled his anger: there would be time later for teaching her who was master. He smiled. He licked off her spit; then he spat in her face.
He had used his sword on Karnagion, and a few minutes ago on a Falcon Sister, but this was the best use he had ever made of it. He ripped her tunic apart with his hands and then split it from her with his sword. Bare, fine, firm breasts underneath, the breasts of a fast-fruiting young girl. Her kilt, unfortunately, gave the sword nothing to do: he ripped it at the waist and it fell to her feet. He had not guessed. Nothing underneath. No, a lie: a tight and tangled bush underneath. He stood back to make sure all the Karnagion – and all the Salumisans, male and female – had a good view. It was appreciated. He even saw a couple of Falcon Sisters gawping at the sight.
“You are no Salumisan!” Another smile.
“No, I’m a Karnagion now.” And then the proud princess, the feared warrior, began to cry. He could see that she hated the weakness of her body. He would make her hate it more. For now, enough for all to see her sobbing, her breasts shaking – until Garnakar spoke.
“Now this bitch must be punished for prolonging a war, for all the deaths she has caused.”
“Alngk! Alngk!” cried the Karnagion.
“Caused by your invasion!” cried Iura through her tears.
“Your subjugation was our right,” replied Garnakar calmly, “which you unnaturally denied. Pull her from the tree, hold her tight and bend her over.” It was done. Under the light of the moon, before a great gathering, Iura’s behind was raised and displayed. One Karnagion brought extra lights. Another underling handed Jusnan the strap. It was best called a strap, but as he tested it, he realised it had unique qualities. It must be the product of great craft and experimentation over long years. What magnificent beings the Karnagion were!
Its base colour was creamy-white, but there were gold and dark red whorls and stars on it. As he flexed it, he was intrigued. It seemed to be able to shift between flexibility and stiffness in a way he did not understand. He showed it to Iura: a woman should understand and appreciate what she is being thrashed with. She looked at him with hatred. Good.
Now he had properly contemplated the strap, he could give proper attention to the arse. It was not as large as that on the hapless Falcon Sister, but it was beautifully round and looked tight as a coiled spring. Bouncy, very bouncy, he was sure. He patted it. It twitched. He spanked it lightly. Warm flesh. She squealed – short and sharp. He took a step back, wielding the strap. He struck. Joy! Her pain, her scream, his joy, his laughter, his power; her powerlessness. Sob, bitch! Quiver, girl-arse! Redden! Redden, bitch, redden! Take this, this, this, this, this. Here, here, here; at the base of your back, on your soft under-cheeks, on the fullness of those meaty buttocks, on your cunt. Yes, scream!
She screamed, she sobbed, he reddened.
The Karnagion applauded. And the Salumisans? Some sobbed. Others just watched quietly; and among them, some men had bulges in their trousers.
He had finished. What a work of art! Striped, dappled, red and pink; twitching, quivering, a performance, not just a picture! He had done this; and the thing was his.
Garnakar spoke.
“Let her be fucked. Yes, you, my friend – she is yours.”
So. That proud priestess of Salumis! That famous warrior-bitch! A cunt for a common soldier. Sweet. And sweet she was. Tight, oh tight. She moaned and whimpered to his rhythm. Her buttocks bounced to his thrusts. He was vaguely aware of his audience, of the moon, of the trees that had protected her – but what did they matter? Now and now and now and now.
Then, what glory, what pleasure what humiliation – up the arse of Iura Lallasma Peris Ensalum Kerix, Second Princess of the Throne, Torch-holder, First Voice, Protector of the People. Tight – and he could tell she hated it. Finally, enough. A panting woman, a satisfied, exhausted man.
The Karnagion were moving their slaves. Tomorrow they would make a last surrender demand to HalSalumis, telling its guardians what had happened to their princess and her little army. HalSalumis would surrender – or shrivel and die; and Jusnan expected it to surrender. Bit of a waste otherwise.
“Time to collect your two new slaves and come with us.” It was Garnakar. The Karnagion general seemed to have a genuine liking for him and he had no idea why. An honest rogue, perhaps? Maybe Garnakar admired the scale, the nerve of his treachery. So could there be Karnagion traitors? He might find out. But first, his slaves. They were both brought to him – the princess and the loyal Falcon Sister, whose wound had been bound, for it would be a waste otherwise. Both defeated; both his. They waited for his command. He addressed them.
“You are both my slaves, at my absolute command, mine to dispose of as I want. I can have you flogged or killed or given away as a present to a birthright Karnagion. I will use you for sex, but also for menial tasks. You will behave. But to take work from me, I’m going to set one of you over the other. You are responsible for her good behaviour. You must report to me any failings, even disrespectful words. So you, Enleiy, rule over this Iura. Give her no leeway and your life will be a fraction easier.”
