Robust Plaything
"Power is determined by thousands of interactions between the world of the powerful and that of the powerless, all the more so because these worlds are never divided by a sharp line: everyone has a small part of himself in both."
- Vaclav Havel
Jordan, high chieftain of the Poan clans, dismounted.
He flopped back on to the luxurious furs that formed the lining of his camp bed. He glanced over at the limp form of the slave girl who lay beside him. He vaguely remembered hearing a snap at some point in the throes of his passion. With a grunt, he cocked his leg and used it to shove her lifeless body from his bed.
"Cyprus!" He barked out for his steward. "I fear I have broken another one."
Cyprus was well aware of the situation. He had heard the change in the slave girl's moans as the crescendo of Jordan's rutting had reached levels beyond her experience and ultimately, beyond her physical endurance. He had winced when he heard the sharp crack of her spine as it succumbed to the exertion.
He bustled into the chamber trailed by two young slave boys. They were naked save for the chains and manacles that adorned their wrists. The chains were not restrictive and combined with their nudity were simply a sign of their status within the army. Obedience and subservience were quickly learned as any slave attempting to escape or found unsupervised was brutally punished. This usually took the form of whippings and beatings and most slaves were thus covered in scars and bruises. Once a slave's body had no more room for fresh scars, they were executed. These two were Wreghan children, freshly captured and being broken in under Cyprus's watchful eye.
All able-bodied captives were conscripted into the army. Those who evidenced weakness or disease were slaughtered and sent to the pig pens. Men and boys were castrated and pressed into servitude. The men were assigned to the various legions and tasked with the manual labors that kept the wheels of war turning. Boys were assigned to officers and ranking officials. Girls and women fared the worst. They were issued to the army brothels. Few survived longer than a year.
With a gesture, Cyprus indicated what was required of them and tutted at his lord.
"Perhaps his Lordship should find himself a, ah... more robust plaything?"
"My dear Cyprus, I do love it when you nag me so." Jordan crooned, idly scratching his groin.
"If I was to take a more, 'robust plaything', I would be riding one of my own horses."
The slaves hurriedly wrapped the girls' broken body in a sheet, hoisted it onto their shoulders, and carted it out of the tent. The body would make its way into the camp food chain, an unremarkable addition to the piles of corpses that made up the animal feed for the war pigs and hounds. When the war pigs were used in battle they would be coated in rendered fat, set alight, and sent screaming and squealing into the enemy ranks. A very useful tactic to break enemy lines, not to mention morale. The victorious soldiers of any battle that featured the use of war pigs would collect the remains, no sense wasting good pork, and thus the circle of the camp's food chain would be completed.
Jordan rose from the bed, strode over to his wash-basin, and began cleansing the stench of his exertions from his body. He had not spared a single orifice on the slave and his manhood was coated with a particularly fetid mixture of blood, semen, and feces.
"Tell me, what news from the scouts?"
The old steward paused momentarily, this was not a conversation he was looking forward to having.
"My liege, the front-line scouts have reported back," he said, licking his lips nervously, "Countess Slovenia has left small sorties as a rearguard to slow our advance on her legions. They are proving quite, ah, effective."
Lord Jordan sensed the steward’s nervousness. He sighed as he toweled himself down with a sheepskin cloth. Denmark had not reported back on schedule and was now three days out.
"You know very well that I have no interest in the front-line reports," he turned and shucked the damp cloth angrily at Cyprus. The steward caught it before it could hit him. The last thing he wanted was to come into contact with the results of Jordan's ablutions.
"That stupid boy will be my undoing!" Jordan bellowed, "have one of the sergeants muster up a search party. I ride at dawnlight."
"You intend to join the search my liege?" Cyprus wasn't really surprised.
"Yes, you cretin, how else do you expect we will find him?"
Jordan calmed down and moved back to his bed. It was late. The wandering light had long left the sky and he was tired from the day’s exertions. There was nothing quite like a day of fighting and drinking, topped off with fucking a slave to death, to sap a man of his strength.
There had not been true darkness on the Earth since 'The Purge.' The glow from the Skyforge, the Southland name for the Firewall, was more than sufficient to see by, but the rise and set of the wandering light meant that most life on earth still followed the traditional circadian rhythms of life. The evening was now known as emberlight, while the return of the sun, the wandering light, was marked as dawnlight. Mid-afternoon, when the combined brightness of the sun and Skyforge was enough to blind those careless enough not to wear protection, was helpfully referred to as brightlight.
"Send for my physician," he said as he climbed back into the bed, "I need to have some kinks worked out of my ironwork."
"As you wish, my Lord," Cyprus replied.
He turned to leave, but a thought occurred to him, "I feel I would be remiss if I did not remind you that we are still fighting this war in caver territory, and it is fast approaching the swarming season. It will not matter who the victor in our little squabble is if we're still in the field when the flood of teeth and muscle runs its course."
Jordan grunted.
"We still have time, Cyprus. This war is all but finished. It won't be long before that raven-haired witch is strapped to a bench in the officer’s billet, spread and ready to service the needs of every soldier in the kingdom."
Cyprus had no doubt that this would be her fate if it came to it.
"I would feel much better about the defilement of the Countess if said defilement was taking place within the confines of one of our citadels. Safe from the seething plague of destruction that threatens to break upon us at any moment."
He stopped himself before his frustration at Jordan's apparent lack of concern caused him to say something he would regret. He took a moment to compose himself and then took his leave. Arranging the search party would be a simple matter. However, he was more concerned that the army's advance would be hampered by the general's decision to break off from the vanguard of his army and go searching for his wayward son. Spies were everywhere. If word got out that the General was exposed then the tactical implications would be severe. And word would get out, there was no way to stop it. He was now going to have to perform a miracle to keep the pressure on the Countess and her army while his liege Lord dithered about on a rescue mission.
He left the tent at a brisk pace and headed towards the camp canteen. He would need to ensure that this business with Denmark was resolved quickly and to do that he needed to gather the most capable scouts to send out with the general.
One scout in particular.
