Ankina and the Little Death

At least they had let her keep her fighting leathers.

They weren’t much to look at, only scraps of blue-dyed leather that covered her breasts and groin, but a western shaman had enchanted them so that they’d turn blows and arrows as well as a full suit of mail. Even the King-Emperor’s invulnerable clay warriors had feared to take them from her. They’d taken everything else, though: Her weapons, her belt-purse, and even her sandals.

She stood barefoot before the King-Emperor in his camp, her ankles hobbled with iron-tough ghist rope, her arms bound behind her, lashed wrist-to-elbow to a stick. Behind her the members of her war-band stood similarly bound, but nude, stripped even of their fighting leathers. To either side stood two of the never-to-be-sufficiently-cursed clay warriors who had captured them. And by the King-Emperor’s seat stood the small and wrinkled figure of a sorcerer. That creature could be ignored, for now. As long as her hair remained in its warrior’s braid, sorcery would have no grip on her.

“So, Ankina, here you are at last!” the King-Emperor said. He was a young, hawk-nosed man who would be taller than Ankina when he stood - which made him very tall indeed. He sat on his almost-throne of a camp seat, relaxed in the jacket and belted trousers of a warlord, and gave her a look of ironic amusement. “You’ve led us on a merry chase since the demise of Lord Pogan.”

Ankina glared at him, saying nothing. She had managed to keep her war-band together after the rout of Lord Pogan’s army, arguing that as bad as life as hunted women might be, it would still be better than surrender to become a bond-witch. Men ruled the Great Kingdom, and men were not to be trusted.

“I do not appreciate, however, what you did to our villagers.” The King-Emperor gave her glare for glare, all amusement gone. “You were no better than bandits.”

“We did what we had to,” Ankina said stiffly.

“Should we give you to those villagers, then? Let them judge you?”

Despite herself, Ankina shivered. Her war-band had been... ruthless in dealing with the villages they’d raided, and angry villagers seeking revenge could be... creative. Her band needed the food, but maybe they shouldn’t have burned that last village. The smoke had brought the clay soldiers down on them, as they retreated to their bolt-hole, and after a short battle - made all the more bitter by their opponents’ refusal to use weapons - they’d been overwhelmed, bound, and brought to the King-Emperor’s camp.

“We offered you an amnesty, the same as Lord Pogan’s other soldiers,” the King-Emperor went on. “You should have taken it.” He leaned back, a wolf toying with a cat. “Even now we’re inclined to offer mercy. To you, at least.”

Behind her, Ankina felt her war-band grow still as they waited for her answer. They were too proud to beg, however - and so was she. “I will not accept a fate that’s different from my sisters,’“ she told the King-Emperor.

“It is as I said, Majesty,” the sorcerer spoke at last, in a voice neither male nor female. “She is a barbarian, yet she still is not completely without honor.”

“Very well,” the King-Emperor said. “You shall all share the King-Emperor’s mercy. None of you shall be put to death.” His smile was a razor. “Rather, you shall be put to the little death.” He waved a dismissal to his clay soldiers. “Take them away.”

The amazons, chained together in a coffle, got their sandals back for the three-day march to the September Palace. On reaching that destination, they were stripped of their sandals once more and marched, still chained together, through the baths. On emerging, they were met by bowing servants who fitted them with slave-silks before taking them to their cells.

Ankina still clung to her fighting leathers, but for the other amazons it was a choice of wearing the silks or going naked. So when Ankina nodded permission, they put on the slave-silks.

Those silks made a mockery of their old fighting leathers, being cut to the same pattern and dyed to match their color as nearly as possible. That mockery was made worse by the contrast to Ankina’s own leathers, and the amazon leader considered discarding them. But Gayana, her second in command, gave her an imploring look, and Ankina saw the agreement in the eyes of the rest of her followers. So when the servants offered to take away her enchanted leathers, she shook her head, and they desisted.

A bond-witch then took Ankina to her cell. She was a soft-looking woman, dressed only in a golden collar and shackles on her ankles. The chain between her ankles forced her to take short, pretty steps, and another chain from her collar kept the ankle-chain from dragging on the floor. Behind her, her wrists were bound with a silken cord. If they had been alone, Ankina could have just walked away: Bond-witchery consisted of small domestic magics and included nothing that could stop even a disarmed warrior. But one of those damn-them-to-crumble-in-hell clay soldiers accompanied them. So Ankina went meekly to her cell.

When they entered the cell, the bond-witch squirmed slightly and a pair of fleece-lined leather cuffs floated to Ankina. “You are to put these on,” the bond-witch said. “The smaller one on your right wrist, and the larger on either your right or left ankle, whichever you prefer.”

Ankina looked at the cuffs. They would lock, when she put them on, and the double-handspan of chain connecting them would leave her hobbled. Still with the bedamned clay soldier still looming in the doorway, she didn’t have a choice. The locks clicked as she placed the cuffs on right wrist and ankle, and she sat on the floor, hobbled.

“You will stay here, eating and resting,” the bond-witch told Ankina. “Then Sorcerer Mip will come and tame you.” The witch gave a short bow and walked away with the tiny steps enforced by her chains. The clay soldier went with her.

Ankina ate, rested, and studied her cell. It was small, only two paces by three, with whitewashed walls, a high ceiling, and a carpeted floor soft enough for a warrior to sleep on. Which was just as well, since it lacked any sort of bed. It did have niches in the wall, for a comb and other such small articles she might be permitted, and also four short posts in the corners, each one ringed with bands of some coppery metal. They gave off a tingle of magic, and Ankina considered them thoughtfully as she rested.

When the sorcerer arrived, Ankina was ready. She knelt meekly, as instructed, her back to the doorway. But when the sorcerer came forward, she fell to the side and her left arm lashed out, grabbing a fistful of robe. Unfortunately, with her right arm and leg hobbled, she couldn’t keep the sorcerer from undoing her braid, and once that happened, the battle was lost. Without the braid to protect her, she was vulnerable to the sorcerer’s spells.

The first spell unlocked the cuffs on her right wrist and ankle, but that freedom was short-lived. The second spell caused slave-bands to appear on all four of Ankina’s limbs, and the third spell tethered them to the posts in the four corners of the cell. The magically-produced cables tightened until Ankina was lying spread-eagle, looking up at the ceiling of her cell.

“That was an amusing struggle,” the sorcerer commented, stepping back to admire the spells’ results. Ankina spat an obscene insult in response. “Actually that’s not true,” her target replied. “We Sorcerers of the Mandela are not sexless - and certainly not as the result of anything so crude as a knife. Rather, we have embraced both the masculine and the feminine within ourselves. While that prevents us from engaging in the simple pleasures of coupling, we still have our enjoyments. For example, I will enjoy taming you.

“And speaking of knives, his Majesty was pleased to hear that it would not be necessary to shave you. He was quite taken with your hair, you know.”

Ankina shook her head in denial. She was proud of her hair, worn long in her one indulgence in a warrior’s life.

“It’s all right,” the sorcerer soothed her, “I assured him that shaving was unnecessary. All that I needed was to undo your braid. And you do have nice hair.” His ancient hands adjusted the night-black hair than now spread loose around Ankina. She shook her head vigorously as a shiver ran through her: With her braid gone, the sorcerer’s spells could affect her in more ways than simply holding her physically helpless.

As the sorcerer demonstrated. Smiling broadly, the ancient creature made passes through the air, and the air crackled with magic. Ankina stiffened, setting herself to resist - and gasped as a tingle went through her skin. It didn’t hurt, or even tickle, but rather sent a wave of gentle pleasure from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. She squirmed, and then pulled against her bonds, straining as hard as she could. Uselessly. “Go ahead,” the sorcerer said. “Struggle as hard as you like. Those bands and cables will hold an elephant, but you can’t hurt yourself on them.”

The sorcerer was right; no matter how hard Ankina jerked, her bonds held her in a gentle, unbreakable grip. She was helpless, barefoot on her back, her hair loose underneath her, bound spread-eagled to the four posts at the corners of her cell. She could do nothing as the sorcerer sent the gentle magic against her. Well, she could squirm, trying to throw it away from her, but that made no difference. She felt herself grow warm, her nipples stiffening under her fighting leathers, and a suspicious dampness began to creep out from inside her. She pulled again at her bonds with all her strength and realized, too late, the cunning of the sorcerer’s spell: The more she struggled, the greater the waves of pleasure that ran through her. She tried to hold herself still, then, gritting her teeth, but the animal spirits in her leathers awoke, and nibbled at her, kissing her breasts and her pussy. It was too sweet to resist, and she began to pull and thrash again, welcoming the pleasures aroused by her helplessness.

She felt the little death unfold within her belly, and she raised her head to glare at the sorcerer. The grin threatened to split that wrinkled face, as the old hands changed their rhythm. The delicious tingles ran in from her limbs to a place just below her navel, drawing the little death out. Her head fell back as her resistance collapsed. Animal delight claimed her belly, her loins, her breasts, and as she pulled at her bonds in a last desperate attempt to escape, the little death took her. She moaned as the shuddering pleasure soaked through her, a thundering, drenching storm. She tried to embrace it, and her bonds, pulling against her limbs, set off a second wave, leaving her panting when it finally passed.

The sorcerer chuckled. “You have great passion. I shall enjoy taming you.” Its eyes were bright in its ancient face.

Pride and curiosity fought a duel in Ankina’s mind. Curiosity won. “How long will we - will my war-band and I - be kept here?”

“As His Majesty promised, you will be put to the little death,” the sorcerer answered with a little bow. “You will be put to it each day until you are tamed; until you beg to be given to a man and trained as a bond-witch.”

“I will never become a bond-witch,” Ankina flared. “In my home village, we burned bond-witches.”

“How barbaric,” the sorcerer shook its head. “But if you will not surrender, then you be here a very long time. And now” The creature bowed again, “As His Majesty promised, I must put the rest of your band to the little death as well.”

Over the next several days, as she sat in her cell, Ankina could hear the struggles and cries of pleasure made by her war-band. It was as the King-Emperor promised: They all received the same mercy. Each had been given a blanket and a pillow stuffed with korsh-fluff, allowing them to sleep well on the floors of the cells each night. Each morning they were taken from their cells for an exercise period, with a magic drum pounding out the rhythms of a harem dance. And each afternoon, the sorcerer would bind them helpless and rack them with spells of pleasure, putting them to the little death.

On the tenth afternoon after their capture, Ankina sat on the floor of her cell trying to think of a plan of escape that wasn’t just wishful thinking. In the next cell, she heard Nairi enjoying the sorcerer’s attentions. She pictured Nairi restrained the way she herself had lain the day before: Hands bound before the belly, elbows tethered with a silken scarf running behind the back, and ankles held apart by those magic metal cables. She imagined the twistings of the sorcerer’s hands, and the crackle of magic as the spell caressed her. Cuddled her. Pleasured her. Seduced her.

Nairi’s moans grew louder and deeper as the sorcerer gently imposed pleasure on her. Suddenly she cried out, as the little death took her: “I am ready to be given to a man! I am ready to be given to a man! Please! Please! I am ready to be given to a man!”

The first of the war-band had surrendered.

Ankina listened to the sounds of Nairi being taken from her cell to be collared and presented to a man. She would be trained as a bond-witch, a pampered slave who provided her owner with small domestic magics.

The event delayed the arrival of the sorcerer to Ankina’s own cell, and she shifted uneasily, pulling by habit at the tether on her ankle. It was a long tether: Four paces, allowing her free access to any part of her cell. But it would not allow her to leave, even if her cell were somehow opened.

Ankina admitted to herself that she was impatient. Of course it was because she wanted the daily ordeal over with, and not because she looked forward to the sorcerer’s visit. She checked her braid. Braiding her hair each day was a futile gesture of defiance, since the sorcerer would pull her hair loose before attempting any spells on her. But futile or not, it still showed that Ankina, at least, had not surrendered.

At length the sounds of the sorcerer’s return came to her ears, and the sorcerer appeared at the cell door. The little creature bowed to her. “You will be pleased to hear that you will not be put to the little death today. His Majesty had decided that your war-band should all receive a day of rest.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ankina hissed. “I will never become a bond-witch.”

“You already are one, in a small way.” The creature chuckled at her look of disbelief. “A bond-witch gains her powers from allowing herself to be physically restrained. When you braid your hair each day, to ward yourself against spells, that’s a small bit of bond-witchery right there.” Chuckling again, the sorcerer bowed and left.

Ankina clenched her fists for a long minute, then tore at her hair, clawing at it to loosen and remove her braid.

None of the war-ban surrendered the next day, but two of the amazons cried out to beg collars on the day following. After that they gave in slowly, day by day, by ones and twos, until by Ankina’s reckoning there was only one other left: Gayana, the war-band’s second-in-command.

That deduction was confirmed the next morning, when the last two members of the war-band were let out for their exercise. As the magic harem drum pounded in the background, Ankina and Gayana sparred, wielding imaginary swords and shields against each other.

“I’m going to attempt an escape, Ankina,” Gayana said quietly over the pounding of the drum. “Now. I know my chances are poor, but I - I won’t be able to hold out another afternoon.”

Ankina considered that before answering. There was no good opportunity for escape from the September palace, so they’d have to try a bad one. “Warrior’s luck,” Ankina wished her lieutenant. “I’ll distract the sorcerer while you run.”

The two amazons made one more pass at each other with their imaginary weapons, then Ankina charged the sorcerer. As expected, she didn’t manage to get within ten feet of the creature before finding herself lying hog-tied on the rugs, but as hoped the distraction bought enough time for Gayana to race out the doorway, past the guard who reacted too slowly to catch her.

Unfortunately, that guard was not the only one. “Bleeding assholes of the seventeen sword-saints!” Ankina heard Gayana shout, and a few moments later Gayana returned through the doorway, carried by one of those damnable clay soldiers. Two more followed, along with the King-Emperor himself, a half-dozen courtiers, and five bond-witches. One of the courtiers, in the jacket-and-trousers of a general, took Gayana from the clay soldier and bound her hand and foot, using silken cords wafted to him by one of the bond-witches.

Ankina and Gayana were set, kneeling, before the King-Emperor. The two amazons traded glances, and began a war-chant, one that obscenely slandered the King-Emperor and the officers of his army. The general chuckled, and the King-Emperor cocked his head listening appreciatively, but the other courtiers clenched their fists. Then the King-Emperor spoke two words of command:

“Gag them.”

One of the bond-witches squirmed, and a pair of silk scarves rose and drifted through the air. The general stepped forward to knot the first one in the middle and thrust it between Gayana’s teeth, tying the ends behind her neck. With the second scarf he did the same to Ankina, silencing her as well. Ankina chewed at the knot and squirmed. The King-Emperor smiled at her, and suddenly aware of his attention she made herself stop.

“Shall I begin now, Majesty?” the sorcerer asked from its place beside and behind the King-Emperor.

“Not this time, Mip,” the King-Emperor answered. “We wish to deal with them ourselves.” He made a little shooing motion, and the sorcerer bowed and left.

“General Dinghi,” the King-Emperor went on. “Take this one,” he pointed to Gayana, “to her cell, and put her to the little death.”

“Yes Majesty!” the general said. He picked up Gayana, and Ankina felt an unexpected spurt of envy. General Dinghi was the sort of man she might have invited to her own bed, in other days. He was handsome, and the confident way he carried Gayana showed an attractive combination of strength and gentleness.

It did not take long. The King-Emperor stood silent, listening, and so the rest of his court stayed silent as well. They heard General Dinghi’s voice, too low to make out the words, and, more faintly, the mewing sounds that Gayana made through her gag. The mewing gag-sounds became less faint, then paused, and then Gayana’s shouts could be heard: “Yes yes yes yes!”

“Yes,” the King-Emperor smiled. He caught one of his courtiers by eye. “Go tell General Dinghi that yes, he may keep her.”

“Yes, Majesty,” the courtier answered, and left.

“And what of this one, Majesty?” another courtier asked, indicating Ankina, still kneeling and bound before the King-Emperor.

“Ankina I wish for myself,” the King-Emperor answered.

The King-Emperor’s bed in the September Palace was legendary for both its size and for its luxurious comfort. Both legends, Ankina discovered, were true - and maybe even a little understated. She lay asprawl in the middle of it, with the edges comfortably far away, wrapped in the King-Emperor’s arms, and feeling too blissful to even purr. The gilded shackles on her wrists and ankles had enough slack to let her lie relaxed, but still were adequate to hold her captive. And the silver collar on her neck marked her as a female training to be a bond-witch.

On carrying her into the bedroom, the King-Emperor had re-tied her with his own hands, using leather straps to fix ankles to thighs, and wrists to ankles. Then taking a knife, he had done what no one else had dared: He cut away her fighting leathers.

The loss of that enchanted protection left Ankina nude - and profoundly vulnerable. She could hear her heart beating faster as she awaited the King-Emperor’s touch. She was aroused, as if by long caresses or by a sorcerer’s spell, but he had barely touched her. And when he finally did begin, the touch of his hands was coarse compared to the ethereal kiss of the sorcerer’s spells; earthy, but not at all unpleasant. Not at all.

She moaned and twisted in relief, and he paused. She smiled at him, willing - desperate - for him to continue. And after a moment he did.

He played her body like a musical instrument, and the little death took her at once. This time, however, it didn’t release her after a moment or even after a few minutes. He kept at her, constantly reminding her of her helplessness, using not only his hands but his whole body to constantly stimulate her. She thrashed wildly, her struggles driving home just how helpless she was, just how perfectly the leather straps held her captive. And she couldn’t make herself stop. Each twist and tug fed the little death within her, just as it drank in every touch and squeeze the King-Emperor inflicted on her. As she was held in place for that utterly desirable torment, it seemed that the little death stayed with her half the night, growing stronger and hotter until it was like molten gold in her veins.

She had screamed then, long and loud, crying out with pleasure beyond belief. After that, she had only vague impressions: Limp fatigue, babbling, the soft comfort of being gently held, and finally, sleep.

The King-Emperor was awake now. She could feel his hands moving, and she clutched them to her breasts. He kissed her ear.

“Well, Ankina,” he whispered. “Are you ready to begin training as a bond-witch?”

She kissed his hands. “Yes, master.”