End of the Road

It is good to be home.

When the Argentum Road offered a choice, the Vosk or the Viktel Aria, the Merchant's Wagons headed south toward Ar. I parted ways with them, heading north.

"Master?" she said, struggling to keep up. She is a little pack animal, carrying my burdens on the road. Sometimes I forget that she was a free woman not so long ago, unaccustomed to being used thusly.

"What is it, Mina?" I asked.

"They travel south, toward Ar," she said. A statement, not a question.

"And how have you ascertained this?" I said curious-like, my eyes on the road ahead.

"A girl in one of the wagons said so," she answered. "A blonde one with blue eyes."

"The one with freckles across the top of her cheeks?" I asked.

She paused a moment. I suppose, in retrospect, were I attempting to be kind, I would not have identified the girl in question so quickly. However, the girl in question was made to dance between the campfires on more than one evening. Also, I do not always endeavor to be kind. And, in the interest of full disclosure, I had noticed Mina talking to the slut on several occasions over the last few hands on the road out of Argentum.

"Yes," she said, her tone a bit indignant. "That one."

I am not sure what the purpose of her question. or rather her statement, was. I suppose she wished for me to confirm that the wagons were heading into Ar and we, for some unfathomable reason, had decided to walk in the opposite direction.

It is good to be home.

I had not seen the villa in the hills northeast of Venna in some time. Mina may have been surprised by the way I abruptly unburdened her of my pack and threw her to her hands and knees in the rich, dark soil. There between the stakes bearing pendant bunches of succulent ta grapes ready to be plucked from the vine, I raped her. The sun was setting. I could see a panoramic silhouette of the distant, majestic Voltai on the horizon. Another journey had come to an end. I had a clear picture in my mind how lovely she would look in that position, the garment I allowed her to wear lifted to facilitate my use of her. As it turns out, I was correct. She was perfectly lovely, exposed so. And while she is not very good, as I have said, she is beautifully eager.

Sometime later, chained to the floor at the foot of my couch in the villa, she broke the silence.

"Master?" she whispered.

"What is it slave girl?" I asked. In the dark, I spoke to the ceiling.

"They will sell the blonde girl, the one with the freckles," she said. It was a question this time, much as she tried to phrase it otherwise.

"Yes," I confirmed. There was little doubt the dancer was bound for service in one of the better taverns, perhaps on Wagon Street.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

While her gratitude is fitting, I guessed at why she might be thankful. "You would not bring a very high price, Mina."

"Oh," she said. "Mina will endeavor to improve, Master."

I believed her. She was not only an eager slave bundle, but an earnest one.

"Then," I said to her, "you might be worth selling."

"Master?" she asked timidly. "Might a girl worth selling also be a girl worth keeping?"

I smiled in the dark, and then ended the conversation for the night. "Go to sleep, slave."

It is good to be home.

No, this is not the place of my birth. The Home Stone to which I am pledged is not housed here. Samsara, Aulus Street, the domicile in the Anbar are not located here. This hillside does not contain the Great Square, nor the Stadium of Tarns. This is neither the city of Marlenus, nor the Theater of Pentilicus Tallux. This is, however, for the time being, the end of my journey. I am not ready to return to Ar. Tomorrow begins the Waiting Hand. I will paint the door of my villa white, and nail to it the branches of the brak bush. I will reflect on my travels for the next hand, ruminate over the past, and consider what the future holds. I will welcome the first day of En'Kara from the porch of this villa on a hillside northeast of Venna. For now, Venna is home. It is good to be here.