Chapter 1

The room dark, the lamps long since extinguished, but a little light still came off the banked embers in the open-faced brazier. The slave moved cautiously and as quietly as she could. It wouldn't have mattered, the form snoring loudly on the bed didn't move, and wouldn't until he had slept off the wine from the party he'd attended that evening.

The slave's master, the honorable Blein deMongue, wasn't in the habit of over imbibing. If he got too drunk he wasn't able to "play" with his toys in the manner he so enjoyed. It was difficult to judge that fine line between maximum pain and mortality. He learned that after losing a few that way. They had had the audacity to die on him before he was ready for that final step.

This evening though he had been celebrating the successful signing of a very large contract for dry goods with the Safehaven shipyard. In his exuberance over the expected flow of wealth into House deMongue he had bought round after round for his fellow merchants gathered in the tavern. Of course as "host" he felt compelled to partake of each round he purchased. By the end of the evening he needed the help of both the tavernkeeper's sons to help him find his way back to the boarding house.

He could hardly make it up the stairs and into his rooms, but he did get there. Once safely in the room with the door locked behind him he took off his coat and threw it over the back of a chair next to the brazier. On wobbly legs he stumbled over to the bed and stared down at the floor where his latest "toy" was securely chained to the footboard naked. She was pretty, they all were, but he'd had her for half a season or so and now was getting bored with her. At first her sullen resistance was refreshing. Her previous owner had warned him she wasn't the most tractable of slaves. He thought he would have fun breaking her spirit before disposing of her, but she turned out to be more mulish and strong-willed than he anticipated. As a true testimony to his ego, Blein deMongue didn't consider this as failure on his part, but on hers for being such a poor slave.

Normally he would unchain her from the footboard and secure her elsewhere depending on what his plans were for the evening's fun. Strapped down over a chair back if it was a whip or cane; maybe spread-eagled on the bed if it were needles, ropes or knifes. It made little difference to him since he could use her for his pleasure either way once he was done "playing" and she had either passed out or screamed herself hoarse.

What he had planned for this particular evening remained a mystery. After unlocking her leg shackle he stood up and reached out to grab her by the hair. As he stood he was suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea and he pitched forward onto the bed where he passed out cold. He never even had time to secure his slave. It was the last mistake he ever made.

The slave sat on the floor panting for a moment; not realizing her master was dead to the world and wasn't going to complete his usual fun and games that evening. Hands still cuffed together she struggled to her feet and stared down at his motionless body. Slowly she took the small ring of keys he still held in his hand and carefully tried each one until the cuffs unlocked.

Moving quicker now she went to the closet and pulled out a set of her finest clothes. After getting dressed she again stared at him, debating with herself on what to do next. Her choices were fairly limited. She could run, but the chances of getting away for any length of time were next to nil. Safehaven was a small community on an island, and although they were known to be "slave friendly" she knew that wouldn't preclude an all-out search for a runaway slave. If, no... when, she was caught, she knew what she could expect from her master: a slow and painful death at best, maiming and continuous pain at worst. There was one option: the result as sure as the first, but at least the nightmare would be over. Decision made she nodded minutely to herself and moved slowly towards the brazier.

Picking up the poker leaning against the wall she held it firmly in both hands and made her way determinedly to the bed. Raising the poker over her head, she froze. If she did this the commitment would be final. Whether she killed him or not her life would be forfeit under the law. Jeevel law could be ambiguous and highly subject to interpretation in many cases, but not in the case of a slave striking her master. It was death. For a moment she wondered if his death would be worth hers. But she remembered the pain and cruelty suffered under this beast; she struck down hard.

Despair triggered that first blow; hate and fury fueled those that followed. Again she struck, and again. She never knew just how many times she attacked his head. She stopped when her exhausted arms could no longer lift the poker and what remained of his head was little more than a bloody pulp soaking into the silk pillows.

Dropping the poker she stepped back. Now her only thought was to flee. Looking down she was just barely cognitive enough to realize that getting dressed before she attacked him had probably not been such a good idea. The front of her dress was covered with spatters of blood, bone and pieces of brain. The euphoria of killing her tormentor drove all care of that from her mind. She giggled and with the calm disposition of the truly fey she unbolted the door and walked out of the boarding house.

The two constables strolling down the street that evening expected a quite night. In a previous life they had been marines in the service of the Putram of Malshall. The capture of their ship and subsequent refusal of their Putram to ransom either them or their fellows changed that. Normally they would have expected to be sold to the mines of Jeevel but their present commander, Warrior Dent, now the Governor of Safehaven, had saved them that fate. They considered that humiliating defeat to the luckiest thing that ever happened to them.

The town of Safehaven was growing rapidly under its new governor and with that growth came the need for constables and a justice system the small quiet town wasn't equipped to handle. As a temporary measure the governor "loaned" the use of his company guards, in essence a private army, to Safehaven until enough constables could be trained and placed in service. Used to a life of soldiers and bloody warfare the ex-marines actually enjoyed the duty. It gave them the chance to bust heads once in a while and still enjoy the favor of an appreciative citizenry. Given their no-nonsense methods of dealing with troublemakers it wasn't long before the town was almost as placid as it was before they arrived. Now quiet nights were the norm and trouble the exception.

So when they saw the obvious figure of a woman moving listlessly down the street toward them it was with curiosity but little anticipation. As luck would have it they met under the flickering light of one of the few lamps on that street. Two things were immediately apparent: first the woman was a slave and second, she was covered in blood and viscera.

"Hey!" one said immediately. "What's happened here?"

"He's dead," the slave said. She spoke as though she were far away, not really hearing or understanding what was going on around her.

"Who's dead?" the other constable asked.

"He is," she answered, then she looked at them and smiled. "That fucking pig is dead."

"Gods what a mess," one guard muttered. "A name, we need a name."

"Oh," she said waving her free hand like the answer to the question was obvious. "Mongue. Blein Mongue."

"DeMongue?" the first asked.

"You know him?" the second asked.

"Know of him," the first replied. Turning back to the slave he asked, "Where is he and what happened."

"I hit him," she said still smiling. "I hit him and he died."

"Shit!" they said simultaneously. Instantly two swords were drawn and ready.

"Where is he?" the first asked. "Show us where!"

"Sorry to wake you, Magistrate." The night watch's captain nodded at the deceptively frail looking old man who entered his office.

"I know you wouldn't have if it wasn't important, Trieger." Daniel yawned and plopped himself down in the seat across from the captain. "What's the problem?"

"Well," the captain started, "it seems simple enough, but enough of the story sounded, strange. In a nutshell: a slave killed her master."

"No doubt as to who did it?" Daniel asked.

"Oh, none at all," Captain Trieger nodded. "She admits it readily enough. But..."

"But what?"

"Let's walk down to the cell," Trieger said standing up. "It's easier to show you than tell you."

Moments later they were standing outside the small holding cell the watch used.

"She's in there," Trieger said. "We stripped her down, her clothes are on the table over there." Trieger motioned to the guard standing just outside the cell and the door was opened. They stepped inside and Trieger held up a lamp so the light shown on the form huddled on the bare cot.

"Gods!" Daniel exclaimed. "She was like this before you brought her in?"

"Absolutely!" Trieger declared. "She came along quietly, no need for rough handling on our part."

"Hmm, I don't know if this really makes any difference if what you say is true." Daniel said slowly.

"I know. If you want I can have one of the men take her out back and put her down."

Daniel thought for a moment. "No. I want the governor to handle this one."

"The governor?" Trieger asked. "Do you really think that's necessary? You know the law as well as I."

"I know," said Daniel. "But he's the governor and gets paid for this kind of crap."

The rattling of the key in the door woke Shasta from the horrible nightmare she had been having. She was naked, but that wasn't unusual. What was abnormal was the fact her hands weren't cuffed and there wasn't a shackle around her ankle. Sitting up she recognized where she was and all the memories of the night before flooded back. Far from being afraid, at first she was ecstatic remembering how Mongue's head split like a ripe melon, that now the beast would never torture or kill another girl. After the first flush of euphoria a kind of melancholy set in as she realized the opening door was probably the executioner coming for her. Still, she was ready for that. Sitting up proudly she waited with only a slight trembling as an outward sign of her nervousness.

The person who actually came through the door surprised her. Unless Safehaven utilized gray haired old grannies as executioners they weren't coming for her just yet. Right behind the old woman the guard did pop his head in.

"You going to be all right, Miz Bilinde?" he asked. Then he looked directly at Shasta. "You don't cause no trouble, you hear! You ain't caused no trouble so far so we lets you rest without shackling ya. You just keep it that way."

"We'll be fine, Hubent," Bilinde said shooing him back out the door with an arm draped in clothes. In the other she held a pitcher of water and a large bowl. The guard nodded and backed out after telling nobody in particular he would be right outside the door. Bilinde turned around and for a few moments the two women just looked at each other.

"Well," Bilinde said finally. "The magistrate was right; we do need to clean you up a bit, dearie."

"Magistrate?" Shasta asked confused.

"Doubt you remember him last night," Bilinde said as she set the pitcher and bowl on the small table next to the cot. "He did say you were asleep when he looked in on you. Now here is some water and I have a towel in here somewhere. You're quite a dreadful sight, dearie. I'm sure getting at lest some of that, well, stuff, off will make you feel better."

"When will they kill me?" Shasta asked suddenly.

"Oh, I don't know anything about that, dearie," Bilinde answered as if Shasta had asked when the bed linens were changed. "All I know is the magistrate asked me to bring you some clean clothes and water to wash with. I know he is going to talk with the governor this morning. We'll probably know more after he gets back."

"The governor?"

"Yes, the governor. Now do you need help here, dearie?"

"Ah..." Shasta felt like she was moving underwater, everything in slow motion. "No. No, thank you."

"Very well, dearie," Bilinde said placing the clothing down on the cot. "I'll be back in a wee bit with some food for you. I'd say it's for your morn meal, but it's closer to noon now."

"Why?" Shasta blurted as Bilinde turned to leave.

"Why what, dearie?" Bilinde asked looking over her shoulder.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Shasta asked, almost annoyed. "I killed my master and you're going to kill me anyway."

Bilinde hesitated for a moment. "I'll not be doing anything like that, youngster," she answered slowly. "I'm helping you because the magistrate asked me to. As for you killing your master... If he be the one that put those marks on your body, maybe he needed killing."

"That doesn't matter," Shasta said, realizing she was getting angry with the wrong person. "I knew what would happen when I did it. The law is crystal clear."

"Well," Bilinde said. "The law may be clear, but one thing I've found in the past few months: the governor isn't. I'll be back soon."

Shasta did her best to clean the blood and gore from her skin and hair before putting on the dress. It was one of hers so someone must have gone through Mongue's room since last night. True to her word Bilinde soon brought a bowl of fish stew, a half-loaf of bread and a bottle of watered wine.

She was still picking at it when the door opened again and a distinguished older man strode in before she could react.

"Hello, Shasta torMongue," he said. She couldn't say he was friendly, but then he wasn't unfriendly either. "I'm Magistrate Daniel. I've just been to see the governor. He's going to hear your case the day after tomorrow."

"I don't mean to seem ungrateful," Shasta started trying to keep the sarcasms out of her voice. "But why are we going through with this farce? We both know there's going to be only one end to this. Why can't we just get it over with?"

"Because he wants to hear the facts in your case," Daniel said with a shrug. "It might be best if you think about what you want to tell him."

"Like it would make a difference what a slave had to say," she snorted.

"Believe what you will," Daniel answered with another shrug. "My guess is the governor is different from anyone you've ever met. His dealing with slaves are... well... strange to say the least. Here in Safehaven we have always been rather liberal when it comes to slaves. He goes far beyond that. I won't offer you any false hope, but if anything can be done he would be the one to do it."

"I'll remember that as I'm choking on the end of a rope," Shasta said sarcastically.

"If he decides its death, and that very well may be the case," Daniel said gravely. "I can assure you it will be painless and instant. You won't feel a thing."

"I suppose that's the best I can hope for," Shasta said staring down at her hands folded in her lap. Then she looked up quickly, "But I wouldn't change a thing. That bastard deserved to die and if I have to follow him, well, it was worth it."

"I won't argue that," Daniel said nodding. "I'll be back to look in on you from time to time. If there's anything you need just ask the guard outside the door. Bilinde will be by with your supper later; you can also ask her if you need anything." Saying that he left, stopping only to speak a few words with the guard.

For a while Shasta could think of nothing except her upcoming trial and execution, but after a while she became numb to that and cast around for something else to occupy her mind. Not surprisingly, there was nothing else in the cell. She had been captured when she was thirteen and had been able to read a little by then. Of course after her enslavement there wasn't even a thought of further schooling. Her good looks ensured she was used for only one purpose and education wasn't a requirement for a sex toy.

Out of nervousness she paced the small cell but after a while even that became boring. Wandering over to the cell door she looked out through the bars of the small window. She could just barely see the top of the guard's head as he lounged on a stool next to the door.

"Hey you," she called out.

"What you want, bitch?" came the answer. "Ya can't be needing nothing yet."

"I'm just curious about this governor everyone keeps talking about." She could see him move slightly as he settled back in his seat.

"What you want to know about him?" The answer was a little less gruff.

"I don't know. Who is he? What is he like? I've only been here for a few weeks and I don't know anything about him." She continued, "Which House is he from? What did he do to get posted here? He must have really pissed off someone to get sent to this rathole."

"Hey there!" came the reply. "Ain't no reason to be saying that about Safehaven. Lived here all my life I have, and it's a pretty nice place if I say so meself.

"As for the governor, well, can't say as I know much about him myself. Just what I've heard ya understand. What I do know is he used to be a Guild Warrior, guess he still is since he works out with them every day and all that. Building himself a big house up on the ridge. Big fancy place, but then he's needing it with all them women and servants he keeps with him."

"Keeps a lot of women does he?" Shasta gave a nasty little chuckle. "I guess he's not much different than any other noble I've seen."

"You best not be badmouthing His Excellency," came the disembodied warning. "Or his ladies, neither. His pet soldiers hear that and they be getting right pissed off they will, and them you don't want to have angry with you; that much I can say."

"Why would they care?" she asked puzzled. "He's just a noble to them, isn't he?"

"Part demon and part god more like," came the answering chuckle. "Don't know the whole story meself. Them in the company guard don't do much talking with us local riff-raff, but what I heard is he took the ship they was on -- regular Malshall navy I hear -- and when their Putram wouldn't pay their ransom he saved them from the mines. All I know is they worship the ground he walks on and if they hear one word against him, well, a boxed ear is the best ya can expect. And that goes for his ladies, too. Aye, they be slaves and all that. Witch's collars on the three of them and everything, but they might as well be his wives for all he treats them. All his other household slaves got them collars too; even the guards, but them three, they're special. Just my advice: be careful what ya say about them.