The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Preparations for journey south began shortly before sunrise.

The collared girls, firm in their obedience, prepared the horses left by the thugs, whose bodies still lay sprawled in the clearing. There had been no command from Redewyn, yet the girls moved in unison, some securing leftover supplies while others gathered the rest of the horses.

The rubies glowed faintly upon their necks, but there was no light of awareness in their eyes.

Ylaine watched them in silence, her bracelet still cool against her wrist. She’d emerged from the spellfog in a stupor, shaken by the ordeal of gift-giving, and had searched out Kaelyn as soon as she could.

She crawled to her prone friend, and hugged her tightly. Kaelyn, still dazed, managed a soft whimper and a weak embrace.

The high grass edging the camp billowed in the breeze. The sun would rise soon.

Ylaine realized her feet were no longer bound by chains; Redewyn’s ranger companion had removed them.

She looked about.

It was still dark. The impulse to bolt for the line of trees came to her, but she was confused by the hesitation that followed. The other girls were still unconscious, but surely she would best help them by escaping now to find help?

She clasped Kaelyn’s hand, unwilling to let go. Shame washed over her and she bit her lip, even as the lust that filled her thoughts during Redewyn’s ceremony came flooding back. Some had resisted as best they could, but could Ylaine say the same? How quickly she’d succumbed to Redewyn’s spell... She’d been so ready and willing, desperate for the gift of true enslavement.

She’d have seduced Kaelyn—her closest friend—into subservience without a second thought. Anything for the honor of becoming one of Redewyn’s chosen.

No. for the pleasure of it.

She’d have joined Dwynneth and the rest, now supple, lust-driven thralls.

Ylaine gazed once more at her bracelet. Though Redewyn had slipped it on easily during gift-giving, the silver links seemed to have shrunk, and now fitted too tightly around her wrist for her to slip it off.

Realization came like a splash of ice water. Of course there were no chains around her ankles. There was no longer any need for them.

“Sluts. Attend.”

Redewyn’s call came like a lover’s caress, snaking its way down Ylaine’s back. The bloodstone on her bracelet flickered bright in the dark, and she squeezed her thighs together, helpless against the slow, succulent orgasm which took hold of her.

In a heartbeat she was up, energized by the ecstasy of submission. Kaelyn rose beside her, the weakness from her limbs apparently gone. The other girls – Calaris, Pyrniale, Mirribeth, Idusa – all responded as swiftly, up on their feet, eyes glazing over as the need to obey Redewyn’s summons deepened their pleasure.

In short order, they stood gathered in a semi-circle. Redewyn came forth from the dark, hands resting on her hips.

“We ride South, along the winding valley,” she announced, her smile now replaced with chilling candor. “The river of Kel’han runs through these mountains, and the ancient hunting trails still follow it.

“The journey will take us to the Highlands, three score and seven leagues from here. Then we make for a high mountain path. We shall skirt Ganadar’s Royal keep, where it lies buttressed against the Horm’s mountain flanks, but we shall pay them no call. Queen Nyssa still rules there, in name and in deed; she has shown great wisdom in not siding openly with the other Royal Houses of Middle-Urth against our Queen, and we must not yet give her cause to rescind. Soon, even the adjacency of her frail realm to the North of Surdor may not be enough to quell her sympathy for Sauriann’s enemies.”

“Our Queen,” Redewyn had said, and Ylaine struggled to quell her body’s heat at her instinctive acceptance of who that now was. She thought of Ganadar. Nyssa was Queen and Ringbearer, rumored to be lone ruler among the Nine still free. How she had managed to resist the corrupting influence of the One ring of Sauriann was a mystery, but few doubted the Dark Queen’s designs upon the realm of Ganadar once war ceased in the South.

The thrill of submission was still strong, and Ylaine’s sex moistened at the thought of Nyssa submitting to rings and collars and bracelets, but other discordant thoughts spoiled her revelry. The Queen was still free... had a fortress... armies and magicks at her disposal. She could be the only hope Ylaine and the other girls had left. Beyond Gandar was only the realm of Sauriann.

Was there a way to defeat the enchantments of the collars and bracelets? The question seemed almost silly, academic. Ylaine swallowed – part of her knew she ought to be wishing for this to happen, but each repeated slip into lust made her want to obey Redewyn even more. As if to confirm her suspicions, the bracelet throbbed against her wrist, and she slipped back into the spellfog.

Mirribeth stirred at the far left of the circle. Redewyn looked at her questioningly.

“What... happens... after?” she murmured, her eyes drifting in and out of hypnotic trance.

Redewyn smiled. “Once we leave the valley unnoticed, we venture out onto the steppes, and ride for Surdor. There, the Dark Queen will bind your minds and souls with Her most powerful magicks. You will become perfect vessels of Her will. You will long for nothing but the need to serve, obey and worship Her.”

A collective moan rose up from the semi-circle, with some of the girls shuddering on their feet. In spite of the spellfog, Ylaine hand’s reached blindly to her right, and found Kaelyn’s.

The two held onto each other in silence, and Ylaine’s heart beat a little faster when she felt a gentle squeeze.

It was said of Kel’han that its waters came to flow when the Goddesses rose in the first Spring of the world, and melted the ancient snows by breathing upon them.

The winding path of the horse trail, hugging the bank of white pebbles that formed the bed of the river, dwindled into the far distance, beyond the pine forests that stretched far up the mountainside. Ylaine sat stiffly atop her mount, gazing at the beauty of the valley without taking notice.

She was third in a line of seven, one of the two groups of bracelet girls chaperoned by the ranger. They huddled close, but there was no conversation, no sound of whispers above the steady canter of the horses.

Redewyn could be seen some distance ahead, riding along, with all of the collared girls in her train. Ylaine, despite the rush of guilt, felt relief at being so far behind. She’d caught glimpses of Yasha and Dreida before they mounted at the crack of dawn. She’d searched their eyes for signs of awareness. Something of the girls she’d once known.

Nothing. Her fellow students had stared back in silence, pausing briefly before resuming their assigned tasks. Ekiale had walked past them, her wide eyes trained forward, her naked silhouette outlined in the shadow of a tall pine. Like all the other collared girls, she’d shed the garments worn during the capture, striding gracefully in the nude despite the mountainchill.

Proud sword-maidens. Friends. Entranced into licentious playthings. The lewdness of it would have shamed Ylaine if the bracelet she wore didn’t soften her mind, making her aroused by the sight of firm breasts and muscled thighs. She caught herself staring a couple of times, her fingers twitching, eager to slip between her legs and give in to the rising lust that threatened whenever her thoughts wandered.

Maybe if she stared long enough, she’d take off her own gown and join them. There would be no collar at her neck, but she’d be too entranced to care.

Her mount stepped over a rock, and she blinked back into the here and now. She held on to the reigns out of habit, but refrained from pulling on them. The horse, healthy but branded with the mark of Sauriann, followed the trail meekly, disregarding its rider whenever she tried to coax it on to another path. Even a strong kick would not rouse the animal; whatever free will it possessed had vanished, along with that of its rider.

One more thread in the Sauri’i witch’s intricate web.

Ylaine looked up, squinted. The sun was rising steadily in the sky, basking them in early-Summer warmth. Here in the depths of the valley, with the flanks of mountain cliffs keeping the winds of Ganadar’s Southern steppes at bay, the passage to warmer seasons came swiftly. Most of the winter snows had gone, with only patches of it left in the shadow of tall trees. By the time they reached the pass that would take them out of the Horm – ten day’s ride, she estimated – none would be left.

Ten days.

She turned her head, stole a glance towards Miribeth, Jirillan, but quickly averted her eyes when Kaelyn came up the path behind them.

She kept her face still as she indulged in thoughts of escape. The throbbing need to submit, ever-present at the edge of her mind, made her shift in her saddle, but did not quite sap all of her resolve.

She sighed deeply, and closed her eyes.

Late in the afternoon, they dismounted.

Though all of Nhalmea’s students could ride, such travel—in flimsy nightdresses or in nothing at all—a single hour should have chafed their thighs into red scabs. But the bewitched saddlecloths felt like black silk, and Ylaine’s skin, at least, was as smooth as when she had mounted. As for the chill of the early spring air, it did not penetrate; here too, Sauriann’s magicks kept their skin inviolate.

Still, it had been months since good riding weather, and hours in the saddle had left the muscles under Ylaine’s skin knotted with cramps. As she stood by her horse, she realized that escape on foot was inconceivable now, even without the silver bracelet on her wrist.

The ranger came from the head of the line and stopped before her. Somehow Ylaine had only seen the woman’s collar this afternoon, realized that Redewyn’s capable second was enslaved the same way as Dwynneth and the others.

“Lift up your shift,” the ranger said.

Her arm tingled and her sex tingled and Ylaine obeyed, exposing her aching legs and her barely-covered sex. Her lustful seeping had dampened her undercloth entirely, and Ylaine knew its near-transparency could hide nothing. She wanted the ranger to notice, to touch it, and shame and desire burned in Ylaine’s cheeks.

The ranger’s fingers were cool on her twanging thighs; Ylaine realized that they were coated in an unguent. She shuddered as the ranger slid and smeared it all over her legs, fingers coming so so close to her hungry sex.

Then the ranger stood and went to the next girl. Ylaine watched, her lust unsatisfied, as Jirillan obediently lifted her own nightdress, moaning a little as the ranger rubbed a hand between her thighs.

Ylaine’s legs were warm, now, the ointment doing its work, and the pain subsiding. Time, perhaps, to touch herself...?

The bracelet pulsed its approval. Ylaine looked at it, looked at the bloodstone that seemed to glow. Sauriann’s mark was engraved on it, hard to see against the deep red of the gem itself. Ylaine looked deeper, seeking its core...

“Waken, slut.”

She blinked, and looked up.

It was dark. Stars glittered hard in the cold sky.

Redewyn was smiling a crooked smile, a handsbreadth away.

“Did you reach my Mistress, slut?”

Ylaine’s mouth fluttered but she knew no reply.

Redewyn lifted a hand to brush Ylaine’s chin. Then she let it fall to stroke her breast.

“No? Do not fear. The time will come. Once you gaze into Her eyes, there will be no need for enchanted trinkets. You will become as much a slave as any Sauri’i.”

Redewyn leaned over and kissed her, warm and soft on her lips, and Ylaine could not and did not want to resist the orgasm that took her and softened her knees until only Redewyn’s hands on her arms kept her from the ground.

Redewyn relented and Ylaine’s body trembled in her grip.

“Come. I have a special task for you. Follow me and obey.”

Obey burned in Ylaine’s mind, and she docilely followed as Redewyn turned and walked towards a campfire Ylaine had no memory of anyone building.

Ahead of her Redewyn’s ass flexed under the skintight black leather, and Ylaine wanted to kiss it, to taste it and feel it. It caught her mind as Redewyn walked, flexing left, flexing right, and the trance that was still in control of part of her mind flowed back, ready to welcome her back to obedient unconsciousness.

She looked away.

The horses stood together, under a broad pine, a few paces to her right. Next to them were the girls—Kaelyn, Pyrniale, Idusa, all of those who did not yet wear collars. They stood together, silently, their left arms raised, staring into their bracelets with glassy eyes.

Ylaine’s breath caught.

And I, too, she realized. All of them, blissfully lost in the gems that enslaved them.

It turned her on so much, it would almost have been better to shift her gaze back to Redewyn’s ass.

When the Sauri’i came to a halt, Ylaine had convinced herself she’d won the battle to look instead at Redewyn’s shoulder blades, eyes up, not at her so-wonderful ass, but such thoughts were suddenly moot. She saw the collared girls gathered around the fire, and fought back a moan that was more lust than despair.

All five of them. Dwynneth, Dreida, Ekiale, Isleif, and Yasha. Nude. Their collar gems glowing on their throats. Their faces were expressionless, but their nipples were hard, and the orange firelight glittered wetly between their legs.

Redewyn raised her arms.

“Disrobe me.”

Ylaine’s sex pulsed and her body obeyed even before she realized the command was meant for her.

The intricate lacing went down Redewyn’s back, and Ylaine’s fingers fumbled at first. She unlaced, and unlaced, and the black leather reluctantly gave up the white flesh it encased. Ylaine made her way down Redewyn’s back, only to realize that the lacing went right down between her smooth buttocks and up between her legs.

Kneeling in the cold grass, the young student continued her task. Her hands trembled but did not stop.

Redewyn’s rear cleft was soon revealed, the blood red laces hanging on either side; Ylaine’s sex was now a furnace, her fingers brushing the inside of Redewyn’s thighs as she exposed Redewyn’s own smooth wet lips.

She hungered for Redewyn to tell her to kiss them.

On impulse she leaned forward, looking up between the long, smooth legs, following the lacing. It ended just above Redewyn’s sex. She was done.

A droplet fell on her cheek.

Redewyn rewarded the kneeling girl with an approving smile as she stepped forward and began peeling off her leather. She pulled it down in front, slithering out from the arms, stepping out of the legs.

Her skin was marked with red lines everywhere the stitching had run, across her back, cupping her breasts, down the inside and outside of her legs. Ylaine realized that they weren’t flesh impressions, marking Redewyn’s smooth white skin.

They were tattoos.

Even nude, she wore the marks of her Mistress.

There was a roaring in Ylaine’s ears as she got back on her feet; she was not sure whether it was her blood or the fire, which had grown stronger and now leapt in tall flames from the glowing coal. Around it, her schoolmates stood, faces slack, eyes glittering, gemstones glowing at their throats.

Redewyn hissed then, a long sibilant sound, and crouched low, spreading her legs, raising her arms in invocation.

“My Mistress. My Queen. Your slaves await you.”

The flames leapt up suddenly, hissing in response. A distant, thunderous rumble echoed across the whole valley, though not a stormcloud could be seen in the night sky.

Redewyn rose slowly and began to move, sidling around between the fire and the entranced girls, her long fingers sweeping shadow across their expressionless faces.

“Sluts. Slaves. So you are, but much more can you become. Sauriann is here, sluts. Her Dark Eye is upon you. She waits to welcome you into eternal service.”

She moved around the half-circle, taking long sinuous steps.

“Come,” she whispered. “Come. You know Her now. You can feel Her. She haunts your thoughts and dreams. You must give yourself over. Give yourself to Ssauriannnn.”

The red flames flickered on blank, glassy eyes. Ylaine’s friends did not move.

“Come. Give in. Surrender. Give yourself to Herrr. She will take you and make you Hers. You shall be Her slave foreverrr, bound in blissful obedience to Her will. Come.”

Ylaine’s mouth was too dry to speak, and she was secretly thankful, for she no longer trusted her tongue. If she spoke now, it would be to give in, to step forward and take what Redewyn was offering.

The Sauri’i ran long fingers across Ekiale’s bare belly, and Ekiale shivered in the flame’s light. There was no despair in her eyes, Ylaine realized – no trace of longing for her lover Idusa, lost somewhere in the near dark, too dazed by the bracelet she wore to lust for enslavement with the girls that stood around the fire.

“Come,” Redewyn insisted. “I can feel how you long for Her. How much you need Her. Need to obey Her, to give in and embrace eternal slavery. Come. Come.”

Ekiale’s lips trembled, opened, but no sound came out.

Redewyn slunk onward, her smile undiminished. She went around the crescent of her entranced thralls, and Ylaine could see her eyes now, see the glistening black orbs that dwelled there. Above Redewyn’s nude and dripping sex was a mark, a mark which glowed with a green fire.

“Come,” she hissed again, and Ylaine’s leg twitched forward.

“Come.”

Ylaine fought herself.

Then, someone spoke.

“I,” Yasha said, stepping forward with strong thighs.

“I give myself to Her.”

Her shoulders ached dreadfully, but Ylaine was barely aware of the pain.

She held a bowl, arms flat, elbows under her breasts. In it a clear liquid glistened.

Yasha stood before the fire, legs spread, arms raised.

The other collared girls were anointing her.

Dwynneth stepped forward, dipped both of her hands in the bowl. Ylaine searched her eyes in desperation as she had searched Ekiale’s, but the sword-maiden was far too entranced by the jeweled collar she wore. She turned without a word, the oil running in rivulets down already slick arms as she went to touch Yasha. To run her hands over the whole of Yasha’s body.

They were all touching her, stroking her flesh with oily hands. Yasha’s naked skin glistened and flickered with the fire’s orange light.

Isleif left them, went to Ylaine and sank her oiled fingers back into the bowl. Ylaine managed to tear her gaze away from Yasha’s shining form, hoping to find Isleif struggling against the dark arousal that owned her, but Isleif’s eyes were as glassy and blank as they ever had been.

She stepped away and slid her hands down Yasha’s thigh.

But they had resisted. They had. Ylaine could barely think, but the part of her that was not overwhelmed by lust or burning with the need to obey was awake enough to draw comfort from the fact that, somewhere inside their obedient bodies, her friends still resisted. Yasha had given in, was giving in, but the others had held on.

Maybe she could find the strength to resist, too.

Redewyn, having moved off into the shadows after instructing her thralls to anoint Yasha, now stepped back into the light. She smiled, her skin eerily pale despite the warm colors of the fire. Her eyes were green again, but just above her cleft her owner’s Mark still glowed.

She motioned and the thralls stepped aside, reforming the half-circle.

In one hand Redewyn held a wand, ending in a tuft of hair. A brush.

She stopped in front of Ylaine, and waved a hand over the bowl.

The ointment turned black.

Without glancing at the bowl-holder, Redewyn stepped around the fire to where Yasha stood, legs apart, glistening from her crown to her toes. Her hair was pulled back, slick against her head. Redewyn stood opposite her, staring into her eyes.

“Yasha ap Llir, daughter of Anselheim, daughter of Erengar, do you know what you are asking?”

“I do,” Yasha whispered.

“Do you give yourself wholly to Sauriann?”

“I do.”

“Do you wish to become Her creature, alive only to serve Her, renouncing all other allegiance and any desires She does not place within you?”

“I,” Yasha was panting, “Do.”

“Then,” Redewyn said, stepping aside, “you shall become Her slave.” Her green eyes glittered. “Yasha, slave of Sauriann, let the flames consume your will.”

For the first time since the infernal ceremony had begun, Yasha’s eyes moved, sliding down to look at the fire. They widened slightly, as if seeing it for the first time. She looked up, at the other girls staring mindlessly, and then at Ylaine.

Oh, Ylaine thought. She’s waking up.

Please let her wake up.

Yasha raised her arms, looking at them, and then down at her own glistening nude torso. She looked up at Redewyn, who stood next to her, impassive.

Yasha looked at the fire again.

And stepped into it.

It roared higher, orange and red, tongues whipping around her body.

It did not burn her.

Yasha stared into the darkness, and began to whisper.

“I belong to Sauriann,” she said.

“I am Her slave.”

Redewyn moved, approaching Ylaine, dipping the brush into the bowl she held. The black oil clung to the brush and flickered in the firelight. The Sauri’i moved around the fire to face Yasha. Yasha continued to whisper.

“I belong to Sauriann.”

“Her will fills my mind.”

“I am Her slave.”

Redewyn raised the brush, and stabbed Yasha in the nipple. Yasha gasped, then as Redewyn swirled the brush tip around, resumed her chant.

“I belong to Sauriann.”

“Her will guides my every thought.”

“I am Her slave.”

Redewyn reached out and dipped the brush into Ylaine’s bowl again. Yasha’s left nipple was black, now, black and glossy. The flames licked at her.

“I belong to Sauriann.”

Ylaine found to her dismay that she was mouthing the words.

“My mind contains no other thought.”

“I am Her slave.”

Redewyn painted Yasha’s other nipple, and then drew a smooth curve across her belly, below her navel. Another dip, and she reached for Yasha’s face.

“I belong to Sauriann.”

“Her will fills my mind.”

“I am Her slave.”

As the brush touched Yasha’s lips, she whined in pleasure, but did not cease her chanting. She was growing louder, her voice rising as her certainty grew.

“I belong to Sauriann.”

“My flesh, my mind, my soul.”

“I am Her slave.”

Her lips were glossy black, now, and a line up the bridge of her nose. The brush-tip reached for her eyes and she closed them, still chanting, as it darkened her eyelids.

“I belong to Sauriann.”

“Obedience is my only purpose.”

“I am Her slave.”

Her voice was clear and strong as Redewyn painted her. Ylaine knew that she was whispering the words, unable to resist the lure of the chant. Dreida… Isleif… Ekiale… Dwynneth… they all joined in, their lips moving in time to Yasha’s unholy vows.

“I belong to Sauriann!”

“My will, my mind, my life!”

“I am Her slave!”

Redewyn painted her back, her legs, her hands. Wrote in a blasphemous tongue above her sex, placed dark sigils on her thighs and on her neck. Over her heart she drew an eye, and in the roaring firelight that black gloss seemed to glow red.

“I belong to Sauriann!” Yasha shouted.

“Her will is my only purpose!”

“I am Her slave!”

Redewyn paused, and it seemed for a moment that the brush-tip shone with an eerie green. Then she stabbed Yasha in her cleft.

Yasha screamed her orgasm to the night sky as the brush stroked and twirled, and a crack of thunder answered her call. The flames leapt up around her in a huge fireball, burning fierce for a heartbeat, and then were gone.

The hissing scorched logs filled the still air around them. The fire was extinguished, and only burning ashes remained.

Redewyn stepped back as Yasha’s gasping and panting quieted.

Ylaine heard her own breath now, and felt the painful hardness of her nipples.

Yasha stood in the mound of ash, legs spread, head down.

She slowly looked up at Redewyn.

Her eyes were a glistening black.

“i belong to Sauriann,” she said with quiet ecstasy.

They mounted at first light, and rode through the day.

Ylaine was grateful for the trance she kept slipping into, if only to avoid dwelling on what had happened.

How long would she resist? She had almost given herself over last night, and she wasn’t even wearing a collar. The magicks of the bracelet alone was wooing her over. Every thought of submission, of slavery, sent a thrill through her sex.

Best not to think at all.

But that led to slavery too.

Yasha had given in. Yasha! How could Ylaine resist if the strong-willed sword-maiden hadn’t been able to?

But the others could. The others were.

There was hope. There had to be.

She almost flinched as someone stroked her arm. Ylaine woke a bit more and looked over, only to seize the reins of her mount tightly as she saw Yasha riding next to her.

Her eyes were a beautiful dark blue.

“Hello, Ylaine,” she said huskily.

Ylaine’s mouth twitched but nothing came.

“i want to thank you,” Yasha said. Her eyes were full of power, and her smile was wicked. On her nude flesh there was no trace of the black art she wore last night.

“i want to thank you for helping me,” she went on. “Helping me to become Her slave.”

Ylaine’s lips trembled.

“we will all embrace Her,” Yasha said. “Especially you, Ylaine. You were born to be a slave. i can sense your eagerness, your lust to give in. i can taste it. You would do well to embrace it, Ylaine. Give yourself to Her now. It feels so good. my life is complete now, Ylaine, and full of pleasure. You should join me. Soon.”

Ylaine mumbled something.

“What was that, Ylaine? Don’t be afraid. i would never hurt you.”

“Orivale,” Ylaine spat out.

Yasha was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” she finally said. “i miss her too. She would have made a wonderful slave, and we could have loved each other with our flesh as well as our hearts. But the vermin who slew her are dead, Ylaine, and we cannot bring her back. Not even my Mistress can do that.”

Ylaine shivered and looked at her. Yasha actually looked sad.

The gem at her throat was black.

Ylaine blinked. It was black. Not the red which Ylaine wore on her wrist, nor the red which adorned the other thralls’ throats.

Yasha realized where Ylaine was looking, and smiled.

“It is quiet,” she said. “My Mistress no longer requires artifice to control me. Her Will is in my mind, now, is the very core of my mind. i shall obey Her forever.”

She ran her hand through Ylaine’s hair, smiling. Her smile was half mother and half hungry lion.

“Give in,” Yasha whispered. “Join me.”

Ylaine whimpered, in pure lust. Yasha smiled.

Then she turned forward, and urged her mount further up the line.

Ylaine remembered.

The day had been clear. Midsummer, first year, high on a hill an hour’s ride from Nhalmea. The examinations were over, and the students had only light summer’s work.

Ganadar, so poor in sunlight, took summer seriously. Being indoors was very nearly a crime.

Their sport was archery. Ylaine, Yasha, Orivale, and Nyria took to long rides across mountain trails, and practiced whenever the chance arose. Although clumsy with a blade, Ylaine had discovered some skill with a bow, and on a day such as this, with the sky painted like a robin’s egg and the sun a warm caress on the cheek, it was glorious to stretch oneself and let fly and follow the shaft as it arced across the sky.

On this particular morning, they had chosen an oak for a target, a familiar landmark across a grassy meadow, just off a trail that led to a hidden lagoon. Some ancient injury was now a roil of bulbous bark, easy to pick out even at a distance of two hundred paces.

Yasha had already split an arrow, smiling in triumph at the other girls.

Ylaine answered the challenge by drawing and feeling the wind. She watched the needles of the pines shift, the different eddies in the leaves of the oak.

Released.

The arrow sliced across the pale blue, hanging for a short heartbeat at its apex, and fell. It plunged into the tree just beneath the bole.

Her best shot yet.

Nyria nocked an arrow and considered. The oldest among them, she had graduated but had stayed on for the summer to complete studies with Scriptrix Jalura. A few more weeks and she would return to Erengar, to her young husband and a position in the Great Library. She had drawn the symbol yhirran on her arrow; as it touched her cheek it glowed.

The arrow thudded into the tree.

There was little conversation, for they were all focused on the simple pleasure of gentle sun and soft wind. Orivale took her arrow, drew back her bow...

...and turned, releasing her arrow perpendicular and down the hill.

The rabbit leapt with the force of the impact, but it was dead before it touched ground.

Orivale grinned. “Lunch,” she said.

She put down her bow and began trotting down the hill. The other three, sharing amused glances, watched her go.

Then, from the trees behind the coney’s corpse, a small flash of ochre; a fox bounded forward and carried white fur between its fangs. Orivale cried out in dismay, but it was still a good hundred paces from her.

The fox darted toward the trees, but Yasha had her bow up, and loosed.

There was an explosion of needles as the beast spun around suddenly in the tree litter. Ylaine strained to see.

The fox tugged at the hare, but as Orivale bounded up, it released its prize and slunk away.

Yasha’s arrow had pierced the rabbit and sunk deeply into a root beneath, tethering it.

Yasha leaned on her bow. “Little thief. Let him get his own.”

That was Yasha.

And now she was a slave.

The ranger came around with the salve and Ylaine didn’t even have to be told to lift up her shift. She simply did so.

The hands were cool and greasy on her aching thighs, and Ylaine found herself fantasizing that the woman’s hands would slip and push into her sex, allowing Ylaine to grind herself onto them...

But she finished and went to the next bracelet-girl.

No. Calaris. Not bracelet-girl. Ylaine’s friend. A fellow-student, not a slave.

She looked at Calaris to reaffirm their bond, but Calaris had her eyes closed and was slowly moving her hips as the ranger stroked her legs. Ylaine looked away.

Dreida walked past, eyes empty, mouth curled in a soft, unthinking smile.

Would it be her tonight? Would it happen again? Ylaine looked for Redewyn, but did not see her tight black-clad form. The ranger was greasing Idusa’s legs, now.

Dreida returned, still nude but carrying a satchel. She seemed lost in the trance Ylaine so relished, and her legs glistened with the salve.

Watching those legs sliding past each other, the muscles flexing under the tanned skin, stoked the fire in Ylaine’s sex.

The gem at Dreida’s throat was still blood red, pulsing with life and will. She hadn’t given in.

Would that fire be extinguished when Ylaine saw it tomorrow?

A dark urge inside Ylaine told her she wanted to be there, wanted to wake at night and hold the bowl and watch it happen all over again. And yet she didn’t, desperately didn’t, because she might speak up and step into the fire herself, and then she would be a slave forever.

“Ylaine.”

She’d faded out, on the verge of slipping back into trance, but Dreida was there, looking at her.

“Come with me.”

Obey

It was as if Redewyn herself had spoken. Ylaine felt the pulse of heat in her bracelet as she obeyed, following her ensorcelled friend to the shelter of a bare chestnut tree. This simple act of summoning left her too breathless to question the lust of blind submission, and her pleasure deepened when she wondered if she’d commanded other girls while in trance.

She did not wear the collar, but maybe she was already a tool of Sauriann, and didn’t even realize it.

The tree was enormous, naked branches spreading in every direction like wind-whipped hair, frozen in a moment.

They were being gathered by collared girls. Dreida touched Ylaine’s shoulder and stood her next to Jirillan and Mirribeth, who were too entranced to notice. Calaris and Idusa were already waiting, red pulsing bright at their wrists.

Yasha smiled a dark smile as she brought Kaelyn and Pyrniale over. She was accompanied by Ekiale, and Ylaine noticed how aware Yasha seemed in comparison to all the others. There was no need for the sorcery that kept Ekiale and the other collared girls fully entranced... truly she had become a willing servant of the Dark Queen.

Ylaine fought the rising spellfog long enough to manage a nod to Kaelyn. It was the same silent gesture they’d exchanged while passing notes in music, and hope lifted her spirits when Kaelyn smiled back.

She’s fighting too, Ylaine realized, her elation so bright and sudden not even the trance could subdue it.

Almost as one, the collared girls turned and walked away.

Arms rising, Idusa reached up in desperation. “Ekiale,” she pleaded, but her lover left, and gave no sign of hearing her.

Idusa’s cheeks shone with tears.

Kaelyn looked away, but Ylaine forced herself not to. There had been sorrow in her heart these past few day, but the grief she felt now was for Idusa alone.

The branches of the tree stirred silently above them, caught in a breeze that made shadow and sunlight slip across the grass and shrub.

The love between Idusa and Ekiale had been a thing of song and poetry. But now, one had been turned into an obedient, unresponsive drone, leaving the other to sob quietly.

Ekiale resists,” Ylaine wanted to say. But what good would her words do?

Pyrniale blinked out of trance, for a moment forgetting the bracelet on her wrist. She too had been listening. She touched Idusa’s shoulder, pulled her into an embrace, comforting her.

Kaelyn joined them, and Jirillan, and then they all did. Ylaine’s heart filled with hope anew – hope Sauriann could never touch – and slipped an arm around Kaelyn, holding her close as they and the others hugged the bereft Idusa.

She felt warm, and sad, and sleepy, but her tears were still wet by the time the trance took her.

Sauriann’s stronghold loomed over her.

It was a spire of black, infinitely tall and infinitely strong, rising from a keep sculpted out of black stone.

She was there, seated on Her basalt throne, Her skin so pale it might have been carved in ivory.

To merely catch a glimpse of Her regal, majestic beauty was to fall hopelessly enthralled.

To stare into Her eyes was to relinquish one’s very soul.

Ylaine had done both. Now she stood before Her and was Hers, was Hers in every fiber of her being.

But She did not know, Ylaine realized. Ylaine lunged forward, to run and throw herself at Her feet, but arms held her back. She needed so much to worship Her, to give herself over and pledge eternal, undying obedience, to press herself into the ground at Her feet, to offer her mind and soul and flesh, but there were these arms holding her, soft and warm and female but strong and unyielding as steel chains, and Ylaine wept and tugged and fought to fling herself forward-

Ylaine’s eyes popped open.

Morning.

It was morning.

They still stood together, a little press of sessile girls, arms wrapped around one another. Idusa was at the center, head resting against someone’s shoulder.

Their collective breathing was uneven, and a faint, gentle gasp would occasionally escape one of them. Ylaine shuddered out of her stupor, feeling all too warm and wet between her legs.

Had she been stroking herself while dreaming of darkness and slavery? Were the others sharing the same dream? Was Sauriann herself calling out to them?

She looked about, trying to starve off panic as she realized Kaelyn was missing.

No. There she was. Alone, by one of the horses, watching the animal without seeing it.

Ylaine pulled free of the arms – not chains now but soft and protective—and she shivered to leave them. Beyond the horror of being made to serve the Dark Queen, these were her sisters, and to abandon them was something she could no longer imagine.

Slowly, she stumbled her way towards Kaelyn.

For a panicked moment, she thought that Kaelyn’s bracelet gem was dark, that in the night Kaelyn had given herself to Sauriann. Ylaine ignored the thrill that ran through her sex. She was wrong; it was a trick of the light. The gem on the silver bracelet was as ruby red as before.

She stopped a handsbreadth away.

“Kaelyn.”

No response.

“Kaelyn… please… wake up.”

The glassy eyes did not see her. Gingerly, Ylaine reached out to touch her friend’s arm.

“Kaelyn.”

A blink. And focus.

“Ylaine?” Kaelyn whispered, as if seeing her across thick fog.

She looked around.

“I’m here, Kaelyn.”

“Oh, Ylaine. There was...” Kaelyn’s eyes widened. “There was... I had to hold a bowl, Ylaine, and then Redewyn danced, and...” Kaelyn closed her eyes and shivered, and Ylaine knew that it was not the chill that ran through her, it was her memory of Redewyn and what Redewyn had asked of her.

Kaelyn opened her eyes. “I wanted to, Ylaine. Oh, I wanted to step in the fire so much...” Her eyebrows creased as she stared at Ylaine’s understanding face. “You know. Last night, it was you...”

Ylaine nodded.

“Oh Ylaine, she...”

Her voice choked off a sob.

“Ekiale gave herself to Sauriann.”

For a long time, Ylaine did nothing but hold Kaelyn in her arms. There were tears in her eyes too, perhaps because she understood what her friend had gone through all too well.

The thought of Redewyn choosing a different girl to help with the ritual every night throbbed inside Ylaine, and flushed her sex with deep arousal. At this rate, none of the collared girls would be left by the time the Bloodmoon waned. The girls wearing bracelets would be all alone, dreaming of holding large bowls and chanting the enslavement of their sisters.

Or dreaming of anointing themselves, and stepping into the fire that would consume their will.

Ylaine and Kaelyn looked around at last, but did not break from their embrace. The other thrall-girls were moving around, placing blankets on horses and gathering up bags of supplies. Nearby, Idusa and the others still held on to each other, grouped in a tight hug.

Ylaine realized she had no memory of eating.

She watched in silence, stroking Kaelyn’s hair, while Ekiale appeared and made her way across a patch of tall grass. Nude and barefooted, the former sword-maiden took long strides, carrying what appeared to be a large bolt, wrapped tightly in black cloth.

She tied it onto a horse, carefully balancing it with the pack already there.

The ruby etched in her collar was as dead as the stones at her feet.

Yasha walked by, and slid a hand down to cup Ekiale’s ass. Ekiale turned her head, her eyes dark and alive, her smile as wicked and lustful as Yasha’s own.

They kissed.

“Goddesses... they’re really gone, aren’t they?” Kaelyn asked, her breath hot against Ylaine’s shoulder.

Ylaine nodded.

They watched the two thralls tongue each other in silence.

Ylaine rode near the front of the column. Redewyn in her black leather and Yasha in her nude skin broke the trail just ahead of her.

Their horses strode side by side. Now and then, they would lean towards one another and kiss.

Ylaine looked passively at Jirillan, riding next to her. The red-haired girl, youngest of the group after Mirribeth and Calaris, had not said much since the first night in the tent. She’d been a prodigy back at the Academy – gifted in the understanding of shapes, numbers and logic – but now she rarely drifted out of trance, overwhelmed by the magicks of the bracelet. Her expression was absent, an empty smile beneath vacant eyes.

Ylaine wondered how long it would be before the same was true of herself.

There were more rapid hoofbeats and from ahead of them. The ranger emerged from the treeline, and Ylaine held her breath at the prospect of dismount, longing to feel those strong fingers on her flesh again.

“Mistress,” the ranger said, turning her horse to bring herself next to Redewyn. “There is a hamlet ahead; we shall reach it in three hours.”

“Is it sufficient for my purpose?”

“It is. There are perhaps a hundred inhabitants.”

“Good. Let us go there, then, and prepare.” She turned. “Yasha, mind the herd.”

“Yes, my Mistress.”

Redewyn and her escort sped up, and pulled away. Ylaine watched them as they descended the hill, then rode up into the trees.

Yasha turned, and reined in her mount. She smiled as the others passed, Ylaine shivering and pretending to stare into space. Yasha stood her horse and let the column pass; Ylaine heard her greet Ekiale at the rear.

Poor Idusa...

Ylaine wanted to lose herself, to give in to the trance again, but perhaps now, with only Yasha on guard, she could coax her mount into escape. Her pride forced her to try.

The horse did not respond to her prodding, weak though it was. She tried to focus on the right leg, tried to lift it over the horse, but it remained clamped to the soft black silk of the blanket.

Perhaps if she threw herself off, leading with her shoulders…

“Ylaine.”

Her blood ran cold and she turned her head, expecting Yasha, but was surprised.

Isleif.

She was nude too, save for her black collar. The red glow of the gem pulsed dimly, and her pale blue eyes remained unreadable.

Oddly enough, Ylaine was relieved. Tranced as they were, the collared girls might not suspect she’d attempted escape the way Yasha or Ekiale would. Isleif had been present twice during Redewyn’s nightly ritual, and hadn’t given in yet. Maybe—

Isleif leaned forward, towards Ylaine, and Ylaine felt fingers twining through her hair. The submissive thrill was upon her even before she could resist, and she blinked, tasting Isleif’s breath, wondering what dark pleasures she would soon dream of.

Isleif’s tongue touched her mouth, and Ylaine’s lips parted.

Isleif’s tongue snaked in, slimy, and wrapped itself around Ylaine’s. Ylaine’s pussy quivered helplessly as Isleif kissed her.

Then Isleif’s tongue dipped, and her throat moved, and she pushed something coarse into Ylaine’s mouth.

Ylaine’s eyes were wide as the other withdrew.

“Chew,” Isleif whispered, as she leaned back.

Ylaine obeyed, though she did not understand. It was a leaf, or an herb, coarse but weak of taste. Isleif watched her emotionlessly as her jaws worked.

She felt nothing.

Then her legs twitched.

With something nearing astonishment, Ylaine found that she could move her legs, could lift them from the soft black blanket. And as she did so she realized that the cloud in her mind had lifted—no, not lifted, but thinned.

She could think of escape with more than a tiny sliver of mind.

Isleif languorously turned her head to look behind her, then turned back to Ylaine.

“Don’t tell the others,” she whispered, her lips barely moving. “Only I am free, and without the Que’or’ath my will dissolves entirely. I’ll bring more when I can.” She blinked, and Ylaine realized that her blue eyes were glazing over. “We can talk...”

As she watched, Isleif slowly came more erect, her spine stiffening, her eyes fixing on a point far ahead of them.

“The collar is reasserting control. I must... obey. Tell... no... one...”

Isleif fell quiet, then turned her head, and smiled. A hand slid up Ylaine’s thigh.

“Give in,” Isleif whispered. “Join us.”

She turned her head, spurred forward, and took a place at the head of the column.

The effect of the herb—Que’or’ath—lasted a short while. Less than an hour later, Ylaine felt the bracelet’s power waxing again, felt her limbs and her mind fill with the familiar pleasant numbness. Her sex welcomed it, welcomed the return of the constant eager tingle.

But for the first time, she felt genuine hope.

Isleif had led her up the chimney during the attack, and now she was saving her again. Ylaine slowly rotated her head to look at Jirillan, who remained lost in the spellfog.

She could be saved. All seven of them. Those wearing the collars too. Maybe even Yasha and Ekiale...?

Her pulse raced. They needed to stage an escape soon. Perhaps a silent rush for the forest in the middle of the night. Or something involving deceit and surprise, once she’d shared the leaves with the others. Redewyn would be watching them like cattle, never suspecting that thralls would defy her.

Her mind stepped back, and she smiled. She was planning. It felt so good to plan. To have even the slightest sliver of hope, no matter the obstacles in her path.

Beside her, Jirillan obediently slept on.

As the sun slipped beyond the horizon, the enthralled guardians and their captives dismounted in a large clearing less than a dozen paces from the horse trail, at the foot of a sheer cliff that merged into the mountainside. Tall pine trees nestled close together all around the riders, a dense forest that barely rustled when a brisk evening wind rose up.

The hope of escape swelled in Ylaine’s heart. Redewyn and the ranger had not yet returned.

The valley ran deeper still in these parts, a winding path carved out of the flanks of ancient rock. The mountains reached up like jagged fingers to brush against the mantle of faint stars appearing far above, and tonight, the snowy, fog-shrouded peaks shone brighter than usual. The forest stirred with a distant, high-pitched call, and it took Ylaine a twinkling to realize that the echoes of wolf-howl greeted the rise of Aluùn, Moon of the White Sands.

The Huntress, chasing her sister Bloodmoon across the heavens, she thought, remembering a nursery rhyme from her youth. Never one to read silly omens in the mundane events of everyday, she now found enough faith to call it auspicious.

But her optimism was dashed when Isleif appeared with the unguent. Her own bracelet burned as fiercely as the ruby stone at her friend’s neck, and dreams of freedom dwindled, eclipsed by the need to obey. She stood next to her horse, spreading her legs even before she was told, and shivered as fingers caressed her inner thighs.

Isleif, her eyes distant and her face softly smiling, slipped a tiny leather pouch into her hand. Ylaine’s eyes went fearfully to Yasha, but the thrall stood halfway across the clearing, instructing the other collared girls.

With some effort, Ylaine kept her features serene, mastering her shock before it could be noticed.

“Fresh leaves,” Isleif whispered, her smile faint but earnest. “More potent than what you had earlier. There is enough for you, Kaelyn and the others.”

She seemed to be putting up a brave front, and Ylaine puzzled over her disquiet. Then Ylaine realized her savior had not kept any leaves for herself.

Her eyes widened in horror. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words died in a gasp as Isleif’s hand brushed against her sex.

“Hush. The magicks of the collar are strong, and the leaves can only help me for a little while. The trance will be upon me soon enough, but your needs are more pressing than mine.”

With a knot in her chest, Ylaine saw the risk Isleif was taking, sacrificing the only thing that could keep her mind alive to give her friends a hope of escape.

Isleif’s finger lingered absently on Ylaine’s sex, as consciousness faded from her eyes. She tried to say something, opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. Then she stiffened, and breathed a sigh of contentment as the Will of the Dark Queen reasserted itself.

With a wicked smile, Isleif stroked.

Ylaine squirmed and gasped, but clutched the pouch against her hip as her pussy begged for attention.

She fought off the orgasm as Isleif strode away.

In the end, Ylaine took the girls one by one.

Isleif had spoken the truth – the leaves were fresh and potent. Ylaine shivered as the fog of desire lifted ever so slightly from her thoughts.

She rubbed her eyes, as if to shake off the effects of deep slumber. Her surroundings looked crisp and sharp, the smells and sounds of the forest filling her head.

But the need to submit was still in her. She could feel it, throbbing in her bracelet as well as her mind. The Dark Queen was evil and beautiful, and part of her still lusted for a chance to kneel in eternal obedience before Her.

Ylaine’s shiver became a moan. Perhaps, now that she was her own self again, the act of yielding to Sauriann would be a sweeter pleasure.

She swallowed. Slaves do not question the enchantments that shape their every thought, but girls with free minds struggle and resist as the dark pleasure takes them.

Shying away from the treacherous musings, Ylaine realized the danger of letting her mind wander was greater than before. Focus on the task at hand was her only hope.

All five of the collar wearers had slipped away, Isleif, Dreida and Dwynneth carrying saddlebags, Yasha and Ekiale leading them past a line of nearby trees.

The other girls, dreaming with their eyes wide open, had busied themselves with building a fire. Kaelyn, Pyrniale and Calaris stood closest to her, gathering dry branches, smiling in delight as they obeyed. Ylaine took a deep breath, and strolled over, snatching up kindling as she went.

As she neared the trio, her eyes shifted into the pretense of dazed obedience, an easy thing to mimic with the spellfog so close to her thoughts.

Her fear mingled with excitement – would any of them sense that she no longer fully belonged? Would they turn against her, immobilize her while Yasha and Dwynneth were summoned to work darker, more powerful magicks upon her?

Ylaine drifted by Kaelyn’s side, and slid a hand down the small of her back. Kaelyn immediately stiffened, clutching branches against her chest. Her eyes shone with lust, and she licked her lips, turning to Ylaine.

Isleif’s ruse had been in Ylaine’s thoughts from the moment she’d held the pouch in her hand, but now she hesitated, sensing the familiar throbbing at her wrist. Kaelyn was helpless to resist, caught in a trance that would make her a docile pleasure slave. She would slip even deeper if Ylaine whispered it so, dreaming whatever truths her most trusted friend wove into her mind.

The lust that came with the thought of betrayal made Ylaine’s head swim. Kaelyn would fall readily to her knees, here and now, as though commanded by Redewyn herself. She would service Ylaine with lips, fingers and tongue, eager for the joy of surrender. The Dark Queen would be pleased...

No!

Ylaine held her breath as she leaned forward, but the long kiss that bloomed as she met Kaelyn’s lips stole it away. She shivered but resisted the calling darkness, sensing how her bewitched friend welcomed her embrace.

Ylaine felt the promise of dark yearnings, and a moan escaped her lips as Kaelyn quickly lost herself in the kiss. There was no hint of fear or struggle in her companion, so caught up in her own submission that to succumb to the will of another came as easily as breathing.

Their tongues danced slowly together, Ylaine wondering how long it would be before the both of them fully slipped into thralldom. The hope of it simmered between her legs, but as before she fought it, sensing the tide drawing her back into trance.

She forced the leaves out of her mouth, and was relieved when Kaelyn obediently began to chew.

At last she pulled away, her thoughts fading momentarily in the heat of lust. Kaelyn had begun to stroke the small of her back as they kissed, and Ylaine wanted badly to sink back into those arms...

Think of Isleif, came the harsh reminder.

In Kaelyn’s eyes there now twinkled something new—uncertainty. Ylaine put her finger to her lips, and Kaelyn nodded slowly.

She went to Pyrniale, who knelt on the ground nearby, piling up kindling in a neat stack. Ylaine’s hand trembled only for a moment as she cupped her friend’s breast. Warmth flooded her sex anew, the nipple growing stiff against the palm of her hand.

Pyrniale moaned and threw her head back, smiling as Ylaine’s mouth brushed against hers. She lost herself in the kiss as easily as Kaelyn.

Somehow, Ylaine managed not to answer with a moan of her own.

Ylaine remembered.

At night it was difficult to tell if autumn had begun to color the leaves. The forests still stretched below the Academy, a sea of shadow and argent moonlight at the base of the hills, but without hint of fading greens or shining yellows.

Harvest season. The year of Ilan had come, celebrated in the Great dining Hall of Nhalmea. While peasants toiled and gathered crops in the fields of Ganadar, the whole of the academy was abuzz with word of armies marching in the south, and the stirrings of war. Messengers from Hormhold had ridden their mounts to exhaustion to bring the urgent news, and some even warned in hushed voices that the Dark Queen herself hunted for the Great ring.

But the business of learning went on, the elder teachers comforting their charges, giving no voice to private worries. Many of the students hailed from the Southern lands, with noble mothers, fathers and elder siblings who would be called to armed struggle. Though no one could foresee evil triumph over the alliance of the Nine Queens, a hush of tense worry had fallen throughout the academy’s halls.

Kaelyn now studied poetry, while Ylaine struggled in dance. She’d done well in her yearling classes, mastering simple courtly waltzes with a little care and diligence, but her latest instructor was an old shrew who gave shrill cries at the slightest misstep.

On that particular night she’d opted for leisure instead of practice, gathering Kaelyn and a few other friends before sneaking out of the dormitories some time after vespers. A hint of summer warmth lingered outside and schoolwork was still a light burden for everyone, and so Ylaine led them, shielding a frail candle with her hand, to the abandoned staircase Idusa had told her about.

They ascended the east tower, Ylaine, Kaelyn, Mirribeth, Eirgana and Pyrniale, climbing the dust-covered steps until they reached the old observatory, with its musty air and cluttered shelves. As they went outside to spread blankets on the belvedere, each caught sight of the heavens and grinned in astonishment.

No one spoke, save for Mirribeth, who pointed with her finger and took to star-naming.

“Sceptrum. Tigris. Noctua. Uh, Felias, I think.”

They hunkered down on the blankets, and listened while Mirribeth named the constellations, and told stories of their naming.

Ylaine held up her hand after a while. “Pray tell, how is it that the honored daughter of a Merchant-Prince comes to know such things?”

Mirribeth gave her a happy shrug. “My father rode the Great Caravans through the Desert of Elth as a boy; he would lie on the sands at night, and stargaze for hours. He taught me all the names when I was little.”

Pyrniale, stretched out on the blanket, raised herself up. “And what future do you see in them?”

Mirribeth chuckled. “That nonsense I leave for the astrologers and their charts. Father once told me, ‘The sun and moons may steer the fates of men, but stars keep the secrets of the world for themselves.’”

Then it was Pyrniale’s turn, and she went on to recite a well-known ballad from the Eastlands; everyone dissolved into laughter when Kaelyn chimed in with a bawdy limerick at the end – even Eirgana, who still nursed the sting of heartache after being smitten by a pretty but uninterested yearling.

The good humor seemed contagious, and there was a gentle round of applause from the circle when Kaelyn produced a flask of Brandy-wine snatched from the kitchen stores, which she shared all around with mirth and cheer.

On that night Ylaine watched her friends, her cheeks rosy with the warmth of the brandy-wine. She saw how they joked and laughed, saw how they shared stories and song, but mostly saw how everyone carefully skirted around the obvious. How they all avoided talk of Great rings and strife.

Talk of war.

And as the night wore on – the last before shocking news of Sauriann’s first victories reached Nhalmea – Ylaine felt a cold shadow looming over her. When conversation died and the girls laid back quietly on the blankets to stare upwards, she drifted off into the island of her own thoughts, pondering the uncertainties of the world without bringing herself to seek guidance from the heavens.

The stars still held on to their secrets when Aluùn, the Huntress, rose up in the sky.

Ylaine’s ruse had succeeded, and now all of the girls wearing bracelets sat huddled near a fire, a few still drowsy from the trance. Low howls came from the soaring treetops which held vigil against the wind; the enchantment that kept the chill of night at bay had not dispelled, but a number of the girls hugged their knees tightly against their chests as if to guard against the cold.

Ylaine felt a lump in her stomach as the stares of the others converged upon her. They owed the freedom of their minds to her, and that came with trust in the path she would choose to follow. The responsibility weighed down on her shoulders like chains of iron.

Yasha and Dwynneth would known what to do if they were still with us. I’ve studied court manners and music. I’ve never held War-council.

She chased away the grim thoughts, for her sake as much as theirs. “What say you?” came her soft whisper. “What course is to be chosen?”

The silence returned, as all weighted the question and the fears beyond it.

“We leave the horses behind and make for the river,” said Calaris, speaking with a confidence that belied her age. “We follow it downstream, and find sanctum in the nearest village. There must be many, this deep in the valley. This deep in Ganadar.”

Jirillan, ever cautious, rose up on her knees beside Ylaine.

“Hunters of Redewyn’s ilk do not loose sight of their quarries. She could be out there, waiting for us to betray ourselves; she mounts on horseback, and her ranger can track us easily enough. She’ll have but to call out in the dark to lure us back...”

Her red curls threw shadows across her face as she bowed her head, trying to resist the submissive impulse that carried in her voice. A few of the girls sighed softly in the dark, the dream of giving in to simple summons filling them with drowsiness and bliss.

Ylaine and Kaelyn looked at one another, then glanced fearfully towards the fire that burned on the other side of the clearing; the collared girls had gathered around it, seeming to pay no heed to their charges.

How could they? Upon their return from the woods, the collared girls had lost themselves in ritual. Even at a distance, Ylaine could discern their kneeling shapes against the brightness of the bonfire, their heads bowed in prayer, their arms raised in reverence, their bodies swaying to the rhythm of a chant that barely carried over the whistling wind.

Bless us, Dark Mother.

Take us.

We are yours, in body, mind and soul.

Bless us, Dark Mother.

Take us.

We are yours, in body, mind and soul.

The chanting rhythm hummed through Ylaine. In the dream that filled most of her daylight hours, she wondered if the prayer had been hers, whispered in earnest from her own lips. She glanced down at her own pulsing bracelet, feeling the stir of shapeless longings.

No need for Redewyn to wait for them in the forest. A careless moment, a slip in her concentration and she could find herself leaving the fireside in a daze, hypnotized by the distant voices telling her to join them.

Her fingers ran along fine silver links, fitted snugly around her wrist. Perhaps we don’t need to be watched after all.

Mirribeth raised her hand to address the circle. “Jirillan speaks sense. Redewyn has a wolfhound’s cunning. She would not allow us to escape so easily, and neither would Yasha.”

Many of the girls lowered their eyes and said nothing. The shame and silence lingered, while Pyrniale looked to her companions with disbelief.

“Do well to remember the sorcery that took our friend from us, Jirillan,” she hissed. “Yasha does not wish to serve Sauriann. She does not wish for thralldom. Redewyn’s enchantments alone have made her thus.”

“You’ve not seen her collar then,” said Mirribeth, lips tightly drawn, taking no joy in the telling. “I’ve glimpsed it. The ruby stone upon it no longer glows. There is no need for magicks to guide Yasha’s thoughts – her will is gone forever. She is wholly betrothed to Sauriann.”

The troubled murmurs from the others quickly died down as everyone noticed Idusa, her ashen face sinking between her hands.

It took another stern look from Pyrniale for Mirribeth to realize her mistake, and the latter looked grief-stricken as Idusa sobbed. Clearly, she’d also failed to notice that the stone at Ekiale’s neck had become as lifeless as Yasha’s.

Jirillan reached over to Idusa. Held her close.

Calaris’ gaze followed the circle, her resolve undiminished. “We mustn’t flinch in the face of harsh truths. Yasha was one of us, but she is gone now. If we delay, all of us may be lost along with her.”

There seemed to be nothing left to add. Even now, the trance called out to them, seeking to shape them into perfect slaves. Some of the girls shifted uneasily as they considered leaving Yasha and Ekiale behind.

Or perhaps, joining them.

Ylaine’s eyes never left the fire as she spoke. “Yasha would not leave any of us behind. I will not leave her behind.”

Jirillan, Mirribeth and the rest fell into a hush. None could mistake the tone of stern resolve.

“I am not a trophy to be snatched up and stolen. I am no slave, bowing obediently before Sauriann, trusting that no magicks of hers can be undone. I can think. Darkness preys on itself with lies and treachery, but I am Daughter of Middle-Urth; even with my life in the balance, I will not renege on my own.”

The silence grew solemn around the fire, as each measured the truth of it, but Ylaine was the one who trembled, feeling as though all her courage had been spent. She struggled to brace herself, when Kaelyn, smiling with pride, reached out and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

There was a dry snap of branches in the shadows behind them.

Before Ylaine and the others could even turn around, the gems flared on their wrists...