HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO
CHAPTER ONE: Fight The Rising Odds

PART 3/4

Steven wasted no time assessing Mulder´s injury and deciding what needed to be done.

"Matthew, go into the forest and find some of those purple leaves I use to heal wounds. Bring back as many as you can. I´ll also need some cloth strips and water."

While he waited for Matthew to return, he loosened the ropes that held Mulder upright, easing him to the ground. Blood was seeping from the arrow wound and pooling beneath Mulder´s leg. He had started shivering again from the cold wet clothes he wore but also from shock. Steven laid the fur coat over him and spoke quietly into his ear.

"It´s all right lad. I´ll have the arrow out and the wound packed and wrapped in no time." He was surprised when Mulder replied in a weak voice that was little more than a whisper.

"Why bother? Do me a favor... and just kill... me now. Put me out of my misery." He gasped as Steven tore away the fabric surrounding the imbedded arrow, sending shafts of agony up and down his leg.

Matthew returning saved Steven for having to give an answer he didn´t have. He instructed Matthew to tear up some of the large purple leaves, adding water to make a thick, strong smelling paste. This would be forced into the hole once the arrow was removed, stopping the wound becoming infected. The rest of the leaves would be wrapped around the leg, secured with the cloth strips from one of Matthew´s shirts.

While his assistant prepared the healing salve, Steven hunted around for a thick stick. He found one close by and placed it in Mulder´s half open mouth. Mulder knew it would stop him biting his own tongue when Steven removed the arrow. Matthew positioned himself next to Mulder´s leg, taking a firm grip on either side of the wound, pressing his full weight down in an effort to keep Mulder as still as possible. Without hesitation, Steven gripped the arrow in both hands and gave one swift jerk, pulling it free with a smooth motion. Mulder screamed around the stick, his body arching in agony, Matthew struggling to hold him down. Blood poured out the gaping hole until Steven packed it full of the purple paste, using his fingers to wedge the medicine deep inside. He quickly wrapped leaves around the leg and tied them with the cloth strips which were soon changing color from light brown to deep red. He finished with a second layer of leaves and cloth, finally satisfied that the bleeding had stopped. Reaching into the pouch at his waist, he extracted a small cloth bundle. Once unwrapped it revealed tiny balls of reddish herbs. Taking two or three, Steven raised Mulder´s head and placed the pieces into his mouth.

"Chew this. It´ll help a bit with the pain."

Mulder knew he was telling the truth because as he bit into them, a bitter, vile taste flooded his mouth, making him want to vomit. It was like his mother had told him as a child— "The worse it tastes, the better it is for you." He wanted to spit them out, thinking he´d never get the taste out of his mouth.

"They taste pretty bad, huh?" Matthew asked, genuine sympathy in his voice and on his face.

Mulder nodded weakly, accepting a small sip of water from Steven. Within minutes he was thinking of asking for more of the stuff, for it´s affect was amazing. The closest he could compare it to was some dope he had once tried at Oxford, but much more powerful. He felt as if he was floating, high above the ground, not a single ache in his body or worry on his mind. Everything he looked at was surrounded by shimmering colors, every shade of the spectrum and quite a few that he hadn´t known existed. Unfortunately, the drug wore off too quickly for his liking, and he came back to earth, falling into a body still filled with pain though duller than before.

He felt himself being lifted onto a horse, his hands now bound behind his back, a rough, itchy sack over his head, bringing back hellish memories of Haley and Baxter. His feet were joined by rope under the horse´s belly. His leg still throbbed but the pain was something he could handle, it was something he could focus on, occupying his mind rather than thoughts of what lay ahead. Some sort of slip knot held the hood in place, tightening automatically if he moved his head too much. Someone else (Darin, he guessed) climbed on behind him, pushing him painfully forward in the small saddle. He could hear Matthew and Steven mounting up and they were then moving at a faster pace than they had traveled that morning, almost at a gallop at times. Mulder was half glad for the rope bindings for he had not ridden since playing polo at Oxford all those years ago and had forgotten the rhythm and balance needed for a smooth ride. He had detested the sport, only participating in an effort to impress a fellow student he had had his eye on for a couple of months. He hadn´t had the courage to ask Phoebe out, but thought it a good idea at the time when his room-mate told him that her family owned a vast estate that was popular for fox-hunts and polo tournaments. Once accepted by her blue-blooded relatives, he had visited frequently, quickly coming under her manipulative spell, totally oblivious to her mind-games.

Mulder had no idea how long they traveled before he sensed them slowing down, finally coming to a halt. Rough hands loosened the noose around his neck and the sack was swiftly removed, causing him to blink and wince as his light sensitive eyes adjusted to the bright late afternoon sun.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings as he stretched his stiff neck and shoulders. They had emerged from the forest some time ago, the last trees he could see being a couple of miles behind their current location. In front of them was a vast green plain, uniform squares of tilled fields in the foreground, a large well laid out settlement covering the rest, disappearing into the blue-green mountains in the distance. Mulder estimated the population to be at least four or five thousand. The buildings were much larger, some rising three and four stories. To the left, set well apart from the outer buildings was a second smaller community, being made entirely of tents and marquees. Steven explained that many of the traveling traders stayed there, those that traded in human flesh were not welcome elsewhere in Gilliania.

The party made their way down the valley, passing through orchards and vineyards, fields of pasture filled with sheep and cattle, crossing small bridges over a well designed irrigation system. People working the fields, harvesting produce and tending livestock paid little attention to them. They were just one of many such groups, coming to market to sell produce. The fact that this produce was human in form did not bother any of them; they knew the reality of their existence and what it took to survive, to provide for one´s family.

A half hour later they were at the market area. It bustled with activity, people of every creed and color competing to sell their various goods. At the sight of the mounted men, one of them firmly bound, his guard armed with bow and arrows, a few people stepped aside, giving them a wide berth, paying close attention to the captive, whispering to one another after the travelers had passed.

Steven led the way through the crowd, heading toward a fenced-off area at the far end of the open square. Standing guard in front of a high wooden fence were three uniformed men, all armed with small, lethal looking crossbows and sharp, curved blades. They were dressed in black with gold and green crests on their shirts. Mulder had seen similarly attired men scattered throughout the town, many on horseback. Steven had explained that they were Carterian Knights, personal soldiers of Lord Gareth. Captain Rajiv, the Master-At-Arms was a longtime and loyal friend of Gareth, having also served the current Lord's late father. He was known throughout the territory as a firm but fair man. Many a young man had traveled to Carteria to participate in grueling trials in order to be accepted as a junior Knight. Few were successful, most returning to their various villages with tales of high adventure, days of mock hand-to-hand combat, riding drills and archery competitions.

Steven dismounted and walked over to the soldiers, holding his arms out in front, palms open. The tallest soldier looked him over, studying him closely, trying to determine if he presented any danger. Satisfied that the stranger was unarmed, he motioned to one of his companions to relieve Darin of his bow and arrows. Darin handed them over without hesitation and quickly dismounted. The ropes around Mulder´s ankles were untied and he was pulled roughly from the horse, almost passing out as he placed his full body weight on his still aching leg. He would have fallen but for Darin´s painful grip around his upper arm.

Steven was talking with the senior Knight, trying to keep an eye on his prisoner at the same time.

"This was recovered from him. I believe it´s a forbidden item, one that Captain Rajiv warned us to look out for." Steven held his leather pouch open in front of the soldier who took the pouch but made no attempt to handle the contents. "I would ask to see him, so that reward can be discussed for this man´s capture."

Dirk looked past Steven toward the prisoner and gestured for him to be brought closer.

"That won´t be possible as Captain Rajiv is not present, however I will send word to the SlaveMaster. For now the prisoner will be held in the slave pen."

Steven swallowed in horror at the mention of Imram's name. His reputation as a cruel, heartless monster was also well known. Steven had thought the possibility of Mulder ending up in the sadistic hands of Imram was remote. Anyone considered a danger to Carteria and its rulers was always taken away by Lord Gareth's Knights for trial by the Senate, a group of Elders well-versed in the Law. Imram was only in charge of the slaves, whose numbers were growing every year. He led unannounced raids on villages, punishing those which failed to meet yearly quotas of livestock and goods. Excuses of fire, flood, drought or famine were ignored by Imram and his men. Young men and women were taken in lieu of cattle and grains with promises of their return if and when quotas were fulfilled. As far as Steven knew none were ever released, all disappearing behind the massive stone walls of the castle, never to be seen or heard from again.

Dirk noticed Steven's distress and sympathized, knowing how slaves were treated, especially those attractive enough to catch Imram's lustful eye but he had no choice. He couldn't spare any men to guard the prisoner and there was nowhere but the slave-pen to house him. A minor uprising a week before had destroyed the town's stockade and it was only half re-built, still missing it's roof and two walls. He could only hope that Imram would be too pre-occupied with the new slaves to pay much attention to the stranger.

Mulder was brought forward, another soldier taking Darin´s spot on his left. His hands were untied, the dirt embedded rope quickly replaced by stiff leather cuffs linked with strong looking chain. A similar arrangement was placed around his ankles, hobbling him and making escape virtually impossible.

"Which barony´s crest does he have?" Dirk inquired as one of the soldiers raised Mulder´s black shirt, exposing his well-toned torso, the faded gun-shot wound still visible against the tanned skin.

"None that I know of. He refused to tell me where he comes from or what he was doing in the forest where he was captured." Steven replied, sending a silent message in the form of a piercing glare to Mulder not to contradict him.

Mulder was turned around and soon felt large, callused hands on his back, tracing the outline of his spine and shoulder blades. His arms were lifted and inspected as well, the muscles of his biceps and triceps receiving thorough attention.

"Strange, I have never seen a man that does not bear a Royal crest. You say he refused to answer your questions?" Dirk was impressed by what he saw of the prisoner's physique, solid bone structure, firm well developed chest and strong arms. Under better circumstances, he would have recommend the young man to be trialed as a potential Knight. He noticed a level of intelligence in the sharp hazel eyes that was not weakened by the rough treatment he had suffered. He had not been broken by his injuries and impending fate. The prisoner stared his captor's in the eye, refusing to be intimidated by them. He took note of his surroundings, alert for any opportunity that he might be able to use to his advantage.

Steven nodded.

"Then he speaks our language, but is not from around here." Dirk finished his inspection just as two men approached the gate. He stood to attention, his left hand in a fist over his chest. Imram returned the salute. His uniform was a light brown shirt and pants. A leather belt around his waist held a gleaming sword and coiled whip in place. Knee-high boots polished to a mirror-like finish completed the outfit. He was as tall as Mulder but much more solidly built. Mulder estimated he outweighed him by as much as thirty or forty pounds.

"Sir, I was just about to send for you. This man," Dirk pointed to Steven, "has captured a bandit near his village. He wishes to do his duty and hand over the prisoner to us for trial. He," now indicating Mulder, who had been pushed to his knees, "is to be held in your custody until the Senate can meet."

Imram studied the kneeling man before him, taking in his defiant gaze and slim, muscular body. He hardly paid any attention to Dirk, only half-listening as the soldier gave his report. He was focused on the prisoner, fantasizing what he would do with such a fine specimen. So many of the slaves he acquired were pitiful, weak youths, beaten and battered into submission during their capture. Rarely did anything come along that stirred his cock as the man before him. The trial and subsequent execution would be such a waste of so lovely a piece of human flesh.

"Take him to the holding area but keep him apart from the other slaves," he ordered his overseers. He assured Dirk, "He'll be safe and unharmed. You have my word." Reaching into a large pouch at his waist, he counted out thirty pieces of silver, dropping the triangular discs into Steven's outstretched palm. The slave/prisoner was worth triple what he paid but he was always on the lookout for a bargain and he knew that the seller would not waste his breath bartering for a higher price.

Dirk started to protest when he realized that Imram was going to pay for the prisoner but Imram cut him off with a wave of one gloved hand.

"It's not a payment, but a reward. With so many outlaw scum wandering the land praying on simple men and their kin, you need good men such as this to be your eyes and ears."

One of the Knights alerted Dirk to a small scuffle that had broken out between two young men who had stumbled drunk and brawling out of one the many ale-houses that lined the narrow cobblestone streets of the market. They left quickly to quell the disturbance before it could turn violent, Imram's words and the fate of the prisoner quickly pushed out of Dirk's thoughts.

The money in Steven's hand would barely buy enough grain, let alone other necessities desperately needed to see through the fast approaching winter. *Is that all a man´s life is worth?* he thought, feeling sick to his stomach as he watched Imram secure a collar around Mulder's throat before pulling him to his feet. *A dozen bags of grain* Steven considered complaining about the small amount, but one look into the head overseer´s dark eyes convinced him to accept what had been given. The SlaveMaster was almost drooling at his newest purchase, a noticeable bulge straining his already tight britches. Steven had no doubt what was in store for Mulder and he feared that Mulder knew as well, the only question being would the young stranger fight his hellish fate or submit to his new owner's control.

Their eyes met briefly before a hand gloved in soft leather on his cheek forced the younger man to face forward as he was led through the gate of the compound and out of Steven's sight. Mulder's eyes held no emotion at all, not fear, not anger, nothing. The fact that Mulder didn't resist only increased Steven's guilt. He wanted to know that he had done the right thing by handing over a dangerous animal, someone not fit to live in society. But Mulder was not a danger to anyone except perhaps himself. He was a frightened young man far away from his home and family and obviously unfamiliar with the rules and customs of Steven's world. Would he cope any better if the situation were to be reversed?

Steven dropped the money into the pouch and tried to put Mulder and his fate out of his mind. Sensing his mentor´s distress, Matthew approached him slowly, putting a hand on his shoulder and steering him back towards the horses.

"We need to find lodgings for the night. It´s too late to head back to Woodsglen tonight. We eat and rest and start out at first light." Matthew said as he gathered up two sets of reins. Steven wasn´t in any fit state to decide anything, which had the younger man worried. His mentor had always been able to handle any crisis, indeed he seemed to thrive under pressure. He was glad that Darin had disappeared, he didn´t like seeing his leader so vulnerable and he knew that Darin would report any weakness or uncharacteristic behavior back to the elders, thus endangering Steven´s leadership.

They found a room in a small boarding house some distance from the market area. The landlord, a small, obese woman with bright red hair and decaying yellow teeth, charged them a vastly inflated amount for a tiny room with two low beds covered with thin mattresses, the stuffing poking through in more than one location. Knowing that they would be unable to find better or cheaper accommodation at this late hour, Matthew accepted and headed around the rear of the small house to tether the horses for the night. With so many soldiers patrolling, there was no danger of thieves stealing them.

Steven had come out of his depression enough to pay the woman and take their small saddle-bags into the frigid room. Hoping to maximize her profits, she offered to supply the men with entertainment for the evening for the tiny price of one silver piece each. When Steven didn´t answer, she brought a young girl into the room. Steven saw the family resemblance in the child´s features, the same shade of hair, the same soft blue eyes. The old woman was undressing her daughter, explaining that what she lacked in years she made up for in experience.

"Taught her myself, I did. Trained her young how to treat a man, she´ll do anything you and your friend fancy." The woman crooned, watching for some sort of reaction from the man in front of her. She was beginning to think her lodger was slow and feeble but was forced to reconsider as he went from absolute stillness to lashing out a deformed hand to her throat in the time it took her to blink. She was on the floor, Steven straddling her, both hands around her throat, when Matthew returned from securing the horses.

He quickly pulled Steven to his feet, the old woman scrambling free, coughing and gagging.

"I want both of you outta here, now, before I call for the soldiers and have ya thrown in the pit," she screamed, grabbing her silent, naked daughter, her clothes and rushing for the door.

Steven followed quickly, leaving Matthew to grab the saddle-bags.

"I´d much rather sleep in a shit-filled pit than in a room owned by a whore who would sell her own kin to strangers," Steven shouted, not caring about the commotion his outburst was causing. Without checking to see if his companion was following, he headed for the horses, released Foxfire´s bridle, climbed into the worn saddle and with a sharp jab, steered his mount away from the gathering crowd. He didn´t care which direction he went, as long as it was far from Gilliania. He urged Foxfire on and on, faster and faster, trying to outrun his demons, his shame, his feelings for the young man he had sold for the price of a dozen bags of weevil-infested grain. The logical side of him knew that no matter how far or how fast he rode he would never leave behind the self-hate and loathing he felt coursing through his veins.

***********

Lady Kaneesha's Private Rooms
CARTERIUS CASTLE
Midday

Kaneesha woke hours later to the smell of freshly cooked meat and oven warm bread invading her senses. The sun had journeyed across the sky to the other side of the castle, leaving her room in shadows. She sat up and stretched, expecting to see the rough stone walls of the tiny chamber she had visited the night before not the tapestry covered ones of her private sleeping room. Sounds of activity from her bathing area drew her attention. She slipped on the robe that lay at the foot of the bed and headed towards them. Something was missing-- no someone was missing--- *Fox!!!* she thought. *Where was he? Had something gone wrong?* The last thing she remembered was lying down on the cot Morten had provided and closing her eyes, confident that HE would be the first thing she saw when she opened them later. *Perhaps Morten is preparing him for me.* Not that much preparation would be needed for he was the most perfect creature she had ever laid eyes on.

She recalled the drawing she had made soon after awakening from her first dream of him, certain that she had been taken on a journey to what must have been heaven, for surely only the gods could create someone so perfect, so beautiful. He had spoken to her in a soft, husky voice and although what he said did not make much sense, she knew he was speaking to her and her alone, just as she knew that one day he would come to her, lay down beside her and never leave.

"I have been on the bridge that spans two worlds, the link between all souls by which we cross into our own true nature. You were here today looking for a truth that was taken from you, a truth which was never to be spoken but which now binds us together in a dangerous purpose. I have returned from the dead to continue with you, but I fear that this danger is close at hand and I may be too late."

Pulling aside the heavy curtain that separated the bathing and sleeping areas, she saw Morten on his knees, his tanned bare back facing her, the tight fabric of his breeches outlining his taut, round buttocks, next to the large bathing tub. Several steaming buckets sat either side of him. A loud gurgling sound that she recognized as the tub being emptied covered the sounds of her arrival.

She moved closer to the bath, almost afraid to look, to face the fear that reality would not live up to her high expectations. Morten turned to one side and reached for a full bucket, his biceps straining under the weight. The tub's empty interior was revealed as he moved and she closed her eyes in denial, certain that she was dreaming, more certain still that upon opening them she would see Fox in the tub, his naked body glistening with droplets of water. She must have made a sound that alerted Morten to her presence, for she felt the heavy bucket tilt against her leg, scalding hot water splashing over her robe to burn the exposed skin beneath. Gasping loudly, her eyes shot open and she stumbled back a few steps to escape the hot puddles at her feet.

"Oh...no. M..M'Lady? Are you alri..."

"Where is he? What have you done with him?"

Morten scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain of his own scalded flesh to aid his mistress. She had backed against the far wall, her sopping wet robe clinging to trembling legs. She turned her head wildly from side to side, trying to look everywhere at once, her eyes, normally soft pale blue, now almost black with rage and anger.

"Stay where you are," she shouted in a tone he had not heard in a long while. He obeyed instantly, falling into his assigned role without thinking. Head lowered, eyes firmly fixed on the wet floor under his feet.

"I want to know where Fox is. What have you done with him?"

Knowing there was little chance of calming her with lies and half-truths, Morten recounted the events of the previous evening in a shaky voice, his mind conjuring possible punishments his mistress had in mind for him.

"What do you mean he is gone? Where could he possibly go?" Kaneesha had stormed back into her sleeping parlor during his narrative. She roughly pulled aside the heavy, velvet drapes that covered large windows, gesturing to the land that surrounded the castle.

"There was a storm, thunder and a flash of light that blinded me. When I could see again, he was just gone. I know he's alive some....." He tried to explain, realizing that he wasn't getting through to her.

"What storm? It hasn't rained for weeks. I've had to order the groundskeepers to bring water from the wells to maintain the gardens."

He could see her point as he looked through the windows. Dry brown fields in the distance leading to an oasis of selfishness that was the green, flower filled garden closest to the castle. Fountains forced precious water high into the air in various patterns, producing dozens of temporary rainbows. He knew of the reduced rations given to the slaves just so Lady Kaneesha could impress the visiting nobles that would currently be traveling from neighboring baronies and estates to Carteria for a lavish ball to celebrate her upcoming birthday.

"I speak the truth, M'Lady. I have no excuses, no explanation for the ritual's failure, only humble apologies for failing you." Morten sunk to his knees, knowing that his fate rested with his mistress's mercy or lack thereof. He could do and say nothing further in his defense, only hope that she would take his many years of faithful service into account when deciding his future.

A bolt of agony struck his side, sending him crashing to the ground. He looked up through tear filled eyes to see Kaneesha standing over him, a length of fire wood in one hand, her arm raised to strike again. He managed to roll to one side, just avoiding another bone crushing hit. The wood flew out of Kaneesha's sweaty hand to land on the far side of the bed. She looked around for something to continue the attack. Taking advantage of the distraction, he rushed to crawl under the bed, knowing that he was just delaying the inevitable.

He never made it. He felt her hand around one ankle and heard the all too familiar double clink of chain connecting and locking with cuff. Looking down, he saw a thick chain attached to his ever present ankle cuff, it's far end connected to one end post of the bed; the keys to freedom on a fine gold chain around his mistress' neck.

"You didn't do it. Did you? You thought you could trick me, you never wanted him here in the first place. You tried to talk me out of it and when that failed you resorted to your devil magic to get your own way. You said you would save him and bring him to me where he belongs and now.... and now he's dead because of you. Well get ready to join him, you'll be whipped, strung and quartered before the sun sets tonight."

She punctuated her accusations with kicks to his chest and sides and head. As scared and hurt as he was, he would not strike out at his mistress to defend himself. Any defiance he may have once possessed had been taken long ago by the lashes of whips and days without food and water. He merely curled himself into a tight ball, presenting as small a target as possible. Finally the blows ceased and he heard Kaneesha storm out of the room, the heavy wooden door locked securely behind her.

He must have fallen asleep, not surprising since he hadn't slept for almost two days whilst preparing himself and the chamber for the failed ceremony. A boot to his pain-racked body woke him. He opened his eyes and saw two overseers, both solidly built, muscles bulging under dark brown tunics, standing either side of Kaneesha. One held a coiled whip loosely in one hand, tapping it against a muscular thigh, obviously anxious to use it. Morten gave him no reason, staying as still as his injured body allowed. The blows he had received earlier had turned black and purple, spreading to cover his back and chest. A few blisters had appeared on his legs and feet, some burst and weeping.

"This slave attacked me. Luckily I was able to escape when he fell." Kaneesha was informing the guards. Morten wondered why she thought she had to lie, no-one would accept any other version of events except for hers. Indeed he would not even be questioned, just pronounced guilty and punished in an appropriate manner. *She's lying to herself* he thought. *To absolve herself from the blame and guilt that I know she feels. For I feel it to. I wanted him here just as much as you, M'Lady. In fact he appeared in my dreams before I even came to this godforsaken place. If it wasn't for me, you would not even know he existed.* Morten wanted to shout all this out, to have his Mistress thank him for introducing her to Fox, to show her gratitude by taking both Fox and himself into her bed. But he knew it would do no good. Indeed it would probably only anger her further, maybe even lead her to order his death. She didn't mind using his talents for her own purposes, but if she were to find out he had used them on her to get something he wanted, namely Fox, then his life would be over. He knew Fox was alive and somewhere in Carteria. He could feel him as if he were a second heartbeat. Fox was in trouble and Morten wanted to be alive to help him if he could.

".... him punished severely and without delay." She ordered, turning her back on him, crossing the room to sit in front of her mirror. He was forgotten by the time she picked up a brush.

The overseers pulled him to his feet, unlocked the chain from his ankle and herded him out the door. He was taken outside, to the rear of the castle, the sun temporarily hidden behind fluffy, white clouds, casting long shadows across the compound that housed the slaves. One guard held him as the other replaced soft leather cuffs with heavy iron shackles that were fastened painfully tight around his wrists and ankles. A few house slaves working in the gardens looked up to watch, none coming to his aid, none willing to share his punishment. He had joked and laughed with some of them just days before, distracting them to pluck ripe fruit from the trees they tended.

He was secured to one of the posts set in the hard ground and flogged for what seemed like forever, the knotted lashes of the whip cutting deeply into his soft, battered flesh, raising welts and drawing blood. When the first guard grew tired his companion took over, concentrating the blows on his buttocks and legs. Barely conscious, he was released and thrown into a wagon already packed with slaves assigned to working the mines. As they traveled through the inner gate, he tried (and failed) to lift his head, to gaze one last time on the castle that had been his home for the last five seasons, a place he was certain he would never see again outside of his dreams.

**********

The Slave-Pen
GILLIANIA, CARTERIA
Sunset

Three overseers pulled Mulder to his feet and he was led through an iron and wood gate emerging into a nightmare on the other side that made his own predicament a reality that he could no longer deny. To his left was a large cage, fifteen feet square, crammed full of men and women, all in shackles, some leather, others rusted metal that showed years of exposure to the elements. Many were naked, those still clothed dressed in little more than rags and scraps of cloth. Overseers threw handfuls of moldy looking food into the enclosure and laughed at the sight of slaves being crushed and trampled in the race for food. One or two bits of rotten fruit and hard bread that reached the muddy ground were scurried away by large, furry rodents. The smell that wafted from the holding area almost made him gag, a stiff breeze carrying the stench of unwashed flesh and raw sewage, that brought back memories of New Jersey sewers. He would have given anything to be back in those narrow pipes now, chasing human-sized flukes and even abandoned alligators, which the knowledge that he could return to his motel room for a hot refreshing shower, before phoning Scully to discuss the latest results, to run some ridiculous theory by her. Just hearing her voice had given him the strength to endure the ridicule, the separation, knowing that even when she didn´t believe his theories, she believed in him, that she respected the journey.

Held tight in the grip of his newest guards, Mulder fought as much as his bonds and injuries allowed. He had been in a sort of daze, perhaps shock, since his capture, refusing to believe, to accept what was occurring around him, still hoping that it was all a nightmare or hallucination. That it couldn't possibly be real. Now that last bit of protection had been ripped away from him. He needed something to focus on, something to dull the horror and pain and the overwhelming sense of hatred and anger at those responsible for it. He lashed out ineffectually at his captors, using teeth and nails as his only weapons, barely leaving a scratch on the men who held him until he exhausted the small amount of energy left.

Imram watched the captive struggle in vain, prominent arm muscles straining against his clothes, the chain between his wrists pulled taut. He studied him closely, taking in his wild hazel eyes, his full lips, his strong jaw. He reached forward and wiped the hair off Mulder´s sweaty brow then lowered his hand to trace the contour of his face, lightly with no hint of aggression. It was a touching gesture, one that sort to pacify not panic.

"Easy lad, you´re only going to make things worse by fighting. I can make things a whole lot nicer if you co-operate. Where you´re going, it helps to have friends in high places." Imram was fascinated and aroused by the handsome stranger, his cock getting even harder. He lowered his hand, still keeping contact with the soft skin of the captive's throat, gliding down his chest to stop between the slave´s legs, disappointed that Mulder didn´t reciprocate the huge, hard bulge he felt straining his own pants. The slave would soon learn to show proper appreciation to his masters.

"Bring him to my quarters." Imram strode off, Mulder pulled by his guards close behind. They entered a medium sized building in the furthermost corner of the courtyard, well away from the confined slaves. A large, comfortable looking bed filled most of the front room, an open fire in one corner, a wooden table with a large pitcher and bowl in another. A thick metal ring on a two foot chain hung from one of the beams that made up the ceiling. Below it, two more rings were set about two feet apart in the rammed earth floor. Mulder was quickly secured to the rings, his arms held above his head, his legs painfully pulled apart, the wound in his thigh once again awake with pain.

Imram removed his sword and whip from his belt, lying them on the bed, just at the edge of Mulder´s view. He shed his dusty, sweat stained shirt revealing a pale, well muscled body. Tattoos covered a large part of his chest and upper arms, the most prominent being a design that matched the royal crest on his discarded shirt. He poured himself a large cup of cool water, but before he could raise it to his lips, a guard appeared from a side doorway, waiting until Imram signaled for him to enter.

"Sir, Lord Jaxtar has asked that you speak with him," the guard said, standing at attention just inside the doorway.

Imram sighed, annoyed that his "interrogation" of the prisoner would have to be delayed. He had been eagerly looking forward to sampling this newest piece of merchandise.

 *Well the best things were worth waiting for and it wasn't as if the slave would be going anywhere.* he thought as he acknowledged the guard. As he passed the prisoner, he grabbed a handful of his thick, silky dark hair and forcing the slave's head back, kissed him deeply, thrusting his tongue as far into the unfamiliar mouth as he could. The slave pulled back, resisting the invasion, trying to eject his tongue from the wonderfully warm, sensual environment. Imram raised his free hand and clicked his fingers once.

A guard stepped forward immediately to stand behind the struggling prisoner, placed his arms under the slave's upraised arms and linked his hands behind the slave's neck, effectively immobilizing him. Imram continued his oral exploration, his arousal increasing in direct proportion to the slave's ineffectual resistance. Both hands were now free to roam the well-muscled body under them, slipping under shirt and pants, the left rising upwards, caressing firm abs to find one soft nipple that soon hardened under his touch, the right moving downwards to squeeze between strange, rough material and soft, satiny skin that had the finest covering of downy hair. Finally he was forced to break contact, his oxygen deprived lungs screaming to be filled with fresh air and the guard by the door insisting that he talk to Jaxtar at once.

Mulder slumped forward as he was released from the double embrace. He felt his stomach heave, bitter tasting bile flooding his mouth and then he dry-retched even though his stomach had been empty since breakfast hours earlier. He had been trapped between his abuser and the guard, not wanting to move forward into the kiss and being unable to move back, being forced to endure another man's hands and mouth fondling him, touching him in places he had only imagined, fantasized, being touched by Walter Skinner. Many a night he had started watching some B-rate skin flick only to replace the horny young couples on the screen with himself and Skinner, imagining what it would feel like to have Skinner's arms and mouth and hands and lips exploring his body, his boss' hard shaft buried deep inside him. He had never even considered revealing his feelings to Walter, God knows the man had enough to worry about without the extra burden of an infatuated subordinate.

CONTINUED