Taken

Taken By Lesbian Warlord

Chapter 1

Iona sat in the corner of the felt tent, trying to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. The men of the steppe, clad in their supple leathers and luxurious furs, had sternly and forcefully directed her to stay sat, and stay silent. She’d heard stories about what would befall her she was ever captured by steppe tribe, and what horrors to expect. Her head still felt light from the shock. She might only be eighteen, but she was a priestess; a junior priestess, but a priestess of the goddess of chastity and purity, Astraea. Being captured by the steppe people was a disaster. I’ve heard what they do to the men and women captured. So far, she had just been pushed around and manhandled from one tent to another, for which she was grateful. But she had already seen women and men ravished. Out in the open, for all to see! The sight had been more than Iona could handle.

This tent felt different from the others, however. For one thing, it was much larger, massive; large enough to hold over a hundred people. It was easily as impressive as the finery she had been used to in her temple, if not more so. The finest silk cushions and blankets were casually strewn around, soft and luxurious pelts of exotic animals she couldn’t identify were everywhere. Even the wooden furniture looked expensive, and had been polished with beeswax until it shone. Iona had no doubt that they had gotten everything here from raids and slaughter, but it still conveyed a sense of grandeur.

She tried to avoid being noticed by any of the men in the tent. She kept her eyes looking down, only glancing at them from the corner of her eye. It was impossible to ignore them, towering over her as they did even whilst lounging on their cushions. The smell of sweat, horse and leather engulfed her. No matter what else was here, it could not hold her full attention for long, however. That returned inevitably to the woman reclining opposite her.

The chieftain towered over the men as they towered over Iona; she was at least a head taller than the biggest man here. Clad in the same furs and leathers as the rest, she had a slender musculature that was both clearly strong and undoubtedly feminine. The sword that she had by her side was easily the largest that Iona had seen, larger than Iona herself.

It was with that sword in hand that Iona had first seen the chieftain appear, smashing down the doors to her temple. It was with that sword that she had carved her way through the temple guards, slashing and dancing through them like they were scarecrows. Most times she had not even met the guards’ spears and swords before the blade sliced through them.The ferocity and grace that Iona had seen from the dark-haired woman had been awe-inspiring. Even now, it was hard for Iona not to stare at her. She contented herself with surreptitious glances.

The chieftain herself looked over the men with a stern gaze that bordered on anger, even as she lounged. There were plenty of discussions in a language Iona did not understand, but the statuesque woman would only say one or two words, letting the men argue amongst themselves. Every so often she would glance at Iona, catching her staring. At those times Iona jumped, looked down and swore to herself that she would not look any more. And each time Iona’s eye would be dragged back to the darker-haired woman a few minutes later.

“You, girl!”

The barked words, in Iona’s own language, startled her. It was the chieftain, looking straight at her and indicating towards her. Timidly, Iona raised her head and met her eyes as best she could.

“Do you know Cordava? Lie, and we will take your tongue, eyes and ears, and wash the wounds with salt, wine and vinegar.”

Iona felt a wash of fear at how casually she was threatened. The steady look she got from the chieftain made her certain that she meant it. A cold pit in her stomach formed, and she did not dare to lie.

“Yes, my lady. I visited there often, as part of my duties at the temple.”

Some of the men hooted and jeered at Iona’s words, but the chieftain just gave a slight nod, and cast about significant glances. Eventually she glanced back at Iona with that stern look on her face.

“You will address me as Chief Helga, not Lady. That disrespect will earn you five strikes of the lash tomorrow morning. Next time it will be ten.” With that, she returned to consulting with her men.

Iona felt stung, chastised and afraid. She had never received a lashing before. She knew her life in the temple had been pampered and cared for. She had always been grateful, and had prayed her thanks everyday, but had it not been enough? Was this her punishment now? A life where she was to be lashed simply for saying the wrong word? I am a student of the divine, how could this be happening to me? she wailed inwardly.

She was shaken from her thoughts as the men stood, and the chieftain brought herself up leisurely. She barked a last set of instructions to the men, and then motioned to Iona.

“With me, girl,” Helga said, not unkindly.

Apprehension made Iona move slowly as she stood.

“I said move!” barked the chieftain. Striding forwards, she grabbed Iona by the hair on the back of her head, more forcefully than painfully, and directed her out of the dim tent. Iona could only move to keep up, standing and shuffling bent over as the chieftain threw her out into the glaring sunshine. Iona stumbled forwards, but caught herself from falling over, and kept walking swiftly to avoid any further attacks. She tried to calm her beating heart by straightening her white dress, edged with the gold leaves of her order. Some of the men chuckled as she left. Iona tried to regain some dignity as she walked. She took as steadying a breath as she could.

Helga directed her to a tent, smaller than the meeting tent, but still larger than all the rest Iona had seen in the encampment. As with the last, this one was lined with silks and luscious furs. A servant was polishing an expensive-looking wooden folding table, her body hunched over and trying not to draw attention to herself.

“Leave us,” Helga commanded sharply.

With a bow, the servant hurriedly gathering her things with quick but quiet movements and left.

“Kneel there.” Helga directed her to a particularly large pile of furs. Still feeling uncertain, Iona sank into them nervously.

“Tomorrow you will tell us about Cordava. The more information we have, the more of the townspeople we will spare.” She started unbuckling her armour and discarding her clothes, straps of leather falling to the floor. She undid the buckles of her leather harness more slowly, and hung it on pegs set into the tent’s supporting poles. “Make no mistake, those people cannot hold against us. With your help, no one need lose their life.”

Iona’s eyes widened as the chieftain pulled off her chest armour, exposing the pert and hard breasts underneath. Watching her put it to the side mesmerized Iona, the way the muscles rippled and stretched like a jungle cat’s.