If one starts keeping a diary in a strange blank book that's obviously got some magic in it, one never knows where the words one writes will end up appearing...


Day One
Hmm... I'd been meaning to start some sort of diary again for a while, but getting this cute little book yesterday has decided things for me. I was in a tavern just inside the town's north gate, drinking a little and listening a lot, when this strange old man came in. I thought he was at least quarter-elf to begin with, he was very old and very thin, with fine-quality but rather old clothes, and he had a bag of stuff to sell. I never buy "magic health potions", or amulets, or "enchanted daggers", but the book caught my eye - for one thing it was a lot cleaner than anything else, it looked new, and the pages were so white they were almost pale blue.

"You like it?" His teeth were surprisingly good, though his breath wasn't. "You don't need a quill and ink, you just use this pointy-ended little glass rod, no mess, no smudges." He went on to say it was "enabled", whatever that meant. He was a bit vague, but I think he was claiming there was a vast wizards' library somewhere, and my words would magically appear in a book there. "Hi, Ser Mage!"  Heheh, as if...

Anyway, I smiled, showed a little cleavage, bought him a drink and a bowl of rabbit soup, and got the book for only a few coppers, which isn't bad, unless the writing fades away after an hour or two. Otherwise the tavern was quiet - no town-lords in this area of Fortune's World are recruiting mercenaries, no villages being attacked by bandits, no goblin hordes sweeping down from the hills. So, I am still in need of some relatively honest work.

My rent on this room will be due soon... I think I'll go and have a word with Ashil tomorrow, he may have some sort of local job he can put my way. It would be nice to earn enough to be able to stay here over the winter. But that's enough for a first entry, since I have no swordplay to report, no throats or purse-strings cut, no seductions...sigh... 22 years old, fit and female, an adventurer who has killed bandits, enemy soldiers, scaly monsters, and even, with some help, a rather young dragon, and I come back to an empty room, still remarkably sober, and sit down and write? Things can only get better!

Day Two
Ashil didn't have anything at the moment, though he gave me the impression he was negotiating for a job that might be my sort of thing, so I joined Saster and Wren, who have a room upstairs, in a hunting expedition into the hills to the north of town. We managed to kill a deer, my arrow brought it down, and we carried it back into town and sold it to a local butcher. It was good to get out into the fresh air of the countryside, though on the way back I was starting to wish we'd bagged a smaller animal, I swear the beast got heavier as we went along, to get its revenge.

An interesting pair, those ladies. Apparently they were mercs in some town-lord's army, with Saster as a sergeant. He lost the battle, they ran for it, and after a while got recruited into a rather large gang of bandits. The two of them got caught, and sold as slaves, before an agent of the gang bought them back... the gang itself didn't last too much longer, the leader was revealed to be some sort of magical creature and defeated by quite a well-known adventurer, Ilys Darksword, and a couple of apprentice mages, so Saster and Wren were soon on the run again. The point is, they were and are free, but they have had the "all virtue preserv'd" slavegirl injections, the ones that keep them young and beautiful, and submissive and low on inhibitions, not to mention high on sex-drive. It must be rather difficult to function properly as free women in that state, but together they seem to do okay together. I suppose a "sexier, softer" army sergeant is still pretty hard. Saster said something, "A man is for an evening's pleasure, a woman for a lifetime's love" - and I remarked that there was an equivalent male saying too, which also involved melons! But I'm young, an occasional evening's pleasure is all I'm aiming for at the moment.

I've put aside my share of the butcher's money, after an evening meal in one of the better taverns this town has, and a bottle of wine - it's not enough for a full month's rent, but there's plenty of time yet. Talking of slavegirls, tomorrow I ought to visit my friends Delinda and Loji, though that's a weird situation. The three of us used to play cards together, along with a few others, and one night we played on rather late, got a bit drunk, the stakes got rather high... and to cut a boring story short, Delinda won Loji!  So they're both my friends, but one's a Mistress now, and the other her slave. And given that Del's shop sells slave restraint gear and jewelry, that collar is more than just a gesture, it's the real, stringent deal. Loji looks good on it, but that would be the injections, of course.

But it's late, and I'm tired. I'll write again tomorrow, Ser Wizard, if you're reading this!

Day Three
Now this is promising, it could be the big payday I've been hoping for. That social visit to Delinda and Loji will have to wait!  It's not a job for Ashil, though a message he sent pointed me in the right direction, so, mid-morning, after I'd carefully polished my best leather jerkin and boots, and the gloves too, and climbed into a nice clean white leo, the sort of outfit that slows male opponents down by at least five seconds, I headed for one of the biggest houses in town, not far from the castle itself - the Restormel townhouse. The family have a castle and a town of their own, way off in the west I think, but they've handed that over to the eldest son, and set up here. And now Lord Restormel, Marius Restormel, has gone missing!  His wife, Lady Restormel, is frantic, and she's hiring people to look for him, various teams are out searching the countryside in all directions - and now she's hired me, to see what I can find out here in town.

I have "connections", apparently... that's true, I've been here around Redwall for six months now and I know a good number of people - shopkeepers, tavern owners, other adventurers and mercs, bouncers, soldiers - ha, I've arm-wrestled one of the castle's watch-captains often enough, and wrestled more horizontally with the other one a time or three!  I keep out of trouble inside the town walls, I help out, I smile... and if I have scaled the occasional house wall and liberated a few jewels from confinement in bedroom boxes, well, that just gives me some more connections, right?

Lady Restormel's chamberlain gave me a purse with plenty of silver in it, and I spent the afternoon and evening spreading that money among the undeserving poor, all in the hopes of a bigger return to come. I've made a completely honest list for the chamberlain, as that's the sort of thing he might even get someone to check, and tomorrow I'll go back to the townhouse, see if he wants me to keep handing the Restormel money out, hopefully get a refilled purse, and then start seeing what my dozens of new friends have got to tell me.

Admittedly, nobody so far has had a clue, but it will be a major topic of conversation in the cheaper drinking spots right about now. A lord doesn't just vanish like that!  Maybe there's magic involved... almost certainly there's magic involved! This town has a couple of remarkably dull, respectable magic-users, a mage and a white witch, but there are hedge wizards, there are expensive charms and charmed weapons that any fool could use, and most non-mages that attempt to use magic are fools, believe me. I've been all round town, seen the castle from every angle...

Yes, the castle. I may well end up having to climb that wall, I suspect... if so, I think I'll spread a little more Restormel money around first. The more Restormel cash I spend, the harder I'm working, obviously.  I may have something a good deal more exciting to report tomorrow night, if I don't break my neck before then...

Day Four
This has been the...something-est day of my life so far, I'm just not sure what-est yet. I should be asleep now, I was asleep, but I'm writing this some time well after midnight, quietly, so as not to disturb my guest, the lantern carefully shaded. I need my sleep - but I need to set this down on paper, make some sense out of it all, while it is all still fresh in my mind. And if today has rearranged my life, I shudder to think what tomorrow will do...

Am I making sense? probably not, Ser Wizard Librarian - and now I'm talking to somebody I've made up as the custodian of this "magic" book I'm writing in. Oh, I look at her sleeping, so calm, peaceful - helpless...

Bah. The day began much as I'd planned.  List, chamberlain, more cash, then an endless walk round and round town talking to people. Not a sign, not a word about poor Marius. The only direction to go was inside the castle - and while I could have probably got in by helping deliver food, or something like that, that would only have got me access to the kitchens, and I'd have had a friendly, hard-to-shake escort. So I invested some Restormel money in Torner, who was guarding one of those small side-exits that any good castle has - not to go in that way, just for an easy and quick exit afterwards.

I waited for dusk before throwing a borrowed grappling-hook up onto the castle wall, and quickly scrabbling up and over. Nobody saw me, though the guard that should have seen me will be nursing a lump on the back of his head for a while. In fact, the place was a lot quieter than I expected.  It was strange, there were guards about, and a number of times I had to stay back in the shadows as servants moved along the corridors, I even caught a glimpse of the lord's second son hurrying to his room with a giggling servant-girl... but the place just didn't feel lived in, it was like walking in a castle that had been abandoned a century before, alone and unloved.

Lady Restormel had visited the castle, of course, as soon as her husband had disappeared - with all the servants and slaves and soldiers, there couldn't be any secrets in the more public areas, I'd decided, so after a general scout around I headed down for the dungeons. Empty cells, completely deserted except for the distant scuttlings of rats - and then I came to a locked cell door, with, on its little board, the word "Memree" written. Not a person's name, really, but an old term for a child's imaginary companion. The key was close by, and I used it, the door opened noiselessly, and there she was, lying helpless on the floor on some dry old straw. Metal ankle cuffs were joined by chain, and another chain led to a ring-bolt in the floor. I used the big old key to force one of the floor-chain's links open.

But the hobble-chains weren't the main thing, or the rope that tied her arms behind her back; the gag was the main thing, it was solid metal all around her head, with a flange going down under the chin to stop her mouth from opening at all.  It was an intricate device, solid and well-made; I could see a small keyhole below one ear, but there was nowhere here that a suitably small key would be found, and the hole was too small for any lockpick I possessed. There was a hole at the front to allow easier breathing, or perhaps some water through a straw, which was lucky, as it was obvious that the gag wouldn't be going anywhere without the girl's head for a while yet.

I stood the girl up, and she trembled against me, naked except for her bonds. "Now, your choice, sera. I can cut the ropes and let you go your own way, or, if you desire it, I can put you under my protection, and take you with me." I idly stroked her blonde hair, and looked her firmly in the eye. She was a couple of inches shorter than me, maybe a couple of years younger, too. "You'll notice the second option doesn't include setting you free -- at least, not yet."

This will take all night if I go into too much detail, though it's strange how fast I'm writing it all down.  Did she know anything about Lord Restormel?  Maybe, maybe not, but she was the only physical evidence of something very strange in the castle, so I wasn't about to give her the chance to run off in a panic, once she'd indicated that she did want to come with me rather than take her own chances.  In fact, I wonder why I did give her that option?  If she'd chosen to go off alone, perhaps I'd have followed her, tried to discover some dark secret that way.

We were only just in time for Torner at his castle side exit, and he smiled appreciatively at my companion. "I like her fashion sense", he said, as he let us through. I winked at him, put my arm round the shoulders of my little "Memree", and steered her out into the street.

The first priority was to try to remove the gag, so that I could find out just who my new friend was, and how she'd got sent to the dungeons, which had otherwise not been used for years. So, as an expert on gags, locks, and restraints, Delinda's was an obvious first port of call. Nobody looked more than twice as I guided a rather grubby naked, bound slavegirl through the town, naked slaves are after all a fairly common sight. The metal gag was a bit unusual, if seen up close, but it took attention away from the actual lack of a legal slave-collar. And mid-evening, before the taverns start to empty, is a pretty quiet time anyway, with the last of the street market stalls closing down.

Delinda's shop was closed, but lit, and she soon appeared from the back room when I rapped on the glass, her face split in a huge smile when she saw us. "Charol, my friend, is this a present for me...?"

"I've a little problem, Del", I told her, shaking my head.

"When don't you have a problem, Charol? But she's absolutely gorgeous, my friend -- are you selling?"

"Only the clasp-gag, if you can get it off her."

She approached, and studied it carefully. "Picking the lock? Something of this quality, I must first test..." She took a dull glass rod from a box, and brought it towards the girl's face. "Such a devil in iron, it could be ensorcelled, and I don't want a magical bomb going off in here."

The rod began to glow red, then yellow, then almost white - it emitted sparks like a winter's day firework, which flared, then vanished when they hit the floor.  It was most impressive, I closed my eyes but could still feel the light on my face. "Big spell, right?"

Delinda ran the rod down my captive's body - it faded a little, but continued to glow and pulse, and I made some weak joke about a "magic pussy".

"Not exactly," she said. "The main magic is in the gag, I'm sure, but I'm getting traces even down here." She crouched, and tapped a knee gently. "Your little friend has been very close to a major magic spell, at the very least." She paused. "You want that gag off, you need the key, wherever that is."

To prove her expertise, Del got the ankle-cuffs unlocked in seconds, and cut away the ropes from her arms too; the girl massaged her wrists, rolled her shoulders, and I'm sure that behind her gag she was smiling. "If we can't ditch the gag, this young 'Memree' had better have some other gear to go with it, if you've some suitable bits and pieces to lend us," I said, as running down the street after a spooked naked blonde would do my reputation no good at all. "She's under my protection, I don't want her running loose."

"In the old dialect, a 'memree' is a child's imaginary playmate - a make-believe companion. Ah, these should fit snugly..." Del commented, confirming what I'd thought, and held up a hinged metal collar. "Here, you'd better snap this on her - if it turns out that she's an unmarked slave, this should be locked in place by you if you're going to claim her."

"It was the name chalked on the dungeon door, and she's not objected to me using it." I watched as Del produced ankle-locking boots with a hobble-chain, and a belt with wrist-cuffs attached by short lengths of chain.

Once my prize was suitably secured, Del produced some milk and a straw, and, with a surprising amount of noise, the girl drank it swiftly, followed by a refill. Del demonstrated how the wrist-chains could be pulled in for "snugness" - we left them like that while we shared a little wine, and then the girl and I - Memree and I - headed back here.

But it will soon be dawn, so I'm about done with writing. After letting out those wrist-chains again I gave Memree a sponge-down bath, standing in a basin, and before too long we were both asleep, even though I was too awake to stay asleep for long. Damn!  What kind of sense does that make? Enough, I'm going back to bed!

Day Five
Re-reading yesterday's entry, I seem to have left a lot out - but there was so much I wanted to write. I did all the talking of course, but we did manage to communicate, and it became clear that "Memree" was the only name to use, as she didn't remember what her real name was, in fact she doesn't remember anything before I turned the key and opened the dungeon door. But I can't go back over all that, though I'll admit to letting her give me a sponge-bath after I bathed her, as today has been a lot more eventful than yesterday ever was - Sunil's teats, yesterday was nothing compared to today, except that it was the day I first met Memree. At least I am starting this entry rather earlier than the last one, but, Ser Imaginary Librarian, I warn you, this is going to be the longest and most complex daily entry I ever write - gods willing!

Memree had thin porridge for breakfast, which was even noisier than milk, and then I dressed her up in a white leather sex-slave kind of costume that Del had provided, which had the advantage of camouflaging the gag a bit - and girl did she look cute in it! The first thing to do was take her to the Restormel townhouse, and I'd have had some explaining to do if she'd turned out to be the family's long-lost daughter or something. But I hoped that the chamberlain or Lady Restormel would recognise her, or that she would recognise them, or the portrait of Marius that was given pride of place in their reception room.

And when my girl saw that portrait, there was some connection, certainly - she just stared at it, which in a purported-slavegirl was such extreme rudeness that I had to promise Lady Restormel to punish her for it later, or she'd probably have sent for a man with a whip then and there!  I know it wasn't Memree's fault, but I was annoyed at her, and at myself - I'd have to follow through on my promise, as again that was something that might be checked on, so I hurried my prize back to the lodgings, and with her hobble-chain she could hardly keep up. I couldn't paddle her, I just couldn't - so I tied her in a kneeling position, popped a hood over her head, and left her there, with a friendly pat on her shoulder, and went off to spread that Restormel silver around a bit more.

I'd half an idea to get the pair of us smuggled into the castle later as part of a troupe of entertainers, but maybe "half an idea" is flattering it.  I may be pretty nimble in a swordfight, but as a dancer, well, I die every time. So the plan was just to be dressed like dancers to get past the outer door, along with another hefty contribution to Torner's retirement plans, and then head off on our own.  I was convinced that the answers I was looking for would be in the castle.  Magic had abducted Lord Restormel, and Memree had been at the focus of some strong magic, somewhere there. I'd gone over the ground levels and the lower levels, this time a bit of staircase-climbing seemed like a plan.

I told Delinda most of this, and she nodded, and pulled out a box of her stock, and produced the most scandalous item of clothing I'd ever seen... then, when she saw the colour draining from my face, produced the second most scandalous item of clothing I'd ever seen, which at least rather matched my best gloves and boots, though a small amount of rather intimate shaving had to be performed, we discovered after I'd tried it on. It was black, and it was shiny, and it was thinner than a gnat's wing, but at least it covered my back, and Delinda assured me that all but the sharpest blades would be unable to cut it, though naturally there'd be extensive bruising if the attempt was made.

Memree was still kneeling, hooded, when I got home carrying a jug of fresh milk, her back straight, and seeing her like that I was filled with remorse.  This golden-haired, beautiful creature, so gentle, so reliant on me, and I was so cruel to her! I crouched down and unlaced the hood, and she blinked at the afternoon sunshine flooding in. I untied her ankles, untied all the rope, and helped her gently to her feet.  I fed her carefully, and generally saw to her comfort, then sat her down on the bed, and started to change into the costume Del had provided.  Strange - I had no thoughts of modesty, changing like that, it shows how I'm thinking of this girl as a continuing part of my life.  And of course she was naked too, except for the leather trimmings which enhanced rather than covered her bits...

She'd seen my back before, last night, but, when I'd removed my ordinary leo, she made little murmuring noises, cocked her head on one side, and looked at me wide-eyed. How? Why? She asked, but I couldn't answer, not then, not yet.  My back bears its scars, from a brutal, deserved whipping six years ago, when I was sixteen.  How could I have been so stupid, then?  I shuddered, and she stroked my arm gently, rested her silky-soft hair against my shoulder.  I fought back my tears.  I was a warrior now, and suddenly I was responsible for more than myself.

"Now, close your eyes, my friend."  I stood up, and wriggled into Del's costume, finding myself anxious for the girl Memree's approval. "What do you think? It's what the well-dressed warrior trying to get into a castle disguised as a dancer is wearing these days, or so Delinda tells me."

Memree's eyes widened in surprise, mainly at the mention of the castle I think, and then I could see her cheeks move up, telling me she was smiling for me, behind that gag. Then she carefully knelt on the floor again, and bowed towards me.  "Chump", I muttered.  "Yes, I'm going back to Castle Redwall, that's the only damned place we'll ever find out what's happened to Marius Restormel, and the only twice-damned place we are ever likely to find out what's been done to you, too - and there's the small matter of finding a key, the key, for that monstrous gag, too!"

I smiled at her. "Want to come along...?"

You can guess the answer, I think, my Mage-Librarian, so let's move on to the sight of two cloaked women entering the castle past a broadly smiling Torner. 'Strange, he usually only holds one pikestaff", I muttered to Memree, after my cloak had blown rather further open than I'd have liked.  She gave an amused little snort, or at least I like to think she did.

The castle is old, and much bigger than it now needs to be.  We headed away from the inhabited part, and again the place seemed to change its atmosphere, to become cold and unwelcoming.  Memree shuddered, and let her cloak fall open for a moment, before pulling it tight around her again.  The hobble-chain between her ankle bracelets was at its full length, and the chains to her wrist cuffs were also as loose as I could make them. I wanted her to have as much freedom as possible, but if there was trouble ahead, I wanted to make it perfectly clear that she was not a fighter.

I certainly didn't want to go up the first flight of stairs we reached, just looking at the stone steps made the hairs on the back of my neck try to stand up. That seemed a good reason to go up, so that's the path we took.  The first floor we came to was...dusty, and dry, and smelt of - apples?  All the doors we passed were wide open, if you didn't count the cobwebs; sometimes furniture had yellowing sheets draped over it, sometimes not.  There was no sound at all, except our footsteps and our breathing, no rats scuffling, no distant voices from outside, nothing.  We reached another flight of stairs, this time a curving one, leading into an old off-central tower which had never had any practical use.  Obviously, a dead end, not to be explored, to even put a foot on the first step would be moronic...

I can be stubborn sometimes, and we started to climb, though every step reinforced what a fool I was being, to leave the safety of the mortal world for a place of desolation and endless, timeless death.  It was actually difficult to get one foot to go up to each next step; Memree's hand found mine, and grasped it, and we gave each other extra strength to carry on.  That tower rises no more than four storeys above the surrounding building, but I'd swear we climbed up at least twelve.  We stopped three times to recover our breath, and each time, leaving that particular landing was hard.  Very hard.

A final landing just had the usual couple of small empty storerooms off it - it was curiously clean, though, no dust, no spider webs, nothing at all except bare wood and stone walls... oh, and a ladder going up to a circular hole in the ceiling.  I discarded my cloak, and began to climb, and this time there was no resistance, so I was up in the final, top chamber almost before I realised it.

It was not a nice room to be in.  Almost every inch of the walls was hung with chains, cuffs, hoods, restraints of every kind, along with more sinister devices. There were whips, some of them barbed. Cuffs hung from the ceiling on chains that ran over pulleys. A corset was on a side-table, and I could see that it was lined with cruel spikes. There was a large solid wooden table scattered with tools, there was even a rack for stretching victims on, and an unlit brazier with a few branding-irons nearby.  There was more, and I shuddered, chilled to the soul.

Memree had followed me up, of course, and moved towards an unvarnished wooden coffin. She tried to move the lid sideways, but it was awkward for her, and I helped... and together we gazed on the cold, waxy face, unmistakably, of Marius Restormel.  He looked calm, but sad, and very dead.

"He's dead, you meddling cow, and you'll join him -- in a day or two!"  I don't know where she came from, but a blue light appeared and grew, and took the form of a woman a foot taller than me, covered in a blue leathery glow. The eyes were glowing white ovals, but otherwise the surface was unflawed.  The voice was inside me, I don't think she was actually speaking as such. "The castle's people have forgotten this tower exists -- so you, you silly bitch, must be from outside, I think?"

"Am I a bitch or a cow, lanky? I've always thought of myself as more of the lioness type." Well I never thought I'd be able to talk my way out of this, so at least I'd have the satisfaction of insulting this she-demon.

"My name is ATZMON, cow-dugs -- Atzmon, flame of magic!"

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure - er, 'cow-dugs' is your middle name, right?"  And with that I drew my sword, just in time, as she had obviously decided that the introductions had been concluded. She had a sword too, though she'd not had it an instant before - it was on fire with a blue flame, but the first clash of blades told me that it was all too solid. She drove forward, and I stepped sideways, not easy as the room had an awful lot of furniture and not much spare space. I ducked and her sword sliced the air apart over my head, then lunged forwards and pricked Atzmon's side... there was a brief eruption of more pale blue light, then the hole seemed to seal itself as I quickly drew my sword back. And the tip of my sword had melted!

I backed away, drawing Atzmon clear of Memree, who was at the main table now.  I don't think Atzmon was in any hurry to finish me, she might even still have wanted to take us both alive for a time, our swords clashed again and again, and she effortlessly kicked Restormel's coffin to one side, it hit the wall, bounced back, and landed heavily, the body sprawled half out.  Memree had found an old, half-rusted sword on the table, and was trying to get round behind the demon; I parried a massive blow from Atzmon, and my blade shattered into a dozen pieces, which was probably just as well since my arm felt as if it had nearly been jerked out of its shoulder-socket.  I backed away, ducked again, and caught the rusty sword that Memree threw to me.

"So, scar-back, you've returned my little experiment to me -- the dear sweet 'memree', so eager to please!"

Oh, we were talking again, were we? I could do that. "What did you do to her, demon?"

"Merely improved the little prentice-animal," Atzmon said.  The room seemed full of some arcane magic.  "A lack-wit she'd become, but with a little sorcerous boost from me, courtesy of the late Lord Restormel, she's actually quite clever now, in her own way!"

"You killed Marius Restormel, for your experiment?" Okay, I was stating the obvious, but I was also getting my strength back; we traded blows, but she wasn't trying to kill me, for the moment.

"I'd expected to send him back to his lady a drooling simpleton, which would have been amusing--" She lunged, batting aside my sword with frightening ease, and I rolled desperately to my left, feeling the rush of air and the crash as the sword struck the floor a fraction of an inch from my precious hide. "--but instead I got a corpse."

"You're not saying that she is Lord Restormel in some way now?"  A silly question, but the best I could come up with at that moment.  "His mind, his thoughts and memories, transferred?"

Atzmon laughed, and believe me, it was infectious - or at least, it made me feel ill.  "Oh no, his mind and thoughts are dead and gone -- I just ladled her a little of his intelligence, the dark gods know she always needed it!"

Swordplay continued.  Memree was still at the main table, the other side of it from us, and tried throwing a torture-boot at Atzmon's head, but her sword moved at astonishing speed and cut it clean in two in mid-air, I had to duck as one half, with its internal spikes, came straight at me. I wanted to move round, to allow Memree to have a chance to bolt for the ladder down, but Atzmon seemed to read my mind, and stayed close to it.  I caught a brief glimpse of Memree awkwardly climbing up onto the table, using a stool - the hobble-chain didn't make that a simple task, really, what had I been thinking of, taking her on this "adventure" in chains?  Not that it would matter for much longer...

My replacement sword was flaking rust and possibly other things, it was dented and not exactly straight, but at least it hadn't fallen apart, and on one rare opportunity to counter-attack, when it scratched a line down her thigh, the wound didn't immediately heal, but continued to leak little bubbles of light.  "You think you can hurt me, do you? Ha, swords are for cissies, let's you and me wrestle, lady-girl!"

Sounded like a bad idea to me.  I held onto my sword, and circled warily, as Atzmon's weapon faded into her hand and vanished. She tried to grab the blade of my sword between her palms, she was close to the table now, Memree had grabbed some cylindrical box, it hinged open, it had spikes inside, Memree leapt onto Atzmom's back, I stabbed Atzmon in the shoulder, the box was some sort of "iron maiden" for the head, I could see, as time seemed to shudder almost to a halt, its interior spikes were two inches long, sharp, glowing, Atzmon screamed, tried to reach up for the courageous girl on her back, Memree rammed the open box onto Atzmon's head, and slammed it shut with a bang, just the thought of those spikes made me feel queasy, but Atzmon remained on her feet, staggering, tugging at the box, and making a shrill, shrieking howl.  I held my sword, and swept it horizontally, it went straight though Atzmon's neck and both her wrists, the body crumpled and fell in upon itself and vanished, the head-box fell to the floor with a loud crash, and...

...sudden silence, except for my panting, Memree making a whistling noise as she attempted to gulp in air through that gag's hole, and the distant, welcome sounds of the castle and the town.  I hoped fervently that Atzmon had been killed but, with some sort of demon, or whatever she'd been, who could tell?  Memree had been thrown off, and landed against Lord Restormel's coffin, inches from his lolling head.

I looked at the "iron maiden" head-box, though I didn't dare open it.  "Empty", I pronounced, after looking up the neck-hole. "I do hope she's dead, or we'll both be very annoyed." I walked over to the coffin, and gently moved Marius Restormel's corpse back into place. "I'm definitely not charging Lady Restormel enough for this, you know."

Memree had found a little key among the collection on the table; she brought it over to me, and held it out tentatively, like a child offering a freshly-picked wild flower. "Memree, that was very, very brave of you... I owe you my life, I'm sure."  Slowly, I reached out my hand. "That's it, you reckon -- the key? And you want me to do the honours?"

She nodded, her eyes wide. I'd taken the key now, and I gently inserted it into the tiny keyhole - the gag sprang apart, and I eased it away.  It was heavy, with a substantial, mouth-filling plug.  I put it down on the table.

And that is definitely all I am writing tonight. I'm amazed I could write so much without falling asleep at this desk, but the tale is told now - and tomorrow is another day.  There will be plenty of loose ends to tie up then, but hopefully not as endless a writing session at the end of it!

Day Six
What else should I add to my account of yesterday's events? Well, Between us we carried two bag's worth of the least evil items away from that terrible room, mainly the sort of restraints that Delinda is happy to sell, but a few weapons which, like the flaking old sword I'd used, might have some magic in them.  I did offer to cut away Memree's chains, but she'd wanted to leave as she'd come, except for that gag, which we also took. She said very little, but I think we both felt as if we'd known each other for years; my fears that she might have a voice like a corncrake were banished, anyway.  In a pouch we found a ball-gag, probably something Delinda had imported, and she insisted on wearing it home.

Sometimes I wonder where such items come from, things so minutely crafted that no smith on Fortune's World could produce them, fabrics that don't seem to be made of fibres - this book, even, which would take a craftsman a week to put together so accurately, but which I got for coppers. Oh, I know that some wizards trade with "demons", but how and why would strange other-dimensional creatures craft such things, and in Sunil's name, what use do they have for plain Fortunia honey, or farm-churned butter, or some rocks containing metals that even the dwarves are unable to smelt?  Delinda did business with a wizard who lived out by the mountains, she'd load up a cart occasionally and go out to him, stay a few days, and come back with shiny, gleaming new wares, things so exact that no human craftsman could have had a hand in their making... but what spooked me was the way the items were packed, the bags of soft not-glass, the colour paintings all exactly the same, even the thick paper boxes used instead of honest wooden crates. People liked the other-worldliness of the items, but Del always took care to burn the packing materials, just as she and Loji would unpick the ridiculously exact, complex labels inside the clothing. It's all magic, I suppose, demon magic from a plane far different from ours, and I'm as addicted to these wares as most girls, but - spooky!

This morning I left Memree in our room, making out a careful list of all the items we'd appropriated, and, dressed in trousers, shirt, and my favourite waistcoat, plus boots to tuck the trousers into, made the necessary visit to the Restormel townhouse. I spoke to the chamberlain, and he and four of their men accompanied me to the castle, and up to the room, which now was just a room, or at least just a torture chamber. The coffin and the body were still there; I'd not wanted to give Lady Restormel my news before the body had been secured, it could have magically vanished and left me looking very stupid. The chamberlain looked at the mess we'd made of the place, the signs of the battle, the head iron-maiden, and sighed. "Lady Restormel will have to be told everything, you know, but please underplay the 'intelligence transfer' angle, leave your little slavegirl out of it as much as possible, I think she'd find that unbearable."

So we took the body, in the coffin, down the ladder, and the four men carried it out of the castle on their shoulders, with the two of us walking behind.  Guards came to attention as we passed, men took off their hats and bowed their heads. The coffin was plain, but everyone knew Lord Restormel had been missing, and recognised the chamberlain and the livery he and his men wore.  Women went into a curtsey as we approached, and held the pose as we passed. There would be an official funeral in a few days, but I found this all surprisingly touching.

Lady Restormel was brave, in the way that nobles so often are.  I assume she thinks I exaggerated Atzmon's size and strength, but she gave no sign of it. I mentioned that the girl-slave had been with me, I mentioned that Atzmon had boasted of some mind-experiment on her husband, I assured her that his end must have been quick, and painless, but generally I told the truth.  At the end she hugged me, and thanked me for all my efforts, and I returned the hug before leaving with the chamberlain, who was already sorting through the keys he carried to find the one that opened the safe.  He gave me all the money I'd been promised, and a little more, and said that I should consider myself to be a friend of the house.  So if I need a favour some time, that looks like a good place to go!

I returned to Memree carrying two rather large beef and kidney pies, still hot, and a jug of ale. After Lady Restormel, I was still in a hugging mood, so I hugged her, too.  Perhaps I should mention that she was wearing a perfectly respectable shirt and shorts of mine, plus slippers and absolutely no chains, cuffs, plugs or gags at all, and she still looked rather special.

We took our bags of loot to Del that afternoon, along with Memree's list, and she was suitably impressed with what we'd got.  Naturally, she already knew almost everything about our adventure, but we were able to fill in a few of the gaps. Many of the items could well have been imported by her and her mage in the first place, though she was more interested in things she'd not stocked, and truly, some of the equipment was of jewel quality. We made a deal - Delinda would sell the things slowly as she wished, keeping a third of the money, and pass the rest of the silver on to us as it came in. This time, Memree was able to join us in having a glass of wine, and Del ungagged Loji so that she could have some too. Delinda had some fresh bread, and butter, and slices of some cooked bird or other, and we were easily persuaded to stay and eat, and toast our good fortune - our good fortune in being alive, for a start.

So a quiet day, but a rewarding one, leaving me ample time to write this for you, my imagined Librarian-Mage. I look back at my last couple of entries and wonder that I could have written so much and still had time to sleep - this is more than enough of a diary entry for any more normal day.

Day Seven
I like to think that this "enabled" book that I'm using as my diary is magically linked to a stately, marble-floored library somewhere in the distant mountains, and that what I'm writing appears in a book there.  The Chief Mage-Librarian is tall and stately, but still black-haired, with a straight back and a flowing silver-edged gown, and I could easily fall in love with him, because he understands me so well. As well as the hundreds upon hundreds of books on the shelves, written and being written, there is a special oversize volume propped up on a desk below the main window, and a bell there gently chimes when a new entry is received. The Librarian can tell by the tone whose book has just been updated, and when it is mine, he glides over, at a measured pace, with a slight smile, and sits down to read. The junior librarians exchange quiet smiles, and continue their work, though one especially daring young fellow with good eyesight is reading the entry over his superior's shoulder.

There are rats in the Library, but they are quiet, and clean, and have been affected by the magics of the place so much that they too read the books, though sometimes they replace the volumes in the wrong places and are quietly told off by the librarians. Their job is to eat the insects and spiders, and keep the place clean, and they do this, and sometimes they dream that one day they will be left in charge...

The funeral for Lord Restormel is to be held tomorrow. I spent most of the morning going around the people I'd given his widow's money to, giving a very brief account of what had happened and strongly hinting that, as they hadn't done anything to actually earn that money, they owed me a favour which, at some time in the future, I might wish to collect. A couple of shopkeepers even offered to return the money, but I was rich enough to be able to urge them to keep it, and at least drink to Marius Restormel's memory.

In the afternoon, Memree and I walked out of town, and strolled onto the moorland.  It may already be the end of summer, but despite a brisk wind the sun was warm. For somebody with no memories of the past beyond, what, three days before, she is good company - which meant she let me do most of the talking. I didn't give her my life history, just told her of some of the adventures I'd landed myself in over recent years...

And that's about it.  After a climactic battle there is always a sense of relaxation, a lethargy, as one appreciates one's good fortune in still being alive, and if necessary mourns the death of those who haven't been quite as lucky.  One sleeps in late, one visits the taverns and drinks a bit more than usual, one tries to adjust to whatever changes that have been made - end of story!

Day Eight
Memree has settled into my life quite casually, somehow there has never, since we first left that dungeon, been any question of her not being with me. It's a shame that Saster and Wren seem to have used the money from our deer-hunt a few days back...I nearly said a few weeks back, so much has happened since then...to move on out of Redwall, I think she'd have got on well with them, as she does with Delinda and Loji. I must take her with me when I next visit Ashil. But anyway, my room here has become our room here, and it's all the better for it.

We attended Lord Restormel's funeral together, since I decided that his widow was unlikely to recognise a respectably dressed free woman as the near-naked slave who'd been caught up in the hunt for her husband.  I wore my best sober trousers, as I had on that last visit to the townhouse, and we bought Memree a fine grey pleated skirt, reaching to mid-calf, and a knitted jacket, which she wore over one of my shirts.

In some ways funerals are a bit like weddings, I think - which may be some excuse for my actions later in the day.  That and the drink!  I just happened to be in the street when Torner, the castle guard who I'd bribed with Restormel money, ended his shift and headed into town, and I just happened to give him my most inviting smile and ask if he had his pikestaff with him.  After which the two of us just happened to decide to share an upstairs room at one of the cleaner local taverns.  After which, well, things happened, all right?  He's a big man, is Torner, I've heard it said that his grandma was one-quarter orc, and while his teeth are perfectly human, well - he is large, excellently muscled, and terrifically male!  He did have to have a little encouragement for the fourth, er, happening, but generally, he certainly knew how to treat this adventurer, and, two hours later, my body is still sending little purring messages to my brain.  I left him asleep on the big, rumpled bed, made sure that he'd be woken in time for tomorrow's shift, and strolled back here.

Memree grinned when she saw me, and I grinned back, before almost falling over when I caught my foot on the edge of one of the rugs here.  "Sorry - I think I may be just a little bit drunk", I said, as she sat me down on the bed.

"That's not just beer I can smell, Boss..."  She pulled my boots off with more of a tug than is usually necessary.  "My guess would be - Torner, the guard with the pikestaff?"

"A weapon he is very skilled with, for a frontal attack", I agreed, letting my whole body remember the events in question.  "Good old Torner, the man deserved a bonus."

"Well you're not getting in our bed until you've had a good wash, so start getting undressed while I fetch some icy-cold water, Sera Meadows!"

The water she brought was actually pleasantly hot, and with some fragrant herb I didn't recognise in it. So now I'm clean and fresh, and just writing all this while my hair dries. And I think, Ser Magician-Librarian, that it is just about dry now, so another page of this book is completed.

Day Nine
Memree and I did some more clothes-shopping this morning.  I did suggest that Del would both give us a discount and put the bill against sales of our loot, but her response was that she didn't live by the sword, so it wasn't necessary for her to distract opponents by dressing in skin-tight, skin-thick leos with leather accessories all the time.  I had the perfect response to that - I sulked, or at least I tried to sulk, the dear brat wouldn't let me stay annoyed for long, and I was soon giving my opinion on various cuts and colours of shorts, jackets, thick winter jumpers, trousers, and boots.  I got her to opt for white leather boots and gloves, but generally she listened carefully to my opinions, and chose what she'd already decided upon. I'd have bargained harder at the stalls, but I am fairly sure that Memree's smile and friendly interest got her better prices than I would have managed.

We met Ashil for lunch, at quite the most expensive tavern Redwall can boast. He'd been out of town for the last couple of days, so this was actually the first time Memree and Ashil had met.  I've known him for years, fought alongside him, and I'd say that he is my closest male friend; he was the fourth gambler on the night that Loji had wagered her very freedom on a hand of cards, and lost to Delinda, becoming her closely-restrained personal slave.  He has been trying to move away from adventuring as such, to become a middle-man, someone who people with a problem can go to, after which he'll find someone else to do the actual work. Like me, for instance.  I knew that he had been working on arranging something; while I was pretty sure, even after our shopping spree, that Mem' and I had enough cash to keep us happy in Redwall until after the spring thaw, half a year away, I was definitely interested in knowing what he was up to.

Ashil was waiting outside when we arrived, along with Delinda, and found his handshake for Memree over-ruled by an affectionate and lengthy hug, as if he was her very favourite uncle - so of course he immediately became her honorary favourite uncle!  Between us we gave him the whole story of the castle tower, much of which I'm sure he'd made it his business to know already.  While the job for Lady Restormel hadn't been officially arranged by him, he
had pointed me in the right direction.  Maybe I owed him a favour for that, though the amount of peril involved kept it at "maybe"!

During our talk, we'd eaten thick slices of beef, roast potatoes, and some greenery I wasn't too familiar with, washed down with local red wine, and it wasn't until we were all pleasantly full that I was able to ask him about the possible job he had been working on.

"Well nothing's settled yet, because it's pretty big - but the point of the spear is liable to be
you, Charol. In fact, I don't see how this whole operation can work without you."

"I feel almost rich", I commented, contentedly. "But why does it have to be me?"

"Well you know how the Churmuk feel about men - they make great corpses, or tolerable slaves if you work them hard enough."  He grimaced.  "But a female warrior, provided she proved herself their equal, would be an honoured guest."

"Ah, the Churmuk, the female tribe of desert warriors", Delinda put in.  "They trade their male babies as future slave-soldiers, and very well regarded and expensive they are, too."

"Let me guess, Ashil - it's about Kreston, that pompous, spoilt creep."

Ashil grinned. "The heir to the Sommersley estates, yes - a large ransom has been offered, but the Churmuk seem to prefer to keep him shovelling ox-shite. Which seems a good deal to me, I'd pay them to keep hold of him... but that large ransom budget is now available to us."

"Me versus the whole tribe? No wonder you wined and dined us first!"

Ashil patted the side of his nose with one finger, confidentially. "Ah, but I'm working on a plan! And it would only be one encampment's worth of Churmuk, probably no more than thirty actual armoured warriors.  You steal a couple of horses, head straight back towards us - and I'll have Redwall's entire cavalry coming in to escort you."

"Make that three horses we steal", Memree put in. "I'm coming too!"

I stared at her, and tried to get my brain to swerve round onto this new track.  "But - it's
dangerous, my dear friend.  They'd know in an instant you weren't a fighter."

"So I'd pose as your companion, your slavegirl even - they have female slaves too, I suppose?"

"They do, yes."  I tried not to sound convinced, but I did enjoy Memree's company, and she did look so darn cute in slavegirl outfits.  In the Churmuk camp, in a collar, she'd be able to move around much more easily than their honoured guest.  "But, while adventures sound good afterwards, or even before, they can be perilous and painful in the bit in-between, you know?"

"And you think I'd rather stay here in town, not knowing what was happening?" Memree was suddenly very serious, almost sounding angry. "You're an adventurer, that's what you do, it's your life, and that means it's my life too!"

"You could stay with me", Delinda put in with a sly smile.  "As a slavegirl, that would keep your mind of Charol's dangers, I promise you - or as a friend.  Though still with a little bit of chains and gags and stuff, I do have to keep in practice you know..."

Ashil grinned. "Same old Delinda!"  He drank the last of his wine. "But I think Memree would be happiest with Charol, I think she would be useful to Charol and the mission, from what you've told me about your encounter with that she-demon Memree is as brave and resourceful as any warrior, and how much more do I have to say before I get another hug...?"

So Memree hugged him again, and I hugged the pair of them, and to cheer Delinda up we promised that Memree and I would drop by tomorrow morning so that Del could fit Memree out in a really outrageous slavegirl outfit, to make her look like the kind of companion a mighty warrior might enjoy taking on her travels with her.  "Well", Memree said, "As long as the main outfit matches my new white boots and gloves..."

And, my faithful reader, that's really all I have to report, as walks and talks and shopping and other routine things do get a bit samey after a while.  Ashil still has some more arranging to do, so we can all afford to have a quiet, lazy time of it until he sets us off on the trail. Oh well, tomorrow's visit to Del's shop should be fun, you can be sure that I'll give you as much sexy detail as my stock of words allows!

Day Ten
It was mid-morning when Memree and I arrived at Delinda's shop - rather early in the day for Del's richer clients, so she declared we would have the place to ourselves, and, while Loji rolled down the blinds, locked the front door.  I'd brought back the ludicrously outrageous outfit I'd worn to fight Atzmon, so we started by choosing something a bit more rugged-looking for me to wear on the Churmuk trip.  Frankly, a ribbon around each nipple and a big grin would have been at least slightly more "rugged-looking" than that costume, but that would probably not give quite the right impression.  I ended up with a short leather jacket to match my favourite black high-boots, but also a leather leotard, cut a bit higher at the sides than most, with three leather straps across a generously wide cleavage area, quite enough to distract most opponents.  It came with a cute little matching choker, and also a matching sword-belt with a good solid buckle.  Del also advised me to take some plain silk leos with a similarly wide cleavage, to wear underneath, which seemed a good idea.

Now it was Memree's turn.  No leather for her, not even this soft-cured, body-moulded imported stuff;  Delinda suggested that, as a warrior's trophy, an effect more metal-based, jewelery based, was the way to go, and it sounded good to me, though Memree did express reservations about putting it on cold in the morning!  I assured her that some pieces would remain on overnight, at least once we were in the Churmuk lands, but this didn't seem to overcome her misgivings entirely.

I have heard of metal bra-cups before, usually worn by legendary female warriors; Delinda carefully chose a suitably-shaped pair for Memree, and (easily) persuaded me to hold them in place while she made measurements for the lengths of a special flat chain needed.  We'd decided to opt for the subtle look, and not have red gemstones in nipple position!  While Loji fitted the appropriate lengths of chain for that, we went on to slightly lower regions, deciding on a fine triple chain around her waist, with a slightly gauzy scrap of fabric fluttering down from the lowest front strand halfway to the knee. After tucking under the chain, the fabric zoomed off down and under, to reappear and tuck round the lowest chain at the back, before fluttering down to a similar level as at the front.  There were shiny, intricately engraved wrist and ankle cuffs, with anchorage points on them for chains when needed; these came in two sizes, for use with and without gloves and boots.  The slave-collar was the main work of art, though - wide, and beaten so that it was flat and thin, engraved with exotic birds and flowers and, I think, a couple of rabbits.  Loops of chain acted like necklaces, and at the front a medallion hung - and it had a remarkably good likeness of my head in profile on it.  Now,
that's got to be a lot classier than just carving "Property of Charol Meadows" on the collar, though Del did flip it over to prove that those words, as needed in law, were present.

Well we all admired Memree once she was in the full outfit, and she did a small dance that mainly involved wagggling her hips rather attractively - and then she changed back into regular clothes, and Delinda packed up the "adventure outfit" as Memree called it.  I caught Del's eye as she added one or two bonus items to the bag, and winked.

By then it was lunchtime, a rather late lunchtime in fact, so Memree and I left Delinda and Loji and wandered back towards our lodgings.  I was feeling in need of an afternoon nap, I think the events of recent days were still needing to be compensated for... and I don't just mean my after-the-funeral happenings with Torner!  Memree had found an old book she was happy to read, so. really, there's nothing else to report under today's date.  And I hope tomorrow is just as restful for us both!

Day Eleven
Well today started off in a restful manner, anyway. I overslept until almost mid-morning, when Memree finally got tired of waiting and sat down rather heavily on the edge of the bed, so that I bounced into full wakefulness rather suddenly, grabbing for the knife that, in theory, I'd have had under my pillow.  I saw the angle of the sunlight filtering in, and grinned.  "Make the most of the soft bed and warm room while we can, Memree, we'll be out on the trail soon enough."

"The ground will be cold and hard, and we'll have to make our own porridge, which will also be rather like that", she said, passing over a steaming bowl of the stuff, with a swirl of honey all across the top.  The spoon was already in it, and I grabbed its handle eagerly. My normal idea of breakfast was some cold meat and beer, but today this seemed just the right sort of way to start.

When I'd arrived in Redwall, I'd had a packhorse with me; I called him Hengist, which had seemed to suit him, a placid, uncomplaining animal.  I'd sold him to a local trader, and seen him about on general errands - but if I was going off on my travels again, even briefly, it would be good to have him back.  So before lunch, Memree and I headed off to the local stables where he'd been kept.

It was late morning, sunny, in one of the town's broader, better-kept streets, so I was relaxed.  I didn't even have a sword with me, just a medium-length knife.  So when I turned to say something to Memree, and a crossbow bolt passed a finger's breadth in front of my eyes - well, I was surprised.  I pushed at Memree and dived for the ground, and another bolt went just where we'd been.  It actually hit someone further down the street, though by then it had lost most of its force.  I kept rolling, and managed to look to where the bolts had come from - two men, dressed in rough brown farm-clothes, frantically rewinding their crossbows. I was up and running, not directly towards them but at an angle, ready to tack as soon as their bolts were loosed.  You can hear a bolt being fired, but you only have a fraction of a second, so a bit of guesswork is involved.  I timed it right, a bolt whizzed past as I turned and ran straight at them, grabbing the knife from its sheath - the other crossbowman wasn't quite ready, then his hand went down, and I hit the ground, rolled - and hit him with both feet right where it hurts.  He doubled up, and I slashed the knife across his throat, avoiding the gush of hot blood as I pushed off towards his companion, who'd had the time, unfortunately, to get a sword out.  Not a very good weapon as swords go, cheap and blunt and mottled, but better than my knife, certainly.

His first blow was a big sweeping affair, and I managed to catch it between my blade and its hilt, and force it aside - I moved back, and smiled at him.  "Okay, you've got my attention - was there a message?"

This seemed to puzzle him for a moment.  "Nothing personal, Meadows - but I've been paid to kill you and your blonde sweetheart!"

"Well I take it personally", I replied, holding my knife out in front of me and waiting for his next attack. "Oh, I hope the corpse to your left wasn't a close personal friend."

I don't think he'd realised just how deeply I'd cut, as he'd been keeping his eyes on me recently. He risked a glance across at his fellow crossbowman, saw the pool of blood - and I lunged forward, and thrust my knife into his shoulder. he dropped the sword, and looked at me rather reproachfully.  "My cousin, actually", he said, putting his other hand up to cover the wound.  "Damn, I knew we should have taken the whole payment in advance..."

A pair of guardsmen arrived then - just in time, as he fainted into their arms.  They just don't make assassins like they used to.  A shame he hadn't said any more, it would have been useful to know who I'd ticked off sufficiently to lead to a murder attempt... but that type never gets hired by the person themselves, there's always at least a couple of links in the chain, people that take care not to be easy to talk to.

So we went on to the stables, with neither of us having a lot to say; Memree seemed shaken by the incident, of course, which had taken no more than a minute or two.  I suppose I was shaken too - shaken out of complacency.  I have done a few things in my life that have annoyed some people - generally not very nice people, who are, unfortunately, often ones to hold and nurse grudges.  This could be an attempted payback from someone like that - or it could be connected to the new mission that Ashil was arranging.  It didn't seem like the late Atzmon's style, anyway!

We reclaimed Hengist; I made the usual protests about the high price compared with what I'd been paid when selling him, and as expected Old Man Cornwell pointed out that it was as if the animal had had half-price stabling for the last few months, so we were both reasonably content.  Hengist seemed happy to accept a carrot from me, and of course then Memree had to feed him one as well, and he ate that with just as much enjoyment.  We left him there, having arranged a few more days cheap stabling, and then went in search of Ashil.

Ashil had heard of the attack, of course, and assured me he would investigate, and that maybe I wasn't the only one who'd really prefer Kreston to stay right where he was. If Kreston was to die, of course, there would be a new heir to the Sommersley estates, and no doubt various people would benefit from that, though we could certainly rule out the local tavern and brothel keepers.

The best thing, however, is that Ashil is getting me an appointment tomorrow with a swordsmith - not a man who often comes to this town, though he has an arrangement with a local smithy.  I need a new sword, and from the oddments of old weaponry we scavenged from the castle tower, he ought to be able to make me the best sword I've ever had.

That may not mean much to a mage and librarian, but trust me on this, it's enough to make
me rather excited, and I'm really looking forward to tomorrow!

Day Twelve
The swordsmith was broad, well-muscled, and came up to my shoulder.  He was in late middle age, I'd say, with a frosting of silver to his hair, and seemed completely at home in the fiery heat of the forge.  The local smith was beating a red-glowing sword on the anvil, with a couple of his apprentices standing ready to help him, but the swordsmith himself wiped his palms on his apron, and gave us his full attention.

I brought out the flaking old sword that I'd used against Atzmon, and three other items we'd found there - a pale hilt-less blade, with just the metal core at the holding end, a shortsword of almost black metal, and a thin-bladed dagger which had a blade that looked slightly green. He examined them all carefully, hefting them, balancing the blades, and running one thumb up and down the metal.  He grinned broadly.  "That's a terrible old sword you've brought me, all notched and pitted and bent, and it looks as if it's only the rust that's holding it together, but I think it has possibilities, Sera."

"What about the others?"

"Well the dagger is evil, and I'll make sure it is destroyed, but the other two items are of interest - Ser Ashil is paying me a day's wage for my work on your sword, but if you'll let me have them, I promise you an extra-keen, extra-swift blade, enhanced to the full extent of my abilities.  Now does that seem fair to you?"

It did, and we shook on it. Then he gave me the old sword, picked up another convenient one, and fenced with me for a few minutes, just to see how I used a sword, and understand my style.  He was surprisingly skilled, and when I pressed an attack, calmly parried or deflected everything, before pushing forward in turn.  I found myself extremely busy for a while, though neither of us was trying anything at all dangerous, and Memree watched us fascinated, appreciating the skill of what she was seeing.

"Come back tomorrow evening - the sword will be inches longer, the hilt will be freshly made, and you won't recognise it as this shabby old thing", he assured me, as he took it back from me.  He handed the blade he'd been using over.  "I think you may wish to borrow this one meanwhile, if there are assassins on your tail!"

I'd almost forgotten about that particular side of things, and, borrowed sword on my hip, made the rounds this afternoon of all those nice kind helpful people who were always glad to see me, if only because I wasn't a guardsman.  Nobody had been hiring assassins locally, it seemed, which was a comfort, and the surviving would-be assassin, who'd been hired in a town two days away, had no idea who he'd been working for, except that it was "a man in a tavern".

Ashil had left town to visit a mage who lived not too far away, so there wasn't anything else much to do - which means that this is all I'm going to have to write for you today, I think!

Day Thirteen
Not that I'm suspicious, but... darn, I got called away, and now I have no idea what I was going to write about.  Maybe it will come back to me!  After a lazy morning, I decided to visit the city's self-styled "underlord".  If Redwall was a big enough and old enough place to have proper sewers, he'd hold court in a chamber just off the main crap-float - but as it is, you go to one of the worst taverns in town, glare nicely at the one-thumbed barman, who then lets you go into the place's back area, where, past a permanent card game featuring anything from three to nine bored-looking players, you head for the cellar.  There's a half-height door at the back of the place, just past a rack of surprisingly high-quality wines (if the labels can be believed); you go in there, then descend a sturdy wooden ladder into what is probably the start of the old cave system, with a small stream trickling through it, where a single guard gives you an oil lamp, points off to the dark, and goes back to his meditations.

And so it was that I arrived at the "court" of Man Coker, a large, natural cave beneath the south of town.  He himself is short, fat, bald, as pale as an albino slug, and a stranger to the art of washing, for himself or his clothes - but he gives great prices for stolen goods, knows everything about Redwall that the guardsmen don't, and is fiercely loyal to his friends, confederates, and customers.

"Hey Charolia, nice of you to drop by!"  He grinned, showing his perfect white teeth, and I grinned back.  "I hear you avoided a few crossbow bolts someone had tried to write your name on?"

"You hear everything, Coker - but not even you could possibly know who sent them."  I sat down on a crate which, from its markings, ought to have been in a bonded warehouse three days travel away.  "Ashil thinks it could be something to do with the Kreston business..."

Coker nodded.  "He's sending you and your girl to rescue that gamecock from the Churmuk, and somebody might prefer him to die out there", he agreed.  "I don't think it was a serious attempt, just someone taking an outside chance to shift the odds in their favour."  He smiled broadly.  "Do you know what it is Ashil's gone to that mage for?"

"A cure for a rather embarrassing personal ailment?"

Coker roared with laughter, which soon turned into a rather happy cough.  He wiped away a tear from one eye with an unusually clean kerchief.  "You are the funniest adventurer I know, Meadows, and I'm truly happy that you're a pal.  But it's something for your mission, and I won't spoil Ashil's surprise for him."  He stared at me for a moment, thoughtfully.  "But after the mission, you come to me, will you?  I give legitimate prices for legitimate items, and I always give my friends the best deals."

"I'll come and visit, certainly, but I don't expect to get any loot out of this one - and I doubt if you'd want to buy Kreston."

He chuckled. "One playboy heir, slightly used - not my sort of goods, Sera!  But you bring your girl Memree with you, will you?  I hear that she's a real good-looker, so I'd like a good look."

I left him still chuckling; I think someone else was waiting to see him, I'm sure there are at least three other routes to visit Coker by  but I've never tracked any of them down from the outside.  I'd kept him friendly, I'd confirmed that my attackers had been outsiders or he'd have known more, and it had passed some time - but it was still too early to visit the swordsmith!

Still, time passed.  I told Memree about my underground visit, and we set off in search of Ashil.  He was back from his trip, and confirmed that we could set out tomorrow, and that he'd ride out with us for the first few miles.  I told him of what Coker had said about not spoiling his surprise, and he in turn smiled.  "It's not a weapon, just a magical gimmick, a quick way to start a beacon-fire, so to speak, to let us know that you, Memree and Kreston are riding hell-for-leather towards us, with a few dozen angry Churmuk on your tails."  He brought a small glass bottle out of a pocket, it looked as if it was filled with thin black ink. "Open it, don't break it, and there'll be a whole lot of magical smoke, enough to confuse the Churmuk on the ground, and rising high enough into the sky for us to spot from our rather distant camp."  He passed it across.  "It wasn't cheap, but I think it'll be worth it."

Memree took it from me, and looked at it closely, sniffing the stopper. "I don't know what's in there, but it certainly has a feeling of...potential", she remarked, and handed it back to me.

Ashil walked with us to the smithy, where our friend the swordsmith was polishing some kind of ceremonial sword, the sort that looks as if it's made out of a mirror rather than honest steel.  Only he turned, and, face impassive, handed it to me!  It was long, and slender as a rapier, and looked too fragile for combat.  In my hand it moved well, and seemed like an extension to my arm, to my will, but I was not convinced that it was designed for serious fighting.

An apprentice tossed a more normal blade to the swordsmith, and he held it up before him. "You think it is too pretty to be honest, don't you, Sera?  We'd better have a small demonstration!"

It seemed a shame to bring this shiny, unmarked blade up as defence, but I did it anyway, and the swordsmith's weapon clanged into it - hard!  If there weren't a few sparks, there should have been.  He advanced, whirling his sword around in a way that would have had him killed in a serious fight, and I skidded my blade down the edge of his.  There was a ghastly screeching of metal on metal.  He held his sword firm, then, while I batttered it - and after a few heavy blows, I could see that his weapon was starting to look battered.  I stopped, and examined my new sword.  Still in one piece, still ludicrously shiny, still sharp, and with no dents or dinks at all.

"You do realise that nobody will take me seriously with a blade this pretty?"  The hilt was carefully wrapped in black leather, the guard, also black, curving back slightly to protect my hand.

"And that will be the last mistake many a man will make, eh?" He smiled conspiratorially, and I grinned back.  I passed the old sword he'd loaned me across to an apprentice, and took the scabbard he offered me.  "The scabbard should keep it polished, just try to wipe off the blood first, Sera - a brisk wipe across your late opponent's shirt should do the trick."  He paused, serious for a moment.  "The blade is sharp, and as near unbreakable as you're likely to find, and there is certainly some magic at its core.  Nothing huge, I think, but it may enhance your natural talents a little."

I thanked him, and Ashil thanked him; Memree stayed pretty quiet, as I finally sheathed the sword in its dark leather scabbard, and attached that to my belt.  I get the idea that she isn't too happy with the idea of a "magic blade", even a low-key one like this.  She seems to have a slight aversion to magic in general, which, given the way she was treated by Atzmon, is hardly surprising.

But tomorrow, early tomorrow, we set off on our quest to rescue dear Kreston, the creep, from his well-deserved captivity among the Churmuk. It's not going to be an easy mission, but I expect it will have its fun bits.  So an early night is called for... and I never did remember what I was not being suspicious about!

Day Fourteen
We would be unlikely to meet the Churmuk until the third day of our trip, though it was quite probable that they would spot us on day two, and maybe keep us under observation; today, though, was all about travel. Memree and I, along with the faithful Hengist, our packhorse, set out fairly early, though not at the crack of dawn or anything extreme like that.  We were dressed for warmth and comfort in shorts, walking boots, and chunky sweaters; I didn't even wear my sword, just kept it easily accessible on Hengist.

Ashil saw us off, as promised, and walked a short way with us.  I don't think he knew as much as I did about the Churmuk, but he talked about their warrior culture, their prowess in battle, and their mistrust of the male of our species. After half an hour, he ran out of things to say, and decided the time had come to bid us farewell.  He hugged Memree like an uncle, gave Hengist a friendly pat, and then hugged me.  I decided not to act like a niece, so pressed myself against him, and gave him a rather comprehensive kiss, with just a little tongue included - the message, unspoken, being that, after a few days of the company of sword-sisters and Kreston, I would very probably be rather happy to see him again, and it might be a good idea if he made sure his bed had nice fresh sheets that night.

Anyway, Memree and Hengist and I walked until lunchtime, ate a packed meal, then walked some more, then I let Mem' ride Hengist for a bit, until sunset approached.  So here we are, out on the windy moors, another packed meal disposed of - and the light is starting to fade, so it's time I put this book away, and got out that sleeping bag.  Not a lot is liable to happen tomorrow, but at least Memree will have to wear her slavegirl costume!

Day Fifteen
It was extremely unlikely we'd be seen by Churmuk scouts, even at the full extent of their range, until late in the day, but I didn't want to take any risks, so when the day had warmed up a bit, by mid-morning, I decided it was time for my brave young companion to change out of woolens, and into her slavegirl finery. So she stripped off her shorts, sweater and underwear, and, with my assistance, started to put on Delinda's decorative bits and pieces.

I clicked the collar into place, while she was busily trying to warm up the bra-cups, which involved holding them against her face like a pair of ogre-ears.  "They'll soon warm up in their proper place", I told her rather unsympathetically, and she reluctantly moved them into their rightful positions, giving a little yelp as contact was made.  I linked up the various chains involved while she tucked in her "loincloth" piece of gauzy fabric at the front, and then I pulled it under and up, and tucked it in at the back.  "Slavegirls do get to wear some tasty outfits", I commented.

"Some cold outfits", Memree grumbled.  "Can I at least put the sweater back on over this?"

"Seems reasonable to me", I agreed, standing back to check that everything looked as neat as it had in Delinda's little shop, and generally admiring the effect, before throwing her the garment in question.  "There's no reason for you to freeze, and you're not on display to the Churmuk yet."

We walked on until lunchtime, then afterwards I let Memree ride for a while, though she complained that she missed the little bit of protection that the shorts had given her.  I offered to tie her up and sling her over Hengist sideways, but she didn't seem too keen on the idea. By mid-afternoon, when we were both walking again, I was pretty sure that we were being observed, though I can't say that I had actually seen Churmuk scouts. They'd send a runner back to their main encampment, and we'd probably be officially challenged in the morning.

So, nothing much to report today, my mysterious Mage-Librarian, so, as the sun is dipping low now, I think I'll join my jingling slavegirl in our nice warm sleeping bag!

Day Sixteen
The morning seemed less windy and warmer, so Memree managed without the sweater as soon as we'd finished breakfast, and didn't object when I added a red rubber ball-gag to the ensemble.  At least, to be strictly accurate, she didn't object for long!  It would save her from having to be sure to say the right things when we met our hosts-to-be, and I reminded her about the perils of looking free warriors in the eye.

We walked on across the grasslands, casually - I knew we were being watched, and from close by, but I didn't actually see any of the warriors until, without any fuss, they appeared. One moment we were alone, walking through a shallow, scrubby valley and thinking about a lunch stop, and the next moment we were surrounded.  My fieldcraft isn't bad, for a town- based girl, but I'd heard nothing - now suddenly two Churmuk warriors stood in front of us, and another two behind.

"You stand on Churmuk land, intruder.  I am Natella, chief warrior of the blue faction", the taller woman in front of us said.  She had blonde hair, and wore a metal headband with a blue star embedded in it at the front; otherwise, all four women were dressed the same, with short plate-mail kilts, sturdy calf-length boots, and shiny metal breastplates, which appeared to have been individually made to follow every contour of what was underneath - the effect was of naked breasts transformed into brass, which was a little offputting at first. "Your name, woman?"

"I am Charol", I told her, consciously keeping my hand off the hilt of my sword, and ignoring the crossbow bolt one of the women had aimed at my navel.  "I was hoping to claim Churmuk hospitality for myself and my slavegirl."

Natella stepped forward, looking less than friendly, and drew her sword from its sheath in a way that she must have practiced, with a flourish.  "Our wagons are for warriors", she informed me, clearly confident that that wasn't a role a non-Churmuk woman could aspire to. "To be guest rather than captive, you must prove yourself!"

I gave her what I hoped looked like my friendliest smile.  "With pleasure, Sera - if you will give me a moment to prepare."

I led Memree to one side, and knelt her on the grass. "Keep your back straight, and watch," I told her.  "It's just as well you're gagged, I don't want any distractions."  I winked at her.

One of the Churmuk warriors moved to stand next to Memree, and stroked her hair, which I took to be a good sign. I gave her a nod of thanks, and drew my sword slowly, turning to face my adversary. "Now I'm at your service, Natella."

Our swords crossed lightly, a mere formality.  I held my shiny new weapon a little low, not using its balance properly, and Natella smiled.  "We have few guests, Charol - but many captives."

"Sounds like a fun place to visit."  She lunged, and I parried, letting her blade scrape along mine hard enough to strike sparks.  We clashed again, and I twisted my blade, tapping her lightly on the breastplate before retreating.  "How far do we need to take this, warrior?"

"Not far" - and she lunged again.  I stepped aside, but she stopped short, and our blades clashed again.

"Nicely done, sera", I said, in a suitably friendly manner, moving back as she regained her balance.

"You are a worthy opponent, I think," she began - and without warning high-kicked me in the stomach. I began to fold, and lost my hold on my sword.  She gave a little yell of victory, and I had to roll aside as the sword came down where my neck had been - I kept rolling, to get clear.  It looked as if Natella had something to prove.

"It looks like captivity for you and your pet, then!"  Her voice was shrill, gloating.

I sat back, leaning on one arm, and watched as she picked up my sword, and walked forward confidently.  I put my weight onto that arm, tensed - and, when the range was right, kicked both my legs out at her, catching her just below the breast-plate and generally giving her what she'd given me, only with added interest.  Both swords went flying - she hit the ground butt first, and very nearly bounced.  Before she'd managed a new breath, I'd got my sword to her throat, my face close to hers.

"My compliments on an excellent match, sera,"  I said, with a warmth that was not entirely genuine.  "Are we finished now?"

Our eyes met.  This was one unhappy lady, but to show her feelings would make matters worse, before her sisters-in-arms.  "Put your weapons aside, warriors", she said at last.  "The woman Charol and her chain-girl are guests of our clan, and under the protection of the Churmuk."


It was mid-afternoon when we topped a rise and could see the Churmuk camp spread out before us.  They'd obviously been there a while, and intended to stay some time longer. Wide pathways radiated from a large and ornately decorated central tent - or perhaps pavilion would be a more appropriate word for such an impressive creation.  Between the paths, each in its own grassy patch, were the covered wooden wagons the Churmuk used as homes, while outside a circular roadway there were corrals for horses, oxen, and a few sheep, plus a few fairly large huts or cabins.

The warrior who'd stood beside Memree during the fight had stayed with her during our walk, helping her when the ground was uneven; in fact she seemed to have adopted her.  That one was called Fran; the other two, who stayed closer to Natella, were Jerri and Talia.  Natella in turn stayed close to me, and I led Hengist.

Closer to, the muddiness of the paths became apparent, and the muddiness of the small, naked girl-children at play.  The wagons were brightly and intricately painted, generally... though the one we were approaching was painted a solid blue.

"This is your guest wagon, sister," Natella told us, breaking a silence that had lasted some minutes.  "I'll leave Fran to show you and your girl the ropes."

The other women left, and Fran helped us unload Hengist, and stow everything inside.  The wagon itself was surprisingly roomy, with a heap of cushions in one corner, some neatly folded blankets, a wooden chest fastened against one wall, a broom of bound twigs on the floor, and a slave-whip lodged on two hooks behind the door.

"The chest holds guesting-clothes, and things suitable for your girl, too", Fran told me, watching Memree inspect our new quarters.  "If we leave her to sort things out, I'll take you round the camp, and we can get your horse stabled, too."

I looked at Memree, in her slavegirl costume. "You get this place spotless, or I dust your bottom for you, understand?"

Memree nodded, then moved to stand by the broom, head bowed.

"She's a pretty little thing, sera -- is she a war-prize?  A morsel like her would bring a high price, I'm sure."

"Oh, she's just a regular slave...a wilful, disobedient little baggage -- more trouble than she's worth, sometimes."  I patted her rump lightly, then turned away, following Fran down the four wooden steps to the ground, and closed the door behind me.

My tour of the encampment didn't take long.  We left Hengist at the stables, and walked round the outer ring. The oxen were smelly, the sheep looked bored, and we saw a group of male slaves who looked thin, muddy, and too tired to appreciate the shapeliness of their escort.  They had heavy fetters on their ankles, and equally sturdy chains hobbling them.

"If these are the only men in camp, surrounded by beautiful women, I'd have expected them to look a bit happier", I commented.

"They're off-limits to all free warriors", Fran told me.  "And it's weeks until the next trade-fair, where we get a chance to associate with suitable men."

"No chance of borrowing one for the night - not that they look very exciting to me, that is."  It seemed unlikely, but it would be an ideal way to talk to Kreston... though he didn't appear to be in this particular bunch.

"It's not worth the risk -- get caught and any of us would be sold to a male to be used as a baby machine", Fran said.  "And you could hardly expect one of them to keep quiet about it, could you?"

The only slaves in the main encampment were female ones, usually dressed in rags or less, carrying water, laundry, food, or whatever was needed.  Some weren't even chained; as long as the horses were well-guarded, there was nowhere they could go.

A group of Churmuk warriors was in one paddock, practicing swordwork. "Do you want to join in?" Fran gestured to the gateway.

"One good swordfight a day is enough for me, I think," I told her.  "Besides, I think we should go back and check on Memree."

"Let's get something to eat first, then we can take it back with us."

Fran led the way to where about half an ox was being roasted on a spit over an open fire.  An older warrior was in charge, and cut us thick, juicy slices onto simple metal plates. The meat smelled gorgeous, which reminded me how long it had been since my breakfast.  Risking scorched fingers, I picked up my top slice and took a healthy bite, then nodded my appreciation enthusiastically.

The warrior smiled, and added another piece to my plate.  "A healthy appetite -- that's what I like to see, sister", she commented.

We walked off, chewing.  Fresh air and woodsmoke had worked their magic on meat that, if served in a tavern, I'd have eaten without comment. As it was, this counted as the highlight of the day so far.

Back at our wagon, Memree had unpacked the appropriate items from the saddlebags, and made some sort of effort with the broom and cushions to make the place look more inviting. The daylight was starting to fade, now, and Fran lit an oil-lamp and hung it on a hook on the wall.  "Tomorrow evening there is to be an assembly, a feast", she said. "As a guest of the Churmuk, you are invited... and your girl could look quite stunning, if she's displayed as your trophy?"

"That would make a good impression, you think?"  I sat down on the cushions carefully, still holding my plate, and pulled Memree down beside me. I unbuckled the ball-gag.

"A memorable one", Fran assured me.  "Especially with you as her captor."  I let the compliment hang in the air.  I'd known that Memree might be an object of sexual desire here, among all these warrior women, but I'd not thought that I myself might be in that category. For some reason, this made me feel a little uneasy.  "If you've no suitable clothes, I can lend you some", Fran added.  "And I could be your escort, if you like...?"

Well, I'd already annoyed Natella, by not letting her vanquish and either kill or enslave me; it seemed a good idea to encourage an ally here as well.  It wasn't as if Ashil had managed to produce much information about how the Churmuk conducted their affairs, in any sense of the word.  "Well", I told her, doing my best to sound enthusiastic about the idea, "Memree has told me how much she likes dressing up..."

I patted the cushions encouragingly, and Fran sat down beside us.  I fed Memree some meat with my fingers, and ate some myself.  Fran was eating too - I noticed Memree staring at her plate, and sure enough, Fran passed a prime piece of the roasted ox straight to Memree's mouth.

"No begging-eyes, Memree, or you'll have earned a spanking", I warned her.

"Sorry, Mistress - but the meat is very tasty, and it has been a long day..."

I laughed, and fed her some more - and Fran gave her some more, too.  After a while, Fran left, taking the empty plates, and promising to return in the morning... and while Memree lies back half-buried in warm, soft cushions,  I've been writing all this up.  All this work I do for you, my Librarian-Mage - I do hope you exist!

Day Seventeen
Fran brought us some breakfast - cold roasted ox, mainly, with some bread and pats of freshly-churned butter, plus some rather weak beer.  The day was rather slow to start, generally; Fran took me to their practice field, and Memree came along, wearing her sweater over her slavegirl gear, and watched as we did some sparring using blunt swords. After lunch, we actually managed to get some sleep, back in the wagon...

I don't usually sleep in the afternoon, and when I do I never dream, as far as I can remember, but this time was the exception.  I was hunting, with a long tribal spear, and it was night, but there were lights, and noise, and suddenly I knew that I was also being hunted. A flash of lightning showed me a figure in full armour, with a spear twice as long as mine. It was a woman, and as she turned away from the sudden glare it seemed for a moment that it was--

"--to get ready, sister", Fran's voice said loudly and cheerfully.  It was almost dark now, and she put a lantern on one wall, and lit another which was already hanging in the wagon.  I was lying back on the cushions, the place still as untidy as ever, with Memree's head in my lap, my hand in her hair, only gradually coming awake.  This was not the way I usually behaved -- how had she even unlatched the door without me coming instantly alert and ready for trouble?

Fran was already dressed for the evening's entertainment, in her shiny metal breastplate, a pair of knee-high boots that also looked like metal, but were presumably specially-treated leather, and a matching belt, wide and tight with an ornate buckle at the front.  There was no plate-mail kilt, now, instead a rather small pair of shiny black panties were on full display. She smiled slightly nervously as Memree and I took in the ensemble.

"Well, you look stunning", I told her appreciatively. "But what have you got for me?"

The clothing the Churmuk keep for guests, and I suppose for themselves too, must be one of their more valuable treasure hoards; I stripped off, and let Fran wrap me in a "T" shape of black leather, which made a wrap around my waist, laced at the back. The down-piece dangled at the front, until Fran pulled it back and through, up under the back of the wrap, and let the free end dangle a few inches down over it.  As it moulded and settled, the final result was slightly more sexy than Fran's arrangement.  Next came a pair of matching boots, of black leather so thin they were more like long stockings with soles on the feet, and so tight a fit that they stayed up perfectly.  And of course there were matching gloves.

Thankfully, a tunic came next -- I don't mind flaunting my breasts, but I do like to keep my back covered from my neck to just above my waist, due to my old scars.  This tunic was made of crisp white linen, and was just long enough to show an inch or so of skin above the leather wrap. As an aid to ventilation, the front was held together, or apart, by five fine six-inch chains, making it usefully tight at breast level, and nicely loose below.

"I take it that the feast area is well-heated", I commented, adjusting the tunic's arms, which ended at the elbows, covering a few inches of glove.

"How does it feel?"

"Almost indecently sexy, and I love it", I assured her, then turned to Memree, who had been watching carefully. "If we both look this good, let's not bother with my cute little accessory -- let's just hood her for the night, and head on out!"

Memree gave little snort. "As you wish", Fran said.  "But it is too early to go yet -- so let's dress her up in the gear I've brought along, anyway..."

I stripped Memree to her collar, then took her and a bucket outside for a pee, while Fran unpacked and smoothed out what she had brought. This was white leather, and probably even more expensive than my outfit.

I sat back and watched, as Fran began work.  She started with a delicate-looking chain around Memree's waist; it had no separate lock, one of the chain-links itself opened and closed if properly manipulated. Next came stocking-boots like mine, only white, and each of these was clipped to three suspender-chains to link it tautly to the belt-chain. Long white gloves, next, and fine chain bracelets at wrist and elbow, which Fran linked with tiny padlocks to the waist-chain (level with her elbows) and the outside suspender-chains (level with her wrists), so that Memree's arms were kept straight at her sides.

"Well", Fran said, "I could use a lot more chain on her, capture her breasts and so on, but I don't think I can top this for effect." She stood aside. "This one would look stunning, even in clothes."

I nodded my agreement, gazing at my helpless companion and feeling rather warm myself in sympathy.  "We'd better take a gag, to use later", I said, getting to my feet.

Fran was getting a final item out of the pack she'd brought.  "I agree", she said.  "Some girls look silly in them, but somehow it only enhances your girl's desirability."

She held up the last piece of white leather; it was a hood, lacing up the back, with large, stylized eye-holes. "We'll just put this on her for our entrance", she said, putting it around Memree's head and beginning to tighten the laces.  The effect was rather erotic, and very fascinating.  The fine leather moulded itself to every contour; lines of thick stitching simulated arched eyebrows, and the lively, alert eyes revealed through the twin holes dominated the otherwise empty face.  I suppose there were small nostril holes to breathe through, but they weren't visible.

I clipped a chain leash to Memree's collar, and we were ready.  "She looks really splendid, doesn't she?"  Fran adjusted the hood very slightly, and stroked its leather gently, lingeringly.

"Makes me wish I were a man", I replied. "Then there'd be no risk of me being dressed up like that."

"I'm not sure 'dressed' is quite the word, Mistress", came the comment from behind the white leather, rather muffled.

"True -- but nobody asked for your opinion, did they?"  I patted her flank for emphasis. "Come on, then, my love - best foot forward!"

"Well", Fran said quietly, "at this moment, I almost envy her."


The feast was held in the central pavilion, of course, with the ground smothered in carpets, rugs, and cushions of every possible colour.  The only Churmuk in full uniform and with weapons flanked the entrance; the rest lounged about in breastplate and trousers, breastplate and panties, leotards with or without breastplates...there were even a couple of mannish shirts to be seen.  There were no chairs, except a throne intricately carved from a white wood.  The tribe's First Speaker sat there, grey-haired yet still handsome, wearing her breastplate over a long black dress. She was flanked by two strikingly beautiful, almost naked slavegirls, each with her leash tied to an arm of the throne. They knelt, backs straight; the First Speaker was idly stroking the brunette's hair.  In front of the throne was an open area, with only a large plain carpet on the ground.  To its right was Natella, sitting on some cushions, in her breastplate and a rather small pair of leather panties, with a naked girl lying at her feet -- naked except for a studded leather collar, and matching leather cuffs joined by a short chain, that is.

We stood just inside the entrance, taking in the scene -- and letting the scene take us in, too.  Slavegirls were hurrying about with pitchers of wine, platters of meat, and baskets of bread; they were generally naked, except for occasional straps of leather and lengths of chain.  I noticed Natella, and nudged Fran.

"That 'slavegirl' with Natella... wasn't she from her squad yesterday?"  I kept my voice low, and left a confident smile on my face, breathing in the various perfumes. Whoever was selling bottled fragrances to this tribe was doing a roaring trade, unless it all came from a recently sacked caravan.

"Perhaps it's her night off", came from behind the thin layer of white leather, and I swear Memree's eyes sparkled mischievously in the lamplight.

Fran ignored us, waiting for every warrior to notice our arrival.  Swiftly, talk faltered, and she took a deep breath, and announced  "The Lady Charol, warrior and adventurer, and captor to her lovely and loving trophy-slave Memree!"  She pulled the bow securing the lacing loose, tugged the hood's two sides apart, and pulled it away, to reveal my blonde's hair and face. We walked forward in the brief silence, which was soon broken by clapping, usually of one hand on the thigh.  A number of warriors stood, as we passed, and shook my hand as they stated their names, none of which I can remember now.  Fran got hugged in a sisterly way a few times, while Memree tended to get lightly stroked on her flank or behind. As an entrance, I've seldom experienced better.

We stopped in front of the throne.  Fran knelt, and I followed her example, while helping Memree to retain her balance doing likewise.

"First Speaker", Fran said, "I present Charol, and her trophy-slave."

The woman gazed at us calmly, before allowing her face to soften into a slight smile. "We welcome thee, Charol, to the Churmuk", she said in a strong, clear voice.  "Our wagons are thine."

"Thank you, m'sera", I replied.  "Your people do us great honour."

We got to our feet, as the noises of conversation and catering returned to their previous levels.  A harpist began to play.  Fran led us to a well-cushioned space at the edge of the central open area, and we all three sat down. We'd hardly settled before a flurry of slavegirls surrounded us, with food and drink.  Fran helped herself to a goblet, and drank deeply.

I let Memree sip some of my wine, holding the goblet to her lips, and spoke quietly.  "Are any of the other slave-types just warriors dressed up, like Natella's little friend?"

"That's Jerri", she replied.  "And no, I don't think so... though she looks so different like that."

"It could be the result of a private wager -- then again it could mean that Natella is planning mischief", I said.  "She may not have liked me beating her in combat."

"That is possible, certainly", Fran replied, picking up her goblet again.  "I must concede that she isn't the most forgiving, easy-going person I know."

I fed myself and Memree with chunks of spicy meat in rich gravy, and scraps of bread dipped in the juices, and just settled back to enjoy the evening; there was nothing else to be done.

Since we were at the edge of the open central space, we had a fine view of all the entertainments, which grew wilder as the evening progressed.  There was singing, juggling, knife-throwing, absolutely frenzied acrobatics and dancing, and by the time of full darkness outside, some prettty serious-seeming wrestling.

Once we'd finished eating, I gave Memree a final sip of wine, and then got out her ball-gag; on her best slavegirl behaviour, she eagerly took it into her mouth, and leaned forward to let me fasten it in place.  The lights were lower, now, and after we'd watched a particularly uninhibited set of dancers, I found that Memree was not only lying across my lap and having her hair stroked by me -- she was lying across Fran as well, getting her rump stroked.  Who was supposed to be in charge of whom?  If one of us stopped, head or bottom would rise up to nudge the idle hand back into action.

The wrestling bouts each involved two naked Churmuk warriors, flesh gleaming with oil, with the First Speaker herself calling out the scoring from the throne. It was obviously skilful, and sexy in its way;  I was impressed by the lack of emnity involved, except in the final bout, which was obviously a grudge match, with some serious hair-pulling, a knee-to-breast blow that made me cringe in sympathy, and a double strangle-hold that was only broken in the end by Natella's intervention.

"Those two meant it, didn't they, Fran?"

"The old romantic triangle", she told me. "Slenna's playing them both for suckers...aah, now what's Natella up to?"

Natella stood in the circle, waiting for conversation to die down.  "My sisters, tonight our entertainment has been top-class, in honour of our First Speaker and our guest, m'sera Charol.  Do you think it fair if we ask Charol to take part in tonight's climax?"

I looked at Fran, questioningly.  She shrugged. It looked as if this was the pay-off to Natella's plotting, but what could we do about it?

"Charol is a mighty warrior", she went on, "and her slavegirl is beautiful, loyal, and I'm sure skilful.  How better to celebrate than in a friendly bout of rope-and-tie, against myself and my own shameless nymph...?"

This suggestion was met with applause, cheers, and cries of support -- after all the wine I'd consumed, I nearly joined in too, but turned to Fran for some explanation.  "What the Hel is 'rope-and-tie', neighbour?"

Fran looked less than enthusiastic.  "Warriors compete, to see who can capture and immobilise a slave more quickly."  She made a face.  "They use each other's slaves, of course."

"That doesn't seem too bad... but let me guess, Natella's your champion at it."

"Well, actually, no..."

I stood up, moved into the ring. A few extra lamps were being lit around it, and it looked almost welcoming to my slightly wine-befuddled brain.  "This seems a fine way to make my own small contribution to an excellent evening", I announced loudly, to much applause.

Natella moved over to me, and we shook hands.  "Since you are our guest, I think you should go first -- it will give your slavegirl an example to follow."

Of course, I could have done with such an example as well, but I smiled and nodded in agreement, before returning to Fran, who still looked less than happy.

Fran removed my tunic, on the grounds that it might be a hindrance, and folded it neatly. "Your target, Jerri, should stay inside the ring, but you can move outside it if you need to." She smiled tensely.  "You are given a rope, and you must tie her wrists together behind her, and her ankles.  First Speaker will time you by her pulse... oh, and the tie must remain secure for a further twenty beats.  You aren't supposed to knock your target out -- this is wrestling, not boxing."

"Sounds fine to me", I said, as somebody handed me the rope in question.  "But if Natella isn't your local champion, Fran, who is?"

Fran crouched down by Memree, and began removing her chains. "Why, Jerri is."

I felt sick, as I moved forward.  Jerri, now without her wrist-cuffs, came forward too, with a confident smile, escorted by Natella.

"Thy challenge is bravely accepted, Natella", First Speaker announced. "You must now state the prize for this contest, for the loser to forfeit."

Natella glared at me briefly, and then smiled.  "A weight of gold, m'sera, or the tied lovely -- loser's choice, of course."

Oh dear.  Whatever the Churmuk called a 'weight' of gold would be more than I'd got in my purse, for certain.  A tiny, booze-fortified voice suggested that I had become infatuated with Memree, and to have her taken away might, in the long run, be a good thing... but, much more than that, I did fancy my chances.

"If that is all you can afford, dear warrior -- I accept your terms!"

First Speaker nodded calmly.  "The slave must remain inside the circle, but the warrior need not -- though retreating delays the victory.  On my word, brave Charol... begin!"

I lunged for Jerri, who sidestepped.  I'd been drinking, and she hadn't... it showed.  But perhaps she thought I was more inebriated than I was... I caught her, and we grappled, me holding tightly to the rope.  I wondered for an instant how the rules would cover her roping me instead...

The whole tent was in uproar, as Jerri wriggled and writhed, trying to get free, but at last I looped the rope around her wrists, and, as if underwater, slowly tied a knot, with her wrists crossed, and took the rope around the other way for good measure, then tripped her onto the carpet, hard enough to bounce, pulled her feet back roughly, and roped them too, so that they almost touched her hands.  I yanked the knot unmercifully tight, then stood back, panting.

The further twenty beats seemed to take an hour, but at last, despite Jerri's full strength, First Speaker stood.  "The ties are secure", she said firmly.  "Elapsed time, 97 beats."

I staggered back to my cushion, where Fran was giving Memree her final preparations. All her chains were off, but she still wore her boots, gloves, and collar.  I put my tunic back on.

Fran removed Memree's gag, and looked across at me, with a reasonably encouraging smile. "A fair time, in the circumstances", she said.

"Mistress, can you hood me, please?  It will give my face some protection."

Fran and I looked at each other, and we both nodded. Natella was in this to win, and pulling hair or an ear, or scratching, would not be beneath her.  We slipped the white leather hood on, and Fran began to lace it up.

Natella came over. "You're hooding her?" Her voice carried to the whole tent. "What trickery is this, sera?"

"No trickery, neighbour."  My voice was equally loud, and if anything a little more patronising. "I'm afraid she bites, and I'd hate you to come to any harm."

By the time the laughter had died down, Memree was ready -- and looking just a little bit sinister in the big-eyed, mouthless hood.  She walked to the middle of the ring, beside Natella, and gave a slight bow towards First Speaker.

"Art thou ready, slave Memree?"

"I am, m'sera."

"On my word, noble Natella... Begin!"

Natella moved like a striking scorpion, and managed to grab Memree's wrist and pull her forward.  Memree didn't resist, but went with the pull, diving under Natella's hand and managing to break the hold.  She nearly left the circle, but managed to stop and make a crouching turn.  Natella tried to put the rope over Memree's head, but Memree grabbed it and pulled... they both nearly fell.  Natella yanked the rope free one-handed, and threw a punch at Memree's jaw, which missed... but a sweeping kick to Memree's shin connected, and Memree fell, with Natella diving on top of her, looping the rope around one wrist.  Memree used the heel of her free hand to push Natella's chin up and away, which delayed Natella, but Natella's strength and ruthlessness, her warrior training, meant that the fight was far from equal.

The wrist was secured, now, the knot tied while Natella used her weight to pin Memree.  She then lifted her -- and kneed her in the stomach before pushing her down flat, and capturing the second wrist.  Memree was panting hoarsely, and trying to get free, but she was on her front, with Natella's knee in her back now -- she had her legs wide apart, kicking wildly, but Natella didn't have too much trouble in looping the rope round one, and then the other, and pulling them together.  It wasn't long before she had both Memree's legs bent back, the rope around them.

It had been a struggle, I'm sure a much harder one than Natella had expected, but Memree was trussed now, arms and legs helpless behind her, as Natella moved free, and turned to First Speaker.  "I have her", she said triumphantly, and glanced over at me. I rose to my feet, very angry with the way that Natella had fought... but Fran put a restraining hand on my arm.

"Thy time is 79 beats, though the slave fought thee well, and with courage", First Speaker said, still looking at Memree, who was jerking and struggling like a mad thing.  The tie had to remain effective for at least twenty heartbeats after its victim had been caught... and that time wasn't over yet!

Natella and I both watched as Memree strained and tugged.  "Seven beats to go... five..."

Were the leather gloves a help or a hindrance?  They saved Memree from rubbing her wrists raw, but mightn't the ropes slip across sweaty skin more easily than across even well- polished, supple white leather?

"Three..."

Natella's smile was wider now, as she watched.  But did the knot slip an inch? Certainly Memree was straining, sweat gleaming on her back.

"One..."

Free!  An arm was out of its captivity, the glove scraped and torn across the back of Memree's hand.  First Speaker stood, with a faint smile.  "The slave has freed herself, Natella, and just inside the time allowed."

"But it was less than..."

I moved to help Memree, who'd already extricated her other arm.  I crouched, and untied her ankles.  Natella's protest had faded to nothing under First Speaker's gaze.  She'd been bested, but -- well, what was a little gold to the leader of many a Churmuk raiding-party?

I helped Memree to her feet, and turned to Natella. "A close contest", I told her graciously. "It's your choice, but I do hope you present me with your slave -- she might help me keep this one under control, which as you've seen is not always easy."

Natella glared at me, and then transferred her gaze to Jerri, obviously seeing if she could shift the blame for losing onto her partner.  Jerri turned pale at the prospect of a career change from warrior to slave.

"I..." Natella gave a little cough, and tried again, with a rather unconvincing forced smile.  "I do see your problem, Memree is obviously a handful... but no, it's my choice, and I choose to offer you gold, sera Charol."

"As you wish."

I unlaced the hood;  Memree's face was damp, and a glowing deep pink from her exertions. I kissed her on the mouth, and she pressed herself against me in a very enthusiastic, thankful way...

The entertainment was over, now, and the warriors of the Churmuk were getting carefully to their feet, while slavegirls removed dishes and goblets, collected cushions, and generally began to clean up the pavilion.  The door-flaps were tied back, and the colder night air was encouraging everybody to move.  Some of the lamps were being dowsed; Natella and Jerri left without any further words, for me or for each other, and First Speaker and her two body-slaves walked off to their own door.  I've never known such an elaborate evening to finish so suddenly.

Fran joined us, putting a blanket around Memree's sweaty nakedness.  I put one arm around Memree, and the other around Fran, and we set out for the guest wagon.

We all three went in, and Fran lit the lamp for us while I peeled Memree out of her boots and gloves, and folded up the blanket she'd been draped with.  "Well, if Natella didn't dislike us before tonight", I began...

"Now there's money on it", Fran continued.  "But I don't see there's anything she can do now -- you both impressed First Speaker, and she is the woman who has the final word around here."

"As well as the first one", I said absently. "I'm sorry about the glove." I held out the one that had got torn in Memree's struggle for freedom.  "Maybe Natella should buy a new one."

Fran smiled. "Maybe. But I'd better be off, it's getting late."

Memree got to her feet, and approached Fran, eyes lowered. "Thank you for your support, Mistress", she said, and then hugged her tight and kissed her full on the lips for what seemed an excessively long time, while Fran almost automatically embraced her too.

"I... I'll see you both in the morning", she said, and left.

And that's about it for today.  It must be almost midnight, now, though I can hear some shouting around the other side of the camp.  I'm too tired to want to investigate, though. It sounds as if some of the people are coming this way, I just hope that they don't want to disturb us.

My hope was in vain - a rather loud knock on our door, I'd better open it, befo--

Day Eighteen
Sorry to leave that on such a cliff-hanger, but as I was grabbed by as many Churmuk as could fit in the wagon, accused of murdering their First Speaker, and carried off a to a cold, sturdy hut, there wasn't really any way I could even finish that sentence. The hut contained a wooden trestle, the sort of contraption that would hold up one end of a long table; I was stripped, and bent over along it, my ankles tied tightly to one end, my arms stretched down towards the other; my mouth was stuffed with a wad of cloth, a thin rope tied round my head to keep it in position, and then a leather hood was put over the top. It was all hellishly uncomfortable and humiliating, and cold, and, while I did eventually drop off to sleep, various aches and pains returned with a vengeance when I woke.

I've not really had a chance yet to go through Memree's morning with her, but I can imagine how lonely and helpless she must have felt, left behind in the guest wagon.  Fran came to her in the morning, and they were able to visit me briefly; there was no choice, we took Fran into our confidence about why we'd come.  On the general feeling that Churmuk judicial processes were probably rather speedy and informal, and that Natella might well soon be in charge, today was the day we had to get out, preferably with Kreston in tow - so Memree and Fran would have to find him, get him ready for the break, and, as someone would presumably be checking up on my lack of comfort fairly regularly, only then set me free.  I didn't like telling them to put the gag and hood back on me, and leave me there, but I didn't see that there was much choice...though Memree did take away some of the gag-wadding with her. Ashil's cavalry wouldn't be in place to support our escape until the afternoon...

Memree had got dressed up in Churmuk armour, and they managed to contact Kreston - the death of the First Speaker meant that the usual guards had other things on their minds, of course.  And Natella would want to concentrate on trying to become the new First Speaker before doing anything with me, so she was presumably too busy to come and have a little heart-to-heart... though it was weird to occasionally feel a breeze on my oh-so-vulnerable rear when the hut opened and someone looked in, either to check or to gloat.

At noon, Memree opened the glass vial that Ashil had provided - even hooded I could tell, the whole atmosphere of the place changed, it was cooler, I could hear shouting, distant screams, and an unearthly hooting.  My hut's door opened - it was a guard.  And then I heard a familiar voice - Memree's. "Is the prisoner still secure?"

"What's going on?  The sky, the ghosts..."  There was a definite tinge of panic in the guard's voice.

There was a thud, and then my ropes were being cut, and my hood removed. I spat out the gag when I could, and smiled at Fran and Memree, who were now removing the guard's costume... she was just about my size, luckily.

"Ashil's magic is doing its job out there - there's a huge figure of Atzmon, and you're fighting her - and there's clouds of smoke, and weird floating skulls and ghosts.  It spooks me, and I know what it is!"

I laughed as I buckled the Churmuk metal plate kilt into position. "Sounds like it's doing its job, then - but it's just illusion magic, it won't last forever, so let's go and get Kreston, shall we?"

The sky was a dark green, but somehow it didn't make us, or the landscape, seem sickly.  A skeletal head fizzed past, pale amber with glowing red eyes, leaving a trail of mauve butterflies in its wake.

"Kreston is in that large shed over there", Fran pointed.  "I'll go and get your horse, and enough extra mounts, we already loaded up your saddlebags."

"Good luck, friend!"  Memree and I headed in the direction she'd indicated, two Churmuk warriors among many running around. One of them ran towards us, in fact - and then a ghost of her split from her body, looked her in the face, and made as if to punch her, and she screamed and headed off in another direction.  I looked up and saw Atzmon looking down on the camp as if we were all just ants.

"So what have you been promising Fran, then? She's certainly going out on a limb for us."

"It's a long story", Memree said. "But she's had enough of being a butch warrior woman, she wants to come with us."

We reached the shed, which was secured by a bar across the door - we pulled that off, and hurried in, to find four men, including Kreston, and two guards.  "Kreston's behind all this", I told them.  "We must take him to Natella, and quickly!"

A ghost Churmuk ran in through the walls, as the guards began to unlock the chains - we knocked both guards cold, and each lost a ghost figure, which screamed silently and fell to the floor alongside their unconscious bodies.

"Charol?  You old hound, I've never been happier to see your homely old features", Kreston said, as he finished unlocking himself.  "Your friends didn't mention you were the mastermind behind this rescue plan."

"A plan?  Who said anything about a plan, we're just making this up as we go along", I told him.  "Your friends are coming too?"

"Too right, girl!" They were all free, now, in shabby, worn trousers and with metal collars welded in place; Kreston and one other held the swords they'd picked up.

"Fine with me - our friend Fran should have the horses ready, so let's split, yes?"

Of course, things weren't quite that simple.  The horses were there - but so was Natella, and five of her warriors - including Fran.  I can't say that was a huge surprise, it was Natella who'd assigned Fran to us in the first place, but I do wish sometimes that adventures didn't have so many twists.  Still, the odds weren't too bad - she'd not expected Kreston's fellow escapers, perhaps, or only wanted her closest followers to hear anything I might say.  And of course Natella held a very high opinion of her own swordsmanship.

"Fran - how could you...?" Memree at least seemed shocked.

Fran sheathed her sword, apparently confident she could fight Memree on equal terms.  "It was Natella's plan all along, sweetness", she said.  "Giving Charol a clan trial for murder might have been risky, so she gets killed trying to escape."

Fran rushed for Memree, Kreston and his men rushed for the other Churmuk, and I grabbed my sword, the blade my guard had had, and turned to Natella with a smile. "Your fighting so far hasn't impressed me", I told her.  "Maybe your talents lie in other directions?"

Memree and Fran were wrestling, with Fran holding handcuffs like a different version of "rope and tie" - I saw one of the men, weaponless, punch one Churmuk on the chin before she could bring her sword around, she folded noiselessly and he grabbed her weapon. There were still some ghosts and flaring, flying skulls around, but they were less substantial now, and Atzmon, fighting what looked like a giant Memree in her Churmuk armour, was no longer solid, I could see light through her.  Natella and I started cautiously, swords alert, more parries than thrusts... I found that I was too annoyed to come up with my usual taunts. She'd used dirty fighting to try and enslave me, she'd used nasty tricks to try and win Memree off me, she'd killed a fine woman in the First Speaker and tried to blame me for it, she'd had me naked and trussed, stuff-gagged and hooded, all night and half the day, and then decided she would set me up to be killed in an attempt to escape...

It sounds stupid, but I hadn't been paying attention - yet Natella was now on the ground, weaponless, curled up and holding her stomach, and with what might well be the start of a black eye.  The others were on horseback now, and I saw that Fran, tied up, was thrown across Memree's horse in front of her.  There was some more rope on the ground, so I tied Natella too, and got her across the front of my horse's saddle.  Kreston had Hengist on a leading rein.

"Come on, Charol, or we'll be here for the rest of our lives!"

I got on to the horse, a big, valuable-looking animal, black and glossy... the saddle looked high quality, too, and I smiled.  "Okay, let's ride, we've got what we came for!"  I shook the reins. "Let's get out of here!"

We rode, heading back the way we'd come - and we never saw any pursuit. The abduction of Natella would have caused some disruption... perhaps one of the warriors we'd left behind had decided to tell the truth, or maybe the leaders of the other factions had just been too busy to worry about us, and happy not to have Natella to contend with.  Ashil and his cavalry met us a little while ago, before sunset, and now, just outside the Churmuk lands, we've set up camp for the night - with plenty of guards on the alert, rather disappointed not to have had a battle.

But now, if you'll excuse me, it's been a long and eventful day, so I'm turning in.  There are plenty of loose ends I ought to mention, Ser Librarian - but I have to leave something for tomorrow's entry!

Day Nineteen
Memree and I are back in our room, at last, after a long day's ride.  Kreston and his fellow ex-slavemen had had their collars removed the previous evening, and Ashil had provided more suitable garments for them; Fran and Natella had had their Churmuk armour removed, and they now wore slave collars of a more delicate and decorative nature.

Really, Memree and I were doing very well out of this. We'd not lost any of our gear, that was all on Hengist - and for some reason of Churmuk honour, the "weight of gold" I'd...we'd won in the "rope and tie" had been delivered that morning, so there was a rather heavy purse in the bags too. The Churmuk horses we'd liberated were, Ashil assured us, exceedingly valuable... and the gravy on the joint was that Kreston was insisting on buying Natella as his slavegirl!

Which left Fran, of course. Memree and I have discussed her, and come to the conclusion that she had genuinely wanted to leave the Churmuk way of life, and had been attracted to Memree-as-slavegirl.  While she did betray us, she really didn't have much option in that, as Natella knew what she was doing all along, as she had ordered it in the first place... and, well, how hard did she fight to beat Memree, did she want to lose, to be the one in cuffs?

Oh well, this evening my room has got a genuine chained slavegirl on its floor, not Memree's impersonation of one - quite a pretty one, too.  Not something we can make a habit of, but we'll have to do a bit more talking in the morning.  All that horse-riding and fresh air is making me very sleepy, so I think this brief report is all I can manage for tonight.