by Van © 2004
		Chapter 8

The Sorceress' magical glowing guide vanished as Duana entered the bathing chamber.  She dropped her pack and sword belt on a stone bench, then returned to the door, pulled it closed, threw the substantial bolt, and wedged one of her boot daggers between the bolt handle and door frame.  She then strolled back to the bench, unlacing her jerkin as she went.  The chamber was dominated by a large circular tub, so large it might better be described as an artificial pond.  The sides were waist high, rounded, and tiled in lapis lazuli.  It was full to the rim with clear water, and wisps of steam danced on the mirror-like surface.

Duana's shirt followed her jerkin to form a pile next to the bench.  Her boots and leather pants were next, followed by her wrist bracers, and the scrap of linen she used as a loincloth.  The mercenary stretched and flexed her limbs.  She didn't entirely approve of the Sorceress' Roman habit of dunking oneself in water, but she had to admit it was a pleasant way to relax after a hard journey.  She climbed over the rim of the tub and settled into the embrace of the steaming water.  The volume she displaced flowed over the tiles and into a narrow drain running the circumference of the tub.  There was a submerged seat around the inside wall, but the great interior of the tub was dark and deep.

Duana sat on the seat and used a sponge to scrub her skin until she was pink, then tossed the sponge over the rim and pushed off to float in the center of the tub.  She drifted on her back, arms and legs spread and her hair floating like a fan on the shimmering surface.  The ceiling overhead was an open dome, stone arches that met at an ornate sculpture of a human, female figure curled in a fetal pose.  The triangular spaces between were filled with clear, thick glass set in iron frameworks.  Through the heavy panes Duana could see the warped images of the rose vines that overgrew the entire castle.  She closed her eyes... and drifted.

Duana opened her eyes—and discovered with alarm the water level was dropping rapidly, and taking her with it!  The sides of the tub loomed above her like the sides of an ever deepening well!  She swam to the side,  but it was already far to late to grab the lip of the seat.  The tiled sides were smooth and slick and slanted a few degrees from the vertical.  Duana tried to climb, but there was nothing on which she could take a hold.  Even the grout lines between the tiles were too fine for her nails to gain a purchase.  She slid and scrambled against the wall, shouting inarticulate curses as the water continued to drain away.

Then her feet landed on what felt like tiny pebbles or coarse sand.  The water was now gone, and she found herself at the bottom of a deep well, her weapons and clothing tens of yards overhead, hopelessly out of reach.  She slogged to the center of the well, then stooped to lift a handful of the material at her feet, and discovered she was walking on countless millions of tiny metal rings.  They shone like polished silver, but were something else.  She didn't recognize the alloy.  The rings were tiny, half the size of her pinkie nails.  She let them fall through her fingers—and was alarmed to find that several had somehow become linked around her lower fingers and the palm of her hand.  She shook her hand, but the tiny chains were too tight.

Next she realized she had sunk into the rings up to the ankles.  She lifted her left foot, and discovered she was now wearing what amounted to a chain mail slipper!  Her toes were individually captured in tiny pockets, and the mail fit the curves and hollows of her foot exactly.   Duana lifted her right foot, and found it similarly encased.

"Sorceress!" she screamed, her voice bouncing off the tiles of the well.  "You lying slut!  You treacherous blackguard!"  The rings slipped from under her left foot and she was thrown on her side.  She put her left hand on the surface to gain leverage, it slipped under the surface, and she found herself half swimming in the tinkling, roiling bed of metal.  She struggled to lift herself, and found she could no longer flex her left leg.  She looked down and found it smoothly and tightly encased up to her lower thigh.  Her left hand was encased as well, as if she was wearing a perfectly fitting mail glove—a rigid, perfectly fitting mail glove.  

She thrashed and struggled and flopped onto her stomach.  Now both legs were encased, individually and collectively.  "No!"  The more she struggled, the more the rings seemed to grow around her.  A chain of rings closed around the base of her right breast and tightened until it bulged.  She struggled to rise, then lost her balance and rolled again... and now more rings had formed a dome across the pink flesh of her breast and clicked together.  Another chain ring constricted the base of the nipple, and it was covered as well.  Duana attempted to lift herself on one arm, and flopped heavily onto her side.  The rings washed over her like water, then receded, leaving more of her covered and encased.

Duana gasped!  Her labia were individually captured in pouches of mail, and more linked rings invaded her sex, pinched a ring around the base of her clitoris, then snapped into an inflexible shell.  Her struggles weakened as rings covered her abdomen and linked to the cups now covering both breasts.  Her shoulders were captured, then her neck.

"I'll kill you!  You're dead, you—m'mmpfh—M'RFF —mmm!"  The rings covered her lips, then invaded her mouth to trap her tongue, fill the entire cavity, and lock into a solid mass.  A chain mail hood covered her head, leaving openings only for a topknot ponytail and for her eyes in front.  Nowhere could Duana feel skin-on-skin.  The mail cloth even stretched behind as well as over her ears, up and under her armpits, and a ring's diameter into her nostrils.  Movement was nearly impossible, but she kept trying... and the more she squirmed and struggled, the more difficult it became... and her metal skin became tighter and tighter... and tighter.

Suddenly, the rings beneath the encased prisoner began draining away, as the water had before.  Duana found herself drifting in mid-air, head up and feet down.  She continued struggling, and the constriction continued, individual rings falling away as tighter connections were made.  She drifted in a slow circle, staring at the lapis lazuli tiles, squirming and wiggling, listening to the rings click and tinkle as they tightened or fell... and eventually all motion was impossible.

There was a flash, and Duana found herself in a different place.  Her vision was restricted, but what she could see suggested a library and workroom of some sort.  There were shelves full of bound tomes and tightly rolled scrolls, and heavy tables cluttered with glass vessels and ceramic jars.  She felt (just barely) something clamp around her mail encased feet.  Then other objects snapped around her legs, arms, and torso.  Immobilized as she was, Duana couldn't see what was being done to her... then the Sorceress herself strolled into view.  She had removed her red silk cape, but her cloth-of-gold gown remained.  It was tight-fitting at the waist and left her arms and shoulders completely bare.  Her long, straight, pale hair hung down her back, and a cold, evil smile graced her angelic face.

"I believe your reward was to be a set of armor impervious to all weapons," the Sorceress purred.  Something settled over Duana's head, clamped tight, and now she was gazing through the chain mail eye holes and a narrow slit

Duana glared at her captor and forced several inarticulate and well muffled remarks past her gag.

"I want you to see what I've done to you," the Sorceress said, and raised her right hand.  A full-length mirror drifted into view, and Duana found she had been enclosed in plate armor.  She was standing atop a metal pedestal, her left gauntlet atop a shield propped against her body, her right clutching a sword at her side.  A sallet with lowered visor covered her head, her ponytail emerging as a decoration at the top.  All of it looked like outrageously expensive, fully articulated armor, but of course it was one immovable outer encasement, tightly covering her inner encasement of mail.

The mirror drifted away, and the Sorceress was once again in Duana's line of sight.  "The mail and plate are adamantium, steel tempered by transforming its carbon into diamant.  There is nothing stronger in this world."  Her gloating smile became unmistakably cruel, and she made a complex pass with her right hand before Duana's angry eyes.  "So you see... I've kept my promise."  

Duana and her adamantium shell began to shrink!  As she watched, the Sorceress' infuriatingly smug face passed from view and was replaced by the expanding and rising vision of her flawless throat and shoulders... then her gown-covered breasts... then the long, long, long length of the gown itself... and finally the gown's hem.  The Sorceress, now a giantess from Duana's point of view, stooped and lifted Duana's metal-clad form.  She had shrunk to a height of one span.  Her gagged tirade continued as she stared at the Sorceress' huge, gloating visage; but her well-muffled voice was now a high-pitched whine.

Duana was turned and found herself being carried towards a gigantic table and chess set. She was set down and took her place as a pawn, facing an opposing force in ebony armor.  "There..." the Sorceress' voice boomed.  "Now you'll have plenty of time to contemplate how much better your fate might have been if you'd precisely followed my orders."  Duana shivered in her incredible bondage, the only movement possible, other than blinking her eyes.  The Sorceress' voice continued, but it was fading.  She were walking away.  "I grant you mercy, of a sort, and hope, Sword Maiden.  My magic shall maintain your pathetic existence, and I may find a use for your services later... perhaps in a year or two."

Duana heard a door close... then all was silence.  I'll kill her!  I'll bathe in her blood!  I'll chop her into a stew meat and... and... Oh God—HELP ME!!!

Kelly smiled at the wildflower in her hand.  She was kneeling in the dappled shade of a willow near a small stream, dressed in one of Dorey's medieval gowns.  It was emerald green with rich embroidery around the square-cut décolletage and at the hem of the loose, drooping outer sleeves.  The inner sleeves were tight around her wrists, the bodice tight around her waist and under her breasts.  A sheer veil covered her hair, held in place by a narrow gold circlet around her brow.

Dressed in t-shirt, shorts, photographer's vest, and hiking boots, Dorey was busy snapping pictures with her digital camera, just as she had for the last hour.  They'd begun with Kelly standing and posing: Against a stone wall, a vine-covered arbor, an oak door with elaborate iron hinges, strolling down a forest trail, and now kneeling by the stream.

Model and photographer gasped—a butterfly fluttering across the clearing had settled on the flower in Kelly's hand!  Kelly smiled and stared in wonder at the delicate insect.  Dorey captured the scene, then slowly, carefully moved to the side and captured it again.  The butterfly launched itself into the air and fluttered away.  Kelly and Dorey locked eyes, and laughed.

"I've got all I need for now," Dorey said, then keyed her radio.  "Dawn?"

Seconds passed, then the radio squawked to life.  "Dawn here."

"We're done with the Princess-in-the-woods stuff.  You guys ready?"

"Ready and waiting," Dawn's voice replied.

"On our way—Out."

"What's up?" Kelly asked.  "I thought we were done."

"Just a few pictures behind the barn, then lunch."

"I'll be glad to get out of this thing," Kelly confessed.  "It's tight."

Dorey gasped in mock outrage.  "Are you criticizing my dressmaking, Princess?"

"You are the Finest Seamstress in All the Land!" Kelly proclaimed with a regal gesture, then tugged at her bodice.  "It's just this Princess prefers less restrictive couture."

Dorey laughed and led the way back to the Behr compound, changing memory sticks in her camera as they walked.  They rounded the corner of the barn—and Kelly gasped... then smiled.

There against the stone wall of the barn was what was obviously one of Dawn's Renfaire creations: A combination stocks and bench with a high back.  It was made from heavy timbers bolted and braced with iron hardware made to appear hand-forged.  Debbie Behr was seated on the bench, her feet captured in the stocks, her back against the slightly sloping back.  Her arms were raised and her wrists manacled.  She was wearing a serving girl costume, but this one was finer than the one she had worn the day Kelly and the youngster met, when she'd been modeling one of Dawn's "fiddles" at this very spot.

Debbie's skirt was a dusky rose color, her corset-like bodice black, her blouse white and loose, the short, ruffled sleeves falling down her arms and the gapping neckline threatening to expose her breasts.  Her hair was parted down the middle and plaited into two braids, and a garland of wildflowers crowned her head.  The cuffs around her wrists were purposely rough and crude, ragged bands of rawhide (fleece padded on the inside), wrapped around her wrists and secured to the chains dangling from the top timber of the bench back with plaited rope.  A leather belt stretched across the bench and kept the captive's bottom on the seat and her spine against the back.  Her legs, mostly bare as her skirt was slit on one side, were flat on the bench and stretched full length.  Her bare feet (slightly dirty, of course) were about a foot apart and solidly padlocked in heavy timber frames.  The ankle holes were tight, but well-padded with scraps of lambskin fleece, and her big toes were captured by nooses of thin cord and tied to iron nail heads protruding from the stock's top timber.  She was gagged (of course), one rag stuffed in her mouth, and another folded into a narrow bandage and tied between her teeth.  She was a helpless, pathetic sight... but her cornflower eyes twinkled as she gave Kelly a welcoming, albeit gagged, smile.

Dawn was standing to the side, dressed in modern boots, jeans, and tank-top.  She exchanged a quick smile with Kelly, then nodded towards her little sister.  "Maid Deborah," she proclaimed with a courtly gesture, "a slovenly serving girl who has dropped one too many flagons of ale, slopped suds on one too many paying customers, and... was heard to proclaim herself Beautiful as The Princess Herself!"  Nearby was a wooden post on a cross-shaped stand.  Dawn set it next to the stocks and turned its attached signboard to face the front.  The sign read:

Punish the Miscreant Maiden! 1 crown —— 1 turn of the glass. 2 crowns — 1 turn & keep the quill.

Beneath the signboard was a horn cup filled with long feather quills, and a shelf with a small sand-glass on a thin chain.

"One crown?" Kelly asked.

"Renfaire speak for a dollar," Dawn explained, then gazed at her still smiling little sister.  "Look at the cheeky little slattern, sitting there happy as a clam..."  She plucked a quill from the cup, handed it to Kelly, and stepped back.  "...a helpless, terrified clam."

Kelly smiled and strolled to the side of the bench, twirling the feather in her hand.  "As beautiful as the Princess... ummm?"  Debbie forced a pathetic whine past her gag, but her eyes were still smiling.

Dorey was busy snapping pictures.  "Let's see some acting, Brat," she said, "unless you want Dawn to take a quill and warm you up for an hour or two."

Debbie's eyes darted to Dawn... who smiled sweetly... then back to Kelly.  The twinkle was gone and she began squirming and struggling.

Kelly continued smiling.  Debbie was a truly pathetic sight, her eyes pleading for mercy, her strong young body writhing in her inescapable bonds, helpless and vulnerable.  Well, Kelly mused, why not?  She held the quill before Debbie's wide, terrified eyes and gave it a slow, delicate whirl.  "Imagine," she purred, "a common serving girl comparing herself to a princess!"  They locked eyes and Kelly's smile turned evil.  "The very thought.  Surely such feckless pride merits severe chastisement."  Kelly whirled the feather near Debbie's throat and the helpless blonde shuddered and went perfectly still, her eyes straining to focus on the threatening quill.  Kelly gave the side of Debbie's neck a slow, delicate stroke, and the prisoner whined through her gag, clinched her eyes tightly closed, and suppressed a giggle.  

Kelly let the feather wander up and down Debbie's throat, watching the helpless girl squirm and struggle to maintain her composure, then took a step back.  Debbie opened her eyes and stared at her tormentor, her bosom heaving and her nostrils flaring above her tight gag.  Continuing to twirl the feather, Kelly nodded towards the stocks.  "But the focus of this magnificent contrivance Mistress Dawn has constructed is elsewhere... is it not?"

Debbie forced a heart-rending whine past her gag and shook her head, causing the tips of her braids to sway.

"Oh, I think it is," Kelly purred, an evil, gloating smile on her face.  She slowly strolled to the foot of the bench, still twirling the feather.

Kellan opened her eyes.  She was in a stone-walled chamber lit by sputtering torches.  She was also lying on a pallet of some sort, and was still bound with golden cuffs, bands, and chains: Ankles together, wrists and elbows behind her back, collar around her neck, and a brank with its head-cage and golden ball-gag.  Her breasts and loins were covered (barely) by golden cups and a triangular shield, all secured with thin golden chains.  She was dripping with honey from head to toe, and her hair was plastered to her face, neck and shoulders in a gooey, tangled mass.  Her head was clear, and she felt rested, but the half-dried honey was uncomfortable.  It clung to her skin, forming viscous, dripping ropes as she writhed and rolled in the glistening amber pool covering the pallet.

Kellan heard a tinkling sound and lifted her head.  Dallas was walking towards her, emerging from a dark corridor.  Her bonds were similar to Kellan's, only they were steel and arranged in a manner considerably less restrictive.  Her ankle and wrist cuffs were separated and joined by long chains with her wrists in front; and the torques above her elbows were mere decoration.  Kellan stared in surprise.  Dallas was clean, very different from the trail-worn, filthy mess she had been.  Her skin was unblemished by a single scratch, scrape, or bruise.  Her hair swayed in elegant waves, flowing neatly through the bands of the brank caging her head and gagging her lips, its naturally dark blonde hue lightened by pale streaks.

The Princess frowned.  Dallas' blue eyes were open and staring, and she moved with a stiff, slow gait, as if she were walking in her sleep.  A silver ewer was clutched in her chained hands.  Kellan rolled onto her back and bound arms and stared up at her fellow prisoner, forcing a questioning noise past the golden sphere filling her mouth and the shield covering her lips.  Dallas tipped the ewer and poured the contents over Kellan's head.  It was clear water, scented with rose petals.  She continued pouring... and pouring... and pouring.   The cool liquid sluiced over Kellan's face and hair; throat and shoulders; breasts, arms, and torso; loins, thighs, legs, and feet.  Dallas continued pouring, wetting the writhing princess again, this time from toes to crown.  Obviously the ewer was enchanted, holding many times its apparent volume.

The torrent stopped, and suddenly Kellan was very cold.  She shuddered and shivered on the sopping wet pallet, goose bumps popping up all over her body... and then the pallet was dry, and she was dry.  Kellan looked down her captive form.  Her skin was clean and unblemished.  Every scratch and cut was completely healed.  Even a childhood scar on her right knee was gone.  She was covered with a dusting of freckles, as if she'd been bathed in sunshine, just enough to give her a healthy, peachy color.  She shook her head and several long locks of hair flowed off her shoulder and into view.  Normally straight and copper-red, her hair was now tightly curled, with reddish-blonde highlights.

Dallas set down the ewer, and Kellan noted a pint or more of water slosh past the spout.  It's still full, she realized.  Kellan lifted her gaze to her fellow captive's eyes.  For an instant, Dallas lost her blank stare.  She blinked and her wide, blue eyes were full of fear... then she gathered her strength, bowed her head respectfully towards the daughter of her king... and winked.

Kellan smiled up at the young blonde.  Good girl!  Be brave, Maid Dallas... and I will too.

Suddenly, Dallas shuddered in her bonds, her eyes full of pain.  Then her eyes glazed and she stood perfectly still.  Kellan caught movement out of the corner of one eye, turned her head, and the Sorceress floated into view.  Her bare feet were on pointe, drifting several inches above the stone floor.  Her pale, straight hair and red cape roiled behind her, as if driven back by a great wind.  Her arms were raised and she was making complex gestures with her hands.  Her face was cold, beautiful, and hard.  Her eyes stared at Dallas with lightning intensity.

The Sorceress' voice echoed throughout the dark chamber, although, as far as Kellan could see, her lips didn't move.  "A strong will!"  She drifted to a stop and her feet settled to the floor.  She smiled down at Kellan (sending a thrill of fear down the Princess' spine), then lifted Dallas' steel-gagged chin with her right hand.  "Admirable... but inconvenient.  Get thee to the pits.  A dungeon cell awaits.  You will see light again when I have time for your training."  She made a dismissive gesture and Dallas picked up the sloshing ewer, slowly turned, and lurched away... down the dark corridor from which she had come... her chains clinking and tinkling as she walked... and then she was gone.

The Sorceress shifted her gaze back to Kellan.  Her smile turned decidedly cruel, and she made another gesture.  Kellan found herself floating in mid-air.  Her body righted itself, her head slowly drifting up and her feet down.  The Sorceress made another gesture and long, thick, golden rods flew out of the darkness from all directions.  All were curved, some like a strung bow, and some like the body of a crawling snake.  They took positions around Kellan and floated in a slow circle, snake-like vertical rods in one direction, semi-circular horizontal rods in the other.

"I have time to begin your training immediately, Princess," the Sorceress purred.  The rods spun faster... and faster... and faster, then snapped into a tall, narrow, body-hugging cage.  Kellan squirmed and shivered in the gibbet-like encasement.  The cage followed every contour of her captive form.  Real motion was impossible.  A golden chain flew from the floor and clicked to a ring in the cage base, a second chain dangled from the darkness overhead and clicked to a ring on the top, then both chains snapped taut with quivering twangs.

The Sorceress drifted into the air until her eyes were even with Kellan's.  Her hair and robe floated around her in slow, billowing waves.  "Your first lesson," she said, levitating backwards, "is patience."  And then she was gone.

The chamber's torches guttered.  What little light there was faded to total darkness.  Kellan forced a piteous, despairing whine past her gag, then her thoughts turned to Dallas... brave, feisty Dallas...  

A memory from her childhood surfaced in Kellan's mind.  Her father had gone walking in the town market, taking her along.  He also took three men-at-arms: two grizzled veterans and a beardless youth.  The soldiers were less for protection than to control what quickly became a very friendly crowd.  The merchants pressed their wares on King Brom, not for purchase, but as freely given gifts.  The Royal Response was always honest.

"Excellent grapes!" he told one vendor, breaking up the large bunch he had been given and distributing it through the crowd.  "Well worth your price."

As they were returning to the castle, the wife of a tavernkeeper handed the King her daughter.  The youngster was perhaps three, and she stared at Brom's strong, bearded face, her eyes wide with curiosity and fear.  Even Kellan could follow the war being waged in the child's mind.  Would it be tears or laughter?  The crowd watched in silence... then a smile curled the tot's lips, and she cooed a giggling laugh.  Both the crowd and the King laughed back.  Brom turned to face Kellan.  "Fortified borders?  New towers of the latest design?  Armys of trained warriors?"  He held the giggling child high for all to see.  "This is the strength of a kingdom."  The girl continued laughing and the crowd cheered.  "Never forget, my daughter.  Never forget."

Bound and gagged, caged and helpless, countless miles from home, the prisoner of great magic, Kellan felt a tear roll down her cheek.   Brave, feisty Dallas...  I'll get you home, Maid Dallas.  I'll save you... unless you save me first.