The Taking of Ariel
By J.V. Altharas
Page 2


A curious Ariel asked Terell, “You are Kelinar?”  Terell nodded.  Amidst their many other roles, the Order of Kelinar were responsible for safeguarding Carellian nobility.  Their preternatural skills in battle, and their mental prowess, were legendary; some of the last vestiges of the ancient arcane arts.  After regaining his throne King Duras accepted a Kelinar guardian into his palace to protect him, and the entire realm was fluttering with gossip.  The skills of the order were far beyond the charms and rituals utilized by healers and shamans, and the stuff of fireside tales across Aeodar.  Ariel leaned in and whispered, “Do you watch over one of these men?”

“Indeed,” Terell winked, “you’re sitting on his lap.”  With that Arius playfully squeezed her backside and was rewarded by a girlish giggle.  Despite his better judgment he felt himself immediately taken with this girl.  Saragan slaves enjoyed virtually none of the rights known to their counterparts in Carellia.  Here they could be used for sex without their consent, and had no legal protection from abuse.

To be a whore in this tavern was an ignoble fate for a slave educated to serve in a harem, and Arius was beginning to think that this might be a perfect opportunity to exercise the vast treasury that he now controlled.  Settling into the seat of power would bring many challenges, and oddly enough taking slaves had been low on his list of concerns; until this one had appeared in his lap, at least.  He knew he would regret leaving such a creature to while out her days in this cesspool.

A few moments Dalia's customer stormed down the stairs ahead of her and began shouting at Vargus, who stood behind the bar, telling him that his whores needed to learn their place.  Arius felt Ariel’s body tense as many eyes turned to the confrontation.  Vargus reached across the bar and grabbed Dalia by the hair, slapping her face with his free hand.  “Explain yourself, whore,” he demanded.

Dalia said, “He’s got sores all over him—he’s diseased.  No one should have to spread her legs for that.”

Vargus slapped her again then slammed her face down on the bar.  He said, “This isn’t some noble’s harem, whore.  You don’t choose who you fuck, and you don’t turn away a paying customer.”  He held her head down and pulled a stiff-tailed flail from beneath the counter.  He gave her three merciless lashes on the back, saying, “Maybe I should just have him use you right here, bent over the bar, to teach you a lesson.”



The irate customer began pawing at Dalia’s thin dress, and more blows from the flail were beginning to draw blood.  One of the bruisers responsible for keeping order had drawn close to his employer and stood watch silently.

Arius was ready to spring out of his seat.  He had always tried to respect the laws and customs of any place he wandered.  He was not the same man that had sailed into Saragas with his father months ago, however.  Arius, heir to Lord Garold, had been able to follow his whims.  He often stood tall on behalf of the weak, as his nobility required of him, but had the leisure of choosing his battles.

Arius, Lord of Exodus, had no such reprieve.  He had a duty, both to his nature and his lineage; and was about to step into his own for the first time.  As the abuse continued Arius felt rage building, and every fiber of his being screamed to defend this slave.  The House of Exodus had brought an end to this sort of brutality in Carellia centuries ago.  Foreign land or not, no worthy Carellian lord would allow such a thing to continue in his presence.  He pushed a thought to Terell, I’m about to end this.

I would expect no less, Terell silently encouraged.

Arius lifted a distraught Ariel out of his lap as if she were a doll, setting her on her feet before leaping out of his chair with Terell close behind.  They closed the distance to the bar in a flash.  Before the bruiser knew what was happening, a boot to the knee and a forearm to the throat had him gasping for breath on the floor.  The rest of Arius’ men remained at the table, ready to move.

Arius flung the customer to the side and snatched the flail right from the hand of a shocked Vargus, immediately flipping it around and striking his face.  Another quick swing had the tails wrapped around his neck, allowing a yank on the handle to slam his head on the bar.  Vargus would not release his grip on Dalia, and called for aid.

The music went silent as the minstrel’s attention was drawn to the fray, and several more of Vargus’ bruisers approached the bar.  Arius drew his dagger and put it to the tavern owner’s throat.  The young lord shouted, “One step closer and you shall all be looking for new employment.”  He then leaned in close to Vargus and said, “I see only one person in need of a lesson in manners here, and it is not this slave.”

“I see only one person in need of a lesson in manners here, and it is not
this slave.”

Vargus defiantly replied, “This whore is my property, and I am within the law.  You have no right to interfere!”

“Watch your tongue, dog,” said Terell, “you address a Lord of Carellia.”

“Ha!” Vargus snorted, “This upstart is no noble.  Unhand me this instant, and I’ll let you walk out of here alive.”  Vargus banged his fist on the bar, and several of the Saragan patrons stood; reaching for weapons.  “I don’t think bleeding me over a whore is worth your life, but I suppose we shall know soon enough.  You chose the wrong tavern to stir up trouble in.  I pay my dues to the guard.”

Ariel watched in awe.  She had known her share of Saragan nobles, but few carried themselves with actual nobility.  Though she knew something of Carellian customs, their enlightened view of slavery was something of a taboo subject.  No Saragan master wanted his slaves imagining a brighter future to the north.  Never before had someone stood to defend a slave in front of her eyes, and the sight had her heart racing with the thought of serving such a man.

As the Saragans started to advance, Arius bellowed, “Warriors of Carellia, stand and be counted with the Lord of Exodus.”  The Saragans froze in their tracks, and every eye in the house was now engaged.  Arius’ companions stood, hands on their blades, moving out from their table at the wall.  The tavern was indeed full of loyal swords, many from Exodus.  Even though most did not know their new lord personally, one look at the signet on his finger banished any doubts.  Moments later two dozen men stood with Arius, and the Saragans quickly found their seats.  For the first time, fear and realization crept into Vargus’ eyes.  This was indeed a Carellian lord, and that meant the man beside him was Kelinar.

“Now,” Arius said in a calm, ominous voice, “shall I inform King Duras that Vargus of the Laughing Dog ordered an attack on the Lord of Exodus?  I presume that might not go well for you, but if we are indeed to let Saragan law sort this out, I suppose there will be little choice.”


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