CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

In the morning, Gantalla started walking early, woken by birds before the sun had fully risen. She followed the river upstream for a while, hoping to come across a road of some sort. It would be both a blessing and a curse if she did. Roads meant humans, but the longer she walked, the more she realised that sooner or later, she was going to have to interact with humans anyway. And that, unfortunately, had been part of her plan that she hadn’t really thought about. Making it across the gate was only the first step in escaping Chalandros. She had no food, no money, no spare clothes. Poverty was a thing she’d never experienced before, and the thought of it now was both terrifying and offensive. She’d had to barter her jewels for food and water on the road to the gate, and if these humans thought she was a demon, her status in her old city would mean nothing.

She’d have to find work somewhere, she realised with a sinking heart. But what kind of work could she possibly do? She didn’t know how to grow crops or tend livestock. She wasn’t a blacksmith or a tailor. Perhaps she could find a job as a maid in some rich man’s house? The thought grated badly. A princess serving meals and washing clothes for a human family? She grimaced. Maybe that was her fate, but only as a last resort.

But what exactly had she thought was going to happen once she crossed the gate, anyway? That there would be an army of hadathmet waiting to welcome her, to hand her wealth and comfort on a silver platter? Ridiculous girl, she scolded herself. Alithmain had been right. Her older sister had been horrified when Gantalla had told her of her plan to cross the gate. Of course, Alithmain was the oldest of her father’s children, the first daughter of his first wife. One day – if their kingdom hadn’t been destroyed – Alithmain would have become queen. And she was every bit as spoilt and entitled as the title implied.

Gantalla was the daughter of her father’s fourth wife, the youngest of his seven children, and as such, she had never been destined to rule anything. Not that she would have had a bad life. She would have been granted a nice estate on the southern side of the city and given a handful of servants to keep her house. There would have been a grove of falisal trees, their fruit sweet and juicy, and the yearly crop worth a small fortune when sold at the local markets. And she would have married a handsome hadathmet noble-

Stop it, she scolded herself. There was no point in fantasising about what might have been. Half her family was dead. Her city was a smouldering ruin. And even now, she marvelled at Alithmain’s insistence on staying in Chalandros. There was no longer anything for her to be queen of, no food, save for scraps of lizard meat, no jewels or fine fabrics or parties to attend.

Gantalla stumbled suddenly, and then drew herself to a stop. She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t even realised she’d wandered right onto a road.

Right. Well, a road was a good thing, she reasoned. Better than wandering about aimlessly in a forest, at least. She looked left, then right. To the left, the road headed north east – away from the human city – so she turned in that direction. She looked like a human now, she reminded herself. She was just a simple traveller. There was nothing about her that any of the humans would notice as strange or out of place. She was going to be fine.

But not even ten minutes later, she suddenly had to reassess her decision to stick to the road. Footsteps were coming her way, along with the sound of wheels bouncing along the road, and she froze, seeing in her mind’s eye the image of those flat carts the women at the battlefield had had, ferrying dead bodies off to the graves they’d mentioned.

A moment later, a low, hunched figure rounded the bend in the road and pulled up short as she saw Gantalla standing there. It was a woman – quite advanced in years, from the wrinkles on her face – but her cart, Gantalla was relieved to note, carried nothing more than sticks and branches. She’d been out collecting firewood, no doubt.

Forcing a smile, Gantalla started walking again, meaning to simply pass the woman by with a polite ‘good morning’.

The woman, however, seemed to have different ideas. “Well, you’re a long way from home,” she said, with a toothy smile, as Gantalla reached her. “What on earth is a young thing like you doing all the way out here?”

Gantalla’s mind raced as she tried to think of an answer. “I’m going east. To visit my brother,” she said, blurting out the first excuse that came to mind. “I’m afraid I might be a little bit lost.” Perhaps if she said so, then this woman could tell her more about where she was?

“East to Azertel or east to Palashran?” the woman asked.

Were those the names of cities? And if they were, how was she supposed to know which one to pick? “To Palashran,” she said, hoping she’d chosen the right answer.

“Oh, then you’re well and truly lost,” the woman said, with a sympathetic smile. “This here is the road to Azertel. Beautiful city, nestled at the base of those great mountains over there.” She pointed to the snow-capped peaks in the distance. “But to get to Palashran, you have to go back through the city. You came out too far to the north, I’m sorry to say.”

“Oh. Well… oops.” Damn it. “Well, I suppose I’ll just-”

“My name’s Elria,” the woman said, interrupting her. “You’re a rich girl, aren’t you?”

Gantalla looked down at her stained shirt and dusty cloak. “What makes you say that?”

Elria raised a haughty eyebrow and snorted. “Those shoes, my dear, were not designed for walking.”

Gantalla looked down. Indeed, they weren’t. They were court shoes, with thin soles and ribbons woven along the sides. Not that you could see the ribbons now, beneath the layer of mud. “No, well, I…”

“Come on. I’ll take you back to Minia,” Elria said, grabbing her hand and tugging her back the way she’d come. “The city’s an easy place to get turned around, but I’ll set you right. And while you’re there, you can buy yourself some new boots. You’ll never make it to Palashran in those things.”

Gantalla froze for a moment… then forced herself to nod. “Thank you,” she said, hoping she sounded sincere. The city was the last place in the world she wanted to go, but she could hardly just change her mind now, having already said she was heading for Palashran. And she didn’t want to arouse any suspicion.

But getting stuck in a city full of humans might be even worse.

She didn’t have to stay there long, she reasoned. Elria would show her the right road, then she could give the woman the slip and be on her way, boots or not. Besides, it wasn’t like she had any money to pay for them.

Or maybe she should ask Elria about somewhere to find work? Would that sound strange, when she was supposed to be on her way to visit her supposed brother?

Elria, though, seemed to think nothing of her silence, ignorant of her inner turmoil. “Although, while you’re here,” she said, as Gantalla fell into step beside her, “you should stay for the festival. The gate closed just yesterday and everyone will be celebrating. Don’t worry, you haven’t missed it,” she went on, happy to fill the silence while Gantalla just nodded. “The festival goes on for at least five days. There’ll be a feast in the town square. And you’ll get to see all the warriors. Mmm hmm, such fine men I’ve never seen in all my life. I tell you, if I was thirty years younger, I’d likely try to nab one for myself. But you, though…” She gave Gantalla a sharp look. “You’re young enough to get one of them to pay attention to you. And pretty, too. Well, maybe after you’ve had a bath. You’re not married?”

“No, I’m not,” Gantalla said automatically.

“Well, play your cards right and you might just land yourself a husband. And never want for anything ever again. The townsfolk shower the warriors with gifts, all through the time the gate’s closed. By the time they retire – assuming they live that long – they all end up with fine houses, piles of jewels, more silver than you can poke a stick at. Some of them even get horses.”

Gantalla opened her mouth to ask what a horse was… and then abruptly shut it again. A human would know what a horse was. “Sounds wonderful,” she said instead. But inside, she shuddered. Marrying one of those violent beasts? One of the men who’d slaughtered her kin?

But then again… Perhaps that might be the answer to one of her problems, she realised, even as distaste made her queasy. As the wife of such a man, she wouldn’t have to worry about work, or money, or food…

Well, she didn’t have to make any decisions right now. She would just follow Elria and learn what she could, then she could figure out more of a plan once they reached the city.

“Where are you from?” Elria asked, suddenly changing topic, and Gantalla had another little moment of panic.

“Far to the south,” she said. “A long way away.”

“Oh, you mean Gadash?”

Was that a city? Or a region? Or a country? Gantalla shrugged, trying to hedge her bets. She’d already made one mistake with the names of these human cities. “It’s a small farming town. No one around here would have heard of it.”

Elria laughed. “Doesn’t matter. If it’s within a two day walk of Gadash, then as far as everyone here is concerned, you’re from Gadash.”

“Fair enough,” Gantalla said, taking the easy way out. “I’m from Gadash, then. But I’d love to hear more about this festival,” she said, hoping to change the subject to something less personal.

“You must have heard of it,” Elria said. “Everyone knows about the warriors of the gate.”

“Well, of course I’ve heard of it,” Gantalla said. “But only rumours and stories. It’s not like actually having seen it.”

Thankfully, Elria smiled. “Well, have I got some stories to tell you, then…”

◊          ◊          ◊

An hour later, Gantalla was staring about herself in wonder. The city of Minia was a huge, bustling place, and she reflected that a century or so ago, her own home city of Ranaka would have looked much like this. Dozens of humans wandered about, visiting shops, chatting with friends and enjoying food from a number of roadside stalls. Large animals clopped down the streets with riders on their backs, looking much like unicorns, but a dull brown colour, rather than gleaming white, and without the horns on their heads. Gantalla wondered if these were the horses Elria had mentioned.

She tried to look small and inconspicuous, following Elria along the road, and it seemed they were heading right into the centre of the city. The streets were growing more and more crowded the further they went. Houses made of stone and wood lined the roads, and on one corner, she saw a blacksmith working at a forge. Next to it there was a carpenter in an open shed making a table. Some parts of life here seemed comfortingly familiar, while other parts looked very strange.

“Here we are,” Elria said at length. She’d talked for most of the journey here, and by now, Gantalla knew the names of three or four of the nearby towns, she knew that spring was wet and humid, while summer was warm and dry, and she’d heard a dozen stories about the ‘heroics’ of the so called warriors of the gate. Tales of them slaughtering ‘demons’ and ‘trolls’ abounded, with each story decorated in descriptions of ‘bravery’ and ‘courage’. Was there anything courageous about killing people who were just trying to escape their own imminent deaths? She said nothing, knowing by now that these people had a far different perspective on the gate from her own.

“This is the town square. There’ll be tables of food set out come evening, and everyone is welcome to share in the feast. The local brewers bring plenty of beer, whisky and wine. And there’ll be dancers. They’re a sight to see. Such beautiful dresses and they dance with swirling ribbons. It’s gorgeous. Now, you will be staying for the festival, won’t you?” She peered up at Gantalla with an expectant look on her face, and Gantalla realised it hadn’t escaped Elria’s notice that she had yet to commit to spending the night in the city.

Given how enraptured Elria had sounded when describing the warriors, Gantalla had a strong suspicion that it would be considered very rude to refuse. “Perhaps for just one night,” she said, hoping to appease the woman. “But then I really must be on my way.”

“So you say,” Elria said, winking at her. Her wrinkled face creased up in a mischievous look. “You might change your mind after you see the warriors. But come along. I have to take this wood to the square for the fires tonight, and then I’ll introduce you to the other young women. Oh, but before we go, this here is the road to Palashran.” She pointed to a wide road heading to the east. “It’s easy to find, once you know what you’re looking for. From the main city square, the town hall is on the right,” she said, pointing at a tall building made of brown stone. “And the hospital is on the left. That’s the big building with the blue circle on it. Keep going on the same road until you’re all the way out of the city, then the road splits into three, but there’s a signpost, so just take the one that says Palashran.”

“Next to the hospital, follow the road until it splits, then follow the sign to Palashran,” Gantalla repeated. “Got it.”

“Excellent. Now I’ll introduce you to the other young women. They’ll show you where you can have a bath and there’ll be oils to put in your hair and perfumes and what-not. The seamstresses donate plenty of pretty clothes, so they’ll help you find something that fits.” Elria smirked, though Gantalla wasn’t entirely sure why… until she spoke again. “Not that you’re likely to keep your clothes on for all that long. You need a bit more meat on your bones, but even so, you’re pretty enough to catch the eye of some of the young men. Your hair is just beautiful,” she said, taking one of Gantalla’s black locks in her hand and running her fingers along the strands. That, at least, was one part of her that hadn’t changed with her transformation into a human. Her hair was still jet black, falling almost to her waist, though it lacked its usual shine, with all the dust from the desert.

“Wait, these women. They…they sleep with the warriors?” Gantalla said, suddenly realising just what Elria meant.

“More often than not,” Elria said. “If one of the men takes a particular fancy to one of the girls, they might well end up getting married. But the men, being men, they like to try out a few different options before locking themselves into a decision. And I dare say the women don’t mind so much. Youthful stamina’s a wonderful thing.”

Gantalla felt herself blush, though from embarrassment, rather than desire. There was nothing particularly prudish about hadathmet culture, and it was common for young couples to begin sharing a bed before they were married, but from the sounds of it, these women were bartering their bodies simply to land themselves a rich husband. It sounded absolutely horrible.

“But what about… I mean, sex isn’t the only criteria for a good relationship,” Gantalla said, wondering how to navigate this latest conundrum. Was Elria expecting her to go out and bed three or four different warriors?

“Well, you can argue the point, but the men are a bit spoiled for choice. And when they’re away from home for literally half of their time, I suppose they’re more concerned about coming home to a pretty face and a decent pair of tits than thinking too hard about whether their wives are good at conversation.”

“Right,” Gantalla said, not knowing what else to say.

“You’re not from a big city,” Elria said, picking up on her discomfort. “So things might be a bit different for you back home. But here, that’s just the way it is. No one looks down on them for wanting to enjoy a bit of physical pleasure. And if they get married, they’ll have children, and the boys will likely grow up to become warriors, and the gods know we need plenty more of those.”

They’d reached the main square now, and Elria temporarily abandoned her cart at the side of a large water fountain. “Come this way. Oh, here’s Fin. Fin! Darling, you’re just what I was looking for. This here’s Gantalla. She’s passing through town – just in time for the festival. She’s walked all the way from Gadash, if you can believe it. Now, would you be a sweetheart and show her to the baths, and find her something nice to wear? There’s a warrior named Hallix,” she said, turning back to Gantalla with a sly look. “Yesterday he killed a unicorn. Oh, those are scary creatures, flaming beastly demons that they are. And he’s just about your age. Tall, muscles, the whole bit.” She looked Gantalla up and down with a look of satisfaction. “He’d be right into you, if you play your cards right.”

The lady called Fin laughed. She looked a few years older than Gantalla, though she was still young enough to be considered attractive, with a slim waist and high cheekbones, and flowers woven into her hair. “I’ll take care of her,” she promised Elria with a smile. “And I’ll introduce you to Hallix, later on,” she added, grinning at Gantalla. “By the gods, I wouldn’t mind bedding him, if I got the chance.”

This had all been a terrible mistake. Gantalla should have just refused to go with Elria, way back in the forest, and then she could have avoided this whole mess. “Actually, I need to get myself a new pair of boots,” she said, desperately seeking a distraction. “If you could show me where I could buy some-”

“Oh, pish-tosh,” Elria said. “There’ll be plenty of time for boots in the morning. And you can’t show up to the festival in anything so common as travelling shoes. Go on. Fin will find you some dainty slippers to wear tonight. Worry about the rest of it in the morning.”

Not knowing how to argue about it, Gantalla let herself be led away. If there was one bright side to this whole situation, she consoled herself, it was that neither woman had noticed anything odd about her – her lack of suitable footwear notwithstanding – and she hoped it meant that the witch’s spell was working just as it should be.

First up was a bath. Inside a wide, wooden building, there were five large, rectangular tubs carved out of limestone rock, each one big enough to fit three or four people in it. A natural spring at one end of the building fed water into the tubs, and the water was a balmy temperature, soothing Gantalla’s aching muscles and frayed nerves. She scrubbed her skin, layers of grime washed away in the continuous flow of water. There were also plenty of sweet-smelling soaps and herbal conditioners for her hair. For now, there were only women in the baths, though Fin had told her that by mid-afternoon, some of the warriors would have joined them, selecting a woman or three to ‘bathe’ them. From the waggle of her eyebrows, Gantalla got the impression that getting clean would be the least of the men’s concerns.

But as Gantalla floated in the mineral-rich water, Fin suddenly sat up in surprise, sloshing water over the side of the tub.

“My goodness, look at your feet!” she exclaimed. “You must have been walking for days! You poor thing, even your blisters have blisters. Come on. Hop out and get dry, then I’ll take care of that for you.”

Ten minutes later, wrapped in a fluffy towel, Gantalla sat on a cushioned chair as Fin rubbed a soothing lotion into her aching feet. Now, this was more like it! Back home, she’d had a bevy of servants, and every morning they’d spent time rubbing moisturiser into her skin, weaving ribbons into her hair and helping her dress in fine linens. The attention soothed her nerves, reminding her that she was a princess, not just a commoner destined to serve others.

“There’s a whole collection of lotions and moisturisers in the storage room,” Fin said, dragging her out of her thoughts. “It’s just up the hall to the right. No doubt some of the men would appreciate a little attention tomorrow,” she said with a smirk. The reminder came as a rude shock. This was not the norm. According to human culture, Gantalla should be the one on her knees, rubbing lotion into the feet of some human barbarian. The thought was galling.

“Is this your first time in Minia?” Fin asked, and Gantalla nodded.

“Yes. My brother lives in Palashran. I was on my way to visit him.”

“That’s an awfully long way to go, just to visit your brother,” Fin said, a sceptical look on her face. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”

Gantalla wondered what to say next. The best lies, she had been taught long ago, contained a grain of truth. And sticking to that truth as much as possible would make any of her lies easier to remember later down the track. For all her efforts to remain aloof, she seemed to be getting rapidly caught up in all the goings on here in town. “My father died not too long ago,” she said, not having to manufacture any false grief at the memory. “Our home was attacked by raiders. He died defending me and my sisters. I only have one brother left, and I thought…”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Fin said, sounding genuinely embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s all right,” Gantalla said, feeling embarrassed herself by Fin’s easy sympathy. “I just prefer not to talk about it, if that’s all right?”

“Of course. Let’s talk about something else,” Fin said, renewing her efforts on Gantalla’s feet. “Well, I’ll tell you a bit more about what to expect around here. How about that?”

“That would be wonderful,” Gantalla agreed.

“Well, first up, you need to be aware that some of the women here aren’t near so friendly as I am. Elria’s well known, and she did well sending you to me. The younger women in particular cause most of the trouble. Young and silly. They’ll see you as competition for the warriors. But the older ones are a bit more sensible. Kuri, for example. She married one of the warriors last year, and now she’s pregnant, so she’s past the need to compete with anyone. And Stella is married to a blacksmith. She’s got three children already, but she still chooses to serve the warriors. A hellhound got loose in the forest a few years ago and cornered her youngest son, and Grailon, one of the warriors, caught it and killed it before it could do any damage. Honestly, near on every single person in the city has some story or other to tell about how one of the warriors saved their life. We’re all very grateful to them. The younger women, though, they’re all trying to find husbands. They want fancy clothes and nice houses and they haven’t yet figured out that getting married means having children, and then there’s a whole lot of new responsibilities going on. They wake up quick smart once they push out their first kid, but in the meantime, they’d as soon stab you in the back as say hello.”

Young women fighting for husbands? But if she dared entertain the idea, that was exactly what Gantalla herself might have the chance to do. But forewarned was forearmed, and if these women were as silly as Fin suggested, she should have an easy time proving herself to be the better option. She had style and class and… and a stained cloak and muddy shoes. Gods, maybe she was no better than them, after all?

“What about the warriors themselves?” Gantalla asked. “This Hallix sounds like a fine man,” she forced herself to say, managing not to grit her teeth as she said it, “but what about the rest of them?”

“A mixed bag. Plenty of young men show up, dreaming of riches and glory. They get a rude shock when they have to spend three solid weeks fighting demons at the gate. Half of them just pack up and go home after their first cycle, but the rest manage to make a go of it. But they come from all walks of life. The sons of warriors, some of them, or of blacksmiths, or farmers, or merchants. Some of them are eager to find a wife and start having sons of their own. Some are happy to play the field for a few years – or even longer than that. It’s a hard life. But they get plenty of reward for their efforts. There are those who spend the latter half of each cycle drinking and wetting their cocks in any cunt they can find, but at the end of the day, we all owe them our lives.”

Once her feet were seen to and she’d chosen a fragrant oil to rub through her hair, Gantalla followed Fin to the storage area where the clothes for the serving women were kept.

“Now, let’s see… You’re tall, but plenty lean. Try this on,” Fin said, thrusting a skirt at her. It was exquisite, maroon fabric embroidered with silver threads, and Gantalla felt a rush of satisfaction at being out of her stained trousers – as expensive as they has been – and back in a skirt worthy of a princess.

“It’s beautiful,” she told Fin, tying the laces around her waist. The skirt fell to her ankles, a generous amount of fabric falling in neat pleats.

“Next, a blouse,” Fin said. “Let’s see… Green? No, that doesn’t quite go with the skirt. Blue? No… Oh, but look at this,” she said, pulling a new selection out of the rack. “This would be perfect.”

She’d pulled out a blouse – not the usual design Gantalla would have worn, but nonetheless, it looked expensive and finely made. It was black; satin, shining as brightly as Gantalla’s hair now did, and for all that it was plain, the quality of the garment was obvious.

Shedding the towel that was still draped over her shoulders, Gantalla slid the blouse over her head, feeling more like herself than she had in weeks, now that she was back in clothes befitting of her station.

But when she had the blouse on, she felt her face heat. By the gods, the thing was almost indecent! It sat low against her chest, revealing the deep plunge of her cleavage. Lace sleeves displayed a clear view of her shoulders, and more lace drew attention to her chest. But worst of all, the bodice hugged her breasts, plumping them up so that she felt in danger of her generous mounds spilling right out of it.

“I don’t think this is quite what I’m looking for.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Fin said. “No man would be able to resist you in this. You look ravishing!”

That was exactly the point Gantalla was trying to make, though with far less approval than Fin was displaying.

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good fit,” she said, trying to puff herself up to make the blouse look too tight. With the amount of weight she’d lost recently, it was a hard ask.

But her protests fell on deaf ears. “Trust me, Hallix will take one look at you and damn near lose his mind.” Fin stood back and gave her a critical once-over. “Now all we need to finish the picture is the perfect pair of shoes…”