A walk about Camp

You manage to slip your soldier's grasp before the celebration becomes too raucous. A leader belongs with his men on the battlefield, but not off it. You're not one of them, Magus. You'll never be one of them.

And so you walk among the tents of your camp, your feet take you to Rozanna's where a man calls out to a small crowd of soldiers. He's finely dressed, as all Roz's workers are, pretty too in a soft way. As always you wonder how he'd fare with a pike in his hand. Poorly, you imagine.

“Come now. Come and see, m'lords. Rozanna's Royal Harem ne'er disappoints, and ne'er declines, so long as you've the gold to spare.” The caller speaks with the well practiced confidence of an orator. He gestured to a veil clad woman on a raised platform beside him. “Our latest treasure. From the deserts of Al-Anashab, a beauty unlike any you've seen in the south, or elsewhere in the world. A princess, by birth, made common by circumstance.”

The men let out a long chuckle at that. Everyone wanted to fuck a princess. Amazing how many worked at brothels after being stripped of their birthright by some nefarious uncle or conquering warlord.

“Yours is a delight to be seen, not heard. Lower your hood fine maiden, so they may gaze upon your beauty.” He peddles his wares well, you'll give the caller that. Normally you'd find some release yourself, but with your wound, you hardly have an appetite. Still, you enjoy the show.

Your breath catches in your throat as she reveals her face. Caramel skin lightly freckled over her high cheekbones. Warm, enticing eyes, half hidden under cinnamon hair cut boyishly short.

“I give you Layla! Lost treasure of Al-Anashab, now found. Princess, let them see your full majesty.”

The girl, Layla shot the caller a look of irritation tightens her arms around herself.

“Now, wench.” The caller's face flashes darkly and Layla recoils. Her veils drop, catch briefly on the fullness of her waist, before puddling at her feet.

The men are as awestruck as you. Her breasts are nicely shaped to her slender frame, a narrow waist tapers into wide hips in a perfect hourglass. As she turns you see the fullness of her rump, a pair of rounded peaches. Her skin is smooth and blemish free, dark as her face everywhere but her sex, where she pinkens like ripe fruit. She is a vision.

“Who'll be the first man to show her the ways of love? Who wants a chance at desire? A chance at legend? No Kings or Dukes in this draw, all men are evens before the fates. Only a half ducat for a chance." The caller holds out two small sacks, one already bulging with coin, another that men were drawing odd leather tags from. Each stiff tag was marked with a number.

You step into the crowd to get a better look-

The next thing you see is the ground, eyes watering, breath in painful stabbing gasps. One of your men pressed too tightly on your side and your wound suffered for it. A pair of hands guides you too your feet. Cutter. He seems as surprised as your are.

"Your lordship."

You push him aside, more forcefully than you mean to, but by the all the gods and demons of the north, that hurt.

"Are you following me, Cutter?"

He looks away for a moment. You follow his gaze to Layla. "I-I was-"

"At least you have good taste."

He smiles weakly, but more sure of himself than before.

"You saved my life today. I owe you a debt."

Cutter burns to his ears, but he stands straighter than you've ever seen him. "Tr-truly m'lord, you saved us all."

"A man is his debts, and the debts owed to him."

"M'lord?"

"Just something my father used to say." You nod at the show as it grows ever more frenzied. "Go."

He shoots you one last grateful look and dives into the crowd.

“Hello, Sir Duke.”

A handsome woman approached; her stout figure wrapped in modest white dress, her red hair was pulled back in a simple strand, a few traitorous gray streaks did little to diminish its luster. Her face showed few lines, but spoke of a classic beauty just on the wrong side of middle age, still her full lips and dark eyes aroused even now. Around her neck, pillowed upon her generous bosom was an ornate necklace, large to the point of being garish, silver and gold wrought together to form a naked woman, whose modesty was preserved by a serpent wrapped sensuously around her form. Most Madam's had their talisman cast from bronze, but then most Madam's weren't Rozanna.

This woman had a history, she'd earned her fortune and forged a reputation harder than half the counts in Itheria, and yet you cannot abide insolence. Even from her.

"Madam Rozanna. Have you forgotten your bearing in your old age?"

She cocked a brow, twitched into a wry smile for an instant, though nothing pleasant touched her eyes. Her curtsy could have shamed a princess. "I apologize your grace. Would you have me turn around and try again?"

You take a measured breath. Best not to go further down this road. Roz could make him pay, and pay large.

“I see you have a new attraction.”

“Did you notice?" She starred at him with something approaching contempt. "We are so rarely gifted with your presence, here amongst the common folk, some ... people just slip right through."

Your eyes nearly roll from your head, the balls on this woman to think herself equal to a Duke of Itheria. You cannot help but rise to her baiting.

"She must be quite the whore, if she'll take that entire crowd tonight. Did you train her yourself?"

"No."

"A natural talent then."

"Oh no your grace, I meant, Layla will only take one man tonight."

"I've seen the silver you took from them. Do you think my men are fools? To simply give away their wage for nothing?"

"Perhaps you don't know you're men as well as you think you do, your Grace." Her eyes make a challenge and you rise to meet it.

"Tell me about the girl."

"Why?"

"So that I may purchase her." You meet her stare for stare, not even blinking.

"My lord, I am so sorry you misunderstood." Roz was nearly cooing. The bitch. Sorry indeed. "Tis a lottery, for the fair Layla."

"A what?"

"A lottery my lord." She spoke slowly, as if you were an imbecile. "Men pay to place a-

"I know what a lottery is, whore!" You snap.

"Of course, my lord." Knowing condescension fills her tone. "I cannot simply give her to you."

"Then I'll-

For one glorious second, you forget who you are. You imagine a contest, a sort of fencing, wordplay and mind games, the sort of challenge for merchants and shopkeepers. For men who will never shake the world. They will merely be shook by it. Let this bitch win her game. It is by your grace that she is even allowed to play. Time to rectify that.

You smile at Rozanna, flat and patronizing. You throw back your hood and step into the crowd, at first you make little progress, until one by one men come to recognize you. The crowd parts as if by magic. Although perhaps it is a kind of magic in a way. A power that most men will never have. You march up to the caller and raise your voice.

"My friends." Your eyes search the crowd. Dozens of adoring faces stare back. Yesterday they respected you. Now they love you. Your men would walk through fire for you. It is a dizzying feeling, another kind of power, as intoxicating as magic. "It is true that only one man will lay with Layla tonight. But we have already drawn our lots. In the battle today, one man truly turned the tide. One man rose above all the rest. And his name is...