Free Mother of Lies by Dave Duncan

dominant.
    “Speak! Who do you see?”
    He gasped a few times, then began babbling, “Weru, god, Hero, Weru, warbeast …”
    That was himself, his identity. She left it and tried another.
    “Vulture … m-my lord? …”
    Therek. She tried the one she thought represented herself.
    “The hag …”
    Hag, was it? He was going to pay for that. She tried another.
    “Puss? Oh, Puss … love …”
    Huntleader Fellard was a busy man. She discovered no less than four women in his life, with Puss the current favorite. There were three children, too, which she did not try to relate to mothers. Also parents and a couple of siblings or childhood friends. Those had all faded to background, dead or far away. She ripped them out, ignoring his whimpers of pain. Then the lovers, all four of them—snap, break, cut away. Therek she left, but much decreased. Her own identity she inflated enormously, tying it to fear and sex and his own self-image. This was far more brutal than the simple Dominance she had used on Ern and Brarag. When the conversion was finished, she was the only person left in Huntleader Fellard’s life. He would be devoted to her, obsessed by her. There! She released him, and he crumpled to the floor, gasping and weeping.
    She tottered over to a chair. She was shaking too, head throbbing. “Come here!”
    He tried to stand, failed, and compromised by crawling to her on hands and knees, looking like a corpse escaping from a graveyard. When he arrived, he sank down to kiss her foot. He mumbled something of which only “My lady …” was audible.
    Usually she managed to tamper with her subjects’ motivations and leave their other mental processes intact, at least in the short term, but Fellard would not last long after this butchery. In a couple of thirties he would be a gibbering animal. Fortunately, she did not need him for long.
    “What do you want?”
    “To serve you. Always. To serve you.” He looked up with a hound’s glazed devotion.
    “Rise.” She waited impatiently while he struggled to his feet. “You will obey me and serve me, but you will forget what has happened since you walked in.”
    He shook his head a few times to clear it, then his pupils dilated and he gave her the same lecherous smile he had given the girl yesterday. He was Saltaja’s, body and soul.
    “How may I be of service, my lady?”
    “The Celebre prisoner has escaped.”
    “I heard.” He tried hard not to grin, but not quite hard enough. “That is extremely distressing, my lady! Apparently Hostleader Therek ordered that she was to be guarded …” The amusement faded into incredulity.
    “Yes?”
    “… on pain of death. But …” He smiled grotesquely. “But that is only an expression! Werists can’t be put to death. I mean who …? How? I expect your honored brother will punish them severely, but … not put … to …”
    “There are eight of them locked in the room. You know where I mean?”
    “Yes, my lady.” He was seriously worried now.
    “Go and get them. Take them to the herb garden and kill them.”
    “My lady! They will resist. Innocent men will—”
    “Think of it as a training exercise,” she said. “Kill them. In the herb garden. You will obey me.”
    Face white as bone, Huntleader Fellard whispered, “I will obey you.”

 
    FABIA CELEBRE
     
    had never truly expected to be forced into marrying a Werist, but it was nice to think that Cutrath Horoldson no longer lurked in her future. He could vanish over the Edge and enjoy his military career without ever knowing about the wedded bliss he had so narrowly escaped. She had other problems to worry about.
    Free Spirit was a typical riverboat—long and shallow, with two masts bearing triangular lateen sails. She might rank a little older and smellier than most, but Dantio knew her of old and had judged that she was speedy enough to outrun any likely pursuit. Her crew and owners were an extended family of around twenty people, ranging from babes to