Free Dragonfang by Paul Collins

bit of a devil,’ laughed Zimak from behind him.
    ‘Get the other women, bind those raiders hand and foot,’ said Daretor. ‘After that, I have a little hunting to do.’
    The other three freebooters were hiding amid the palms near the oasis. They tried to rally and take Daretor and Zimak by surprise, but the fight did not last long. They returned to the camp to find that the women had already tried, sentenced, and executed the prisoners.
    ‘Little work for lawyers in this world,’ observed Zimak, suddenly nervous about sharing a tent with any of the women.
    It took some time to convince the women that Daretor and Zimak were alone, and not part of a larger army. Although they were their saviours, the women seemed loath to fully trust two men who had just defeated the barbarians when their own men – thirty strong – had been annihilated.
    The eldest woman introduced herself as Premiel, but she was known among her people as the Matriarch. She knelt before the pair and almost ritualistically offered them anything from the caravan. Her outstretched hands encompassed the entire camp.
    ‘Yours by feudal right,’ she finished. ‘Is there anything you wish?’
    Zimak nodded enthusiastically. He grinned wolfishly at one of the Matriarch’s handmaidens, then realised that the red pattern on her robes was blood. He stopped grinning.
    ‘We expect nothing in return,’ Daretor said, sharply. ‘Unless in the way of directions. We are homeless men and seek employment.’
    ‘Homeless, yes,’ said the Matriarch. ‘Mere men, no. But you appear to mean us no harm; in fact you have done us a great service. If you seek work, then travel with us as our royal bodyguard. We can pay well, whether gold or charm is to your taste.’
    Daretor’s hand came down firmly on Zimak’s shoulder.
    ‘Steady,’ Zimak whined, ‘I’ve been injured.’ He rotated his arm. There was nothing like a wound to gain sympathy from women, or so he believed.
    ‘We need directions, supplies, weapons –’
    ‘And money,’ added Zimak. ‘And – mummph.’
    ‘We must really be on our way,’ said Daretor, striking Zimak’s shoulder.
    The Matriarch spoke quickly to her people. After a whispered exchange, the Matriarch told Daretor of a city to the north that had been recently besieged. Apparently, the Matriarch and her entourage were seeking refuge in the southern kingdoms. They were fleeing the D’ai, a race of desert dwellers that had been pillaging the land for some time. Unfortunately, mercenaries from fallen keeps had formed lawless bands and were now hunting in packs, a law unto themselves.
    ‘We are the court women of a small principality. Our noblemen have joined forces to fight off the enemy and my husband Prince Ulad has sent us where we would be safe while they are away,’ the Matriarch finished off.
    The Matriarch insisted that Daretor and Zimak stay awhile. She had all but dragged Daretor to the main tent. With two clicks of her fingers she dismissed her handmaiden, a well endowedwoman by the name of Andzu, who all but dragged a grinning Zimak from the tent.
    Confronted by the Matriarch, a woman obviously used to getting what she wanted, Daretor felt more nervous than he was when battling the raiders. He could have easily asked that the other women stay. However, he banished the thought when the tent flap was pulled tight and strapped.
    ‘We’re alone,’ said the Matriarch, arching an eyebrow. She looked at him coyly, with eyes half draped by thickly lacquered lashes.
    ‘Indeed we are,’ said Daretor.
    ‘It’s been a long time since I have been with one so obviously strong as you. In fact, I have never been with one such as you.’
    ‘You may be disappointed,’ said Daretor, struggling to do whatever was vaguely honourable under the circumstances.
    ‘Disappointed?’ Premiel laughed hoarsely. ‘Your friend is as skinny as a plains dog, but you –’ She ran her highly ornamented and colourful fingernails down the length