Free The Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley Page B

congress with a woman, send him to our tents and no doubt one of us will satisfy him, with no such complications. Every time one of your men goes after a girl out of season and goes into the villages, all the tribes get the backlash; more tales about how lawless we all are, men and women alike.”
    “Don’t scold me, Lady,” the man said, hiding his face briefly with his hands. “None of us is more than human. And who is that, hiding there behind your companion?” He looked around Elaria, and winked at Kassandra; he looked so droll, with his hairy face screwed up behind his matted hair, that she burst out laughing. “Have you stolen a child from Priam’s city?”
    “Not so,” Penthesilea said. “It is my sister’s daughter, who is to dwell with us for a few seasons.”
    “A pretty little thing,” said the Kentaur. “Soon all my young men will be fighting over her.”
    Kassandra blushed and hid behind Elaria again. In Priam’s palace, even her mother freely admitted that Polyxena was “the pretty one,” while Kassandra was “the clever one.” Kassandra had told herself that she did not care; still, it was pleasing to think someone found her pretty. “Well,” Penthesilea said, “let us see this honey, and the woman you want us to take off your hands.”
    “Will you feast with us? We are roasting a kid for the evening meal,” the Kentaur said, and Penthesilea glanced at her women.
    “We had hoped to sleep this night in our own tents,” she protested, “but the kid smells savory and well roasted; it would be a shame not to take our share.” And Elaria added, “Why not rest here for an hour or two? If we do not get home tonight, tomorrow is another day.”
    Penthesilea shrugged. “My women have answered for me; we will accept your hospitality with pleasure—or perhaps just with greed.”
    The Kentaur beckoned and rode toward the central campfire, and Penthesilea motioned to her women to follow. A young woman knelt before the fire, turning the spit where a kid was roasting. The fat dripping on the fire smelled wonderful, and the crisped skin sizzled. The women slid from their horses, and after a time the men followed.
    Penthesilea went at once to the woman turning the spit. Kassandra noticed with horror that both her ankles had been pierced and that her feet were hobbled together by a rope passed through the wounds, so that she could not take large strides. The Amazon Queen looked down at her, not unkindly, and asked, “You are the captive?”
    “I am; they stole me from my father’s house last summer.”
    “Do you want to return?”
    “He swore when he pierced my feet that he would love me and care for me forever; will he cast me off now? Would my father have me back in his house crippled and my belly swelling with a Kentaur’s child?”
    “He tells me you are not happy here,” Penthesilea said. “If you wish to come with us, you may dwell in our village until your child is born, and then return to your father’s house or wherever you wish to go.”
    The woman’s face twisted with weeping. “Like this?” she said, gesturing toward her mutilated ankles.
    Penthesilea turned to the Kentaur leader and said, “I would have taken her willingly, had she been unharmed. But we cannot return her like this to her father’s village. Wasn’t it enough for your young man to carry her away and take her virginity?”
    The Kentaur spread his hands helplessly. “He swore he wanted her forever, to keep and cherish, and feared only that she might manage ever to escape him.”
    “You should know, after all these years, how long that kind of love endures,” chided the Amazon Queen. “It seldom outlasts the taking of the maidenhead. An eternal love sometimes lasts as long as half a year, but never survives pregnancy. Now what can we do with her? You know as well as I, she cannot be returned to her father’s village this way. This time you have gotten yourself into something from which we cannot