Freedom Fighters of Trelandar

A Tale of Adventure in the Second Dark Age

Book Nine of the Warlady Series

By Jerome B. Bigge

Chapter Thirty Seven

      She was old, this High Priestess of the temple here at This- tle, the gray streaking her hair leaving no doubts of that here. But yet her eyes were bright, and her smile warm as she ushered me into her office there off the main portion of the temple where the people worshiped. Where stood the golden ankh, the symbol of Lys, the Giver of Life Everlasting, before dozens of candles as a few women knelt quietly here and there seeking the "peace" that could be had no where else. The occupation of our country having made many turn back to the peace and comfort that only Lys gave.

      "You are `troubled'," she spoke, guiding me to a chair and then seating herself in another, her desk there to one side of the room. A view through the window showing the Sierras there in the far distance like dark clouds rising up there on the horizon. Her long white gown, her golden ankh, the "mark" of a Priestess.

      "I didn't expect to become pregnant right now," I told her.

      "You are well off," she observed, my attire ample "proof".

      "I've only been married for less than two years," I said.

      "Is there `love' in your marriage?" she asked me in reply.

      "Yes," I answered back, having no "doubts" about Carl here.

      "Then I fail to see that there is a `problem'," she replied.

      "I became pregnant by accident," I said to her, aware that I did not have the usual dispensation necessary for childbirth now. That I was technically in "violation" of the laws regarding such.

      "It has happened before," she answered. "The `failure rate' of the drug we presently use is about one in ten million or so." The thought going through my mind that while it might be "funny" to everyone else, it didn't seem all that "funny" to me just now! "Given the population of Trelandar, a woman finds herself in your situation about once every decade or so now," she continued here. "The last one was a prostitute down in Trella," she grinned now.

      "I don't find it `amusing'," I said, seeing her nod back.

      "Perhaps you'd better tell more about yourself," she said.

      "I think you will make a fine mother," the High Priestess said to me, giving me the paper that "certified" me as legally a "mother to be" now. Her eyes glowing into mine as I nodded back. I could only hope that the child growing this very moment inside me would be perfect, that it would not be a "thing" like my own sister had given birth to, a horror that never could have lived!!

      "Boy or girl?" Carl asked as I walked up to him, Lady Lana having gone off somewhere else, having said that she wanted to talk to the captain of the occupation forces here in Thistle now.

      "I didn't ask," I smiled, hoping it would be a girl here as I already had a son. We had discussed it some time earlier, it being Carl's wish to have a daughter who might complete our fami- ly, two children being the usual family size allowed, although due to the war, the Priestesses were allowing more to have three.

      "It doesn't really matter that much," he smiled back at me.

      "You'll have to treat me a little more gently," I teased.

      (Some six weeks later)

      "Senator Jan Daris, Mrs. Sanda Talen," Lana said, introduc- ing us as his ship laid there at anchor just off the shore here. Her husband now grinning at me, his eyes roaming over me in a way that such a man might so view a slave girl for possible purchase. I've met such men before in my life, often among the high castes.

      "I trust you keep your husband `happy'," he grinned at me, a frown going over Lana's attractive face as she stood there lis- tening to all this. No doubt well aware that her marriage was in "name" only, that he loved his own slave girls more than her now. He was a big "boar" of a man, much like a boar hog would be if it was possible to say dress one up in clothes and have it then walk around on its hind legs. "You're a good looking wench," he then added, apparently not noticing here that I was also pregnant now.

      "He has no cause to complain, and he treats me too as a wife should be treated," I retorted, not much caring for this "boar"!! He reminded me a lot of some cartoons I'd seen a few years ago... A big pot belly, a face that only a female pig could have loved. How he'd ever gotten a woman like Lana to marry him was a ques- tion I couldn't answer, and I didn't dare ever ask Lana either!!

      "That's good," Senator Daris laughed, then going on to greet another, the thought going through my mind that at least I'd been a lot more successful in love than Lady Lana Daris had ever been! The day was hot, dry, late August, and I was starting to "swell" now quite noticeably, it being apparent that I'd been a bit fur- ther along in my pregnancy than I'd originally thought I'd been.

      "How are the slaves doing?" Lady Lana asked as I came walk- ing up from the sheds with the overseer, the sun just setting now in the west, the hull of Senator Daris' ship just visible against it as it now laid at anchor about three eights of a mile distant.

      "As usual," I answered, aware of the "weight" of my belly.

      "Leave us," Lana spoke to the overseer, the man leaving.

      "You have something personal to discuss," I said to her.

      "He `purchased' me," she said, standing there before me.

      "An `arranged marriage'," I answered, knowing of such.

      "My father `needed' the money," Lana spoke, explaining.

      "Does he love you at all?" I asked, pushing it here a bit.

      "I'm a `trophy', something to show off," Lana answered back.

      "You do have legal rights under the law," I pointed out now.

      "The `law' means nothing to someone like him," she answered.

      "And he's of the sort who gets `revenge'," I answered back, aware that to him she was his "property" and that was that here.

      "Well, at least I `live well'," she grinned back at me then.

      "You do `deserve' better," I spoke softly, touching her arm.

      "I'm a Trelandarian, not an `Imperial'," she said to me now.

      "I know that," I replied, wondering what she was getting at.

      "You rode in to Thistle the day those troopers were killed," she smiled, their bodies having been discovered by some children. The bodies had been attacked by animals, and there hadn't been that much "left", I understood from what I'd heard of the affair. Their weapons had been taken, and their unicorns had disappeared. The Peasants of Trelandar are a crafty lot, well aware that those of any national government are more often "enemy" than "friend".* * As Lorraine once said, "Government is more often the `problem' than the `solution'." She was however an exception to the rule. Perhaps the finest Queen that Trelandar has had, I feel. (Sanda)

      "I'm no match for some three men in a fight," I pointed out. Next to her I was the finest swordswoman on the estate, but Lana no doubt was thinking of something else than sword fights here... She was no doubt aware of my skills at archery, more importantly my proven skills at ambushing an enemy, cutting him down to size.

      "You are of the Warrioresses even if you don't bear the mark of one," she spoke softly, her eyes holding mine as I nodded now. "And if Trelandar is ever to be `free' again we are going to need you to lead us," she continued on, my look of "awe" I assure you not at all faked now! "You, the Lady Sanda Harles of Trelandar."

      "Your sword is sworn to Darlanis," I pointed out to Lana. I should mention here that to a Warrioress such matters are thought to be of importance, part of the caste codes by which they live.

      "And what has she ever done for any of us?" Lana snapped.

      "You are angry at your husband," I said, holding her now.

      "I'm just a slave girl in his eyes!" Lana wept to me then.

      "Then you should learn the wiles of the slave girl," I said. It being held by many that a man loves his slave girl more than he did his wife because the slave girl like his dog never caused him even a bit of trouble, never talked back, or did any of the many things a wife often does to annoy and irritate her husband. "`Make love, not war', as the saying goes," I smiled now to her.

      "I feel like a slave girl when we make love," she replied.

      "A man also values a woman who can make intelligent conver- sation, who is well read, cultured," I pointed out to Lady Lana. I supposed her marriage had little to offer but wealth and a "ti- tle", but Jan Daris wouldn't be here that "long", I pointed out.

      "Lady Sanda Talen, Queen of Trelandar," she grinned at me.

      "We'll speak on this later," I said, seeing her nod back.

      "Maybe Darlanis' `hold' on us isn't as quite as `secure' as she thinks," Carl said to me as I told him of what Lana had said.

      "She just wants `out' of a bad marriage," I explained back.

      "By starting a guerrilla war with the Empire?" he grinned.

      "There are those who would help us," I pointed out to him.

      "We don't have a leader to `inspire' the people," he mused. "Not that I don't think you wouldn't make us a good Queen..." he quickly added as I stood there, "But the Warriors and the Warrio- resses would not follow a woman who was not of their caste here." Bringing up the same "issue" that had raised such problems for me in the past, especially when it was known that I'd actually been raised as a Warrioress, had gone to the Academy, and then had re- fused to accept the "mark of the sword" after my own graduation!

      "Then `who' would you suggest?" I asked, looking at myself in the mirror, wondering when the baby would come, the "swell" of my belly leaving no doubts that I was most definitely pregnant... "Lady Lana, Lady Tirana?" I ventured, both being Warrioresses. I remembered my sister, her height, her beauty. She had been truly a Queen... It would be hard to find anyone who could match her. There was Princess Janis of Dularn, Darlanis' older sister. She was blonde, "beautiful", if not as awe inspiring as Darlanis was.

      "It would take someone like Janet Rogers, the real one," he answered thoughtfully back in reply as I walked over to the bed and stretched out beside him. "Or this `Lorraine Duval'," he now added, referring to the woman who had "started" it all long ago.

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