The wizard strode to the table and inverted a timepiece. “When these grains empty, Princess, you shall present yourself to Shahar III, Rapasha of the Cimbran Empire. If you refuse, you will be sport for the men.”

The young woman stood by a large bronze tub brimmed with steaming water. Willowy and fair complexioned, she was dressed in a long powder-blue robe bordered with yellow lace and cinched at the waist by a jeweled sash. Corn-colored hair in two braids tumbled about her slender shoulders. Long fingers tightened nervously as she watched the two men who had moments ago entered her tent unannounced. Her prison.

The speaker was heavy, bordering on obese, possessed of a round face, mottled complexion and black, emotionless eyes. Clothed in a silk robe with matching cape, he clutched a small carved staff in one thick-fingered hand. The second man was short, his body bent forward from some old sickness. His black, greased hair lay plastered across a pronounced brow. He stared sullenly at the carpeted floor.

The woman fought to calm herself, and with effort asked, “Who are you?”

The fat man sketched a mocking bow. “I am Lord T’Walla, wizard supreme to the Cimbran Empire.”

“Empire?” she blurted, sudden outrage overcoming fear. “The empire so recently shamed on the field of battle, its army shattered by King Talik of Coranthe, my city freed of your vile occupation? That empire? Perhaps the Rapasha and his rabble should continue running, instead of enslaving innocent women.”

T’Walla’s eyes narrowed. “A sharp tongue, hmm? I would not exactly call Princess Selenne of Anticus innocent, would you?” He bowed again and left, the small man on his heels.

Issue out of print.