Hey everyone :) If you liked my mom's last story then I hope you'll like this one too. It's another slave fic but it's one of the few that I think is finished. I wanted to make sure that I posted another finished one because since my mom has so many stories she works on a few more than others. Anyway, here's my mom's next story. R&R!

Hope you enjoy :)

She was surrounded. There was no hope for it…she was outnumbered and surrounded by the enemy. Gods…Midorians…whatever had possessed her clan to challenge this particular group of hill dwellers? Perhaps it was the thought of the food they could steal…the fact they were so high into the hills as it was. The lowland drought had gone on for seasons…food was scarce, water even scarcer…she shook her head slightly, blocking the thrust of a Midorian sword with her staff, praying the hard tarok wood would be able to stand the brunt of the metal weapon the warrior wielded against her. This had been a foolish endeavor…the Midorian's were a fierce race…well fed by the life giving streams that gushed out of the mountains…strong from the constant supply of food and water that abounded in their territory. Her own people were weak…worn down by the constant battle for survival…tired, starved and beaten by the seasons, the Gods…who knew…?

Shouting off to her right drew her notice, but not her gaze as she fought off another Midorian attacker. It was futile she knew…but the alternative was death…or worse than death…becoming a slave. She did not relish either…but death was better than slavery…especially for a female…especially a female slave to a Midorian. She tried not to shudder. Rumor and tales abounded about how these Midorian liked to torture their slaves…their female slaves were more oft than not used for bed sport…and the sport was not particularly of a gentle variety. The shouting grew louder…she heard Paduin call for the Lowrians to retreat, but if most were like herself…there was no place to retreat too…she was surrounded by battle on all sides…she glanced about herself, wondering where the next strike would happen…feeling a jolt of pure terror glide down her spine as a hulking Midorian, dressed in battle attire lumbered into the midst of those attacking her.

Gods…she could not stand against him she knew, taking in his size…the feral snarl on his lips beneath his metal helmet. She did not have the protection of one of those…her own helmet and chest plate made of leather. She was no match for any of these Midorians…yet she had managed to hold them at bay…the large one however, she knew would best her…realize she was a woman and…

She didn't want to think about what else. She had to get free…she had to escape into the trees where some of her clan were already making a mad dash in hopes of losing the Midorians in the thick undergrowth. Attack and hide…hide and attack…it was the only hope her clan had for having enough food to feed themselves and their village…and the fact that they used women…such as herself only assured the desperateness of the situation. Besides she was expendable…half Lowrian…half Summitian…she was a half-breed…expendable…even if the reasons for her existing were not her own doing…she was less than her clan as a whole in their eyes…it would not matter if she did not return…making her only too aware that her own self-preservation was in no one's hands but her own.

Her attention snapped back to the huge Midorian slashing his way toward her…she felt the need to retreat at his onslaught, but could not, surrounded as she was. The first blow of his sword broke her tarok staff in twain. She gasped and staggered back under the force of the sword, nearly losing her footing, but she managed to stay upright, using the two halves of her staff to jab at the hulking warrior now intent upon only her it seemed. She could make out his eyes beneath his helm…as gray as slate…as foreboding as storm clouds that brought wild storms and carried torrential rain…not that she had seen those in a while, but she could still remember their intense brooding quality…and this warrior's eyes were no less intense…or brooding.

He sidestepped her quick jab with the splintered end of her staff, the jagged tip a weapon in itself, if only she could dare get close enough to him for it to find purchase. The thought of luring him closer made her shudder and she bit back a cry as his sword swung downward, contacting the side of her thigh and she grunted…stupidly she realized it was the flat side of the weapon and not the razor sharp edge and she wondered about it, why he had not sliced her…even as she whirled away hissing at the pain. She blocked his next swing feeling the force of it up into her arms and shoulders as one of the pieces of her staff went sailing off well passed her.

"Take him Aragan…" she heard a soldier off to her back shout and she realized the others that had surrounded her were now standing back…watching the fight between herself and this beserker Midorian. Most of the fighting was now over…a few small skirmishes…the groans and cries of the dying and wounded reached her ears, but she had to ignore all that…or she would be joining them she knew.

"Not a him…" she heard the man before her growl, his voice like shards of rock cascading down a rocky Cliffside, "It's a girl you bunch of fools…"

She started, she could not help herself. How had he known? She was dressed in leggings and armor much like her male clansmen…covered from leather helm…to booted toe, she wondered how he knew with such assuredness she was indeed female. Gods…what would it mean to her…that he knew her true sex…would he kill her anyway? She shuddered to think of the alternative.

The shouting at her back grew as the warrior dared approach her, sword tip pointed to the ground now, he was on her before she could formulate a defense…decide what to do to best impede him. He shoved her, sending her nearly sprawling as she staggered back to gain purchase and not fall…the flat side of his sword again struck her, only this time in the shoulder, making her totter aside, off balance and kilter, she gasped, clutching at her helm as it went tumbling off her head.

She heard the stunned silence behind her, then the swift intake of several breaths as her hair fell from the helm, swirling about her shoulders and back, it was her last realization before she sprawled into the dirt, now at the warrior's booted feet. "Don't…" she gasped-cried seeing the sword go up…perhaps death was not better than slavery her mind decided, before she could rationalize her reaction to the impending stroke that would slice her head from her shoulders, "Don't….I…I forfeit…"

"It is more than forfeit I will hear from your lips wench," the warrior growled, reaching down as she tried to scrabble away on hands and heels, he snatched a handful of her hair. "Gods damned…" she heard him snap, "Witch's hair…black as soot…not the lovely gold of a Lowrian female," he commented, wrapping a handful about his gloved hand.

She winced at the pull…at his words. She knew the color of her hair…it was not blonde like her clanswomen's were wont to be in all shades from nearly white…to a darker golden color…instead it was the color of a Summitian…the higher dwelling race that was all black-haired and dark skinned to better absorb the rays of the solar star in the colder clime. The Lowrians were light skinned, almost pale due to their distance from the star that lighted their world…but the color of her eyes…as blue as a bird's egg would certainly prove her mixed breeding. She ducked her head, not wanting him to see the tell-tale proof, not sure why it mattered…not to the Midorian…who was sleek and sun bronzed, his hair no doubt a rich ermine brown with streaks of gold.

She tried once more the scoot away, but his grip yanked her head forward and she found herself on hands and knees, staring at his booted feet. Nearly panicked, realizing the vulnerability of her position, she sought to shift to the side and roll onto her hip, but he twisted her hair and pulled upward, keeping her in a position of submission that even a female dog could recognize. She snarled, not liking the comparison…perhaps it was better to die…than submit…

"Half-breed…" she heard the shout behind her, her face ignited, even if she had heard it a thousand times, the taunts tossed at her by her own clan, it still never ceased to shame her. Half-breed…she had no place…not really…even if her mother had been shamefully debased by a Summitian during a raid. Her hands and knees now scoured by the loose gravel on the hillside burned, but not half as painfully as her eyes did. They would likely kill her, she admitted, knowing it was useless to fight, his grip on her hair assured her of his strength…of his ability to snap her in twain if he so wished.

Momentarily cowed and humiliated, on hands and knees at his feet, with her backside in the air for all behind her to view, she was not prepared for him to drop to his haunches and snap her arm from beneath her, twisting it behind her back. She fell, landing on a shoulder and the side of her face, feeling the gravel cut into her cheek and she cried out, a muffled sound that got her not a hint of remorse…instead only the taste of dirt on her tongue. The cold of a blade touched the flesh at the back of her neck and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for it to slip lower…to slice her throat…for the spray of her blood to saturate the ground…

Her chest armor fell away beneath her, where she still lay with her bottom in the air…her face buried in the dirt…the smell of it dusty and dry to her nose. When that same blade slit the waist band of her leathers, she panicked and started to struggle, only to have her arm shoved higher up her back, as with one hand the warrior twisted her arm and gripped a handful of hair…his other hand free to cut or slice…whatever he intended.

"Be still…" the gravelly voice snapped above her, "I have no qualms about spilling your half-breed blood upon the ground," it assured her and she could not help but let go a terrified shiver. She felt her armor and tunic pool beneath her belly….cooler air touched her sweating back…raced over the nudity of her backside as her leathers were ripped down and away.

"No…" she gasped, realizing he was stripping her naked…her protest got her arm shoved higher up her back until she was sure it would likely come snapping from it's socket…still she protested, "No….don't…please…don't…"

Not sure what he intended…she cried out when his free hand shoved her head back against the ground. "Spoils of war…" he announced loudly and she heard the group behind her to a man shout their agreement…

"YO AHH…" the roar echoed throughout the valley, then he was between her calves, his knees spreading her legs wider and she nearly screamed…at the vulnerable position she was now in…with him behind her, holding her arm…her hair…he pulled her head back and she gasped, sucking in a breath sure his blade would find the upward tilt of her neck and slice deep…spilling her blood on the ground.

Instead an arm slid beneath her hips, jerking them upright, even as the other hand held her shoulders down, but pulled her head back at a painful arch. Hard, hot heat touched between her legs…her slit she knew from whispered conversations she had heard around campfires among the young women who gathered there to gossip…but mostly excluded her. He was touching her slit…

She bucked and his free hand slapped her naked bottom…she squealed throwing herself forward to escape another blow…to escape that hot heat against her…she felt it burrow deeper…pressing ruthlessly against her softness and she whimpered, not sure what he intended now…only that he touched her where no man ever had. "Please…" she whispered, then screamed long and loud when that hot ram against her thrust deep into her body…there…the pain exploded in her belly….lower between her thighs and she vowed he had cleaved her in twain, had shoved a dagger into that most intimate and tender part of her.

"Gods damn…" she heard the warrior mutter, even as she fought the waves of nausea that roiled over her. That hard instrument of torture ripped out of her and she cried out again…sagging onto the ground, not caring if she got a mouth and nose full of dirt. Gods…she still burned…deep inside…the smell of blood was coppery and dank mixed with the humor of the earth beneath her cheek.

Would she bleed to death now? From some wound he had inflicted internally inside her. She had never heard of such a torture before…but these Midorians' were masters at torture and pain she knew. She sagged flat of her belly in the dirt and pebbles, not caring if she scraped already raw skin. She heard the warrior curse once more and then she was jerked up off the ground…crying out at the visciousness of it…how it nearly pulled her screaming shoulder from the socket.

"Spoils of war…my spoils of war," she heard the warrior announce…another Yo Ahh resounded from those behind her, even as she heard the whispers and bemused amazement. Virgin. Half-breed. No Dakeem…the word used for warrior women who traveled with scouting and hunting parties of her clansmen. She bowed her head, naked now, her arm twisted up her back, even as he still pulled her hair.

"I am Aragan…Commander of the Midorian Elite…and you are my slave wench," he hissed over her shoulder by her ear, "You have been mounted on the field of honor before my men…and as such you are my possession, marked as any bitch with my men as witness…submit and you will be well treated…fight…and I will take your neck between my hands…"

With that he shoved her forward, his hard hot body coming into contact with her sweat damp back, sending shivers down her spine. She was naked…obviously he had no intent on finding something to cover her. She bowed her head, shamed…her thighs shivering with remembered pain at his assault. Something sticky and wet seeped out of her, coating her inner thighs and she blushed hotly, afraid to see her own blood marring her skin she let him shove her along before him. Lost…all was lost…she was a slave…a much worse fate than being denied and shunned by her clan she did not doubt. But what was she to do? None would come to her aid….that she knew…her fate was in her own hands now…and she would have to escape…or die trying she decided…death was indeed preferable to the pain and torture this Midorian commander could inflict upon her.