The Lost Prince--A Ponygirl Epic

CHAPTER FOURTEEN—SISTERS OF THE CIRCLE

Daka's Mistress, the Lady Koho-Sen, was accorded an elegant suite all her own, and assigned a personal handmaiden for the duration of her stay, however long that would be.

She would have preferred to have her robes cleaned and pressed before the meeting, but there was no time for it. She did, however, allow herself the luxury of a sponge bath while the handmaiden did her best to brush the dirt from her robes. As with all of Lady Lena's servants the handmaiden was cross-trained in the arts of pleasure, had Koho-Sen been so inclined. However, the meeting was more important than her won personal discomfort at having gone days without release. Reinserting the large, formal plug that indicated her clan was scant comfort.

Due to the important, and somewhat sensitive, nature of the meeting, the invited had agreed to attend alone, leaving all aides, pets, or others in their personal quarters, if they'd brought them at all. Koho-Sen had had the longest to travel, and had left late. She'd opted to travel alone, which had proved fortunate for Daka—he'd had a place to sit.

The handmaiden helped her into her robes after her skin had air dried. Her hands casually brushed the sides of Lady Koho-Sen's breasts as she fastened the robe around her, clear sign she was eager to be of more service. The Lady had no time for that, though, and pretended not to notice.

She kept the hood back to better show off her glossy, freshly brushed hair, and went barefoot, as was customary. She followed the handmaiden through a maze of narrow hallways toward the meeting room. The Lady Lena's residence was constructed so as to slow and confuse an invading enemy force—the corridors were narrow, to eliminate any advantage they might have in numbers.

Subdued lighting lit the narrow wood and paperboard paneled corridors. The paperboard sections were painted in colorful historical murals. Candlestuffed statua in small alcoves provided additional light.

To an uneducated observer the house might have seemed silent and empty. Koho-Sen, however, knew the Lady Lena's estate was a bustling hive of activity, rendered quiet by liberal use of soundproofing materials during construction. The walls were much more substantial than they appeared.

Lady Koho-Sen adopted a placid mein, her face blank, unreadable mask, which concealed the churning of her heart. So much was happening, so fast, most of which would affect the Clans and the bloodline, for better or worse. Outwardly, however, she remained calm, even as she seethed at having to walk so slowly—all of the Lady Lena's household staff, including the handmaidens, were hobbled, forcing them to adopt a slow, shuffling stride. En route they passed two other errand runners, dressed in the blue accented robes of the house, shuffling along quickly. The women bowed as they passed but said nothing as they were gagged.

After another series of turns her handmaiden slid open a door panel to reveal a spacious antechamber. In it against one wall was a row of kneeling handmaidens. They rose and bowed as she entered, and her own led her across the room to a wide door. Statua in alcoves at either end were the only feature of the bare room, lit by recessed fixtures near the ceiling.

The wide closed door was framed by two armed overmuscled geldings, who nodded respectfully at her but didn't bow—it would have required them to take their eyes off the room a dereliction of duty. Their shiny black armor looked like the carapaces of giant beetles, standing upright.

Koho-Sen counted the waiting handmaidens and guessed, correctly, that she was the last to arrive. That thought put a tiny crease in her forehead, which she quickly erased. She nodded and one of the guards slid open the heavy soundproofed door, revealing the meeting room beyond. Lady Koho-Sen glided in silently, hearing the door slide closed behind her.

One by one her Bloodsisters turned and bowed in her direction. The meeting room was designed in a circle, with overstuffed cushions for seats on the floor in a ring, evenly spaced around a low thick-topped polished oak table. The rest had not yet taken their positions around the table, and had been standing in small groups, talking, waiting for the last to arrive.

Now that the group was complete they began the formal greetings. Each went to another, in no order, greeted them by their formal name and bowed, to show respect, honor, and courtesy, and then they kissed, a sign of their love and bond of sisters of the royal blood.

There was the Lady Lena, pale and slender as a reed in formal blue robe, the color of her clan. Her hair was as straight and pale as cornsilk, and hung to her waist. Her house was known to all as one of the finest specialized schools in the realm, producing the most exquisitely skilled assayan and handmaidens one could ever wish to own. Her trainers were now working with specimens genbred from tenth generation stock, crafted on site by her own gifted geneticists. Her staff also trained small numbers of ponies, as quality mounts this far from the royal court were hard to acquire even for nobility.

The Lady Piscine, of Clan Ophidi, was there in her green robes. Her whipcord body made the Lady Lena look thickwaisted. Lady Koho-Sen tried not to show her shock—obviously the Lady Piscine had her own gene-weavers working hard on her own body. She'd long strived to warp her body closer to that of her clan's namesake, and obviously had experienced recent successes. Her head was now noticeably wedge-shaped, her skin much darker, and when they kissed Koho-Sen found her sister's tongue was now forked and long enough to stroke the back of her throat. What changes had been wrought under her robe Koho-Sen could only guess. A waste of resources, Lady Koho-Sen thought, but they were Lady Piscine's resources to do with as she pleased.

Lady Roba Haigu-Sha, arguably the furthest from the throne of those in the room, both by her blood and, some said, crude behavior, wore the brown robes of Clan Cynophae. She was a plain, unremarkable woman in appearance, with short brown hair. Her chosen name and family history, however, belied her plain exterior. In fact, Koho-sen was nearly certain she'd chosen the name Donkey Wife as an undeniable symbol that she had no aspirations toward the throne, although the descriptor wasn't truly accurate—all the donkeys had died long before any of the women in the room were born.

The dark-eyed Lady Main of Clan Maritate was as quiet as usual, giving her but a quick sweet kiss. Her purple robes shimmered in the light from the one wide window, which looked to be at least thirty feet off the ground. The wall outside, of course, would be impossible to scale.

In her pearl white robes Lady Hirondelle of Clan Bukkake was radiant. Her skin was lightly tan and nearly glowed, it was so perfect. Her brown ringlets, frosted with blonde, framed a pretty but unremarkable face. Her hair was shorter than the last time they'd met, barely covering the nape of her neck. She had a soft body, with large round breasts, but was shapely, not fat.

Lady Rosetta, as usual, appeared irritated and impatient with the formalities, although she performed them flawlessly. Her black hair was in a long braid running to the center of her back. She wore the silver and tan of Clan Infibula.

"Sisters," Lady Lena said finally when the greetings were done, motioning them to their cushions. Each was color coded, and Koho-Sen found Lady Hirondelle on her left and Lady Piscine on her right. The floor was sunken underneath the table, and instead of sitting crosslegged she found legs could hang over the edge. A small platform was there for her feet, and leaning back, found the second vertical pillow behind her was properly supportive.

More formalities were now called for, as each in turn spoke of their clan and its births, deaths, and fortunes in general. Lady Koho-Sen learned little she didn't already know, most of which was unimportant. However, each woman had a disturbingly similar tale to tell, of organized raiding parties intent on stealing slaves and other property, and rumors of a new challenge to the bloodline.

Lady Hirondelle had heard no such rumors, but her clan had been the hardest hit by the raiding parties.

"They spend little time going after my ponies or pets," she told her sisters, "as you would expect. Instead they raid my clinics and kidnap my boys. Once, when a returning hunting party surprised them as they were making away with half a dozen seed-bearers, rather than give them up they killed them, and then themselves." Clan Bukkake operated several inseminariums in the North-South Territory, all far north of Lady Lena's lands.

"We've had to triple the guards, and it's affected our success rate. Nervous squirters make for skittish seed, or so they say. I can only suspect it has something to do with a challenge to the bloodline claim, as you say."

They all nodded, wondering what was in their future. The Lady Piscine shifted in her seat, easing a twinge in her knee, and suddenly the front of her robe began to move. A squirming shape rose up inside the green folds of her robe, twisting here and there. The Lady looked down at it with annoyance.

"Lady Piscine!" Lady Lena scolded her. "I specifically requested that we leave all handmaidens, aides, pets, and playthings , outside the meeting room, so there would be no distractions. It was agreed to." She pointed at the wrist-thick coils that were twisting inside Piscine's robes. "Have you tired of your promise, or is there a problem?"

Lady Piscine bowed her head in shame and embarrassment. "My apologies, sisters. I forgot it was with me."

"Can you calm your toy enough to continue, or do you need to break the circle to remove it from the room?"

"The circle will remain unbroken," she murmured, red-faced. She bent her head to the undulating coils and whispered, so quietly none could hear, then tapped it once with a fingertip.

The coils swirled anew, but this time heading downward. Lady Piscine canted sideways slightly as she lifted a leg, then resettled herself on the cushions again when the coils had disappeared. Only one familiar with her could have read the expression on her face as the snaking coils returned to their resting place.

"Lady Koho-Sen, you were next," Lady Lena told her.

"I would prefer to go last, if it pleases my sisters," she said slowly. There was no objection, so Lady Piscine began speaking, grateful for the chance to so quickly take the others' minds off her faux pas. With her lands deep in the southeast, she'd had no trouble with raiders, but had heard innumerable rumors about the impending bloodline challenge.

"But no one seems to know from whence they originate," she finished. "However, they are far too numerous and consistent for me to discount, whatever my desires."

Finally, when all others had had their say, it was Lady Koho-Sen of Clan Anomeatia's turn. She spoke of her clan's fortunes, but only in generalities, as it wasn't important.

"We too have had experience with these raiding parties," she told the circle. "Small, well-equipped, fast moving, they attack without warning. We have suffered only two raids," she said, "but, I'm sorry to say, our defense was nigh ineffectual. Patrols have been increased, and alertness is up, but I, as do we all, have many holdings that physically are nearly impossible to secure properly.

The women around the table nodded, worried looks on their faces.

"As to the rumors, prior to my leaving I had heard nothing new to you," she told them. "However," she raised her voice slightly, "my coach was attacked last night on the way here."

"Attacked?" "By who?" "What happened?" "Where?" The chorus of voices subsided quickly and they waited.

"An hour or so past sunset, last night, on the west road just this side of the Wash," she told them. "It was a Berserker-Shrike."

"What?"

"Impossible. None have been seen in years, and never this far north," Lady Main said.

"That is true," she admitted. "But there it was."

"No one's ever survived an attack," Lady Lena pointed out to her. "That is, with all their limbs intact."

"I had warning that it was coming, and had a lightning rod ready."

"How could you know it was coming?" Lady Piscine asked.

"At night?" Lady Hirondelle added.

"That is another story in itself," Lady Koho-Sen told them. She took a deep breath, then announced, "I think I've located the Lost Prince."

Stunned silence greeted her pronouncement. The sisters, for once, had nothing to say.

Lady Lena cleared her throat. "Lady Koho…." she began, but didn't know what else to say.

"Are you sure?" Lady Main asked suspiciously.

Lady Koho shook her head. "Sure? No. But he had the Mark, and everything else about him is right."

"But what of the Proof? He cannot be the Prince without the altering issue, according to the legend."

"I don't know," she admitted. "There was no one but me there when I found him. If I had given him the Test, and he was the one, I would have been useless at this meeting. And with events as rushed as they have been, I have had no other opportunity to try his issue on one of my pets or handmaidens." She wanted no one, not even her sisters, to suspect the Lost Prince might be close. There was no way to predict their actions, and she feared at least one of them might put their own fortunes and the fortunes of their clan above that of the realm.

"Surely we would have heard of him before," Lady Roba said, a tad unsure.

"For a number of reasons, he has not yet had a chance to lay with a woman," Lady Koho said, "else I'm sure we would have heard of him by now, if he is the One."

"Just as the legend is written," Lady Rosetta said.

"Where is this supposed Prince," Lady Main demanded. "We need to know, and we need to know quickly."

"Safe," was all she would say. "And you are correct, we do need to act swiftly on this. Because of the gathering storm around the bloodline, if naught else. But I am wary."

"Why?"

"I was too far north to be attacked by a wandering, wild Berserker," she said. "Which means it had to've been sent after me. And no one knew where I was going but the people in this room, and perhaps those threatless peasants I ran into along the way who could see with their own eyes which direction I was headed."

"Lady Koho! That is a serious charge," Lady Lena told her.

"I make no charges," she demurred. "I simply make an observation. Do you deny that there could be a person in one of your camps who might have spoken of this meeting or your departure out of turn? That is all it would have taken, if indeed there is a mind behind these raids and rumors."

That was a large bite, and they sat there for a while in silence, chewing on it.

"This is very worrisome," Lady Lena said. "I need to think on this. Come, it is midday already. Let us eat, and relax for a while before continuing. Lady Piscine, will you give the blessing?"

They arose and retired into an adjoining chamber, also guarded, where a grand buffet had been laid out. Handmaidens were called in, and the ladies lay relaxed on cushioned divans as they were fed and pleasured by the Lady Lena's skilled help.

Any questions the sisters might have had about whether the disturbance had been caused by a plaything or the Lady Piscine herself, perhaps some new appendage that she didn't quite have control of, were answered when she reclined on a futon to eat. The eight foot anaconda emerged glistening from her robes and curled up on her stomach while she fed it shredded chicken and beef. Its skinny forked tongue continually tested the air.

Lady Main lay half on her side on a divan, being fed by one handmaiden with a tray of food while another massaged her breasts through the open neck of her cotton robe. A white cotton undershirt was all she wore beneath the robe, and it was sheer and thin as gauze. A handmaiden had led in several jido adepts with their shorn heads, some of them very young, and one now had her head buried between the Lady Main's thighs. Glossy purple folds covered her down to her shoulderblades as she lay on her stomach at the end of the divan.

"Your trainers should be commended," the Lady told her host in-between morsels of food. "This one could touch her ears with her tongue if she do desired, I do believe," she said, indicating the prone adept.

"Your praise is gratefully acknowledged, and will be passed on," the Lady Lena said with a nod.

Lady Roba Haigu-Sha had no use for the handmaidens or the adepts, and preferred to feed herself. She was provided with a clean bowl of water and a lemon scented cloth to clean up, and when she asked, was directed to the appropriate anteroom.

Formal robes were not designed for convenience, ever. She quickly unwrapped hers and hung it on the wooden peg, then pulled down her loose silk undershorts. She lowered her backside into the oval hole, which was raised a foot or so off the floor. In the brightly lit space below it she could see the collection bowl.

The edges of the oval hole were padded, so she could sink her backside down into it comfortably. It wrapped around her lower back and her thighs, keeping her upright while she relieved herself. When she was finished she head the scrape of the bowl being removed, then felt the soft cloth as she was wiped clean by the attendant. The cloth was followed by a thorough tonguing, for the utmost in cleanliness, then she was gently blown dry. Warm hands on her buttocks helped her to stand up, but when she looked down all she saw was a fresh bowl. The old bowl, or rather its contents, would, she was certain, eventually make it to the fields outside.

The cloth wipe was a nice touch, if a little extravagant, what with the cost of cotton, and she didn't bother with it in her household. Her clan, like all the others, had its own share of women useless but for their obedient tongues, and she'd heard it only took a few months for a new toilet attendant to get used to the task. Perhaps it was just an extra courtesy the Lady Lena afforded her guests.

No business was discussed during the break—it would have been bad form. And while most of the Ladies availed themselves of the services of a handmaiden or adept, they did not touch each other. The circle was still unbroken, spiritually if not physically, and touching was not allowed until the ceremonial joining, the kanyu , at the close of the formal meeting.

The time came to resume the discussion, and they filed back into the meeting room and took their place in the circle.

"We will, I assume, be discussing matters of import, concerning history and legend. In my house, for other reasons, I happen to have a historian from the royal court. Shall I ask her to join us?"

The women assented and Lady Lena sent a handmaiden for the historian. She returned a short time later with a tiny, wizened old woman in the grey robes of an academic. She had straight hair in a short bowl cut, once pure black but now grey and white. Thin rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose and she peered through them at the assembled women as she shuffled into the room.

The assembled all nodded at their learned guest, who asked for a chair in a squeaky voice.

"I'm too old to be sitting on the floor," she said. "My hips complain."

A chair was found for her, and she perched above them, hands clasped in her lap. She was named Setsuya Matsue, but was addressed Sempai Nodo, Elder Throat.

Her presence in the house reminded Koho-Sen that Lady Lena's residence was more a small city than a large house. Besides her and her daughters, and the one seedless son, there was the training staff that schooled the resident courtesans and ponies until they were skilled enough to be sold off. There was Lady Lena's own stablehands and ponies, and the rest of her household staff—cooks, cleaners, innumerable handmaidens, guards, and the invisibles, such as the toilet attendants. There were the laborers toiling in the fields, and their wardens, plus the gene weavers and their assistants in the low building in back.

The main house dwarfed the other buildings, which were laid out in an open-ended circle around a garden and pony track. Several of the buildings went deep underground, and were much larger than they appeared. When the fieldworkers came in at sunset, and the gates were closed, the walls held over five hundred souls in the leanest of times.

"Tell us of the legend of the Lost Prince," Lady Lena spoke to the historian.

"The Lost Prince, well, now that is a story," the old woman said with a smile. "And it starts long before any of us were born. You do remember the history of the bloodline, as you have been taught, don't you. Where it begins?"

They nodded. Their line began in fire, the day the fire filled the earth and sky, and the world that was perished. Five of ten died in an instant, and another three of ten died from the heat sickness that still plagued the wasteland south of the Wash.

"So eight of ten were gone from this earth within a week's time, through some folly of immense magnitude, the reason of which has been lost in time. What followed the fire, though, was worse, as the tales tell it. Germs of evil design were loosed upon the world somehow, that killed in horrible ways, both quick and slow. Wave after wave circled the globe, killing ever more, until ninety-nine of a hundred were gone.

"When the waves of death finally stopped, the written histories of that time tell us, and the survivors began to gather together, they found they were alike in more ways than just the fact they were still somehow alive. When they had time for such things in their savaged, ravaged world, the women who were left found they shared a love for each other as well as for men. Not only that, but the fires in their loins burned immeasurably brighter than those who didn't survive the fires and plagues. Most felt this was due to some unknown chemical of the blood or gene in the brain that kept them immune from the evil germs, but there was no way for them to do more than guess. The joy they felt in merely surviving they shared with each other, and they accepted no boundaries for their passions. These traits that somehow helped spare our ancestors a grisly death have been passed down almost without exception to subsequent generations, to this day.

The men fared much worse. The germs took them in much greater numbers, so that they are outnumbered this day ten to one. And, as we all know, while the airborne death might not have killed them, it killed their seed. Barely two men in a hundred bear fruitful seed this day. One woman in ten is fertile, a much better number, but still troubling, which is why the bloodline has for generations run the Inseminariums. The future of our realm is too important to be left to chance." The women all nodded at this, and glanced at Lady Hirondelle, who was in charge of several of the breeding facilities.

"How many years the survivors milled around, picking up the pieces, trying hard just to stay alive—and not always succeeding, mind you—is lost to history. But within that first generation, a woman arose to lead the survivors. Who she was before the fires and germs no record shows, but when she began to plan and organize, people saw her wisdom and followed. She was, of course Queen Fine, the very first of our bloodline, and the savior of our peoples.

"Her wisdom was so great that soon she was asked to lead, a role that at first she did not want. Eventually she relented, the story goes, and took the title Queen. By the time she passed on, and her daughter, Queen Jeanna the younger, began rule, people had joined together and began rebuilding what is now the royal city.

"As you know, the waves of fire and airborne death killed all animals larger than dogs. No machines would work, and there were no beasts of burden to work the land when the survivors finally began to plant again. Legend has it that a certain percentage of those survivors, realizing it was in the common good, and having no useful skills other than size or strength, selflessly volunteered themselves as human beasts of burden. The descendants of these women, of course, are the ponies of today. This is the story we tell children, yes?" The women in the circle nodded. "As you informed Ladies well know, seldom is life so simple, and so soon after the near end of the world times were harsh. These women were put into the bit against their will for the most part. Queen Jeanna the Second legalized slavery early in her rule, seeing no other way to accomplish the tasks that lay before her and her people in the wasteland that our country had become, and after a brief resistance a caste system very similar to what we have today was put into place. During the reign of her daughter, Queen Virginia the Chaste, the second generation of ponies, these now born to the bit, began to do their part, and the kingdom began, finally, to grow.

"It was Queen Fatimah—"

"The Sore and Wet," Lady Roba interjected. The historian paused, and grew a small smile.

"Yes, she was called that," she admitted, "although it was never part of her official title. While not the most free-spirited of our queens, she was perhaps the most open about her predilection for rough and frequent play. As for nicknames, Queen Slavia was known as the Merciless. It is her we have to thank for the creation of statua, and fetishettes, and the standardization of pony training. And then there's the infamous Queen Mirabelle."

"The Hollow," Lady Roba said.

The historian nodded. "But back to Queen Fatimah. You know she was on a trip between territories with her young husband Errall and her infant son. The son, Michael, was the first true son of the line—both the Queen and her husband were fertile, a first in seven generations. He was destined for the throne as our first King, but the traveling party was attacked in the high desert by bandits. The guards were killed, as was Errall. The bandits then made off with the Queen and the other females in the party. After enduring several days of … indignities, the Queen attempted to escape and was killed. Two weeks after that, a rescue party finally caught up with the bandits, all barren men raised in Wash. The bandits were killed and the Queen's ponies and handmaidens were returned to the palace. Of the infant son, however, there was no sign. His body was never found, and no one remembered seeing him after the attack, although the women spent most of their time on their backs in the wagons."

"The queen was survived by two nieces, Annabelle and Victoria. Succession wasn't as clear as you might have been led to believe, but Victoria was the eldest, and favored by the court, so she was crowned. Her progeny have held the throne for the last ten generations. You, my Lady Main," she pointed, "you are a direct descndant of Annabelle, are you not?"

"Yes."

"And by that curt answer I can see that all the hurts have not healed, even at this late date. Well, that brings us to the missing child of Queen Fatimah. The legend says that he lived, and was raised by a nomad tribe. And that he bore a son, and he a son, and that to this day there is a pureblood prince somewhere in the territory."

"What of the Proof?" demanded Lady Main. The Sempai held up her hand.

"Legend has it that the men of this line have the shield of the house of Fatimah on their shoulder. It is a pattern few outside the court would recognize today, a six-pointed star over a scimitar, inside a circle. And in the legend there is also a proof," she acknowledged, nodding to the Lady Main. "It is said that the seed of these men makes women weak playthings, with no mind of their own. How that could be, scientifically, I could not guess, but stories persist of the power of Errall's seed. How any female that ate his seed would immediately fall sway to him. Ponygirls, handmaidens, even Queen Fatimah, turned into mindless things with naught but an unquenchable burning between their legs for him. This Lost Prince is to have such seed, according to the legend."

"What make you of the legend?" Lady Lena asked her. The historian regarded her closely.

"We speak seriously now?" All the women seated before her nodded.

"It bothers me that the boy, alive or dead, was never found," Nodo said. "However, the wilds are unforgiving, and a dog or fox could easily have made away with his body before the rescuers passed.

"But this country is a large and empty place. His line could have survived without attracting notice, even if the stories about his seed were true. He could be the leader of a large nomad tribe, his seed keeping all the women close to him. Which is why I or my assistants visit the royal inseminariums several times a year. A boy, or man, of this bloodline, would have to be fertile to fit the legend. All males have their seed tested for life as soon as they're old enough to squirt—or rather, they're supposed to, but as I said before our realm is still a large and empty place. Those whose seed has life are sent to do their duty at the inseminariums, and it is there that their seed is eaten under controlled conditions just on the off chance the legend is perhaps more than fancy. Over the years I myself have tasted more seed than most assayan, and while I've acquired a tongue for it, I've yet to eat any that tasted good, much less made me swoon." That got quite a few smiles.

"Do I believe the legend is true? I hope so, I dearly hope so. It would heal an old rift in our family. But I have no faith."

"Thank you, Sempai, for your words and wisdom," Lena told her. The Sempai nodded. "When do you leave us?"

"Two days, perhaps. I'm researching the bloodlines of ponies, as you know, and still need to do some more tests on your young ones. I was also informed that the team Lady Roba haigu-Sha arrived with is genbred from original fifteenth-generation stock, and newly matured?" This got a nod. "They will require much study—with your permission, m'lady."

"Of course."

"Now, if you will excuse us." Lady Lena rose and escorted the historian to the door. She returned, thoughtful, to the circle.

"The test needs to be performed with all haste," Lady Hirondelle announced, looking to Lady Koho. The others agreed.

"Let us finish the rest of our scheduled business," the Lady Koho told them. "Nothing can be done with him until we are done here anyway. My watchers will not follow any orders that don't come directly from my mouth. A few more days, after ten generations, won't make a difference."