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An Antidote To Fire (Sablesword)


An Antidote To Fire by Sablesword

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John Smith, formerly a Ph.D. chemist from our world, is now an alchemical adept in the island Kingdom of Cern. In between sporting with Luce, his well-chained and affectionate slavegirl, he is researching an antidote to the fire poison that inflicts a curse of misery on its victims. Unfortunately, the masters of the Four Empires like their slavegirls miserable. They fear the cheerful slavegirls of the Island Kingdoms and their barefoot brilliance, and they loathe the Islander masters for the way they pamper those slavegirls. And so a plot is afoot to stop John Smith from discovering the antidote, no matter what it takes.

Editorial: This is the sequel to AGENT OF CERN.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 03 / 2010

We do not recommend this book for readers under 18 years of age

No. words: 100000

Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Moderate -    Very Mild BDSM, HAREMS AND SLAVES

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  MS Word  Text  RTF  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

Click Here For All Books In This Series

Current all-time sales ranking: #2587


Excerpt..

I carried Luce into the Bergmarkian Embassy in a canvas sack. The ball was a formal affair, so foot-wrappings were not appropriate. Instead, I had bound Luce’s wrists and ankles, removed the cheap slave-bells, and left her barefoot.
Ahead of me, Belzac carried his Orane in a similar sack, disdaining the assistance of the embassy’s arbi. It helped that Orane was petite, although Belzac had more strength than one might guess from his age and lack of height. Behind us, Belzac’s arbi pulled his oversized rickshaw away.
During the short trip to the Embassy the two slavegirls had lain side-by-side, with only their heads exposed, chatting with each other. Belzac and I had sat next to them silently watching the traffic. Draft animals aren’t permitted in the city of Renes, and in any case the world of Trion doesn’t have horses (or any other riding animal, for that matter). Outside of Renes, Cernians use vosk as draft, milk, and meat animals.
I had yet to encounter a vosk, except as dinner, but I understood that they were vaguely cow-like or buffalo-like creatures with a fair bit of goat in the mix. The females and gelded males are docile enough when pulling carts, and even when used as pack animals, but they object strenuously to being ridden. And as I’ve said, they’re not permitted in the city. So in Renes people walked or rode in arbi-carried sedan chairs or arbi-pulled rickshaws.
As I carried Luce into the entrance hall, I felt her squirm with memory, and my Master’s ear heard her recognition of the place. I felt it too. We had been in the Bergmark embassy only once before, just after I had rescued her from the Ysbene. The Black Druid had contrived to recapture her, with Ysbene aid, and she had come within an ace of being branded. Or rather, she had been branded, but I had fortunately saved her before any fire poison could be rubbed into the burn.
An embassy arbi led us through a set of double doors and into an area carpeted in red and yellow – the Kingdom of Bergmark’s colors. In an alcove set off from the main hall, Belzac exchanged his boots for formal guest-slippers and removed Orane from her sack. He freed her ankles and set her barefoot on the carpet, leaving her arms bound. I did likewise with Luce. The Bergmarkian aide stationed there looked us over to ensure that we met the standards, and nodded approval. Orane gave him a grave look of acknowledgement, and then, unexpectedly, a haughty toss of her head. A moment later, Luce followed suit. The aide’s lips twitched as he turned to announce us to the party already gathered in the hall.
This hall had only a few dozen candles burning, but it was even more lavishly equipped with mirrors and chandeliers than Belzac’s hôtel. The alchemically enhanced glass took the light and multiplied it by a thousandfold or more to produce an especially bright and ostentatious display. Luce and I both blinked.


Excerpt..

I carried Luce into the Bergmarkian Embassy in a canvas sack. The ball was a formal affair, so foot-wrappings were not appropriate.
Instead, I had bound Luce’s wrists and ankles, removed the cheap slave-bells, and left her barefoot.

Ahead of me, Belzac carried his Orane in a similar sack, disdaining the assistance of the embassy’s arbi. It helped that Orane was
petite, although Belzac had more strength than one might guess from his age and lack of height. Behind us, Belzac’s arbi pulled his
oversized rickshaw away.

During the short trip to the Embassy the two slavegirls had lain side-by-side, with only their heads exposed, chatting with each
other. Belzac and I had sat next to them silently watching the traffic. Draft animals aren’t permitted in the city of Renes, and in any case
the world of Trion doesn’t have horses (or any other riding animal, for that matter). Outside of Renes, Cernians use vosk as draft, milk,
and meat animals.

I had yet to encounter a vosk, except as dinner, but I understood that they were vaguely cow-like or buffalo-like creatures with a
fair bit of goat in the mix. The females and gelded males are docile enough when pulling carts, and even when used as pack animals, but they
object strenuously to being ridden. And as I’ve said, they’re not permitted in the city. So in Renes people walked or rode in arbi-carried
sedan chairs or arbi-pulled rickshaws.

As I carried Luce into the entrance hall, I felt her squirm with memory, and my Master’s ear heard her recognition of the place. I
felt it too. We had been in the Bergmark embassy only once before, just after I had rescued her from the Ysbene. The Black Druid had
contrived to recapture her, with Ysbene aid, and she had come within an ace of being branded. Or rather, she had been branded, but I had
fortunately saved her before any fire poison could be rubbed into the burn.

An embassy arbi led us through a set of double doors and into an area carpeted in red and yellow – the Kingdom of Bergmark’s colors.
In an alcove set off from the main hall, Belzac exchanged his boots for formal guest-slippers and removed Orane from her sack. He freed her
ankles and set her barefoot on the carpet, leaving her arms bound. I did likewise with Luce. The Bergmarkian aide stationed there looked us
over to ensure that we met the standards, and nodded approval. Orane gave him a grave look of acknowledgement, and then, unexpectedly, a
haughty toss of her head. A moment later, Luce followed suit. The aide’s lips twitched as he turned to announce us to the party already
gathered in the hall.

This hall had only a few dozen candles burning, but it was even more lavishly equipped with mirrors and chandeliers than Belzac’s
hôtel. The alchemically enhanced glass took the light and multiplied it by a thousandfold or more to produce an especially bright and
ostentatious display. Luce and I both blinked.


Excerpt..

I carried Luce into the Bergmarkian Embassy in a canvas sack. The ball was a formal affair, so foot-wrappings were not appropriate.

Instead, I had bound Luce’s wrists and ankles, removed the cheap slave-bells, and left her barefoot.


Ahead of me, Belzac carried his Orane in a similar sack, disdaining the assistance of the embassy’s arbi. It helped that Orane was

petite, although Belzac had more strength than one might guess from his age and lack of height. Behind us, Belzac’s arbi pulled his

oversized rickshaw away.


During the short trip to the Embassy the two slavegirls had lain side-by-side, with only their heads exposed, chatting with each

other. Belzac and I had sat next to them silently watching the traffic. Draft animals aren’t permitted in the city of Renes, and in any case

the world of Trion doesn’t have horses (or any other riding animal, for that matter). Outside of Renes, Cernians use vosk as draft, milk,

and meat animals.


I had yet to encounter a vosk, except as dinner, but I understood that they were vaguely cow-like or buffalo-like creatures with a

fair bit of goat in the mix. The females and gelded males are docile enough when pulling carts, and even when used as pack animals, but they

object strenuously to being ridden. And as I’ve said, they’re not permitted in the city. So in Renes people walked or rode in arbi-carried

sedan chairs or arbi-pulled rickshaws.


As I carried Luce into the entrance hall, I felt her squirm with memory, and my Master’s ear heard her recognition of the place. I

felt it too. We had been in the Bergmark embassy only once before, just after I had rescued her from the Ysbene. The Black Druid had

contrived to recapture her, with Ysbene aid, and she had come within an ace of being branded. Or rather, she had been branded, but I had

fortunately saved her before any fire poison could be rubbed into the burn.


An embassy arbi led us through a set of double doors and into an area carpeted in red and yellow – the Kingdom of Bergmark’s colors.

In an alcove set off from the main hall, Belzac exchanged his boots for formal guest-slippers and removed Orane from her sack. He freed her

ankles and set her barefoot on the carpet, leaving her arms bound. I did likewise with Luce. The Bergmarkian aide stationed there looked us

over to ensure that we met the standards, and nodded approval. Orane gave him a grave look of acknowledgement, and then, unexpectedly, a

haughty toss of her head. A moment later, Luce followed suit. The aide’s lips twitched as he turned to announce us to the party already

gathered in the hall.


This hall had only a few dozen candles burning, but it was even more lavishly equipped with mirrors and chandeliers than Belzac’s

hôtel. The alchemically enhanced glass took the light and multiplied it by a thousandfold or more to produce an especially bright and

ostentatious display. Luce and I both blinked.



Keywords - click on word to search for more titles

slavegirl  barefoot  pampered  sword  swordplay  alchemy  magic  poison  happiness in slavery  

Reviews

Very good SF story, based on a couple of interesting premises. The ending is plausible, although in the middle it seems for a time that the author was searching for how to reach it. Buy and read it. 5 out of 5

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Author Information

The evil twin of a modern-day mad scientist (Igor division, retired), Sablesword dabbles in writing and drawing on the computer. He currently lives in Outer Suburbia with a pet vacuuming robot, a number of houseplants, and a growing wine collection.

 


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Affiliate Program

Contact Us

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