Melissa Noble parried as the blunted blade drove toward her breast. It was a move that had skewered her on many an occasion, but not this time. Instinctively she moved toward her opponent, sliding along his blade and stepping inside his guard. Her counterthrust caught him full in the ribs.

“Ah,” her father cried as her point drove home, “you have bested me. I think that calls for a celebration.”

Melissa smiled. It was the first time she had ever won a bout with her father. Placing her sword in its rack on the wall she joined her father while he poured the wine. “To the victor,” he said, raising his glass in salute.

“To my father, who trained me so well,” she answered, raising her own glass. They drank and then her father motioned that she should sit by him. She sat, her green eyes suddenly very serious. Something about the way her father looked at her suggested that this was not going to be the usual father-daughter chat.

Her father placed his hand on hers. “Melissa, I have tried to shield you from the details of my business, but now matters with the duke have reached a point where I must take you into my confidence.”

Melissa nodded, her red curls bobbing. She knew a little of her father’s connections with the duke. Her father was the finest armorer in Dakmora. She knew that the duke had contracted with him to prepare a huge order of weapons for the ducal army. Day and night her father’s smiths pounded on the anvils, beating iron and steel into the desired shapes. When her father had first landed the contract he had been filled with joy. “It will make us wealthy enough to join the upper ranks of society,” her father had told her. But since that time he had said little of the contract. She had, however, detected a growing sense of worry when she was near her father. Only when he had a sword in his hand, teaching her the arts of the blade did the cloud lift from his features. As he spoke to her the cloud was back again.

“You know, my daughter, I was promised by his excellency, the duke that I would be paid as the work on his order was completed. I borrowed heavily on his word. But the duke has been lax in his payment. I have sent letters to him requesting that he honour the agreement, but have received no reply. I am now faced with losing everything I have worked a lifetime to acquire unless the duke honours his word. Tomorrow the duke holds open court. I will petition him there before the assembled notables of Dakmora to keep his word.”

Her father paused in his explanation. Melissa did not have to be told what was unsaid. The duke was well known for his erratic and sometimes violent behaviour. To brace the duke in his own court would be a most dangerous act. “Father,” she said, “you need not do this.”

“I must else I will be ruined. More than that, my honour and that of my family will be destroyed. It may well be that the duke, when presented with the facts, will see fit to act as he should.”

Pausing again, he hefted a small leather bag onto the table. “If, however, things should not go well, I want you to take this purse. It contains thirty gold sovereigns. More than enough to see you safely away from Dakmora and settled elsewhere. Do not try and seek me out. If I am not able to return, it will not be safe for you to remain here.”

Melissa could not hold back her tears. For all of her seventeen years her father had been there for her. The thought of losing him terrified her. Her father had raised her to be strong, but the shock of what he had told her went far beyond her ability to contain her emotions. Her father embraced her, holding her close for what might be one last time. Then slowly pushing her away, got to his feet. “Prepare now,” he said, “I will be away in the morning and want you to leave when I do. If all goes well we will soon be back together.”

Melissa spent a sleepless night and rose early. She had packed as instructed before she went to bed. When she went downstairs, her father was already waiting for her. “It is best if we part quickly,” he said. Long goodbyes become too hard.”

Melissa nodded. She did not cry. She had shed her tears the night before. Together, she and her father breakfasted. She forced herself to eat knowing that she needed food. Accompanying her father to the front door she gave him one last kiss and a hug and watched him ride away. As soon as he was out of sight, Melissa went to the stables and saddled up her horse. She rode well, her father having ensured that she learned that skill as well. Within minutes she was on the road, but she did not ride toward the borders of Dakmora. Instead she followed her father.

She felt no guilt at disobeying her father. It was simply something she had to do. She had no plan; she only knew that she had to see her father when he went up against the duke.

It was a two hour ride into the Slandor, the ducal capital. Her father’s armory was located on the outskirts of the city, near plentiful supplies of wood for charcoal. She kept well back from her father in order to make sure that her disobedience was not discovered. On reaching the city, she rode to the central square, knowing that the duke’s public court was always held there. When she arrived a large crowd of people had already gathered. She did not see her father, but knew that he would be on the far side of the square where the petitioners gathered. Dismounting, she led her horse to the edge of the crowd. She would be able to see well enough from there.

It took quite some time for the duke to appear. He arrived late, no doubt to emphasize his importance. There was the usual fanfare and ceremony, and then the court began. Duke Roland, the 35^th Duke of Dakmora took his place on the raised platform that had been erected for the occasion of his court in the centre of the square. There were quite a few petitioners on this day. Although Melissa was too far away to hear what was being said, all of the proceeding went smoothly. “Perhaps,” thought Melissa, “everything will turn out well after all.” So far the duke seemed to be a reasonable man.

She tensed. Her father had mounted the platform. Back straight he approached the duke and bent his knee in homage. The duke said something and then her father rose and began to speak. Even at the distance she was, Melissa could make out the sound of his voice, although she could not determine what was being said. He father spoke for what seemed like a long time. Then suddenly, the duke was on his feet. Melissa’s heart skipped a beat; he had not done that for any other petitioner. The duke leaned forward and raised his hand as if to strike her father. Suddenly, there was a flash of steel. Melissa’s scream of horror was drowned out by the noise of the crowd as her father was struck down. And then the court was over, the duke’s guards pushing everyone from the square.

Melissa fought against the crowd, but she came up against the duke’s guards. She faced cold steel. Suddenly remembering her father’s wishes she ran from the square. Somehow in the confusion, she had lost her horse. Probably someone had stolen it or perhaps it had simply run off. In any case she found herself on foot. Too stunned by what she had witnessed she wandered confused for several hours, until finally realizing that if the duke had killed her father, then her life might be in danger as well. Making her way to a livery stable, she used two of the precious gold coins her father had given her to buy a horse and tack. The horse was a bit of a nag, and the tack was in less than prime condition, but Melissa had no time to bargain. Mounting up, she rode hard for her home.

In her somewhat confused state, it did not occur to her that she should have followed her father’s instruction and ridden for the border. She wanted the security of familiar surroundings. Her plan was to take one of the other horses in the stable and then with a fresh mount and better gear she would head for the neighbouring duchy.

She rode around the back of the house to the stables when she arrived. Strangely, the stable boy was not in his accustomed place, nor were any of the servants visible when she entered the house. She realized her mistake when she entered the hall. A soldier wearing the duke’s tabard stepped out of a room in front of her. From all appearances, he was engaged in looting the house. He had already found the wine cupboard. A half empty bottle was clutched in his left hand.

“Well, what have we here?” the soldier asked staring impudently at her. Melissa did not like the way the man’s gaze lingered on her bosom.

“What are you dong here?” Melissa countered. This is my house. You have no right here.”

The soldier grinned. “You must be the armorer’s brat. Well, so much the better. We were having a party and a party is always more fun with a pretty girl around.”

Melissa stepped back, suddenly aware of her own brazen stupidity. She was best away from the house as soon as possible. But as she stepped back, she bumped into something solid and a pair of powerful arms closed around her. Too late, she realized that another soldier had come up behind her. She must have passed him in one of the other rooms when she entered the house.

“Let me go!” she shouted. “How dare you lay your hands on me?” She tried to sound confident as she protested her treatment, but the man who held her simply laughed.

“Lay hands on you? I’m going to lay more than hands on you, you uppity bitch.” Melissa gasped as the man’s hands closed over her ripe breasts. Then she screamed as the first man grabbed her ankles and lifted her feet from the floor.

Her shriek of alarm brought a third man running. “Well, if it ain’t a little chickadee,” he exclaimed. “You sure picked the perfect time to show up. Ain’t had chicken in a week, and you sure look like you’d be fun to pluck.” All three men laughed at the man’s crudely mixed metaphor. It was clear they were all agreed on what they should do with her.”

“No,” Melissa screamed, kicking her legs and striking out with her arms, “put me down!”

“As you wish, highness,” said the man who had grabbed her from behind. He plunked her down on top of the table where she and her father had breakfasted that morning. But he shifted his grip to her arms, twisting them behind her. He was a big man, and he held the struggling girl easily.

“Please,” said Melissa, changing her tack, “let me go. I have gold.”

“Gold? Where?” asked the third man.

“On my horse. It’s in the saddlebag. Just take it and let me go.”

“See if there’s anything there, Drax,” said the man holding Melissa’s ankles. We’ll keep hold of the little chickadee here. And don’t be thinking of cheating us. If there is gold we all want an equal share.”

Drax just laughed as he hurried from the room. The men with her kept a tight grip on her until he returned. Melissa could not have escaped their grasp if she had wanted to, so she relaxed, conserving her strength. She hoped that the gold would be enough to satisfy the three men.

A few minutes later Drax was back, waving the small leather bag containing her twenty-eight gold sovereigns. “She weren’t lying,” he said triumphantly. “Almost five years’ pay. That’s gonna buy a lot of whores.”

“Why buy what we already got?” said the big man holding Melissa’s arms. All three men grinned.

“Yeah,” said the man holding her ankles. “I’ll bet this little bitch will give us a good workout.” He started to pull her legs apart.

“No,” protested Melissa. “You promised. I gave you the gold. Now let me go?”

“We didn’t promise nothing, did we boys? You just told us where the gold was. But we might let you go for more gold.”

“There isn’t any more gold,” said Melissa almost on the verge of tears. “I gave you all I had.”

“No gold?” asked Drax, his voice disappointed. “How about jewels?”

“There’s my jewel box,” answered Melissa, desperate.

“Already checked that,” said the man holding her arms. “Just a bunch of cheap junk. Might get a few coppers for it.”

The man holding her legs started to spread them again. Melissa fought hard to prevent herself from being spread. “No! You can’t do this. Please let me go.”

“We’re gonna do it,” said Drax. “So you might as well lie back and enjoy it.” He placed his hands on the neck of her dress.

“No!” screamed Melissa as Drax ripped open her bodice, revealing her breasts.

“By the gods! What a set!” exclaimed Drax. “Like a pair of ripe melons.” He closed his hands over her breasts, squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers.”

Melissa screamed. She no longer lay still, but thrashed violently as she tried to escape. But she was helpless against the powerful men who held her. Within seconds, she was naked, the ruins of her dress lying on the floor. The man holding her arms pushed down, pinning her wrists to the tabletop. The man spreading her, moved between her thighs, and began to unbuckle his belt.

Melissa screamed again. Her struggles were completely uncoordinated and she succeeded only in exhausting herself. For a few seconds she lay quiet, her body trembling from exertion, and then the man between her thighs dropped his paints.

She screamed again at the sight of the man’s erect penis. She had never seen a naked man before and the sight terrified her. “Please, no,” she sobbed. “I’ve never been with a man before. Please let me go.”

“You hear that, Lubin?” said Drax to the man between Melissa’s thighs. “You get to bust her cherry. This just keeps getting better.”

“Aaaahhhhaahh!” Melissa screamed in fear and agony as Lubin lanced into her. Then she kept on screaming, as the excited soldier pumped her like a butter churn. Pain ripped through her ravaged vagina as she was raped in as brutal a fashion as the man could manage.

She made less noise when Drax raped her, her cries reduced to whimpers. And she only sobbed when the third man took her. But it was a long and horrible ordeal and her once virgin body was racked with pain. It took two hours for all of the men to satisfy themselves. Melissa was left sobbing on the tabletop, her legs and abdomen covered with her own virginal blood. But her ordeal was far from finished.

Drax, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet. “That was great for starters, honey bee, but now I want you to suck my stinger.”

He forced Melissa to her knees, and pulled her ruby lips toward his stiff penis. Melissa almost gagged at the thought of taking Drax in her mouth, but knew full well what he wanted. “Suck it, bitch,” repeated Drax, pulling her toward the tip of his throbbing phallus. With a sob, Melissa parted her lips, and then she saw the dagger.

Only inches from her eyes was Drax’s dagger. Melissa did not even think about what she was doing. The dagger seemed to materialize in her hand. Her other hand closed on Drax’s penis.

Drax’s scream curdled her blood. She had never heard anyone make a sound like that. Instantly she was drenched as blood fountained over her, covering her from head to foot. For a second, she was almost sick, but with cries of rage, Lubin and the big man who had raped her last, charged toward her.

Melissa remembered her sword. It hung on the wall next to her father’s where she had placed it the previous evening. Rolling across the sweat and semen stained table, she got to the sword before the enraged soldiers got to her.

“Bloody bitch wants to fight,” screamed Lubin in rage. You see what she did to Drax. I’m going to cut off her tits, and I’m going to do it slowly.” He drew his sword and closed with the naked girl. Across the room, Drax had stopped screaming as his life’s blood drain out of him. Weakened by loss of blood and the shock of his wound, he collapsed, his severed member still pulsing blood.

The third man was right behind Lubin, but neither was a match for Melissa. A cold rage burned within her, but she remembered her training. The soldiers might be bigger and stronger than she, but her father had trained her to use speed and skill, not brute strength. Lubin found his attempted thrust parried with an ease he had not expected. Unable to recover, Melissa’s blade pierced his groin. A look of stunned surprise crossed Lubin’s face, then with a screamed he dropped his blade and clamped his hands over his wound, sinking to his knees.

“Morin, the bitch stuck me,” he gasped. “Get her.” But Morin had witnessed Melissa’s quick blade work. Instead of attacking, he backed away, his sword held defensively in front of him. But Melissa had no intention of letting him get away. Like a panther stalking a hog, she closed with him, determined not to let him escape.

“Get away from me bitch,” Morin threatened. “I cut you like a dog.”

Breathing heavily, Melissa did not reply, but the chilly stare of her emerald eyes made Morin shudder. A coward at heart, he depended on his size and strength to deal with opponents. He had never met a woman who dared stand up to him, and the cool way in which Melissa had dispatched the moaning Lubin filled him with fear.

He lunged at the advancing girl, feinting an attack to keep her as bay. Like a striking snake, the tip of Melissa’s blade sliced his wrist. With a shout of pain, he dropped his sword and backed away, not stopping until his back hit the wall.

“Get away I said,” he repeated. And then changed his tune. “You wouldn’t kill an unarmed man would you?” he pleaded. “I’m wounded. I give up.”

“No I wouldn’t kill an unarmed man,” Melissa replied. “But I have no problem killing the sort of scum who preys on defenceless women. Her blade flicked out. Morin screamed, his guts pierced. Contemptuously, Melissa wiped her blade on the writhing man’s tabard. Both Lubin and Morin had intestinal wounds. They would die, but it would take them a long time, and it would be a most painful end.

Moving to the door, Melissa surveyed the bloody mess in the main hall of what had been her home. Lubin and Morin lay writhing on the floor, their hands pressed over their brutal wounds. Drax lay still, a vast pool of blood spreading slowly out from his body. Toppled chairs and broken bits of pottery littered the room. As the reaction to the horror of her rape and set in, Melissa pressed her hands to her stomach. Not wanting to break down in front of the dying men who had ravished her, she staggered from the room, into the vestibule lying off the main hall. She was so violently ill that she was barely able to stand. She retched until her stomach was empty and stopped heaving. Then, still clutching her sword she made her way to her room and collapsed on the bed. There she wept. Wept for her lost virginity. Wept for her dead father and destroyed dreams. And while the tears poured from her eyes she vowed bloody vengeance on the man responsible for the destruction of her world. One day she promised herself, the Duke of Dakmora would pay for his crimes.