Disclaimer: The character of Ardeth Bay is the property of Stephen Sommers and Universal Studios. The situations and all other characters created and owned by me.

Codes: m/f, m/f/f. Others will be added in future posts if necessary.

Author notes: This is something I've been working on for a long time now. It's definitely a darker portrayal of Ardeth than we're used to seeing, and there are sensitive themes some readers might not wish to read. Pay attention to rating and codes. A complete departure from my usual Ardeth & Angelina universe.

Rubicon - A line that when crossed permits of no return and typically results in irrevocable commitment.

Night spread over the nameless oasis like a blanket, painting the shrubbery in inky shades of bruising black and blue. The flickering light from torches held by mounted guards cast grotesque, eerie images on the line of slaves trampling wearily along the scarcely used jungle trail. Every now and then someone would trip on a fallen twig or an out-prodding root, and would stumble, holding up the line. Whenever this would happen, the lash of a horseman's whip would hiss through the air, and everyone would instinctively flinch as they waited for the scream, as if the crack of leather landed on all, not just one.

Afterward, the silence would be strangely intense.

At the rear of the roped line, someone missed a step, stumbling in the darkness. A mounted guard, holding his flaming torch high, cursed and moved his looming horse back towards the offender.

"God damn these rebels," Taweel muttered. "More trouble than they're worth..." Then he saw who had fallen, and smiled slowly.

The prisoner, who was desperately scrambling up before he could reach her, was female. The flickering light from his torch danced mockingly over the tangled curls tumbling down her back, and the plain brown gown that clung to her slender figure, was torn and stained with dirt. She was one of the little prisoners they had taken from the convent - the convent sheltering those cursed rebels.

"Pick your feet up, convent vermin!" His voice was silky and slow as he fingered the leather whip in his belt. "Or I'll give you reason enough to move..."

The prisoner looked up at him in sharp fear as the thick, coarse rope dragged her along. Her delicate wrists, he saw, were already rubbed raw from the coarse rope. His thin lips curled, and he leaned across the pommel of his saddle; his dark, lean face keen with sudden interest. He breathed to himself - this one was a little beauty... her features were delicate and regular; the wide, horrified eyes looking up at him were such a deep, sultry brown that in the flickering light of the torch they looked like round, fathomless black pools. And her mouth... he moistened his own lips, feeling a sudden tightening in his loins… her mouth was full and ripe. He let his gaze travel across her bound figure from head to foot; even the drab brown of the hideous convent gown couldn't hide the high, rounded swell of her breasts, or the feminine flair of her hips. A nun? Oh no - a disguise, most likely... yet more evidence of the rebels' cunning ways.

"I pray your forgiveness, Sire. There was a branch across the path," the girl humbly pleaded, her voice low and meek. Taweel laughed roughly.

"Save your prayers, little sister," he leered, his white teeth gleaming in his dark face, "You'll need all the prayers where you're going - to the stronghold of Khaleel the Ruby!"

He saw her shudder and touch the delicately carved wooden cross hanging from the leather thong around her neck. Her fear was nearly a palpable force as she scrambled onwards. He smirked; so she'd heard of the lord Khaleel, the devil himself... but it was the Lady Nur she truly should fear - she was a Christian, and a rebel; the Lady Nur would delight in destroying her.

His eyes narrowed as he rode alongside her, and he licked his dry lips - damn the Ruby and his Lady and their games! Hadn't their fine lord started out as a lowly mercenary himself - no better than the rest of them? Would he miss one of the convent sluts they'd picked up along with the rebels? Why, with a bit of luck he wouldn't even know she was missing! Surreptitiously, he adjusted his constricting clothing, stroking himself briefly as he did so... a secret promise for later, as he let his gaze linger for a moment more on the swell of her breasts. Later, he would show this little slut what a real man was made of.

Safiyyah watched the guard ride off, his flickering torch held high. Her heart was pounding with relief and anxiety - relief because she had not been whipped, and anxiety because she knew this was at best a brief respite. She could not forget the way the man had looked at her - the hungry light in his dark eyes, in the lean angles of his face. Though gently bred and brought up in the bosom of a loving family, she was not a complete stranger to sexual appetites of men... several of them, in that other time, had looked upon her with desire in their eyes - but they had never made her feel filthy, wishing she could hide... or to taste the cold, metallic flavor of fear that dried her mouth as she watched him take his place in the procession. She swallowed, fighting down the sudden nausea that shook her, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of another with furious desperation - she would not fail before she had even had a chance at retribution... She would not.

By removing his hateful presence from her immediate vicinity, the guard had also taken the meager light his torch offered: Safiyyah could barely see where to set foot. Her wrists felt as if they were on fire where the roughened weave of rope had burned the skin away, and her thin leather shoes, never meant for a walk in the desert in the first place, were almost worn through. Her feet were cut and bruised... another pain to be pushed into the back of her mind, along with the hunger gnawing in her belly. They had not been given anything to eat since the midday, only precious little water. It was a struggle to merely stay on her feet; she did not know how long she could go on... not for the first time, Safiyyah wondered if it was not sheer lunacy to want to go on. To the vile stronghold of the self-proclaimed king, ruler absolute in his realm, Khaleel the Ruby.

In the little convent where she had sought food and shelter in exchange for physical labor while she contemplated her next step - how to get into the stronghold of the Ruby - she had heard more rumors. The nuns whispered of unspeakable happenings, as if the volume of their voices alone would summon it, of some strange, dark evil that she could only guess at. The nuns said that the Ruby and his dark Lady had a personal reason to hate all rebels with a hard, relentless fury.