by Aldrea Alien
Silence resumed with Dylan idly rubbing small circles up and down the man’s back. The hound’s breath grew shallow and Dylan slowly became aware of the elf’s low purring. Hello. We like that, do we? Perhaps there were a few tricks the hound would enjoy beyond sex. He chuckled to himself and, pressing his lips against the man’s forehead, deepened the pressure of his fingers.
The purring increased. It vibrated through his chest, soothing. Coupled with the man’s warmth, he found his eyelids growing heavier. What harm would there be in sleeping here for one night?
His eyes slid shut. He shouldn’t, really. What he should do was dress, return to his own bed and rest until Tracker woke him to take the penultimate watch.
He’d almost drifted off to sleep when the hound shook him fully awake. When had Tracker moved? Dylan sat up, rubbing at his eyes and took in the whole scene. And just when had the elf managed to pull on his smallclothes?
“Marin will be here soon,” Tracker said as he bundled Dylan’s undertunic into his arms. “If you would prefer to not have her barging in and seeing you as is, then it would be best if you dressed now.”
The thought of Marin finding him here at all, much less naked, had Dylan hauling his sole article of clothing over his head and shuffling out the tent flap. The night hadn’t changed. The stars were still out, the moon was still high enough to illuminate the clearing, the wind shook the trees no differently.
And the air seemed far colder without the elf pressed against him.
He wobbled his way back to the tent he shared with Authril, his stomach heavy and his feet objecting to every misplaced step. The outline of a figure moving on the outskirts of their little camp caught his attention, briefly halting him.
Panic commanded his legs, ducking him around the end of the tent.
The figure slowly became the familiar form of the hunter. Marin crouched by the fire, little more than faintly glowing embers now, and gave it a few experimental pokes. A tendril of flame crackled up, licking at the stick she held. When the wood was burning again, she stood and made for the hound’s tent.
Dylan inched his way back to his tent flap, careful not to place a foot wrong. Leaves and twigs seemed to be everywhere he stood, crackling at an alarming volume. By the gods, he’d always thought the forest floor was meant to be soft, covered in moss and the like. That’s what the stories all made it out to be.
Marin paused. Her head silently jerked his way. Her fingers twitched, straying towards the quiver at her hip, then dropping as she seemed to deem him as non-threatening.
Heat flooded his face like a wayward adolescent caught out of his quarters at night. Had she seen him? She’d definitely heard him. Even if she chose not to openly acknowledge it. So, she must know it was him. Had she suspected where he’d been? No, there were a number of reasons he could be awake at this hour that had nothing to do with the hound.
He slipped into the tent before she could notice anything further.
Inside, Authril slept on, still tucked in the blanket he’d wrapped around her what seemed like hours ago. She didn’t appear to have moved since then, either. He crawled to her side and she mumbled something in her sleep before resuming her silent slumber.
Dylan lay there, staring at the leather tent roof, watching the play of moonlight through the trees. This just got complicated.
Dylan landed on his back, the air rushing out his lungs. As he fought to regain his breath, his gaze flicked from the treetops to Tracker’s disapproving face. That the man half-straddled him, with much of his weight pressing on Dylan’s chest, didn’t make breathing any easier.
“What did I do wrong this time?” he managed to wheeze. This had to be the third time this evening the hound had thrown him to the ground. If he was getting any better at this unarmed combat, Dylan couldn’t see it.
Tracker shook his head. “It would be far quicker for me to tell you what you did not get wrong.” He sat back with a sigh. The action relieved Dylan’s chest of the constricting weight, but it also meant the elf now fully straddled his hips. “Perhaps it is best to call it a day. We will go over the basics tomorrow. Again.”
He propped himself up on his elbows. “No, I can do more now.”
“If you insist.” Tracker stood and offered his hand to assist Dylan to his feet. “You need to remember what I told you. This should be easy. You have the advantage of height and greater reach over me. I should not be able to get so close.”
“Height and reach maybe,” Authril said, the woman’s musical laughter tinting the words, “but not the strength to go with it.” She sat on the edge of the tents, watching them with her head tipped to one side, clearly finished with her nightly task of checking over her armour. “I’m a little confused as to what you’re trying to teach him,” she said to Tracker. “Apart from how to land on his back.”
“I am attempting to have him learn unarmed combat, dear women.” The hound continued to stare at Dylan as if trying to solve a blacksmith’s puzzle, the tilt of his head barely acknowledging he even spoke to the warrior.
She shook her head. “Still? I told you before you’re wasting your time. It’ll be of no use to him on the battlefield once he’s leashed.”
Dylan suppressed a shudder at the mention of having the infitialis collar once more wrapped around his neck. The scar at his throat seemed to burn at the mere mention. Taking several deep breaths helped to centre his mind. For the tower. The souls taken there deserved to be avenged. If he needed to be leashed in order to do that…
Well, what was a leashing in comparison to what his home had suffered?
“He’ll be skewered by the first person with a blade,” Authril continued.
Something altogether bitter flickered in Tracker’s eyes. “That may be so, but I did not have the battlefield in mind for these particular moves.”
Dylan frowned. The man had admitted to being close friends with Fetcher. Did that mean he knew precisely how most spellsters were used in the army? Of what people like the sergeant did to them? How he might’ve wound up being used had the Udynean army not slaughtered everyone?
Was that what the hound was attempting to prevent once Dylan was leashed again? It seemed odd that the man would care. Hadn’t Tracker used him in a similar fashion back in the tower? Well, maybe not that similar. But still, he wouldn’t have sought out such contact without a little push from the man.
Authril scoffed. “Well, you’ll have to do better than this if he’s to improve before we reach Wintervale.”
The hound at last turned to acknowledge her fully, quirking a russet brow at her. “Do you wish to teach him yourself, my dear warrior?” He grinned, the expression excessively toothy. “Or perhaps join in as a partner? It is difficult to show what he is doing wrong on my own.”
She wrinkled her nose as if smelling something distasteful. “I told you that you weren’t to touch me.”
“When we were in The Gilded Lily, yes. This is different. I have no interest in sleeping with you.” That single raised brow lifted higher as a wicked tilt took his lips. “Unless you have changed your stance on that?”
Those sea-green eyes of hers grew sharp and cold, like an icicle waiting for the unsuspecting to walk beneath it. Authril had grown increasingly colder towards the hound since the man kissed Dylan back in Oldmarsh. Tracker seemed to take this snub in stride, but there was always a certain sharpness lurking beneath his demeanour whenever they conversed for long.
Confessing his feelings on sex hadn’t shaken Dylan’s desire for the man, however much he tried to curb it. And, whilst he’d managed to keep himself from venturing into Tracker’s tent for the past two nights, Tracker had to be aware Dylan had still lain with the warrior during that time.
“No,” Authril finally snapped. “And that’s your answer to both questions.”
Tracker scoffed. “Come now, my dear warrior. There is nothing sexual in hand to hand combat. Unless, of course, you are using that as a way to hide the truth. Do you perhaps not know
how? There is nothing shameful about knowing only one way to fight. If you cannot take on an opponent without a good few feet of steel in your hand, then you only have to say so.”
Rage boiled across her face. The pale skin between her freckles grew ruddy. In one swift move, she leapt to her feet and waved Dylan out of the way.
He swiftly obeyed and scurried over to Katarina, who stood not too far from where the warrior had been sitting, her attention seemingly intent on the two elves. Dylan slowed as he caught the familiar quirk of the hedgewitches lips. The scraps of conversation they’d had several weeks ago—when the two elves first started sparring—came to mind. “More strutting?” he asked, halting at her side. Either way, watching the pair certainly promised to be interesting.
Katarina smiled and, shaking her head, pressed one finger to her lips before pointing at the small space they’d cleared for tonight’s lesson.
“I hope you are watching, my dear spellster,” Tracker said. “I am doing this for your benefit, after all.”
Dylan inclined his head and settled on the ground in a pose that he hoped showed his eagerness in learning this peculiar method of fighting. He recalled once hearing some of the younger guardians being pulled up for roughhousing, but it hadn’t sounded at all as efficient as Tracker claimed.
Seemingly satisfied he was indeed the camp’s entire focus, Tracker turned back to his opponent, even as he continued to speak to Dylan. “Now, dear man, this is what you have been doing.” He nodded at Authril to attack him.
The woman wasted no time in responding to the hound’s command. She rushed at her opponent. There was a flurry of grappling limbs and, try as he might to make sense of their moves, all Dylan saw clearly was the grin plastered across Authril’s face as she threw Tracker to the ground.
The hound grunted as he hit the dirt, although a smirk soon twisted his lips when Authril straddled his waist the same way as the man had done with Dylan. “Well now, dear woman,” Tracker purred. “I had no idea you felt this way about me. It has been a long time since we were so close.”
Authril glared down at him, her teeth bared. “You let me win,” she snarled.
“Nonsense,” the man drawled. “Why would I do that when I am in the middle of showing our dear spellster precisely where he is rubbish at defending himself?”
Dylan’s gaze locked onto what the woman already knew. Tracker had taken their current position as the perfect opportunity to latch his fingers onto Authril’s backside.
Authril sat back. “Remove your hands before I remove them. Permanently.”
Laughing, Tracker slowly relinquished his grasp. “It is all in good fun, my dear warrior.” He turned his head towards Dylan and the joking on his face melted into seriousness. “Did you see where I went wrong?”
“I…” Dylan slowly unclenched his fist, praying the action hadn’t been noticed. “I think so. Yes.”
“Really? First time? Are you certain?” One side of his mouth hitched upwards as he arched a brow towards Authril, who hadn’t moved from her perch atop him. “I am willing to go again.”
Dylan nodded. “I’m sure.” Even if he wasn’t, admitting it would most likely mean they’d do it again. He’d rather not watch whilst he wasn’t entirely sure who that bitter knot in his stomach was for. The fact it was there at all unnerved him. Was he actually getting jealous seeing the two of them in close quarters with each other?
“As you like.” With a roll of his hips, Tracker tipped his opponent onto the ground.
A surprised squeak left Authril’s lips as she tumbled. There was a brief scramble whilst she righted herself enough to glare at the hound.
If Tracker noticed, he wasn’t concerned. “If you can identify the problem so easily, dear man, then perhaps you will learn how to do it correctly faster than I thought.” He waited until Authril was once more on her feet before asking her, “Are you ready to defend yourself, my dear?”
She rolled her shoulders, giving an almost absent brush to her dirt and grass-covered arm, before grunting her assent.
“Now then, this is what you should be doing.” He nodded at Authril, who fell into a crouch similar to the one Tracker had affected in the first attack.
The hound hedged around her, his eyes narrowing. He feinted a few times, smirking as she twitched in preparation for the closing lunge that didn’t come. Each time, Dylan saw how her stance was off. She would twist, bringing her left shoulder forward in a move he’d witness her do whenever the two elves sparred. But there was no sword to block and she wielded no shield.
When Tracker finally did make contact with her, it was over far quicker than the first time. The man grasped her arms with a speed akin to a swooping bird. His foot lashed out, hooking behind her leg and setting her off balance.
Authril let out a high-pitched gasp, clearly not expecting the hound to be quite so fast, before her back hit the ground. She tried to respond by pulling him down with her, but Tracker had already released her arms and now knelt over her, one leg pressed to her middle and his fist aimed at her face.
The warrior flinched, throwing up her arms to protect her head, but Tracker made no further move towards her. He merely stared.
“My word,” Katarina said, earning her the hound’s full attention. “I didn’t think anyone was capable, but you actually put her on her butt.”
Tracker grinned, his breath coming through his teeth in great gasps. “Indeed, my dear hedgewitch. However, that was not my desired result.” He spread his arms wide, staring down at Authril, who was still sprawled beneath him. “Whatever happened to defending yourself, my dear warrior?” The grin twisted, growing suggestive. “Or perhaps you wished to get closer again? I am certain that could be arranged without needing to be so rough with each other.”
“Oh, get off.” Authril hooked her arm around his waist, pushing the other elf to one side so Tracker had no choice but to roll onto the ground. “If you want to show him, then maybe you should be the one defending.”
The hound sprang to his feet. “Very well. If you wish to go for another tumble, I am game.”
Shaking her head, Authril stepped back. “Do you ever stop?”
Tracker’s lips curled slightly. “Only when asked, dear woman. But if you insist on being the aggressor, then by all means.” He waved at her to come forward.
Authril obeyed, attacking with a similar outcome as their last encounter. Dylan followed the movements, seeing the precise moment Tracker was able to use the woman’s speed and weight against her. It looked far easier then when he’d been attempting the move. But then, his weight had been off and—
“What are they doing?”
Dylan jumped at Marin’s voice. The flicker of a shield wrapped around him and dissipated in the time it took to breathe. He wasn’t certain how long the hunter had been standing at the hedgewitch’s shoulder, but by the frown, he could guess it wasn’t long.
“I thought he was supposed to be teaching Dylan.”
“They’re meant to be showing him where he’s going wrong,” Katarina replied. She arched a brow in his direction. “Although, I think there is a degree of strutting on Tracker’s part.”
Marin gave a contemptuous snort. “Pretty sure that man can’t put on a pair of trousers without showing off.”
Dylan swung about, prepared to inform the woman that Tracker most certainly could do that, when he caught the little smirk fighting to be made known on the hunter’s lips. A faint surge of heat hit his face. There was no chance she knew what had transpired between him and the hound two nights ago. Or was there? “Stop it,” he hissed.
Those already large, light brown eyes widened in mock innocence. “I was just talking to Kat.” Marin jerked a thumb at the hedgewitch as if he’d somehow forgotten the woman was there.
“I know, it’s just I—” He took a deep breath. No chance. But if he wasn’t careful, then he’d be the one blurting secrets. Then everyone would know. His cheeks grew hotter at the mere thought of explaining, because
there would undoubtedly be questions. Tracker might not mind divulging, but he certainly wasn’t ready for that. “I’m trying to focus.”
“Well, I certainly hope you have been, my dear spellster,” Tracker said. He’d planted himself squarely in the centre of their little clearing, his fist firmly on his hips. “It is your turn, after all.”
“But Authril was—” He turned towards the woman in time to see her stalking back towards the low-burning fire, muttering under her breath.
“Our dear warrior has had enough of being manhandled this evening. Come.” He waved Dylan closer. “Let us see what, exactly, you have managed to pick up from watching.”
Dylan eyed the two women still standing at his side. He pointed a warning finger at Marin. “Not one word.” Bad enough he ended up on the ground every time, he didn’t need the woman’s quips alongside it.
“Bah.” Marin flapped her hand. “Don’t worry about me bothering you. I’ve got my own tasks.” She held up a trio of dead rabbits, all dangling from their hind legs. “These won’t skin themselves.” Grinning, the hunter clapped a hand onto Katarina’s shoulder. “You and sulky-britches can help me.”
He waited until they’d joined Authril by the fire and all three were involved in their task before once more stepping up to Tracker. “You won’t be as rough with me as were with her, right? And not as quick?”
The hound raised a brow at him and Dylan bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from blabbering further. So far, Tracker had been accommodatingly slow during their lessons. Not particularly gentle when it came to unarmed combat, but he tried. “The people we come across will not attempt to be gentle with you.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Dylan mumbled. Anyone who attacked their group, and continued to do so whilst he slung magic at them, was hardly going to quibble at being rough. And once he reached Wintervale and was leashed again? They wouldn’t be gentle there either.
“But you want a little reassurance that I am not going to slam you into the ground like our dear warrior, yes?” Tracker placed his hands over his heart. “I promise, we will start slow. No one learns the basics flat on their back, after all. Is that good enough for you?”