“What about the officer?”
“The priests that hired Steel might have him. There are old grudges.”
“They might have him?”
“Last thing I heard they did.” Widow gave him a low stare. “And that’s all you’re getting.”
“Just spending the time.”
“Spend the time coming up with a way how to calm Steel down.” Widow pursed his lips. “And explain to him where you were and why. And don’t mention your officer, or the man is dead.”
Which only served to bring home that he had to trust Widow to not tell Steel the truth. The tanesh was a mystery, but it was wrapped in poisonous thorns. Getting too close to that was dangerous, and Kendras saw no value in that.
They rode in silence, only exchanging words when needed. And few were needed. When they had to stop for the night, they paid for beds in a shared hall. At the far end, a group of mendicant priests settled in, their robes and shaved heads giving them away as novices. They spoke among themselves in excited tones while Kendras checked his armor and leathers, as he did every night before he settled in for sleep.
Widow was sitting on the bed across the middle aisle and bent down to unlace his boots. His light leather armor was already shed. Underneath, he wore a white Vededrinye-type shirt, tight at the wrists and laced up to the elbows, then billowing around the upper arm. The shoulders were embroidered with dark blue thread, tendrils of the floral pattern reaching down his front. Well-used, dark brown leather trousers hugged long legs and strong thighs, but they also revealed that Widow didn’t have much of a bulge. So they removed everything when they made tanesh.
“Save that for when you’re back with Steel,” Widow said, pulling a boot off.
Kendras huffed. “Did it hurt when they cut it off?”
Widow glanced up and grinned. “You’re not nearly as stupid as you look. If you want a piece of ass, take it to the priests. Cock is on their daily diet.”
Kendras laughed loud enough to attract attention from the novices. It wasn’t a friendly laugh. Even in his own ears it sounded grim. Widow lay down flat and folded his arms in front of his chest. He closed his eyes, but Kendras didn’t believe he simply fell asleep like that.
One of the novices piped up, “Once the king has been married to the sea again, all that will change.”
Kendras glanced over, noted how some novices agreed, others disagreed, and the novices showed all the easily inflamed excitement of youth defending their positions. He stood, and noticed two of them glancing over nervously. The novice who’d spoken up drew back physically.
Kendras hobbled over. “They are going to marry the king to the sea again?”
“Well, yes. They’ve been preparing the temple city for weeks now.”
“Do you know why?”
“The gods might have told the high priest that it’s time. The ocean gods are fickle,” the novice said. “I don’t know. I’m not a priest yet.”
“Do you know when?”
“I heard it’ll be in two months. But they’ll let the people know before it happens. The moon phase needs to be right, the stars in alignment.”
“Patient gods,” Kendras remarked dryly, but the novices didn’t catch the irony.
They eyed him warily, maybe not sure if he was a blasphemer, and, more importantly, how to punish him if he was.
“The Glorious is currently moored outside Dalman,” one of the novices said. “That’s the most beautiful ship I’ve ever seen.”
So that was the floating temple, already in position. Very interesting. Was that the reason for the king’s sudden attack on Fetin? He wanted it to be done and over with before he was given over to the ocean? Or currying favor before he had to face the gods again?
“I prefer a war ship,” Kendras said, entertaining for a small moment the thought of a pack of Vededrinye Hunters to take on the Glorious. Barring acts of the ocean gods, the Vededrinye marines would make short work of the soft temple guards and the softer priests.
“Yes, but those are made for mundane purposes,” one of the novices said, maybe feeling brave now that Kendras hadn’t become hostile.
Kendras smiled slowly and winked at the young man. “There are many purposes. Some are very, very mundane.” He measured the novice, whose lips opened. They looked soft and pink. Kendras smiled wider and hobbled outside.
The novice found him at the back of the house, leaning against the wall. He glanced around, momentarily distracted by a sound from the stable, but Kendras assumed that was from a cow rather than a human.
The youth knelt down in front of him without even being prompted. His fingers opened Kendras’s leathers and freed his cock. Kendras inhaled deeply when the young man began to suck him immediately.
And he had a lot of practice, dealing with Kendras’s size like he’d had a lot of cock. Widow’s joke came to mind, but only for a moment, because the young man got him down into his throat, and Kendras took the shaved head, pushing deeper. Hips thrusting forward until those soft lips kissed his groin.
“This mundane enough for you, little one?” Kendras asked, not expecting an answer.
The ocean priests sure knew how to train their own. When Kendras pulled away, the boy’s mouth made a smacking sound, and he looked up, eyes wide and pleading.
“Against the wall.”
The novice obeyed, hoisting up his robes, and Kendras spit into his hand before wetting the passage. And spit again, for good measure. The novice very nearly shouted when Kendras pushed inside him, going deeper and rougher than he’d expected. But something told him that was most of his attraction. He got that a lot from this type. Soft-skinned youths looked at him and wanted to be ravaged by the big bad mercenary. Somebody who probably spent most of his time sucking off flabby priests didn’t mind a little ravaging.
The novice groaned with pain but pushed back at the same time, taking Kendras with a mix of hunger and determination.
Kendras pounded into him, fast in, slow out, making the youth whimper on every stroke. The novice’s cheek rested against the wall, and Kendras could see one closed eye. Gods below knew what was going on in his mind, but he relished the harshness of it, no doubt about it.
Kendras bared his teeth. This challenged him to be harsher, to gauge the depths of debasement and make the youth break. Feel him give up. He slowed and pulled the novice upright by his shoulders, then shoved him, face first into the wall, arm twisted on his back. “Where did they find you, little whore? On the slave market?”
Hard, fast thrusts with every word. Kendras felt the boy tighten around him, struggling to reach climax, but didn’t quite manage. That almost got him off, and he fucked into the tightening body that quivered with tension, but was unable to get there. “Your priests have smaller dicks than this, don’t they? Does it hurt?”
“Please,” the youth whimpered, gasping, lips open, and Kendras thought for a grim moment how pretty those would look around a fellow Scorpion’s cock right now. That thought got him closer, and he took hold of the novice’s cock, squeezing the wet tip a few times in his palm as if he wanted to crush it.
The youth came with a shocked, pained shout, and Kendras thrust a few more times into the tight heat. The novice would be sore the next morning, but maybe that would make getting fucked by one of the priests better. Here was one who appreciated a little—or a lot of—pain.
He pumped inside, fucked as long as he was hard enough, drawing out his pleasure even though the boy squirmed and moaned with discomfort now that he’d come. Kendras didn’t care.
When he pulled out, the boy collapsed in a heap next to the wall. Kendras didn’t move away, just closed his leathers, groin at eye level with the youth, who stared at his hands, eyes bright.
“What?” Kendras asked, feeling a little more charitable.
“Your tattoos….” The youth looked up into his face, reluctantly.
Kendras felt the sweat in his neck cool suddenly. “Yes?”
“I’ve seen them before,�
� the novice said, and leaned his head against the wall.
“Where?”
“On… a man. A different man.”
And why were young men babbling idiots after sex? Kendras reached out and cupped the novice’s soft cheek, then forced a thumb between his lips. The boy didn’t bite down when he pushed deeper, instead sucking eagerly on his thumb, sending a pleasant tingle into Kendras’s groin. He bent down a little and looked right into the youth’s dark eyes. “Where is he?” Pulled his thumb free.
The novice stared at him, breathless. “In the temple… in Dalman. He’s the sacred warrior.”
“The what?” Kendras was about to grab the novice and shake it out of him, when the back door opened and two other novices came out. Their faces lit up in alarm, so Kendras stepped back and raised his hands. Getting accused of using force against a priest, or even something that would eventually turn into a priest, was trouble he didn’t need. At least not without a score of his brethren guarding his back.
He walked past the two novices and returned to the sleeping hall, where Widow was lying on the bed, on top of the blanket. The tanesh clearly expected an attack, and didn’t want to get tangled in the sheets. The bare blade of his sword rested right next to him.
“How was it?” Widow asked, not opening an eye.
“Had much worse.”
Widow chuckled. “Seems priests are good for something.”
“Did they kick you out of Vededrin for blasphemy?”
“What? You think I’d insult a bunch of power mad assholes who hear voices of invisible, all-powerful beings and worship them by taking more money from those too stupid to see through the bullshit?” Widow opened one eye. “Nah.”
Kendras laughed and stretched out. “You’re a bastard, Widow.”
“My pleasure,” Widow said, baring all his sharp teeth for a moment.
He’s the sacred warrior. What on earth did this mean? Kendras wasn’t much of a believer. Most of his life he’d done his damned best to stay invisible to all authorities, and that included temple guards and priests. He’d only fought when cornered, and only ever moved his lips in prayer when desperate, but he’d never really expected an invisible hand to reach from the skies or below the sea and put things right. The officer had never attacked a priest, never plundered a temple—at least since Kendras’s betrothal. He, too, stayed well away from matters of faith.
If anything, when they’d been hired by priests, the officer had treated their employers with a mild generosity that was otherwise reserved for the village idiot or small children. The only thing that Scorpions believed in was the officer and the code and memory that bound them all together.
“Do you know your way around the ocean cult?” Kendras asked.
“Why not ask your little cock boy?”
“Not attracting undue attention.”
Widow huffed. “What could they possibly do to you? Smite you with their soft little hands?”
Not me, Kendras thought and turned, restless. He might be fooling himself, but the dull throbbing in his foot was less bad these days. Or maybe his spirits were simply up, knowing the officer might be alive.
He woke in the early dawn. For a moment he simply lay there, listening, wondering what had awakened him. There. Another knock. Metal on wood. Kendras sat up, began to tighten his leathers, which woke Widow.
Heavy footfalls. Armored men on the wooden floor of the guesthouse. The metallic rustling of chain mail.
“I don’t like this,” he said, and Widow nodded, slipping into his boots and reaching for his sword belt. The novices were gone, the couple traders were still asleep.
“Anybody looking for you?”
“Apart from you? No.” Kendras pushed his foot down into the boot and put the peg leg on.
Not a moment too early, as the door to the sleeping quarters was punched open so hard it slammed against the wall—and would have bounced back shut if not for two heavily armored warriors, one of whom stopped the door with a gauntleted fist.
The blue and silver of their tabards gave Kendras pause, but he stood already. Widow, the quicker of them, reached for Kendras’s glaive and tossed it to Kendras. While the low beams crossing the ceiling and the wooden pillars holding the second floor limited what he could do with the long weapon, he’d still be able to defend himself.
The temple guardsmen eyed Kendras warily. “You the Scorpion?”
“Do you need to get stung first to know the difference?” Kendras asked.
The guardsman pulled himself up to his impressive height. Kendras crouched to gather more tension and to more easily burst into movement. Strutting and puffing his chest out betrayed a man who wasn’t cautious enough to win a fight. He held the glaive in front of him with both hands, centered, ready to lash out.
For a long moment, the guardsman seemed at a loss for words, and Kendras realized what they’d really wanted was to find him unprepared. Facing a Scorpion who was ready to stand his ground unnerved this man.
“What do you want?” Kendras grinned. “Apart from wishing us a good morning.”
Reluctance lingered in every line of the man’s body, echoed in the way his companion held the hilt of his sword—like a talisman, not a weapon. Gods below, Kendras thought, they’ve sent two cowards to take me on.
Widow at his side laughed. “I’d hate wading through guts to get breakfast. I’m in a foul mood in the morning.”
The guardsman blinked, even more disturbed by the fact that Widow was clearly tanesh, then looked at Kendras. “You raped a priest.”
“I did no such thing. First, he was a novice; second, he begged me for it. Seems your priests’ dicks aren’t big enough. I’d wager you hardly feel them when you bend over.”
“You bastard,” hissed the man and drew his sword.
Kendras crouched lower, hoped the peg leg wouldn’t slip in the next movement. He’d simply not trained enough with the contraption, so he couldn’t be sure he’d not land on his back.
“You willing to die over a novice’s ass?” he asked.
Widow next to him pulled his short sword free, and Kendras felt his heart beat fast and strong. Fighting side by side. Even with a bastard like Widow. He didn’t doubt for a moment that they could make short work of the two guardsmen.
“Now, if he’d fucked your high priest, I’d get that….” Widow teased, grinning like a storm harpy on a bad day. “Making the high priest squeal—for cock—yes, that would work. But a novice? Aren’t we all too grown up for that?”
Apparently not. The first guardsman lunged forward, heavy chain mail rattling as he moved. With one leg as immobile as it was, Kendras could do precious little but meet the man’s challenge straight on.
He noticed the clang of blade on blade to his side, knowing Widow was fighting, then blocked the ambitious overhead swing of the first guardsman’s blade with the grip of his glaive, stopping most of the impact dead, and then changing the angle, sweeping the bladed end down.
The guardsman had clearly never fought a glaive fighter. The hook at the back of the long blade found the guardsman’s heel and another twist of the bar swept him off his feet.
Kendras turned the weapon rapidly in his hand and delivered a punch with the blunt end against the scrambling man’s chest.
Chain mail was nice and good against a blade, but a solid punch from a reinforced ironwood stave went right through the woven metal and delivered all its force into the body underneath.
The guardsman coughed and sputtered. Kendras stepped back and glanced quickly at Widow. Who had the tip of his short sword under the other guardsman’s jaw, digging into the soft flesh underneath.
“Leave it, or he gets it,” Widow said, voice stone cold. No joking, no fun, not even provocation. Kendras would have loved to have seen this particular bit of sword craft, but he’d always known that Widow was a lethal bastard. What he lacked in cock and balls, he had in sheer glee over destroying and humiliating other people.
“You’ll regret this,�
�� the guardsman said and pushed himself up. His comrade said nothing. Any word would have driven Widow’s sword into his mouth.
“Wrong thing to say,” Kendras said calmly. “That can only make us kill you to spare us the trouble of you returning with more men.”
He watched the guardsman consider this. They would be better off just killing them here and making their escape before anybody linked them to the corpses.
“I did not rape the boy. But if you want me to toss you a silver as sacrifice for your insulted gods, I can do that.”
The guardsman stared at him. “They will strike you down.”
“They better be better at that than you,” Kendras said, weighing his weapon, ready to hit the guardsman again. He’d struck true; the man was pale and sweating, fighting nausea. Getting punched in the solar plexus did that to a man.
Widow slid closer to the guard he was keeping under control, close enough to look intimate, then brought his knee up in a harsh movement, crumpling the man to the floor.
Kendras bit back a wince. He’d not expected a eunuch to do that.
“Let’s go.” Widow pushed the short sword into its sheath. He grabbed his saddlebags, threw Kendras his, and they made their way unmolested out of the tavern.
They took their horses, prepared and saddled them as quickly as possible.
“Well, this way we’re getting an early start,” Widow said. “And next time we meet some soft-bottomed boys, keep it inside.”
“You enjoyed that,” Kendras retorted.
“I said I hate spilling blood before breakfast. Makes me testy.”
“Wasn’t it ‘wading through guts’?” Kendras grinned. “Want an apple?”
Widow huffed but took the apple Kendras had fished from his saddle bags.
Chapter 9
THEY made haste, just in case the priests sent more ill-prepared temple guards. Having seen him fight for real, Kendras found Widow easier company. Kendras could respect him, as much of a bastard as Widow was. Kendras appreciated a lethal warrior like that, who came out on top and cracked acidic jokes as he did so.
Scorpion Page 9