Echoes

by Nathan Ravenwood

  “You're lucky,” she said. “The one who mixed the poison didn't get the ratio exactly right. A little more nightshade and you likely wouldn't be with us any more. I'd say give it a day or so and we should be ready to proceed.”

  Vann gulped. “Well... thank you.”

  “You're welcome,” Janaza purred. She got to her feet. “I'll need my cloak back, unfortunately. If we're going to be traveling to the mountains I need to put together some herb bundles.”

  He blinked. “You're coming with us?”

  “Of course,” she said, walking across the small room. Vann felt like he wanted to retreat into the wall behind him. He didn't know why he was scared of her. Or maybe he was intimidated. She crouched down next to him, and he realized that she actually had a musk. It was powerful, earthy and feminine, with a hint of sweetness to it. “It only makes sense if our destination is the same.” She took hold of her cloak and lifted it off him, and Vann realized with no small amount of mortification that he was still hard inside his underthings.

  A moment passed between the two of them as Janaza took notice. Vann heard her take a breath, and her eyes widened a little. He swallowed. It was her turn to stare at him, and she opened her mouth to say something. Then, she closed it, hummed once, and stood up. “I'll return in a bit,” she said as she left, grabbing her guitar as she went.

  Vann relaxed, sagging against the wall. He stared accusingly down at the outline of his cock in his underthings. Crisis had been averted; she hadn't come on to him.

  “So, Vann,” Rorzan said, floating into his field of vision. He had a big grin on his face, and Vann was starting to realize that things got strange when Rorzan started smiling. “When were you going to tell me that you're packing?”

  It took Vann a moment to realize what Rorzan was talking about. He felt his face burn and clapped his hand over the bulge. “Um, never? Why is that important?”

  Rorzan held his hands apart, shaking them a little for emphasis. “Vann, my man, if you're this fucking big you have to flaunt that! I mean, I'm not saying you need to walk around with your cock out all the time, that's just impolite, but still! You're like a stallion! Why did you get all weird when she took the cloak off? She didn't care about us ogling her, she's totally down for it.”

  “Look, it's not...” Vann said, casting around for his pants. “Look, I don't know her!”

  “So?” Rorzan said, floating around lazily. “I bet all you'd have to do is ask and you'd be able to know her just fine.”

  Vann found his pants and hurriedly jammed his legs into the holes. “Can we please talk about something else?” he said.

  “Like what?” Rorzan teased. “What her ass looks like? Haven't seen that yet.”

  “Rorzan!”

  “Fine, fine.” He floated down, his arms folded but his expressions still bemused. “Don't think I've ever met a man less enthusiastic to talk about delicious orc tits.”

  Vann glowered at the ghost. Rorzan was from another time. He couldn't possibly understand. “Back in the clearing you said you knew Janaza's guitar from before,” he said, changing the subject. “How? From where?”

  Rorzan bobbed his head. “It's a relic from my time. It's one of the first bass guitars we ever crafted. I gave it to the Kalzaa orc chieftan, offered it as an alternative to what they were using at the time. Orc shamans were using these stringed instruments at the time that hung from their necks down in front of them.” He waved his hands through the air flat at about his waist level. “They were heavy and awkward. The bass did everything those did but was more portable. I had a ton of orcs in my army with basses as healers and support units, along with your normal orc infantry. They love a good fight.”

  Vann recalled Janaza smashing the heads of two of the bandits together with her bare hands. “I can tell.”

  “They're great partiers too. Only people that could ever outdrink me.” He looked pensive. “I wonder what their kingdoms look like now.”

  “Orcs have kingdoms?”

  Rorzan looked offended. “Of course they do! Or did, I don't know. Man, they really did change the curriculum from when I was around. I mean they didn't teach us everything about the Eastern peoples, but still.”

  “I'm not exactly an expert on higher level politics,” Vann said, shrugging his shirt on. “But from what I've gathered from talking with Yilon after the war most of the human territories retreated inward.”

  “Big mistake,” Rorzan said, shaking his head. “The world marches on no matter what. Things changing on the other continent can have ripple effect here whether the Lords want it to or not.”

  Vann did up the buttons on his tunic. “I don't know about that. They have so much control nowadays. Yet everything's so... different. In Papreon things are so focused on magic and traditional instruments. At the same time up north I've heard they're doing so much with technology. Rumor among the servants was that they've got vessels that can fly now!”

  “Now that I want to see,” Rorzan said.

  “So why don't we go north after we set Arielle free? Why go East?”

  Rorzan turned and stared at the crystal lantern on the floor. “A few reasons. One, it's across a whole sea from Papreon, so Branna will have a hard time sending people after us. Two, unless things have changed over the past three centuries, the people over there were never quite fond of the High Lords. If what you say about humans becoming insular is true, they'll probably be even less inclined to help them, even if they don't want to directly help us.”

  “Makes sense, I suppose,” Vann said.

  “If Janaza wants to come with us past the mountains, great, if not, oh well.” The light worked strange effects on his ghostly body. “Though I'm hoping she'll want to come with us.”

  “Why?”

  He grinned. “So I can keep looking at her, obviously.” Vann groaned and rolled his eyes.

  Janaza returned some time later, a bundle of leafy plants in her arms. She set them all out into little piles, then withdrew pouches and bags of twine. She divvied up the plants into small batches, then set them into the pouches and tied them off. As she did, Vann sat with his back to the wall, Rorzan coaching him through some more fingerings on the neck of the guitar.

  A few hours later, Rorzan flitted up through the ceiling, then descended back into the small room. “It's getting late. Moving at night is probably better for us. Vann, any idea if anyone would be sent to chase after us?”

  “The only one I can think of is Captain Ansel.” He shuddered. “I desperately hope it's not him.”

  “Why's that?” Janaza asked.

  “He's a sadist,” Vann said. “A man with few scruples and an unyielding devotion to Fandar Branna. I think they go back a ways.”

  “Never a good combination,” Rorzan said. “Right. We'll move at night. But we'll have to make a stop somewhere for mountain climbing gear.” He gave Janaza a winning smile. “I know you're built for all types of weather, Janaza, but Vann here is going to need a heavier cloak to get to the top.”

  She nodded, then reached into her pack and withdrew a map. She spread it out on the floor, moving the light over so they could all look it over. “Looks like this place is our best bet,” she said, tapping a small town at the base of the mountains. “Briarhaven.”

  “That is the most small town name I've ever heard in both my life and unlife,” Rorzan drawled.

  Vann measured the distance. “Should take us a couple days... nights, to get there.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Rorzan asked.

  The night was cool and dry as Vann clambered out of the hidden trapdoor to the thief hideout. The sky was a right orange-red as the sun sank below the treeline. Before they left, Vann turned and kicked leaves and dirt over the trapdoor, spreading it around with his foot to conceal it from prying eyes. It was best to not leave any trace of their presence.

  “Janaza should lead,” Rorzan said as they gathered by the treeline. “She can see.”

  Vann looked at the orc.
“You can?”

  She nodded. In the dark, her eyes actually glowed a little, and it was a little unsettling to look at. “I have many... hidden talents,” she said.

  Vann coughed. “Well that's nice.”

  She smiled, then turned and started walking. “Let's see if you can keep up with me.”

  They traveled in silence as the darkness pressed in around them, not wanting to draw the attention of anything, man or beast. Vann stuck close to Janaza, keeping his eyes on the back of her shoulders and neck and not where he wanted to look, at the curve of the back of her skirt against her ass. The orc was alluring in a way that spoke more to the base part of his brain, with her wide hips and full breasts. He couldn't deny that, on some level, he wanted her. The way she moved, the way she smiled, the way she laughed – it all promised delights the likes of which he couldn't experience with any other kind of woman.

  But the memories of the sex he'd had with Lady Branna for years, the emotionless, almost disdainful way they'd coupled, blunted any pleasant emotions that thoughts of Janaza brought to him. Who was to say that the orc wouldn't be the same way? Or something else that would hurt him more? Despite the stirrings of desire he felt for the orc, those thoughts kept him from doing anything.

  So they walked, stopping every few hours to relieve themselves and empty one of Janaza's herb bundles into their mouths. Vann felt reinvigorated after each one, though the effect only lasted about an hour before he started to feel normal again. Every once in a while, she'd glance back at him, just to make sure he was still there, and he would nod, and they would press onward.

  The night passed, and the sun rose, painting the skies pink and orange. Vann's feet and legs were sore – though he was in decent shape from a decade of manual labor, his body wasn't used to long treks. The furthest he'd gone in years had been to the outskirts of the city on errands. They had eaten up at least a league and a half in one night, if not more.

  As the sun rose higher and higher, Janaza stopped in a thick grove of oak trees and turned in place. “We need a place to stay the night,” she said. “Somewhere out of the way.”

  “Aren't we already out of the way?” Vann asked. “We're nowhere near any trails.”

  She smiled at him as if you would to an innocent child. “That's correct, but those trailing us likely know that we're not on any trails. As such, we need to not make their job any easier.”

  Vann felt a little embarrassed for not knowing that. “Where should we go, then?”

  “Well, the best place would be... aha!” Janaza pointed to the upper boughs of a thick oak tree, wide enough for someone to sit on. “Up in the trees. Most trackers usually keep their noses to the ground and forget to look up.”

  “How will we avoid falling out, though?”

  “I'll show you. Come.” Janaza walked over to the tree and set her feet against the knotted base. She looked back and forth for a few moments, seeking handholds. “Just follow my path up.”

  The orc started climbing, hurrying up the tree as if she were part squirrel. Her skirt flowed around her lower body as she did, and at one point she bent backwards to adjust her center of gravity and her rump curved the material nicely. Vann felt his face burn. Was she deliberately doing this?

  “Well, don't just sit there,” Rorzan said, waving a hand in front of his face, that stupid grin on his face again. “Get climbing.”

  Vann made an irritated noise and walked over to the tree. He put his hands on the holds that he'd seen Janaza grab, then looked up to see where she was going.

  And learned a new fact about the orc shaman – she didn't wear underthings under the skirt.

  His head snapped downward and he stared at the bark of the tree. He'd only seen a flash, a flicker of her femininity between her legs. But it had been enough. He could feel that desire rippling through him, coloring his face and making his groin pulse.

  “Vann?” she called down to him. “Are you okay?”

  “J-just fine!” he called out, finding an extremely interesting pattern in the wood.

  “Noticed it, didn't ya?” Rorzan snickered.

  “If you were corporeal I would slap you right now,” Vann muttered darkly.

  “Right after you slap that bare ass of hers, hah!”

  Vann channeled his frustrations, both sexual and with Rorzan, into hauling himself up the side of the tree. Twice his hips bumped into the side of the tree, and he felt that firm, warm reminder of his maleness press into his thigh as he did. He risked a glance up, saw that Janaza was standing on a bough waiting with her sex hidden from him again, and kept climbing. Janaza reached down to help him up, and he clasped her hand. Her skin was hot to the touch, and surprisingly soft. Then she pulled, and Vann sucked in a breath as she hefted him up onto the branch with only one arm. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I feel fine,” she answered, sounding a little puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

  “You're skin is... rather warm.”

  “Orcs run hotter than humans,” Rorzan explained, floating lazily up past them into the upper boughs of the tree. “Faster metabolisms.”

  Janaza looked bemused. “Never had anyone question it before. Namely because most of the time the first times people touch my skin are-”

  “Anyways!” Vann said. “Shall we keep climbing?”

  Janaza smirked, then began to climb further, this time using the branches as foot- and handholds. Vann followed her, dutifully keeping his eyes on the tree and not glancing up, because he knew what would greet him if he did, and wished to remain respectful.

  After another few minutes they climbed into the upper boughs, which were densely packed together enough that one could walk around almost entirely without having to watch their footing. “I love the trees here,” Janaza said. “Back home on the Isles they get very scrubby and pointy.” She straddled a branch, leaning with her back against the truck of the tree. “Not the comfiest berth, but it'll make do for a night.”

  Vann eyed the solid, uneven spans of tree. “Going to be hell on your back, though.”

  Janaza straddled one of the boughs and leaned back against the tree. She withdrew a length of twine from her pack and lashed her wrist to the thick branch, not tying the knot too tight, just enough to keep her in place should she stir too much in her sleep. She tossed him another length of twine. “Since I'm already tied up, you're on first watch.”

  “No need for that,” Rorzan said. He hovered by the trunk, turning upside-down and sticking his head through the branches underneath them. “I don't need sleep. Hells, I don't think I can sleep. Both of you get some rest. Got another long night ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Vann was taken aback at his tone. It was almost paternal. But he didn't say anything as he found a place to settle in away from Janaza, tied the rope around his wrist, and settled in as best he could. Exhaustion tugged his eyes shut, and he fell asleep in a matter of minutes, snoring gently as the sun rose high above them, not bothering them due to the canopy of leaves around them.

  ***

  Ansel wiped blood and snot off his hands with a rag. The downside of punching a man in the face with your bare hands was that you always got an offending mixture of fluids on your hands. Despite his rough around the edges appearance, Ansel was a rather clean man.

  The past hour had been spent beating the absolute tar out of a scraggly looking man with a wispy beard who'd ambushed their hunting party along with a half dozen of his friends. They'd underestimated the size of Ansel's group, however, and had quickly been brought to heel. Not before, however, one of them had split open the skull of one of his men with a poisoned spiked cudgel. That was what had earned them all a round of punishment by way of the Guard Captain himself.

  The old man was a moaning mess, his breath wheezing through pulverized teeth. Ansel had deliberately set the man's cudgel within reach, to give him a sporting chance. He was nothing if not fair. The fact that the old cretin couldn't reach the weapon was his own fault for being so weak, and his weakness would
n't be a factor if he hadn't gotten the idea in his head to attack the Guard. As Ansel watched, the old man slowly reached for his weapon, his hand shaking.

  “Determined old sack,” Ansel muttered. He nodded to his subordinates. “Tie him up with the others. Let him think about what he's done.”

  The other soldiers jumped to it, hogtying the wildling man roughly and shoving him down by the tree where his other prisoners were lashed. They all glared at the Guard with naked hostility, and no small amount of fear. Ansel had made sure they knew that their chances of getting out of this alive were slim to none.

  “Any luck?” he asked his second-in-command, a young, wirey soldier named Neil.

  “Found a thief hideout,” Neil reported, offering Ansel his shirt. “There was scuffed dirt on the floor in one of the rooms, and Maynard found a shelf with a gap in the dust where a lantern had been sitting for a while and was then moved.”

  “Any indication as to their destination?” They had wasted a day traveling north on the road on horses, until deep in the woods they'd come across a midnight black mare, the one that Vann had fled on. They'd doubled back to the clearing, where the wildlings had ambushed them.

  “We have some idea. Trackers reported some bruised leaves heading northeast.”

  Ansel paused in dressing. “He's heading to the mountains.”

  “Seems so.”

  Ansel frowned. “What's there for him? The missives have already gone out – he'll be apprehended on sight if he goes to Holdward or Primmus.”

  Neil nodded. “Some of the trackers think he might try for Briarhaven. It's small, out of the way, a real quaint town. Plus, it's technically not inside Lord Branna's sphere of power, it's in Sannox. Since he's keeping this matter within his own borders, they won't have any missives there for the guards to arrest him on sight. It's a guess, but it's all we've got now.”

  Ansel nodding, doing up his last button. “I shall defer to that guess. Have everyone ready to move in an hour, we should leave while we still have daylight, see if we can pick up a trail for sure.”

  Neil nodded, then turned and started snapping out orders. Ansel threw his cloak on, then belted on his weapons. He had never failed Branna, not once since their shared upbringing in the upper quarters of Papreon. While Fandar Branna had fully embraced the upper-class lifestyle that came along with being a noble, Ansel had fallen in love with back alley fighting rings and gambling circuits. His family's power and influence had allowed him to participate in those activities without fear of any real repercussions. Some had called it cheap, as if he were a mere tourist of the seedier side of Papreon. Those people had learned quickly just how much of the seedier side lived in Ansel.