by Brenna Lyons
The magistrate bowed his head. “The moon is falling from its zenith and your night growing short. You should be on your way. Good journey, Master Anzel."
"May the Mother grant you easy dreams,” he replied simply, then turned on his heel and led the way out, Galon and Talden at his back.
Galon whispered his thanks at the street, mayhap hoping that Anzel's lies marked his complicity in hiding the truth of Galon's life from all. A stern look from Anzel, coupled with a restraining hand on his shoulder from Talden, was all it took to still his feet.
"I will present myself at next moonrise,” the midman vowed. His eyes were weary, and they didn't tarry on Anzel's face. His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to draw in on himself even more markedly than moments before.
"You will accompany me now. Tell Talden where your camp is. He will collect your things and join us."
Galon hesitated, looking from one man to the other, then nodded. “Just off the side of the King's Road, east of town."
Talden turned without a word and Anzel did the same. Galon fell into step behind him. A glance back showed the midman's arms crossed over his chest, his head bowed. Mother, but the boy was terrified of him.
As well he should be! It was a dangerous game Galon played ... one that could see him dead someday, that almost saw him dead that very night.
At his camp, Anzel waved Galon into the tent. The midman crossed to the far corner and sank into it, seemingly making himself as small as possible. It spoke of years of misuse.
Anzel brought him a bowl of water from the bucket Talden kept full, grasping a clean rag on his way past the wash stand. Galon stared at them for a long moment and then took them with a muttered word of thanks.
He washed the blood from his face with tremulous hands, revealing the smooth skin and full lips beneath. His sad eyes remained hidden, trained on the dirt before his worn boots as if he'd learned in a long, painful manner that meeting the eyes of someone in power was to be avoided at all costs.
"Recite the three rules of travel, Midman Galon,” he ordered, hoping to force the young man's face up.
It didn't work as he'd hoped it would. Galon stared into the bowl of bloodied water, answering in a strong but low and respectful voice. “Travel always with a thought to time and weather; be prepared as you may for both."
"We shall see,” Anzel interjected, making it known that he would be inspecting all aspects of Galon's gear.
He nodded solemnly. “Pay always for your keep in coin or service; a Star Mage asks no charity. I do,” he stated proudly, before Anzel could question it.
"Go on."
Galon grimaced. “Be always aware of your physical safety; put not yourself in danger save for a noble cause.” He waited for Anzel's condemnation.
"Would you care to list the many ways you have faulted on that third this night, or would you like me to name them for you?” he challenged.
Taking him literally, Galon began to speak. “I let myself be attacked in my inattention to my surroundings. I trusted ... Nay, I knew the danger and chose to follow a potentially dangerous man away from the safety of light and numbers.” He peeked up as if hoping he'd said enough to satisfy Anzel's anger.
Anzel arched a brow in answer.
Galon straightened and continued. “I let my base needs rule my sense of self-preservation,” he mimicked, as if he'd been lectured thus before.
I should have shaken the sense into him when first I reached him. “You do not even travel with a companion. Why is that?"
Midman Galon looked up, his expression aging his appearance by decades and his face darkening slightly. He didn't answer, but Anzel worked his way to it just the same.
"It is not that you cannot afford the keep of a companion. You cannot afford to pay him for his silence, for his discretion on the subject of your sexual leanings."
Galon looked away, his throat working hard, as if he held back some strong emotion ... or fought a rising gorge.
Anzel sighed. That was one of the many things he had been blessed with that the midman had not. Anzel had money enough to buy the silence of his companions and power enough to silence them in other ways, if they dared cross him. None had from the day he had been invited to leave his grandfather's estate to this very day, and he doubted any would. One did not cross House An, even if they only protected Anzel to protect their precious name.
At his silence, Galon lowered his chin to his chest, hunching his shoulders as if preparing to protect his face and ribs from blows. A twinge of longing and compassion mixed lit in Anzel. Had he not been born into House An, he might be like this man: desperate, miserable, afraid, and friendless.
"Master Anzel?” Talden called from outside the tent.
"Set up Midman Galon's tent for yourself, Talden. Deliver his pallet and belongings to mine."
Galon looked up, fear and confusion warring in his dark eyes.
"We have much to discuss at the next moonrise, Midman Galon. For now, the moon is setting, and it has been too long a night for us all."
* * * *
Mey 13th, 3055
Galon laid on his bedroll, keeping very still in an effort not to disturb Master Anzel. He'd learned long ago not to invite attention, that one with the power to harm him most likely would harm him.
Still, he didn't understand the Master Mage.
He'd expected to take lashes, at least five for his disregard for the third rule of travel and another five or ten for being Mother cursed as desiring only male company on the sheets. Master Anzel had ordered none.
Yet, his mind taunted him.
Galon had expected the master to take the money his companion had liberated from Farmer Zelter, at least a portion of it in payment for the lies he'd told the magistrate to ensure Zelter's punishment. The pouch had been returned to him as heavy as it had left him ... or nearly so. He hadn't dared count it.
For now. Only the Mother knows what Master Anzel may demand on the morrow.
Master Anzel had even provided washing water and an ointment to treat his injuries.
Will he do the same after the lashes?
That was unlikely. The best Galon could hope for was that the master meant to question him further, to feel out how many lashes he'd earned with his sexual drives.
A dim light invaded the light-blocking tent, a testament to the power of the sun that day. Usually, the misty sunlight wouldn't challenge such a fine cloth, but in a rare show of might, Galon could see nearly as well as he could on a half-moon night.
He'd seen such a sun before. He'd felt its burn. Tears misted his eyes, and Galon blinked them away, lying to himself that he simply needed to clear his fogged eyesight after that encounter from his memory. He unfisted his hands, forcing his eyes to focus on something ... anything.
Having enough light to see wasn't a good thing. Seeing meant drinking in every line of Master Anzel's face.
It was impossible to accurately guess his age. Like all mages, he appeared younger than his years when compared with night sleepers. Only the touch of gray at his temples attested that he was more than five years Galon's senior, marking him at more than double that variance.
Anzel's face had just a touch of fat, lending soft curves to a landscape that included a strong jaw, almost too masculine to look fitting on the effeminate-featured mages, and a stark nose. His lips were dark and lush, his eyelashes long and thick, and his eyebrows full, lending a brooding quality to him in his slumber. Dark ringlets of hair surrounded his face and cascaded over his shoulders.
Mother, but his body was beautiful. Like his jaw, Master Anzel's shoulders were broad for a mage, his chest more finely etched than one of their kind normally was.
And, he was powerful ... in magic and in bodily form. Hefting Galon from the ground hadn't pressed the master, and when Galon had faltered in his balance, Master Anzel's hands and chest had given the impression of warm and welcoming walls. Just the memory of it made him shiver in delight.
"Galon?"
He startled, looking to Master Anzel in sick horror that he'd been caught staring at his host. If his erection was any indication, his wandering mind and sexual hunger had likely been all too apparent in his expression.
Two more lashes for that lapse in judgment? he taunted himself. Galon closed his eyes and curled into a ball on his bedroll, waiting for swift punishment that didn't come.
"Sleep, Galon,” Master Anzel grumbled. “We have much to talk about when we wake."
"As you wish, Master.” Mayhap he is too tired to punish me now. For that matter, Galon was too tired to take the lashes in a stoic manner.
He swallowed a sob at that. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was never to let them see you cry, and if he had to face lashes without sleep, he would surely cry.
* * * *
Anzel fisted his hand, forcing himself not to trace the cut on Galon's beautiful lips. He wanted to kiss the swollen break, to strip off the clothes the foolish boy had worn to bed, reveal his lean body, and experience the many delights of it.
When he'd woken and seen the stark hunger in Galon's eyes, it had been all Anzel could do not to drag the midman onto his pallet and see them both sated.
Mother, but that was madness! For one thing, he had no clue why Midman Galon affected him so. He was fourteen years Anzel's junior and seemingly set on his own destruction. Neither was something Anzel typically found appealing in a lover.
More notable, it was high day, and the night sleepers were moving about. With Talden asleep in Galon's tent, there was no guarantee that their passion wouldn't be overheard, and so Anzel forced himself to wait for moonrise, for a Star Mage's time to act.
Still, his body was tight in need as he hadn't felt it since he was a man no older than Galon was now.
There was something about Galon ... It wasn't simply his hunger; Anzel had met sexually-hungry men before. There was something broken in Galon, something shattered that Anzel felt certain he was meant to fix. Nay! He wanted to fix it. He needed to.
Galon's body relaxed as a body only does in sleep. He looked much younger that way, much more vulnerable.
"Sleep, Galon."
The soothing tone in his voice shook Anzel. Yet it felt right to him, and he murmured longer, senseless assurances that his young charge had nothing to fear. Then sleep took him.
* * * *
Galon was already awake when Anzel opened his eyes. To his favor, the midman hadn't left the tent. He was cleaning himself in near-silence with the same rag he'd used to wash his face the night before. The water he was wringing from it seemed to be clean, fresh water from the bucket, the foul no doubt disposed of in the waste bucket.
He stood at the wash stand, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Oblivious as he was, the young mage didn't realize he had an audience as he drew his tunic off over his head to clean the travel dust from his skin.
Anzel's stomach knotted and churned in horror, threatening to empty of the sour acid that alone filled it. Galon had taken lashes, so many that separating one mark from another was a difficulty.
"How many times have you been judged on Mages’ law?” he demanded, anger driving him. How dare Galon show such disregard for his life and self! Did he wish to die?
Galon turned, flipping the bowl to the floor in his haste. His eyes were wide and wild, and his chest and upper arms—
Anzel felt his face pale. His head spun, and he felt certain he would faint for the first time in his life.
The midman lowered his face in that damned abused slouch, trying to cover as much of his scarred chest as he could at once.
It wasn't a whip that had caused these scars. He'd been burned badly, what had surely resulted in blisters and fevering open sores a hundred times worse than his sealing scars.
"Once,” Galon choked out. “Only once. I swear it, Master."
Anzel took to his feet, storming to Galon, noting his retreat to the tent wall in annoyance. He grasped the young man by one arm and turned him, forcing his hands to the edges of the wash station to bare the damage done to him.
Galon stiffened, his throat bobbing as if in need to cry out ... or to cry. Realization that he was bracing himself for lashes came slowly.
Anzel didn't correct him. Not yet. If he has lied to me, I may give him a new lash for it. Somehow, Anzel doubted that he could bear to give Galon more than that, no matter how grievously he'd lied.
He touched the furrowed skin, and Galon shuddered. The midman's hands tightened on the wash station, and he ground his teeth audibly.
"Once?” Anzel challenged.
"Ten lashes, taken a little more than a year ago. The rest are old.” Galon's voice was emotionless. A glance at his eyes showed them glazed, disconnected from the pain he believed he would feel.
"For what reason?” he asked more gently, certain now that Galon was telling him the truth. He was inexplicably touched by the young midman's stoic response.
"You know what I am. What I prefer on the sheets.” It was a cold fact to him, stated without embellishment.
"Your family did this? The rest of the damage?"
Galon nodded.
"But ... why? King's law has no—Or, was your father a Star Mage?” That made no sense, even as Anzel said it. Galon claimed it had nothing to do with Mages’ law, and Anzel believed him.
The midman's bark of laughter unnerved him. It was a half-mad sound, accompanied by a manic grin.
"No. He was a simple farmer who was blessed enough to produce a mage.” The laugh that followed was no less frightening. “They wanted an heir from me, another young mage to exploit for their own gain when they cast me out."
"And?” Anzel prompted him, bracing himself mentally for something worse.
"He paid a woman to bear for me, but...” His smile faded, replaced with the look of detachment that announced how the memories hurt him as nothing else would have. “I prefer men on my sheets,” he whispered.
"You could not perform with a woman?” he guessed. It wasn't unheard of. Anzel wasn't able to complete with a woman himself.
"The only way I could...” He shook his head, his throat bobbing again.
"A massage?” he offered as delicately as he could.
"Yes. It was the only way I stayed erect long enough."
"And the burns?” Some sane corner of his mind argued that Anzel didn't want the answer to that question, but he asked it anyway.
"Sun exposure. They protected what they considered the essential—” Galon paused for a moment. “I fathered a girl instead of the boy they wanted."
Anzel's knees buckled, and he landed on his arse on Galon's bedroll.
Blind to the world around him, the midman kept talking. “Orana was one year last season. I imagine they hope she will produce a young mage when she comes of age for it. Nay, I know that is their wish. I can only hope they don't hire out for a stud for—"
"You allow that? You accept it?” he asked dumbly.
"I wasn't given a choice in the matter.” His breathing hitched, then returned to a smooth flow, no doubt by force of will alone.
"She is your child. You have rights to her. How could you leave her to them?” Anzel demanded, heartsick at the idea of it.
There was a moment of silence. “What have I to offer her? No home. Uncertain meals and shelter.” Despite his most valiant effort, Galon's voice went rough in emotion.
"Sit with me, Galon. We have much to discuss.” Much more than he'd anticipated, by far.
* * * *
Galon forced his breathing to even and his white-knuckled hands to unclench, numbly concluding that Anzel wasn't about to lay lashes on him.
Yet.
He turned from the wash station on trembling legs and half-sank/half-fell to his bedroll.
"You play a dangerous game,” Anzel whispered.
"I have needs, as any man does.” Galon had ceased apologizing for that when Master Eldor had betrayed him. “I cannot be what I am not. I sate my drives as I must, in the only way I can."
&nbs
p; "And when you were caught and—"
"I was not caught. I have never been caught.” His heart ached at the truth of that.
"I do not understand."
"My father sent me to ... a master after what he calls my ‘failure to produce a son.’ He knew the ways to touch, ways one does not know unless he has played in a man's body before."
"Go on,” Master Anzel urged him.
"I believed he was Mother-sent to me, that I was not alone in my inclinations.” Galon paused again, pierced through the heart by the memories. “I found him abed with a local woman. It seemed he was of a type that beds indiscriminately. That day, he hungered for a female hole.
"I was lost. I would have taken any scrap of kindness from him. I begged him for his love, for his body ... for whatever he would grant me."
Anzel winced. “Is that why you refused to beg Farmer Zelter, though it might have meant your death?"
He nodded resolutely. It was one vow he'd never broken. Even his vow not to cry before one who could hurt him had been tossed aside when he was exposed to the harsh rays of the sun that seared his sensitive mage's skin. He shook his head, knocking loose the memories of his screams, his pleas for release.
Anzel's voice drew Galon out of his phantom pains.
"He cast you aside?"
"He had me whipped. He laughed with the whore who shared his bed. I ran ... as soon as I was able to walk."
The master fell into a deep silence that made Galon's nerves jump. Mayhap he'd said too much, but talking to Master Anzel was strangely easy.
"And you will take men again.” The master didn't question it.
Neither did Galon deny it. “I sate my needs as I must and can."
"You would indulge with me, if I were willing.” Again, he didn't question that he spoke the truth.
As if he should? Surely, Galon's lust had been impossible to miss when he'd been caught staring at high day.
Farmer Zelter was right. I am a whore, spreading for nearly any man who intrigues me. And Anzel was the kind of man who intrigued him, at least as far as his strength, his power, his command of those around him.
"Would you, Galon?"
"Yes,” he breathed. “Mother curse me, I would."