by Nunn, PL
Oh, but it did feel good. And there was that added sensation of ticklish fingers along the edges of his mind, probing, testing, looking for imperfections in the weaving they’d wrought.
I might take offense, the voice whispered inside his head, as the body attuned with his on the physical level , had I not seen the cock in question. I enjoy a taste of pain myself, but that much discomfort would be beyond even me. To each our own, I suppose.
Yhalen felt a stab of uncertainty, a piercing recollection of a big body, bloody and still, torn by the dagger of an assassin skulking in with the night.
Alive? It was easier to speak inside his head than with his lips, although the question itself sent icy fingers of dread to the core of him, shrinking the hard flesh between his belly and the mattress.
You do not recall?
No. No no no no…. All he recalled was the nightmare and he fought off the traces of that with a passion.
Calm. You control it, not it you. Remember that, or my hard work was for naught, and believe me, there are kings, emperors and pseudo-gods that would pay heavily for the time and effort I spent on you, kinsman.
Bloodravenbloodravenbloodraven?
Ah, your master. You long to writhe under his hand again, do you? Little wonder you kept the brand, when you could have erased it easily enough with your skills at healing.
Elvardo! He found he did recall the name after all, and with it came a wash of indignation and frustration. Out of me. Off me. Offoffoff!!
The flittering of laughter in his mind. A few more lazy thrusts before the body atop him strained and released inside his own. Then Elvardo pushed himself off, and leaned back against one of the posters at the end of the bed, languidly stroking his softening cock.
It took an effort for Yhalen to turn, as if his body had lain dormant for so long that his muscles had gone soft and lax. But his mind, that was a different matter. He felt things that he had only been partially aware of before. The currents of power lay spread out before him—he only had to turn his attention their way to see what mysteries they held. Around Elvardo they ran dark and deep, straying into areas that Yhalen had no wish to explore.
“Answer—” he started to say, but his voice broke, and for the moment it was easier to demand things with the newfound inner voice. Answer my question.
Please.
What?
Ask nicely. I respond very poorly to ill-spoken demands.
He had given so much, that simple politeness was an easy enough sacrifice. Is he alive, please?
Elvardo smiled at him, still pulling idly on the loose skin at the end of his cock. I could come to truly appreciate you, kinsman. He’s alive and busy. It’s doubtful he’s had the time to spare a thought for you, his damaged property, what with dealing with his half-breeds and the king’s men. He’s probably found some other flexible little human to satisfy his baser needs. Maybe one of those soldiers who think they have the run of my valley.
Soldiers and half-breeds. King’s men and ogres, all with agendas of their own. And always, Bloodraven—weaving his way through their intentions with his own schemes, hiding the extent of his cunning beyond the facade of a roughhewn warrior. Yhalen held a moment of doubt—of jealousy perhaps, at the thought of Bloodraven taking another to his bed—but it passed, chased away by the absolute assurance that Bloodraven had found his focus in the realization of years of planning and would have little time for distraction. From either men or ogres.
Ogres. He saw a myriad of faces in his head, and this time it was not his own screams that echoed in memory, but theirs. That recollection was hazier by far than the nightmare of his own torment, however, and he was too tired to dwell on it. He lay back down in the soft tangle of sheets with the hearth-warmed air on his skin and shut his eyes, mentally probing at the watery weakness of limbs. It was no injury-caused weakness, nothing to wrap his skill around and mend, simply a frailty of muscle and stamina.
He heard the rustle of fine cloth as Elvardo padded towards the door.
“How long?” he murmured.
“Two moons. You were difficult.” And the door shut, leaving nothing but the soothing crackle of the fire and the heavy assurance of stone all around him.
The women attended to Yhalen’s needs. He insisted on calling them that, since the illusion was so perfect. Their demeanor was so very much like the female of the species that it was hard to think of them otherwise, even though he knew they were more and less than that. He shuddered to dwell on from what nether realm Elvardo had summoned them, or what power Elvardo had that held them to his will. Beneath the fleshy shell, Yhalen sensed capricious and unpredictable energies.
They were benign enough, though, to those in good favor with their master—gently flirting here, mothering there, and always turning up when one least expected them. They were not undesirable visitors, despite all that, pressing him not at all and never overstaying their welcome.
Their master was another matter. Elvardo’s presence was never benign, even when he came with no seemingly apparent purpose to mind. He didn’t so much frighten Yhalen as make him uneasy. That he had made use of Yhalen’s body upon more than one occasion during his incoherency was apparent, and Elvardo made no apologies or excuses. Strangely enough, that frustrated Yhalen less than the fact that Elvardo had little inclination to honor his requests to be taken outside of the keep, to see for himself what progress had been made at the other end of the vale. To see for himself that Bloodraven was indeed alive and well. It was a niggling little worry in the back of his mind that Bloodraven hadn’t come for him during all the time he had been here.
Perhaps the those things that Yhalen had done—things that were only snippets of memory to him—were vivid and horrible recollections to Bloodraven. Perhaps he no more wanted to see Yhalen than he did any other of the wizards of ogre legend that he’d spoken of. Perhaps Bloodraven was just as well rid of him.
Elvardo was no help in explaining the absence, reveling in cryptic innuendo instead of honest answers. Yhalen had attempted the stairs up from this lowest level of the keep where he was housed, but lacked the stamina to climb more than a few dozen before his legs gave out. He had to sink down to his knees, staring balefully up at what seemed an eternity of steps leading into darkness. One of the women found him, the dark-haired one, and with soft, encouraging touches helped him to his unsteady feet and down the stairs back to his windowless room.
“I want to go outside,” he complained to her.
She smiled and patted his arm. “When you are able, you shall.”
“Has he been here? Bloodraven?” he asked as she was taking her leave.
She looked over her shoulder at him, slanted eyes shining from some inner light. “Ask our lord.”
“Your lord,” Yhalen muttered when the door was closed, “is an ass.”
He lay down in a sulk, but exhaustion overcame bad humor and he drifted into sleep. He dreamed restless, lurid dreams of big hands on his body that lifted and turned him effortlessly. Dreamed of the rough, sweet pleasure of callused fingers kneading his nipples, of a long strong tongue preparing the way for something larger.
He awoke in a sweat to the tread of light steps outside his door, and as was their wont, the door opened without a warning rap to admit the redhead with his supper tray.
“If you like, after your meal, I can take you to the baths.”
“Aren’t they beyond my reach?” he asked sourly.
“The large one, yes. There is a smaller pool at this lower level, with warm waters to soothe tired muscles. It will do you well.”
It was appealing. He nodded, hurrying through savory venison stew and fresh baked bread with honey-sweetened butter.
The lower bath was not far, though he might never have discovered it himself in this dark, narrow warren of lower chambers he had woken in. He felt for the surface, unconsciously using senses beyond normal human ken. The earth was heavy and thick above him, and its ponderous, pulsing energy seemed a handbreadth away
. Right there, if only he wished to reach out and grasp it. Though it was not so quick to respond as the flame, it seemed a more comfortable energy to him. A less volatile one, and closer to the natural world that he felt so keenly.
The baths were indeed small, and housed in what seemed a natural stone chamber. It had been modified only marginally to please the eye and shape of man. The small chamber was lit by sconces around the rough wall, and though the floor was smooth, the edges of the pool itself were irregular. The water was perhaps ten feet in diameter and rippled slightly at the far end. The chamber was warm, and the redhead indicated a stone bench by the entrance where he might lay his clothing. He nodded his understanding and waited for her to leave before shedding his simple tunic and drawstring trousers.
He slid into the water with a sigh, his muscles responding to the soothing heat even before he’d fully submerged. There were ledges around the edge and he settled down, arms spread out along the sides, and let the water do its work.
His thoughts drifted. To the hot springs hidden in rocky glades in the great forests of home and many happy times spent there with lovers and friends. He wondered—would he ever see any of them again, and if he did, would the blossoming power he’d found within himself taint their view of him forever? Would his own family turn from him? Mother, Father, Grandfather? He thought it likely, for the ways of the people in their subservience to the Goddess was unspoken law. He wondered how it would feel to be shunned by those who’d always supported him the most, and shuddered.
Does it still matter to you, what they think?
The question whispered in his mind and Yhalen’s eyes snapped open, fixing upon Elvardo standing at the lip of the pool. The dark lord was naked, his lean, hard body draped in shadow and the outlining flicker of flame. He stepped down into the pool and the water seemed to swell around him, welcoming his presence as Yhalen did not.
“You’re not welcome,” he said warningly.
In my own bath, in my own keep?
“Get out of my head.”
The mindspeech seemed too intimate for comfort. Elvardo canted his head, gliding across waist deep water towards him.
He stood before Yhalen, a faint curve to his lips. The ends of his bronzed hair were just beginning to cling together from the moisture. He was sinfully beautiful, drawing the eye where the mind didn’t wish it to go.
“What do you want?”
What do you want?
Yhalen glared up, wiping damp hair from his eyes.
Ah, yes, you dream of a cock the size of a child’s arm stretching your— You stay out of my head!!
Yhalen struck out at him in embarrassment, drawing that ever-present source of earth energy and using it like a blunt fist. Only the energy glanced off something like a chunk of ricocheting rock and rebounded back into Yhalen.
His world went bright with pain, his body numb with shock that slowly began to blossom into bone deep pain. He couldn’t breathe from the blood filling his mouth and nose…only it wasn’t blood, but warm water, which he gagged and heaved out as Elvardo hauled him to the surface by a grip in his hair.
You need to know your limitations, Yhalen. He shoved him back against the edge and leaned into Yhalen’s heaving chest. You need to know whose patience it’s safe to try and whose most definitely is not!
Elvardo’s lower body rubbed against Yhalen’s, the hard flesh of his erection prodding Yhalen’s own.
Fingers bit into the soft flesh behind Yhalen’s knee and hauled the leg up, trapping it beneath Elvardo’s elbow. And if he’d had the strength to fight it, he wouldn’t have—the wants of the body overwhelming the indignities of a spell-shocked mind. The need for that flavor of home, of Ydregi scent, even diluted.
The need for Ydregi features and the subtle awareness of kinsman—even though Elvardo was outcast.
Elvardo’s cock found his entrance and pushed in, the warm water providing no easy lubrication. It hurt a little, but then again, not as much as Yhalen craved. Elvardo’s fingers grasped his buttocks, pressing him closer, dragging them both a few steps out into the pool. Yhalen sank back into the water, hair fanned out around him, legs wrapped around Elvardo’s waist as the dark lord stilled within him, a hard and tantalizing presence inside him. Hands drifted out across Yhalen’s slick chest, swirling in the pools of water caught in the depressions of muscles and bone. Ghosting across hard nipples until Yhalen moaned and tried to push himself further down upon the flesh impaling him.
Do you want him? The question whispered in his mind. Do you crave the ferocity of sex with a half human giant? Elvardo shifted his hips, withdrawing a little and jabbing up into a most sensitive spot.
Sensation blossomed and grew, spreading like pain up from the center of Yhalen’s body.
Movemovemove. He wanted. He needed. Why was his body so weak? Why did his mind follow suit, resolves crumbling like brittle wood?
Please.
There was a glimmer of satisfaction and Elvardo began to move. Yhalen clung to his shoulders, using his body to drive his hips forward to meet the dark lord’s thrusts. Wanting deeper, harder, faster—wanting the reaches of his guts filled in a manner than Elvardo could not physically achieve.
Ah, Goddess, had Bloodraven ruined him for sex with normal men? Taught him to crave more than a human man could ever provide?
Elvardo might have picked up on that thought, or perhaps he’d just reached his stride, for he slammed up into Yhalen’s body with renewed vigor, digging sharp nails into his hips. It was that spark of pain that sent Yhalen over the edge. Yes. Yesyesyes.
Elvardo bent over him, his teeth fastening to the juncture of neck and shoulder and biting down hard. That bit of pain joined the rest in a bright blinding crescendo behind Yhalen’s eyes. Blood was drawn. He knew it, felt it flowing into Elvardo’s mouth, felt the satisfaction and a subtle dark need in Elvardo’s mind as he ate of Yhalen’s flesh.
You remind me of him. The voice purred in his head as his blood and bits of his flesh were consumed by Elvardo’s lips. Only so much prettier. Even in his youth, Yhalor never had your looks. I don’t hold it against you, though. I’m not one to hold grudges over generations, though I doubt your grandfather would feel the same. Self-righteous ass. I’d like to see his face when he finds out you turned out just like me.
Something snapped. Yhalen jerked out of the miasma of pleasure so quickly it was like a slap in the face. Whether Elvardo had meant to hurt him to the quick with that statement or not, it had happened—and this time when he struck out in indignation and anger the dark lord was too distracted to deflect the earth-fueled energy.
The impact of it broke them apart, bleeding a little into Yhalen from the initial contact, but absorbed mostly by Elvardo, who was flung backwards and into the wall at the back of the pool.
Elvardo sank down, the submerged ledge keeping him from going under. Blood leaked from his mouth and nose, and for a moment his eyes were large-pupiled and unfocused before he slowly shook his head and fixed Yhalen with a baleful glare.
Yhalen floundered backwards, feeling a terrible gathering of energy in the air and knowing very well that a focused and vengeful dark lord would be the death of him. But then Elvardo lifted a hand and wiped away a smear of blood from the side of his mouth, and his lips turned up a little in a grim smile.
“You prove my point. You’re like me and nothing like him, so I forgive you.”
Elvardo rose, moving from the pool. The erection he’d never relieved had softened a little, but not completely.
“I believe I shall find more agreeable company for the evening.”
He reached for his robe, lying across the stone bench with Yhalen’s clothing, and then left. Soft words flittered across Yhalen’s mind when he was gone.
Twice forgiven. The next time you and I will have conflict.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Days passed, and Yhalen’s strength returned to him. There was no avoiding Elvardo in Elvardo’s own home, even though Yhalen tried to evad
e encounters. Elvardo, he found, was supremely indulgent of Elvardo’s own wants and had very little care, for the most part, of the desires of others. Yhalen supposed that living for so long with nothing but the women he’d conjured and the old man—who Yhalen thought was entirely human, but difficult to read at the best of times—the dark lord had become more self-indulgent than he might have with normal human company to steer him away from narcissism.
Though Elvardo plagued him at will, the dark lord did not overtly pursue physical contact. Oh, suggestive things issued from his lips, as did innuendo and insult, but that was simply Elvardo amusing himself. And occasionally he would say something that was less for his own entertainment and of a more serious nature.
“Fire comes easiest to us all, because it wishes life of its own. But it doesn’t mean we hold the greatest affinity to it over the other elements. Some are slow to respond and difficult to control. I think for you, the earth itself might hold the closest connection. “
“I don’t think so.” Yhalen still had nightmarish memories of the earth quaking and crumbling, of tracers of energy flowing for miles, under the crust of the earth, agitated by his impulse.
“Just because you fear, doesn’t make it an untruth.” And denial is worse than fear and far more dangerous.
That last bit echoed in Yhalen’s mind long after Elvardo had wandered away. It was only truth. He had done a terrible thing in retaliation for a terrible thing and lives had been ended, the mountains altered.
He tried to shun it, but when his mind drifted he could often feel the slow pulse of the earth under him. The veins that ran through earth and stone like the veins of a man—the heat that beat far below, pulsing slow and steady like the telltale heartbeat of man. Perhaps that was why he felt it so strongly, because of his affinity for healing. Because there were similarities at the core of things, between the energies of the earth and the energies that filled a living body. Perhaps if he’d discovered this affinity beforehand, or listened more closely to the things Elvardo had tried to teach him before they had left this vale in search of halflings, the things that had happened at Bloodraven’s clan might have been avoided. Or, at the very least, been not so devastating.