by Hurri Cosmo
Tama leaned as close as he could. “Yes, Sire. I’m here.”
“Tama, you are so beautiful.”
It was the fever talking. It had to be. “Beautiful, Your Majesty?”
“Like an angel.”
Angel?
“Ahhh, Tama, my angel. Are you come to take me with you to heaven?”
Oh no. “Heaven?”
The king turned his face and smiled weakly at Tama. His fever was showing in his eyes. So blue but also so red. “When I die, my angel. You are here to take me with you, to heaven.”
“No! I mean…I’m here to make sure you don’t die.” But suddenly Tama wasn’t sure. He was getting worse and so fast. Fever was important, and there was no doubt now, the king’s fever was on the rise, but Tama knew there was a delicate balance.
“I wouldn’t mind dying, my sweet. Not if it meant spending eternity with you…” The last words were barely audible as he closed his feverish eyes in a sigh.
“No! You are not going to die!” But he still could if his fever rose much higher. He had no doubt the fever was also killing the poison, so in a way, it was good. But it could also kill the man in the process.
The poultice was supposed to draw out the poison. Without the poison in his body, the fever, the body’s natural and needed defense against the poison, would reduce on its own. But removing poison by poultice took time, and with the fever continuing to rise, it was time the king might not have. Tama decided he needed to reduce the fever, and he needed to do it now.
Well, so much for needing shelter for warmth. Tama did the only other thing he could think of at the moment, and that was to remove the king’s clothes, rolling him off the sleeping bag and onto the cool sand. He felt his own temperature rise with the thought of seeing the king’s naked body. But he needed to bring his temperature down and to expose his hot body to the cool air was a good way.
Soon the man lay nude in front of Tama. And he was exceptional. Muscular, well-proportioned thighs that made Tama breathless. Even the man’s flaccid cock looked huge and mighty. What would it feel like to touch that, watch it grow, make it spurt like he had often done for his own? His manhood essence would be so hot! Oh!
But that was not the reason Tama had stripped the man. He meant to cool the fever with the open air. Except, the chilly night he was expecting was still hours away.
There had been a stream a mile or so back. The water would be frigid coming from the mountains. A dip in the cold water would be the perfect thing to bring the fever down fast. But how would he bring the king there? It was too far to use his haphazard makeshift travois, and it would be too disruptive for his fragile wound. He didn’t have a large enough container to go that distance and bring any water back either, not to mention it would be a long journey for him and he would have to leave the king alone and defenseless during that time. That wouldn’t work. What else could he possibly do?
He needed something cool up against the king’s body. Something, like the water, that could cover a great deal of the surface all at the same time.
But what?
Cool the man with his own body?
Once, when he had been caught in a freak snowstorm in the Gray Mountains, he had nuzzled in close to Rego near an outcropping of rock and waited it out. The horse’s body heat kept him from freezing to death, and they both made it home alive. Would it work for cooling one as well? Tama’s body would be cooler than the king’s. But would it be cool enough? Tama stripped quickly and lay next to the man, putting his arm around him. He snuggled up close, feeling and drawing the heat from the king’s shoulder, down through his torso and leg, right down to his toes, which he tried to wrap around the king’s shin.
But he wasn’t touching enough skin to make any kind of difference. So, he moved in order that he could lie flat on the large man’s chest, stretching out his arms along the top of the king’s for support. He was careful not to put pressure on the poultice-covered wound. Even though Tama was shorter than the king, he was still able to cover a good portion of the man’s body with his own. Chest to chest, thigh to thigh, shin to shin.
But also, groin to groin.
And that was one area where there would be no cool relief for either one of them.
Chapter 3
Diagus had never been good with names, but he remembered the name of his angel. His angel with no wings.
Tama.
Tama.
He giggled. He loved the name. It was so easy on the lips and tongue.
Tama.
But his angel had no wings. Was that all right? Was he an angel in training? Perhaps a lowly angel? Yes, it would be a lowly angel that would come to collect the likes of him. After all, he had not been a kind man. To anyone. Even to the man he had been desperately in love with, his own brother, Joron. It was the reason Diagus had left the kingdom for those three years. He had left before he did something very unprincely, and made his brother hate him.
True, Joron turned out not to be his brother. But knowing that now didn’t make his being in love with him all his life right. He knew that now. Knew it right down to his bones. Besides, Joron was deeply in love with another man who was, by far, a better man than him.
But beyond even that, Diagus had done many other unsavory things growing up. And a few of them out there in the kingdoms of Ice Dragon. Things better left unremembered.
Like what he had done to the Cetin Gang even though they were no better. In Diagus’s heart, they were far worse. But who other than a kindhearted God would see that difference; the way he had set them up to be killed or captured? He honestly hadn’t cared which. Sure, the gang had been known to pillage and rape, maybe even kill. But it wasn’t the very noble goal of bringing the gang to justice that had motivated him. It was to oust King Aric Tamusi from his castle so Diagus could swoop in and scoop up the grand prize unhindered.
Joron.
And maybe a generous God would give a blanket of forgiveness to Diagus, because in the end, after all he had done to capture his prize, he gave a beautiful, loving Joron back to that big idiot, Tamusi. That had to count for something. Probably the reason an angel was there with him at all.
Because even a forgiving God could not have liked much the night he made the Cetin Gang trust him.
Oh, yes, Diagus was terrible with remembering names. Truth be told, he knew going in, he didn’t need to remember those details, only the when’s and where’s the Cetin Gang would move. But that night…
It had been a night filled with liquor and naked men, there in Gray Valley. Oh, there had been talk of a woman or two who were in the mix somewhere. It seemed at least a few of the men liked that sort of thing. But Diagus stayed clear of them. There were male bodies to be entered and fucked till dawn and beyond. He had never felt so alive and exhausted in all his days. He knew, too, at one point during a particularly intense orgasm, telling the small beautiful man who rode him that he was a crown prince. It seemed appropriate at the time. The smaller man had said something about Diagus having incredibly blue eyes and the rumored sexual stamina of the King of Blade Rain.
“Well of course I do. I’m his firstborn son.”
Diagus had no idea at the time it wasn’t true. But he did remember being compared to the vulgar man. He even remembered being sickened by the comparison after sobering up and vowing he would never be involved in something so base, so foul as an orgy ever again. Every once in a while, he could still smell it, all those bodies, all that sex. Especially that final one, that final man before he passed out. He said his name, whispered it into Diagus’s ear, as if that would help Diagus to remember. It didn’t. The only thing he recalled was it had sounded very much like a woman’s name.
But it hadn’t been a woman.
No. It couldn’t have been.
He had felt used by the end of it all. Stale liquor, cigars, and sweat. None of it had been the aphrodisiac he had imagined it would, and should, have been. And, in fact, occasionally the memory of it haunted his dreams. One nigh
tmare in particular had that beautiful little man who had ridden him so expertly turn into an old woman who then proceeded to stab him with his crown, shouting “Fake king, fake king, fake king!”
So, it did make some sense that it was a lowly angel they sent for him. He didn’t care. Because he loved his angel with no wings. He now vowed to follow his angel anywhere in the kingdoms, even the undiscovered countries. He even loved his angel’s name.
Tama.
And oh! He had been kissed by his beautiful angel, twice now. He had felt Tama’s angelic cool skin on him as he lay on top of him, cooling the fires of hell that tried to take him. It was clear to him that Tama was trying to save him from that fate. And to feel those cool hungry lips on his, it was truly heaven. Tama was going to quench the devil’s fire, Diagus could feel it.
Tama looked up at the afternoon sky as he put his clothes back on. The king was out of danger now, the fever had finally broken. The poultice had done its job, and Tama would re-stitch the wound just to make sure it didn’t bleed again.
The king was still a sick man. He had lost a fair amount of blood. But he was sleeping soundly, the sand beneath him still heated from his feverish body, the sleeping bag over the top of his nakedness. Tama hated to cover him. He loved seeing the king’s perfection, longed to touch him again, even though he had done nothing but touch him for the last three hours. He already missed him, missed his heat even without the fever.
He had felt the man’s sex against his own and wanted to touch that, too. It was something he wished for but would never do. Not with the king in this condition. Even though the king had kissed him passionately, that in and of itself was no reason to believe he would have any interest at all in him when he wasn’t addled by the fever.
But he would be here when the king awoke, just to be certain of it.
It was after Tama had built up the fire again that he realized he hadn’t had anything at all to eat the entire day. His last meal, if it were to be called that—that simple crust of bread—had been many hours ago. He had been first so focused on hurrying to catch his father and then on healing the king, he hadn’t even given his aching stomach a thought. Plus, when the king finally woke, perhaps in a few hours, he would be hungry as well. Maybe there would be small game he could hunt right in the area. Something that would stave off starvation.
But first things first. He set to work stitching up the wound.
Afterward, he leaned back and admired his handiwork. He had actually done a better job this time. He dressed the wound again with his leaves, once again sprinkling Black Spur on the closed cut for more relief.
That was when he heard the first hoof-falls off in the distance. And there were a lot of them. A caravan? Of who? Tama rose and walked toward the path, seeing if he could make out who it was. He wondered if they would be friendly. Could it be that the ruffians had friends? Were they coming back to finish what they started?
He briefly thought to hide the king. But it was too late. As he looked back, he realized they had to have already seen the smoke from his fire. Even putting it out at this point wouldn’t help and would actually create more smoke, making it much more obvious. Moving the king by himself in time to hide him was impossible. Besides, where would that even be? He would have to hope the people coming were friendly.
He fidgeted, foot to foot, having already set aside his bow and arrow in a show of peace. The people coming were soldiers. Even though they were not from his own kingdom of Claymoor Doom—of that he was certain—if he were armed, it might look like aggression and not caution. Hopefully doing so was not a mistake because he was quite certain the man leading this group had seen the gesture. Even so, his bow and arrows remained close. Now he stood as still as he could, hoping they did not notice the king lying by the fire behind him.
The lead soldier, a large hulking man, stopped his horse directly in front of Tama.
“I am Stomund Salte, commander of the Blade Rain Regiment assigned to King Diagus Amar. Please, state your name.”
Tama could see five soldiers behind the impressive man. They were all on horseback and looked mighty on the small path they were crowding. How odd. First the King of Blade Rain on Claymoor land and now a regiment from his castle?
“I… I am Tama Hilman of Elven Port…sir,” Tama stammered.
“Who is with you at your fire?”
So, they spotted the king. Even though these men were from Blade Rain, that might not be a good thing. Because how could he tell them the man was their very own king? Especially since he was injured and was only now on the way back from his intimate dance with death. Better they either left them alone and went about their business or found out on their own.
“An injured man. He is healing, though, through the worst of it.”
“Injured? How?” With that the man quickly dismounted, obviously intending on helping.
Ahhh, damn.
“It’s a knife wound.”
“What’s his name?”
The man barged into his camp and bent to inspect the king. Tama didn’t even try to stop him. What would be the point? He just had to hope that even though these were Blade Rain people, assigned to the king, no less, they would help. Others had dismounted as well and were surrounding the camp. This could get ugly fast.
“It’s the king!” The soldier shouted from his crouching position. A loud murmur rose from the group as even some of them drew their swords. “Oh, Good heavens! Mr. Hilman, you…why is the king… Mr. Hilman—” The soldier sighed. “—is this poultice the site of the wound?”
“Yes. It’s not really a poultice any longer… the wound isn’t deep, but it bled…”
“The king is devoid of clothes.” The soldier rose, red faced and very obviously flustered. Most likely something the man was not used to seeing, maybe had never seen. He looked right at Tama, clasping his hands behind his back, rising on the balls of his feet and back down again. “Why, may I ask, Mr. Hilman, is he naked?”
“I…I had to…he had a fever, so…”
“A fever, you say?”
“Yes. A high fever. I had to reduce it.”
“By undressing him?”
“Yes.”
“And then what? I know a little about healing, Mr. Hilman. Undressing him alone would not reduce a high fever. So, such a story seems suspect to me.”
Tama felt heat climb quickly up his neck and cheeks. How could he tell this man he had removed his own clothes and lay on top of the king? “I…I…”
“Did the two of you have relations?”
“Re…relations? I don’t understand…”
“Did the king seduce you?”
“No! As I said, he had a high fever so I took off his clothes to help reduce it. Once it broke, I covered him back up. I…I just haven’t…dressed him again…yet.” It was true. Still, Tama’s face continued to heat up.
A soldier from the ones that came with Stomund stepped forward. “Who was it that stabbed him. Are you the culprit?” The soldier put a hand on his sword. Others moved to stand behind Tama.
Fear made Tama’s heart jump, but at least it was a change in subject for which he was grateful. “Of course not! Why would he still be alive if I was the one who wanted to kill him? In fact, I have been working to save his life. Earlier in the day, I happened upon your king fighting off a couple of ruffians. I scared them away with my bow and arrow, but not in time to stop him from being stabbed.” Tama looked down at the peacefully sleeping man. “For which I’m sorry. However, what I didn’t understand was the speed and ferocity in which the fever came on.”
He looked back up to Stomund. “But I believe the biggest problem was the blade he was stabbed with was dipped in Witch’s Bane. I believe the attack on him was single-minded. The two might have ultimately been after his purse, but their intent was to kill him first.”
“Witch’s Bane?” Stomund narrowed his eyes at Tama. “Go on.”
“It’s hard to know for sure, but the residue on the knife matches
what I washed off the king’s wound. Both are yellow in color and resemble what Witch’s Bane looks like. If you want to see it, the knife is over there next to the path. The man dropped it before he ran off with his companion.” Tama indicated the area off to his left where the knife still lay.
Stomund motioned toward one of the men behind Tama, and there was movement toward where Tama had pointed.
“Don’t touch the poison!” Tama shouted.
“Why?” Stomund demanded.
“If you have any open cuts at all, it can still cause harm. I was barely able to save the king’s life from it.”
Stomund looked down on the injured man, concern on his face. “Can the king be moved?”
“Perhaps now, yes. The worst of it has passed.”
“So, he is able to be dressed again?” Stomund raised an eyebrow at Tama.
Tama felt heat climb into his cheeks again as he cleared his throat. “Yes. I... I can dress him again.”
“Good.” Stomund looked back down at the king. “How long do you think he will sleep?”
“I’m not sure, but the longer you allow him to, the faster he will heal.”
Stomund sighed. “You saved his life. Twice, it would seem. He will want to thank you for that. Unfortunately, he is needed at the castle and will need to move out as soon as we can. Are you able to come with us so that when he wakes you will be there?”
Tama smiled. Oh, yes, he very much wanted to be there when the man woke up. Something roused in Tama when he was close to the king. Something deep and primal. To be there when those amazing blue eyes opened with the fever gone? It would be wonderful. Especially if the king remembered what had transpired between them.
Well—maybe.
Because it seemed Stomund would be against such a relationship. And what if it truly had been the fever talking and acting? What if all that sexy banter and those kisses were only the product of a sick and delirious man? What if, when he woke up, he didn’t remember any of it or, worse yet, did remember and was sickened by the prospect it happened in the first place? What then?