Bonds Eternal_A Steamy MMF High Fantasy Romance

by AJ Ryder

  “OY! Leg-humper!” Liandrya called with a smirk before letting loose with one of the blood-soaked arrows. It penetrated the shaman’s foot, and the gnoll howled in pain before summoning up a swarm of wasps out of thin air and sending them hurtling towards the half-elf who sprinted across the rafters. “That’s right,” she whispered. “Come after me. Come and get me.” She shot another arrow, and it found its mark in the shaman’s other foot as Liandrya jumped across to another rafter.

  The half-elf knew that they would not stand a chance with the shaman debilitating the monks in tandem with the ravenous gnolls, but she also knew that without any magic of her own, she would not be able to battle or take the shaman out directly. However, she could annoy him into making mistakes until he finally left himself open, and that was exactly what she intended to do. She fired darts. She threw smoke bombs as well as used them to hide her own escapes. She managed to ignore the endless whispering in her head and instead taunted the shaman with insults and rude gestures, and it did not take long before the powerful gnoll had focused entirely on her.

  With the shaman now dealing with the massive annoyance Liandrya had become to him, he was no longer aiding the hoard, which meant that the remaining monks could finally deal with the canine invaders. Vylkur and Dorlyn were quick to help the celibate warriors, and only when Liandrya saw that her loves and the monks finally had the upper hand, did she let loose with her third and final arrow. Rather than make it a killing blow, she used the arrow to knock free the magical gem from the staff before leaping down and landing upon the shaman’s back. Riding the gnoll down to the ground, Liandrya let her bow fall to the ground in favor of grabbing two daggers from her belt and driving them to the hilt into the shaman’s neck.

  The shaman’s pained shrieks turned into a gurgle as blood gushed from his wounds and out of his mouth. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Liandrya grabbed a third dagger from sheath fastened at the back of her belt and stabbed it down deeply into the gnoll’s skull before twisting it for good measure. Only when the creature stilled and stopped twitching, did Liandrya pull her daggers free and wipe them clean before tucking them away once more.

  Just as a panting Liandrya grabbed her discarded bow and climbed off the dead gnoll, Beatrice finished chanting the final word of the cleansing blessing, and a wave of darkness was expelled from the mask before dissipating into nothingness. The high priestess leaned heavily upon the altar, but she did not allow herself to fully relax until the last gnoll had been slain.

  “It is done,” Beatrice said wearily as the priestesses rushed to her side. “But I fear I wasn’t able to banish all of the evil,” she added somberly as beads of sweat dripped down her face which appeared more aged than before. “It still clings to the mask like a cloying second skin. You must take it to another temple,” she said as Vylkur approached and closed the box before fastening it shut. “Perhaps they will be able to finish what I could not.”

  “You did more than enough,” Liandrya assured with a tired smile as she approached and then took the box from Vylkur. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

  “We should get to the horses,” Dorlyn said with urgency. “There are only a few hours left until nightfall, and if another assault like this is in our immediate future, we must have the advantage of speed.”

  “Your horses were slain in the initial assault,” one of the monks said while wiping blood from his face. “The poor beasts...they never stood a chance.”

  “Shit,” was the collective reply from Liandrya, Dorlyn, and Vylkur.

  “You may have three horses from our stables,” Beatrice declared before motioning to three monks to see it done. “Go now, the three of you. The royal guards will be here soon to answer the call of the distress bell, and you had best not be detained on your way to the next temple you find.”

  “The next closest temple would be the Temple of Anfarwol...in the Amber Woods,” Dorlyn stated with a nervous shifting of his feet that was noticeable to Vylkur alone. He had not been home in three centuries, and he was not looking forward to it. In fact, if it would not jeopardize the quest entirely, he would have preferred to have avoided the elven temple. But, now was not the time to be selfish. “It is a two-days ride from here.”

  “Then you had best be on your way,” Beatrice urged. “The brothers will meet you at the stables. Now go.”

  “Thank you,” Liandrya said with a respectful bow of her head. “For everything.”

  “You are welcome,” Beatrice replied with a weak smile. “Go now, and may Dynol guide and protect you all.”

  9

  It was nightfall on the second day of their hard ride by the time they reached the edge of the Amber Woods, but the lovers dared not stop now that they were so close to their destination. As it was, they had barely stopped long enough to water the horses up until that point for fear of being overrun. They only had to make that mistake once to learn their lesson, but it was a lesson they dared not forget.

  Dorlyn’s thigh still ached from the wound Vylkur had not had the chance to completely heal. The deep gash in Liandrya’s side continued to throb and bleed through her bandages, and even though she felt light-headed from blood-loss, she dared not let on just how badly her wound pained her.

  “Just a little further, boy,” Liandrya urged when her steed faltered in his step. She was practically lying on her stomach upon her mount’s back, because it simply hurt too much to sit up. “We’re almost there, I promise.”

  It was not until they passed through the edge of the forest that Dorlyn slowed his trembling mare at last, and he patted her neck gently while pulling her to a halt. “We go on foot from here,” he said while dismounting.

  “Are you sure?” Vylkur asked while casting his gaze around the growing shadows as he slowly dismounted.

  Dorlyn nodded while removing his weapons and supplies from his horse’s saddle. “Too many things for the horses to trip over in these woods,” he said in a hushed voice. “Especially in the dark. Besides,” he said while turning his horse towards the tree line. “The horses will serve as a distraction, now hurry.”

  “And if we need to take the mask to the dwarven temple?” Vylkur asked. “What then?”

  “It is a day’s journey on foot,” Dorlyn replied calmly. “We’ll manage.”

  Liandrya clenched her jaw against the pain as she slowly dismounted, but at length, the pulling and shifting of muscles as she lowered herself to the ground became too much, and she yelped wordlessly while leaning heavily against her steed and waited for the worst of the pain to be over. Vylkur and Dorlyn were at her side in an instant, and Liandrya immediately regretted allowing her pain to get the better of her.

  “I’m fine,” the half-elf said tersely while attempting to bat Vylkur’s hands away, but to no avail.

  Vylkur’s eyes widened at the sight of the bandage that had been completely soaked through. “No, you’re not,” he countered while his eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me your wound was this bad?”

  “What good would that have done?” Liandrya snapped before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. “You would’ve insisted that we stop so you could heal me, and I couldn’t let that happen. We barely escaped the ambush at the watering hole with our lives. If we had stopped for however long it would’ve taken for you to heal me, we wouldn’t have escaped another attack. It was better that we kept moving, and that you saved your magic. You know I’m right, so stop giving me that look.”

  “Come on,” Dorlyn interjected before Vylkur could reply. He now carried Liandrya’s supplies in addition to his own, and he swatted the rumps of all three horses which took off at a trot. “We’ll make camp once we’re within the elven borders. You can fully heal our stubborn darling then, since we’ll be safer than on this side of the border...hopefully,” he added the last part under his breath as he took point with a slight limp. “In the meantime, no unnecessary conversation.”

  Vylkur shot Liandrya a disapproving glare. Then, his ex
pression softened around the edges, and he sighed and shook his head before tenderly kissing Liandrya’s cheek. Knowing his love would not be able to make the trek without help, he wordlessly draped her arm over his shoulders while wrapping his own arm around her waist. “Keep your hand pressed against the wound,” he whispered before falling completely silent.

  Not a single word was uttered between the three of them after that.

  Dorlyn remained ever watchful and alert as he led the way deeper into the woods. Three hundred years had passed since he had last walked among these trees, but he still found his way as though he had never left. An hour passed, and then another, and yet his shield and halberd remained at the ready in the event that he would have to jump to the defense of his two loves. Weary as he was, he knew that his lovers needed him. With Liandrya as injured as she was, and Vylkur assisting her in the simple act of walking, Dorlyn knew that the three of them were at a disadvantage, and so he pressed ever forward. He knew he was pushing Liandrya hard in her current state, but the wood elf also knew that without the protective wards and constant patrols on the elven side of the border, the three of them were especially vulnerable.

  He had to be cruel now in order to be kind later.

  Goddess willing, the three of them would be able to slip into the elven realm unnoticed. Dorlyn slowly exhaled through his nose in desperate attempt to calm the rapid racing of his heart. For him to return home with the very reason he was exiled in the first place was punishable by death, or at the very least imprisonment. While the Lord of the Amber Realm would by no means invite disaster upon his people by doing nothing with the mask once the situation was explained to him, Dorlyn knew that his former leader would never allow him to enter Anfarwol’s sacred temple.

  Vylkur would be slain on sight before he could even open his mouth.

  Their only chance on this leg of the journey rested solely with Liandrya. As a half-elf who had been raised among another clan of wood elves, she was familiar with their ways and customs. She would be granted access to the temple without so much as a second thought, which meant that his beloved woman would be venturing onward into the heart of the Amber Realm alone. All Dorlyn and Vylkur could do was wait like cowards, and while it sickened Dorlyn to his stomach, he also knew that they had no other choice.

  They were approaching the elven border now, and for Dorlyn, it was bittersweet. As he slowed his pace to one of caution, he was relieved to be out of the unprotected wild; and, he was double relieved that Morkessa and whatever minions she had employed to replace the last that had failed her would have the forces of the Amber Realm to beat them back. But, it also meant that Dorlyn had to be on alert for an entirely new threat…

  His kin.

  Though Vylkur remained silent, Dorlyn could feel his lifemate’s unease. The sooner he could find shelter for the three of them, the better. Dorlyn had to get them out of eyesight, and it was with that in mind that Dorlyn began leading them to an out of the way cave he knew all too well. Goddess willing, it was still rarely used; and, if Anfarwol was indeed merciful, the three of them were not already being watched.

  Hearing voices, Dorlyn dropped behind a large bush and motioned for Vylkur and Liandrya to do the same. Collectively, they held their breaths, and Vylkur’s arm held his wounded love protectively against him. The dark elf kept his free hand at the ready for spellcasting, and every muscle in his slim, taut body was tensely coiled like a viper ready to strike.

  “How is your courtship progressing?” asked a male voice.

  “Very well,” replied another male voice. His smile was obvious. “I have no doubt that my love and I shall be wed soon.”

  “She is quite a beauty,” the first voice praised.

  “She is indeed,” the second voice agreed. “And quite good with her hands,” he added with a small chuckle.

  The second voice chuckled as well. “Well, congratulations to you and your eternity with her gifted hands.”

  Dorlyn resisted the urge to growl in frustration. The two elves had clearly crossed paths while on patrol, and now, instead of going their separate ways and continuing, they had chosen to linger. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the unearthly pallor upon Liandrya’s face which was also heavy with perspiration from her pain coupled with the infection that was undoubtedly settling in.

  She was running out of time!

  Seeing the desperation in Vylkur’s eyes, Dorlyn knew that his beloved was moments away from doing something drastic, and so he grabbed a rock and was about to throw it off into the distance to serve as a distraction. Fortunately, it seemed that Anfarwol had compassion after all. Reprieve for the trio came in the form of several raised voices in the distance.

  “What is that?” the first voice asked moments before the shouts and raised voices devolved into the din of a full battle.

  “Does it matter?” the second voice asked hurriedly before dashing off. “Come on! Our brethren need us!”

  “Meant for us no doubt,” Liandrya whispered with a pained grunt before biting her bottom lip and whimpering.

  Vylkur growled wordlessly. “Enough of this,” he hissed before moving Liandrya’s blood-soaked hand aside and pressing his own against the wound while concentrating healing energy into his palm.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Liandrya protested weakly.

  “You won’t have time if I don’t,” Vylkur replied sharply. He held his hand against the wound a few moments longer before drawing it away. “I’ve healed you just enough to keep you from dying. “I will heal you properly once we find shelter for the night.”

  “Here,” Dorlyn said while putting up his weapons and holding his arms open. “Give her to me. I will carry her.”

  Vylkur ignored Liandrya’s protests and shifted her over to Dorlyn who promptly gathered her up into his arms like a bride before standing. Knowing that it would now fall to him to keep the three of them safe, the dark elf held both hands at the ready as he rose to his feet and then nodded for his beloved to continue onward.

  Again, they moved in complete silence, but they were the farthest thing from calm. Vylkur jumped at every shadow, and Dorlyn felt utterly conflicted as the sounds of battle reached his ears. On the one hand, he was relieved that their would-be attackers had happened upon his kin, for he and his loves were in no state whatsoever to face whatever onslaught they had in store. On the other hand, he felt the deep-seeded need to answer the call to arms and aid his brethren in the fight against their dark invaders despite the fact that he no longer held any loyalties to them. His loyalties lay squarely with Vylkur and Liandrya, and it was that truth that pushed aside any lingering feelings of guilt he felt for having brought the fight into his former home.

  All that mattered in that moment was getting his loves to safety.

  10

  When they reached the cave at last, Vylkur went in first to ensure its safety, and when he was satisfied, he motioned for Dorlyn to enter with Liandrya. “Put her down so I can heal her,” he entreated while rubbing his hands together and glancing towards the natural hot spring. The memories it evoked caused a shiver to race through Vylkur as he slowly sank to his knees and cradled Liandrya gently in his arms once Dorlyn had carefully handed her over.

  “I will build a fire,” Dorlyn murmured.

  Liandrya rested limply against Vylkur as he ripped the soaked bandages from her body. Her breathing was slow, and her eyelids were heavy as her head lolled to the side.

  “Stay with me, darling,” Vylkur entreated earnestly as he placed his hand over the wound once again. “Stay with us.” He lovingly brushed a kiss to Liandrya’s clammy forehead while filling his love with the healing energy needed to purge Liandrya’s body of infection while knitting back together muscle, tissue, and flesh. “We’re not ready to let you go.”

  “We never will be,” Dorlyn uttered fervently as he worked to build a small fire.

  “We always knew that one day I would leave the both of you,” Liandrya whispered before her eyes slow
ly fluttered open. She silently held Vylkur’s gaze for a few moments, before smiling warmly. “But that day is not today,” she added while reaching up with a hand and lovingly cupping it against Vylkur’s cheek.

  Vylkur smiled and kissed Liandrya fervently before resting his forehead against hers as he finished healing her. When the wound had been completely healed, Vylkur’s hand lingered, and his thumb lightly brushed over where the gaping wound had once been. “Don’t ever do that again, do you understand? The next time you’re hurt that badly, you tell me. Understood?”

  “Yes,” Liandrya answered softly with a small nod.

  “Good,” Vylkur said before brushing a kiss to Liandrya’s forehead and then slowly drawing away. He turned towards Dorlyn who had just sat back on his heels after building a small fire. “Your turn,” he said to his lifemate. “Come here and show me your leg.”