by A. C. Ellas
Unlike the hound, Rak was soaked, and he left a dripping trail in his wake. The palace servants would no doubt be upset by this, but the trip from the entrance to the suite was short. He went straight to the bathroom, bypassing the parlor in favor of removing wet garments. Thankfully, he lost his guards at the door to his bedchamber. The soggy boots and sword-belt went first, carefully laid out to dry. The weapons followed—two short swords and six daggers, most with sheaths that also needed to dry.
Wetness was still not something he was used to. He was undecided if it was better or worse than sand. He started to undress. The problem with silk was that it became clingy when soaked. For a timeless interval, he struggled with the fabric before he resorted to peeling the cloth over itself. His wings got in the way. He refrained from cursing. Rak was accustomed to dealing with his own needs, but this was one occasion where he could use some help, and for once, Tebber was not hovering about in his eager-to-be-helpful way. And he’d be damned before he called Jisten in to help.
He got the tunic mostly off by peeling it over his head and pulling his arms out. Now, it clung to his back, dripping down unpleasantly between his shoulder blades, like his back didn’t already itch enough. He considered cutting the fabric and ridding himself of the garment that way, but the angles made that impractical. He reached over his shoulder and began the process of working his left wing out of the slit.
If he could get the wing’s wrist under the hem, the fabric should just slide off and down the spars. That first part was the trick. When his wings had first emerged from their protective cases, he’d been forced to learn a whole new approach to shirts. With a hook of a finger and a twist of the wing, the leading edge popped out of the slit. He repeated this process on the other side. The tunic slid off the right wing but clung to a drier patch of membrane on the left. He solved this by indulging in a vigorous flap. The tunic sailed through the air, landed against the tiled wall with a splat and slid down to the floor.
Rak had already turned his attention to his pants. That went much faster since he didn’t have anything outside of the human norm to complicate matters with. Once he’d finished, he hung up the wet clothes, hoping that they would actually dry and not molder. He dried himself with a towel, and as he padded into the bedchamber, he wondered where Tebber might be. His servant was possessed of an arcane ability to know when he was in either the bathing chamber or the bedchamber.
Once he was dressed, he walked into the parlor. Ioli was perusing the star chart from the other night with great interest, trying to act normal in the face of the guards. Rak frowned. “Where is Tebber?”
Ioli glanced up. “I sent him to the library to return a book.” His head cocked. “But now that you mention it, he should have been back by now.”
“I do not like this.” Rak turned toward the door. “Pamε. Let us go.” He repeated himself in Koilathan for the benefit of the guards, so they wouldn’t feel moved to impede him when he left.
“He’s not that late, sir. Perhaps we should give him some more time?”
Rak shook his head. “No. We go now. Something is not right.” He couldn’t say how he knew this, he just knew. It was annoying not being able to articulate a reason, but his assistant didn’t need a reason. Being the high priest had a few advantages—Ioli followed him without any further discussion. Jisten and two other guards trailed after them, and they, all of whom were taller than Rak by at least a head, had to stretch their legs to keep up.
Rak had only walked a short distance down the hallway when the first cat brushed up against him. He didn’t even pause. He couldn’t go anywhere in the palace without collecting a train of cats. Or of women. Despite the murder and the suspicion, the ladies of the court were still flinging themselves at him. At least it was late enough that they were spared that much, for only the cats collected at Rak’s feet.
He turned down the branching that led to the library and paused, his gaze on the latest cat to arrive. He went to one knee, his hand rubbing the cat behind the ears. “What have you seen, little one?”
The cat, purring, rubbed against Rak’s hand as images spilled into the priest’s mind. “Ahh,” Rak said. “Lead me.” He stood and followed the cat down the hallway. Two turnings later, the cat meowed, stretching herself against a plain, unmarked door. Rak murmured his thanks to the cat as he gave her a small piece of sausage.
He tried the door. It was unlocked and swung open to reveal one of the many storage rooms. Rak entered the room and crouched down next to Tebber, who was lying against the back wall. The man had been beaten and did not appear to be conscious. After a moment’s thought, Rak removed his cloak and placed it on the floor.
Rak and Ioli rolled Tebber onto the cloak, holding the head and neck still in relation to the torso, just in case. Then, they used the cloak to lift Tebber off the floor. Rak said, “We need to get him to the suite. Night flames should help with some of this.”
Ioli nodded, unable to reply because his hands were busy clutching the makeshift gurney.
Once they were out of the room, back into the palace corridor, the guards were quick to help carry Tebber back to the suite.
They set Tebber on a bed and removed his clothing to see the extent of the damage. While the servant was covered with bruises, Rak noticed the lack of blood, of cuts, immediately. So long as Tebber didn’t have broken bones or internal injuries to go with the bruises, the night flames would be sufficient to heal him.
Rak held out his hand, palm up, as he whispered a short prayer. Night flames blossomed in his open palm, flaring blue, green and purple. He tipped his hand, and the flames spilled downward, flowing onto Tebber’s skin. The flames spread, multiplying as they flickered and danced, covering the servant’s exposed flesh. After a time, Rak and Ioli rolled Tebber again so that the flames could dance on the rest of him. In their wake, the night flames left smooth, unblemished and revitalized skin. Okyran ladies were known to pay dearly for the privilege of a night flame cleansing, claiming it to be better than any herb or lotion. They paid dearly because the Brethren considered such a use of their God’s gift to be frivolous.
Once the night flames were done, most of them snuffed out, returning, perhaps, to the place from whence they came. One clump of night flame remained, dancing back up Tebber’s spine. When the flames reached Tebber’s neck, they vanished, the healing done. The bruises were gone, but his servant had yet to wake.
Since Tebber was still not conscious, Rak rolled him once more and peeled back the man’s eyelids to check the pupils. He was relieved to discover that they were the same size and neither too large nor too small. Rak said, “If he has not woken up by morning, we will have to ask the sun priests to look at him. In retrospect, it would have been wise of us to keep S’Liast here.”
Ioli nodded agreement, fingers observing, “One never needs a healer until there aren’t any available.”
Rak chuckled. “Very true, siflion, very true.”
* * * *
Tebber woke up expecting pain. That he didn’t feel any scared him. He’d been set on by those he’d once called friends, some of the other servant-slaves of the palace. They had taken him by surprise, overpowering him because he hadn’t expected his friends to turn against him. Dealing with their jealousy over his good fortune had been bad enough, but this was much worse. They blamed the dark priests for not only the murder, but also every bad or unpleasant thing that had happened in Koilatha since they’d arrived.
Why their hatred of Rak and Ioli meant they had to beat up Tebber wasn’t something he quite grasped. He resolved to ask Rak about it. His master was both smart and wise; he’d know the reason. At least they’d set into him on the way back from the library. If the library’s precious book had gotten damaged, there would be no way to escape the wrath of the librarian, a foul-tempered priestess of Alethian. He still had nightmares about that woman dating from the first and last time he’d damaged a book. He’d only been eleven.
He cracked open his eyes to see th
e ceiling. A cool hand touched his forehead, and Tebber turned his head to look at Rak. The priest was seated beside the bed, a book turned over a knee. “How do you feel?”
For the first time in his life, he felt that he was serving someone worth serving. That the dark priest cared about him was obvious. Tebber smiled. “I feel fine, sir,” he replied. Then, he told Rak what had happened.
Rak listened, his gaze never leaving Tebber’s face. When he finished, Rak stirred. “Interesting on a couple of counts. Now, the first question is, did these friends attack you on their own or on the orders of another?”
The second possibility hadn’t occurred to him before now. He shook his head. “But, who? Hasaviz is dead, so is Virien, and Gebiet’s fair, according to what I hear.”
“Indeed. I shall look into it, Tebber.” Rak took a bone whistle out of a pocket and offered it to Tebber. “I would have given this to you sooner, but I did not think that you would have need of it here in the palace.”
“What does it do, sir?” He took the whistle and looked at it.
“It summons thansymia.” Rak grinned at Tebber’s expression. “I do not think that you need to fear any of the palace servants now.”
Tebber nodded and sought for a pocket to put the whistle in. He blinked as he realized that he was naked under the light blanket. He was also in Rak’s bed. “Ah...”
The priest handed him a clean set of clothing. “Here. S’Ioli placed what you had been wearing in the laundry.”
Grateful for their thoughtfulness, Tebber sat up and accepted the stack. As he sorted through it, he asked, “Why am I in your bed, sir?”
“It was closer. Also, it is bigger, and we had to roll you for the night flames to work on your back. You were unconscious, so we could not expect you to help.”
Tebber choked back a laugh. It wasn’t funny. Recalling his resolve, he asked, “Why did they want to beat me up? I thought they were my friends.”
“They beat you because they could not touch me. To their minds, since you are now my servant, you are as evil as I.”
“But you’re not evil,” Tebber protested, forgetting his own initial reaction to the dark priest.
“Nor am I a holy bloodsucker, but someone calls me that at least once a day,” Rak replied with a twinkle in his eye.
“Holy bloodsucker?”
“Yes; dhemion.”
Tebber burst out laughing. Rak’s forehead crinkled, so Tebber explained, “Sir, it’s a language issue. Demons aren’t holy bloodsuckers; they’re evil, shadowy beings with supernatural powers and a desire to steal souls.”
“Well, I do not think that I am one of those, either.”
“How did you find me? They dragged me into a storage room so no one would see.”
“I asked the cats, of course.”
Chapter Sixteen: A New Guard
A commotion drew Rak back into the parlor. He entered half expecting a fight to have broken out and was pleasantly surprised to find nothing of the sort occurring. S’Liast, along with Nymis and a temple guard Rak didn’t know had just walked in.
Liast grinned at him as the servants deposited the bulging packs along the wall. “S’Rak, you should see the chocolate they make in the Vales. It’s as close to perfection as mortal man can manage.”
Anything Rak might have said was lost as another person came through the door. “Despina!”
“Ach! My good boy!” Jisten’s mother folded Rak into her soft, comforting embrace. “I couldn’t stay up there when both my good boys are here!” She turned to Jisten next, delivering the same hug she’d just favored Rak with.
“Mother,” Jisten said, his tone of voice astonished. “But where will you stay? All our people went north; Valer Square is empty.”
“Ach! My house still there, still stand?”
“Yes, but you’ll be alone,” Jisten protested.
“I manage. You visit more.” Despina patted his cheek.
“You should stay here tonight, matre,” Rak said. “It is too late at night to send you home; besides, all the markets are closed.”
“Of course,” Jisten said. “There’s plenty of space.” He hesitated, so Rak made a shooing gesture.
“Go, get her settled, I give you my word that I am not going anywhere else tonight, and I will not commit mayhem here in my own rooms.”
“Thank you, S’Rak.” Jisten picked up Despina’s packs and escorted his mother out.
Liast was looking at the guards with an expression of polite interest. “Are we under house arrest?”
“The king has ordered that we be guarded to prevent us from committing murder.” Rak quickly updated the new arrivals by summarizing the recent events, after which Liast ducked into the bedroom to check on Tebber.
Nymis motioned to the other guard. “This is Trosp; he joined us at the Lofton Temple to give S’Liast escort home.”
“Welcome, Trosp,” Rak said, studying the guard, wondering why he felt so familiar. The man appeared average in height and coloring—reddish blond hair, blue eyes, muscular.
“Thank you, sir,” Trosp replied. Their gazes met, and for a single moment, Trosp’s eyes didn’t appear human. One orb was golden and the other was silver. Rak drew in a sharp breath as he recognized the being who stood before him. What was Traespo, Lord of Madness, doing in his suite?
Liast and Tebber emerged from the bedroom, so Rak said, “S’Liast, please look at S’Ioli, also. A tree branch clipped him last night when we went to check the ruins. Tebber, Nymis, please start moving S’Liast’s packs to his quarters. Trosp, I would speak with you further.” Rak was well known for spending time to get to know the guards assigned to him, so nobody would think the situation unusual.
Rak led Trosp into his bedroom and threw the privacy bolt. He turned and faced the not-guard. “Why are you here, my Lord Traespo?”
“Are you not one of my servants?” Trosp replied, retaining his mortal disguise.
“The wing fungus was cured.”
Trosp threw his head back and laughed. “You think that is why I came to you? Oh, S’Rak, Thezi high priest, you are so amusing.” Trosp sobered quickly; he reached out and stroked Rak’s cheek with his hand. The touch felt good, and Rak could feel his fires urging him. Traespo had been lover to him on more than one occasion in the recent past. Was the god hoping to continue in that role as well?
“You are a prophet and a seer,” Trosp said quietly. “You know what is coming; you know what events have been kicked into motion with the recent conjunction.”
“Yes, I know. I saw the stars and planets in alignment with the ancient star map. The hunter and the trickster are both in the dragon still.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“I will not run from destiny,” Rak replied. “I have a duty to defend the Victory Prophecy.”
“That, my dear high priest, is why I am still here.” Traespo, for it was the god now rather than the man he pretended to be, embraced him. “I am required to offer you another chance to leave and escape this madness.”
Rak rested his forehead on Traespo’s shoulder. “If I go?”
“Peace, for now. You would return home to lead your sect and raise your family. The war would continue, endlessly. If things go very badly, the army of night could be defeated, but these are all things you know already.”
“And if I stay, just to be clear?”
“Pain and suffering, but the Victory Prophecy will be preserved and there will be a real opportunity to defeat the Unmaker.”
“And that, my dear Lord of Madness, is why I must stay.”
Trosp kissed him then pushed him back toward the bed. “I’ve missed you, Thezomeh, for more than one reason.”
“You are a god; what need have you of me?”
“Not need, just desire. I suspect you of being a god yourself—the god of carnal desire, perhaps.” Trosp was atop him, undressing him.
Rak couldn’t think of a single other protest. He needed this, and Trosp was willing. Additionally
, he wouldn’t have to ask Jisten to help him. He wasn’t even sure that Jisten would be willing to help him at the moment. Safer to not ask, to not know how total his rejection was over a crime he hadn’t committed.
Trosp’s entry was strong, and Rak relaxed into it, pushing back to seat the cock more deeply inside him. This new form of the god’s was much better endowed than his previous ones. Rak could feel the enormous shaft impaling him, rearranging his insides to suit itself. It felt wonderful. Rak worked his internal muscles rhythmically to increase Trosp’s pleasure; he worked himself on the pole to increase his own pleasure. He hadn’t been this well taken in a while—the last time Jisten had slept with him, in fact.
He missed Jisten keenly. Trosp’s lovemaking served to remind him most strongly of what he no longer had. Damn Virien, he thought savagely, his body tensing at the memory of the man.
“Yes, he was damned,” Trosp purred in his ear. “The torments of his soul are many. He awakens each day, thinking himself alive. He is tortured and mutilated over the many hours of the day. At sunset, he dies, only to spend the night as a sex toy for the residents of the hall of night. It is fitting that he be made to suffer this small punishment for his crimes in life.”
“You both comfort me and cheer me,” Rak murmured. The mental images of Virien’s ongoing torture in the afterlife pleased him greatly.
Trosp continued his steady, deep thrusting in and out of Rak’s body, taking his time and clearly savoring the physicality of it all. Rak pressed himself into the muscular frame of his lover, enjoying the physical contact almost as much as he enjoyed the sex. Trosp’s climax filled him, sparking Rak’s orgasm in turn.
It wasn’t transcendental, nor world shattering, but it was very good, and it was exactly what Rak needed. It soothed his fires and his soul in one go, leaving his mind clear and ready to face his problems once more. Trosp rolled off him. “Until next time, my servant.” The not-guard adjusted his clothing and strode out of the room with a jaunty step.