She moaned, reached between his legs, and gripped him hard, stroking.
He curled his fingers inside her, and ran his teeth along her throat.
Mmm..." she smiled, and parted her legs as he moved his body over hers.
He slid inside her, pushing deep. Then he took Sorya's left hand and gently, but firmly placed it between her own legs. He felt her skin tingle as the thrill ran through her body. With her right hand, she roamed the muscles of his shoulder, back, and thrusting hips.
The door opened, and Katara walked in, carrying a full tray precariously piled with refreshments. She flushed, then rather expertly closed the door behind her with a foot while setting the tray down on a sturdy table next to the bed.
"Not without me," she said, pulling off her dress.
~
Talaos sat in bed as the women dozed. The tray of food sat empty next to half-finished clay pitchers of wine and water. Outside it was afternoon, but he'd drawn the blinds, and it was cool and dark in the room. They had the place all day, and there was no hurry.
He considered what Sorya had said, and what they were to each other. Leaving aside questions about the longer term future, her desire to have him to herself wasn't going to happen. He was sure of that. But, he'd never really examined the reasons.
Though it had only been six months, she was the longest he'd ever stayed with a lover. As intensely as he felt, one by one, he always let them go. Sometimes for good reasons, and sometimes with little idea why. The sheer number of women he'd had was another point of notoriety among those who knew him. Regardless, it felt natural and right to him, like he was fulfilling some part of his purpose.
But what purpose? Children? If so, then how was it, with so many women, and he healthy and normal enough, he had none? Not that he'd sought them. He'd simply accepted matters as they were, for him. Accepted until very recently.
Sorya was right about one thing. He felt change in the air, or at least in his spirit.
It occurred to him that with things likely to be quieter for a little while, he might visit the Great Library. It had been too long. It might have been Katara, or Pallas turning up with Injraya, the disturbing changes in Cratus's organization, or Sorya's talk of settling down somewhere far away, but regardless, he had the world on his mind. Where better to learn a few new things, while getting a little peace?
That though, would be another day. In the meantime, there were more immediate things.
Katara had certainly introduced a new element into their lives. She was so very natural in all she did, and her attention to Sorya had been something unexpected and beautiful. And like Sorya, there was a great deal about her that was intriguing. Whatever it was that the three of them had, and however long it lasted, it was a beautiful thing.
That didn't mean Sorya accepted it as such. Eventually, if she wanted him, she would have to face him as he actually was, but she'd have to come to that in her own way.
And what would Katara want, when the time came?
As if in reply, Katara stirred and gazed up at him sleepily. Sorya still seemed to doze, but drew closer. At peace, for the moment.
He had no answers, nor much peace to offer, but at least they had this moment.
He pulled them both close, protectively in his arms.
2. The Jewel of the Republic
The great library of Carai was not the sort of place one would expect to meet a gangster, and that was one of the things Talaos liked about it. Here, he was unlikely be jumped by enemies, and here he could think of the world beyond those enemies.
It was a huge place, some two hundred years old, built in what was called the Imperial style. There were two long wings of three stories flanking a lofty, domed and colonnaded central structure of octagonal shape. The grandeur of it was itself a nice change from the gritty back streets and seedy taverns where he spent so much of his time.
He ascended the long flight of steps wrapped around three faces of the octagon and leading toward the vast main entrance. He considered that in a strange way this place was a second home. Admittedly, it was a home he visited rarely these days, but as much or more of one than the ever-changing cheap apartments where he slept.
He'd had only a bit of formal education as a boy, thanks to a well-meaning but harsh charitable order. Always a quick study, he'd learned a great deal more then, and later, than he generally let on. On the other hand, he tended to meander his way randomly through subjects as his interests led him. He doubted he had the patience to be a proper scholar.
Still, for a little while when here, he could think of a wider world. And he thought, the annual fee to be a Patronus of the library was both surprisingly low and came with useful privileges. He drew his cloak around him to cover his weapons. All free citizens of the Republic had the right to bear them, but he had no interest in scaring the milder-mannered visitors to the place, or attracting extra attention.
He greeted old Tertius, the door warden, and passed inside. The ornate patterned tile of the floor was polished as always, and the gilt work of the lofty interior doom shone far overhead. Today he thought, he'd study maps and geography.
He took the stairs up to the balconied gallery on the second floor, then the right-hand hallway to the east wing, where maps, atlases and travelogues would be found. He passed shelves of books and scrolls alternating with tables and benches for reading. The diagonal-latticed windows up here were large. They let in plenty of light on a bright day like this one.
The map section was at the end of the wing. He found a large empty table, grabbed a map of the known world, a random selection of travelogues, and set up shop.
The map had been made in Carai, and naturally had the Republic at its center. The familiar shape was there, roughly rectangular land boundaries over a jagged southern coast facing the central sea. Ancient, mighty Carai was the easternmost large city, but a sprawling plains region of ranches and small towns extended further east to the mountains. Far to the northwest of Carai was landlocked Ivarna, whose rich iron mines and skilled smiths had helped build a new Republic four centuries ago, on the anarchic remnants of the old Empire.
There was still-anarchic Hunyos, east of the Republic across the mountains. War was brewing there. Shaped roughly like a triangle with the narrowest point to the south, it was bordered on the east by the Eastern Sea, and on the north by the heartland of the fallen kingdom of Dirion. Southernmost and closest of the many rival cities of Hunyos was Avrosa, which was supposed to be the last stop for his friend Daxar on his voyage selling weapons.
For a thousand years, what were now the Republic, Hunyos and eastern Dirion had been the core of the old Empire. In the six hundred years since its fall they had been variously rivals or trading partners, sharing a common language and culture.
For a long time, Dirion had built a new empire of its own, conquering neighbors, putting Hunyos under tribute, expanding ever west. It had struggled with the Republic over the ranges of mineral-rich mountains and fertile vineyard valleys that formed their boundary. Then Dirion had pushed too far and in a colossal war against the Republic forty years earlier, lost everything.
Nomadic horsemen from the far northeastern plains now ruled most of old Dirion, and Northmen from Schald its western reaches. Schald itself was the easternmost and southernmost of the Northman countries. Beyond it were Narhame, Katara's home of Vorhame, and distant Jotun on the frozen northern sea. The northern peoples tended to be tall and fair, and were known for both war and poetry.
South of those countries and west of the Republic were the Seven Realms, a large region that had been under the Empire in its later centuries. During the collapse, seven heroes had won their freedom and become seven kings. They were known as places where small feuds were more common than big wars, at least in recent times. Beyond them were the Western Isles, a land of far-faring merchant sailors.
Across the central sea from the Republic were the Southlands, and they extended beyond the edge of the map. Talaos knew little about th
em beyond some of the trading cities on the coast, but thought he might change that.
Then there were the Eastlands...
"Talaos?" said an elderly voice behind him, "It's been a long time. How are you, lad?"
Talaos turned around and saw Caelius, the curator of the second floor east wing. The old man was dressed in the wreath-bordered white tunic of his station. Talaos thought he looked frailer than the last time he'd seen him, and his unkempt white hair even wispier.
"I'm well. And how are you, Caelius?"
"A little worn from a fever, I'm afraid, but otherwise well enough."
"I'm glad you're doing better," replied Talaos warmly.
"Thank you," said Caelius. Then he thought for a moment, smiled and teasingly added, "Though, I can't recall you having much direct experience with being ill."
"I can't remember ever having been," replied Talaos.
The curator quietly chuckled and shifted his attention to Talaos's studies, with a twinkling curiosity in his old eyes at the map and books on the table.
"That is quite a collection you have there. If I may ask, what would you like to learn?"
"Everything," answered Talaos.
Caelius shook his head, smiling, "That was the same answer you gave nearly fifteen years ago, when you first sneaked in here with rags on your back and a head full of questions."
"Some things never change," replied Talaos, smiling.
"And some do," answered Caelius, glancing at Talaos's silver-fitted gear and expensive swords, "though whether for better or worse depends on what we choose to make of them."
"I've been thinking of change lately," mused Talaos.
"That's good, because it is in your nature, lad," replied Caelius, "Now, if you want some recommendations from among all those travelogues, I can help."
"I'd be interested in learning more about the Eastlands," answered Talaos.
Caelius looked surprised. "Well, though it historically was home to a great many nations, at present the entire continent is ruled by the Living Prophet."
"That much I knew," answered Talaos. "He's supposed to be a kind of powerful sorcerer who has everything in his lands governed by some elaborate, strict philosophy."
"Correct. It is a complete philosophy of life, with no exceptions, and backed by his laws. He claims to have the answers to everything, but I can't say I found it interesting enough to study those purported answers in detail. What makes you curious about the Eastlands?"
Talaos considered. He'd been told he was found on the beach by a pair of gleaners. One died soon after, but the other was old Etoclea, who'd made sure he got some help when he was very small, and passed around his story. By that means, he knew one important thing.
"I've been told my mother was from the Eastlands," he said.
"Ah, yes, I think you mentioned that once," the curator answered.
Talaos continued, "But... blue eyes like mine are supposed to be rare there."
"Just about unknown, I'd say. Blue eyes are rare enough here, let alone bright ones like yours. A lot more people have that color up in the Northman countries, of course."
Talaos thought about that for a moment, quietly.
Caelius scratched his chin, and added, "One thing... remind me how old you are?"
"Twenty five."
"That's what I thought. If your mother came from the Eastlands by ship, it would have been about the time the Prophet was beginning his conquest of the last countries there he didn't rule, mostly on the western coasts. It was a massive war, and there were refugees who fled west."
"What do you know about those countries?" asked Talaos.
"It won't be much help regarding her, but we can look through the travelogues and I'll point things out to you. In those days, Carai did quite a bit of trade with several places there. One is the kingdom of Dragesha, and another was, then, the league of the princes of Lagana, though there are no princes left now. The biggest trade port there is Ishuk, if you'll look here..."
~
The Cheated Deal was full of rowdy people. Fading sunlight shown through high latticed windows. Wide archways decorated with old, scratched paint in squared geometric designs divided a large main area from several smaller back rooms. Painted prominently in several places were pictures of merchant's scales with thumbs tipping them to one side.
There was smoke in the air and spilled wine on the brown clay-tiled floor. Crowds formed and dissolved with the flow of conversation, friends coming and going, and deals being made. In dark corners, alert figures carried on quiet discussions. Serving girls in flowing multicolored skirts deftly slipped through the crowds with hands full of earthenware wine mugs.
Near the heart of the place, a particularly large crowd of mostly younger men and women gathered at a cluster of tables with an open space in the middle. Their freewheeling, boisterous conversation ebbed and flowed. In the densest part of the crowd sat Talaos, sprawled on a couch like a great cat holding court, with Sorya at his right hand. She had her rich dark hair bound in a loose-ended bun that cascaded to her shoulders, and two long bangs framed her face. Unusual for her, she wore a black, revealing city-style dress over her lithe form, and her lips were painted red. She looked pensive.
In the open space at the middle of their group, Katara was demonstrating a variety of kicks, sweeps, and throws. Sometimes she would add a backswept elbow that left no doubt someone's face would have been ill-advised to be in the way, or brought a knee up to a height that made some of the youngest men uncomfortably guard their groins.
She was dressed in a costume very foreign to the geometric sleeveless tunics and checkered cloaks of the men, and the long, yet revealing dresses of the women around. She had a plain knee-length woolen kilt on a wide leather belt at her waist, with brown leather panels in front and back, and an exceptionally sturdy, many-strapped leather harness over her ample breasts. She wore a leather band with bronze discs on her head. The rest of her skin was bare.
Sorya looked up at Talaos, whose eyes casually wandered the room. Her eyes flashed and her pert lips parted as if to speak. Then it passed and was replaced by a wistful, sad expression. She clung herself like a rag doll to Talaos's side, and he put an arm lightly around her. Katara was continuing her demonstration.
"And would you really fight in clothes like that?" asked a thin teenage boy with brown hair hanging in rings around his face, and eyes that never left Katara's body.
Talaos made a bemused smile, his eyes sparkling, as he watched them both.
The Northwoman stopped, and faced the boy with seriousness.
"These are inside clothes, or for warm weather. In the cold, we add more. This type of fighting is for times when you do not expect a fight. Or when the other person does not, and you want to keep it that way until the time is right. Most women in the north do not go to war unless we face a strong foe, and all are needed, or all is lost and the men are gone. I do though, and if I was going to battle, I would be wearing armor and carrying a sword."
"I'd imagine," yawned a short girl with a round face and elaborately coifed chestnut hair, standing next to her noticeably distracted boyfriend, "it helps to be bigger... and heavier."
Katara glanced at Talaos, who gave her the slightest nod in reply. She then turned back to fix her gaze on the chestnut-haired girl. Her eyes narrowed and her face took on the grim expression she'd worn facing Borras.
"It does," replied the Northwoman, drawing herself up to her full height, taller than many of the men in the crowd, and crossing her arms over her leather-bound chest. Her forearms showed hints of muscle, as did her trim bare waist. Her gray eyes gleamed like frost. "But," she continued, her accented voice dropping low, "speed and surprise are more reliable friends to women than strength... I could show you."
The girl's eyes grew wide, and she shrank back into her boyfriend's arms.
A few of the men in the crowd exchanged excited glances.
"You could show me," said an earnest young man of about twenty, with
the close-cropped brown hair and the respectable clothes of an aspiring tradesman or merchant. As he stood, his shoulders and back were slightly bowed and his palms up, but his averted eyes kept darting to Katara's breasts. "I'd be honored to learn..."
"I'm done for today," replied Katara disdainfully, to the obvious disappointment of many of the men, and visible relief of many of the women. With that, she stalked back to Talaos's left side, beads of sweat cooling on her skin.
As Katara sat and leaned close to him, Talaos overhead another young man whisper to someone nearby, "She carries herself like a queen..."
Talaos smiled inwardly, thinking of a secret known only to him and Katara. If she carried herself like a queen, it was because she was the daughter of a king. Granted, one of many in a warlike land where, it was said, one king could almost look from his keep to the keep of his neighbor. And, she was a daughter who had reasons not to want to return home, but a king's daughter still.
A bit later, a group of newcomers arrived at their gathering. They weren't sailors, but they had the tang of the sea still clinging to their clothes, and tousled hair fresh in from the wind. One of them was a strong-built, black-haired man in weathered tan clothes. His tunic, pants, and cloak were trimmed with bronze fittings, and his brown boots reinforced with bronze plates. He had a long, finely crafted sword strapped to his back. The man smiled, and raised a hand in greeting.
"Hail, Talaos! How goes the easy life here in the jewel of the Republic?"
"You've been missing the war, Daxar."
"War? You have no idea... I did hear there was some kind of trouble among the gangs."
"Palaeon's winning. He's lord in this part of town now."
"Can't say I like the sound of that. Mind if I sit down?"
Talaos gestured, and one of his friends grabbed a vacant chair and gave it to Daxar as the rest of the newcomers found places wherever they could.
The Storm's Own Son (Book 1) Page 3