by A. C. Ellas
Jisten continued to pound Rak’s opening, still firmly erect. The more Rak is loved this way, the better, he reminded himself. Once is good but twice is best. He almost always gave the kironi magic two loads of strengthening seed per session. Jisten realized that he’d have to do this again later, and he’d do it twice then, too.
Rak resisted less the second time around, too, and Jisten was free to indulge without worrying about his mate tensing up. A flash of color in the corner of his eye startled him and he glanced over to see a Valer woman with thick streaks of silver in her black hair watching them through amused, dark blue eyes.
“No stop my account,” she said.
Jisten wanted to stop, he wanted to pull out and hide Rak from her gaze, but he couldn’t. The kironi magic had him in a fierce grip, and he continued to thrust even as acute embarrassment slid over his skin, turning him bright red. Rak moaned in helpless delirium as he worked his body to accentuate Jisten’s efforts, and Jisten could sense that Rak was even more in thrall to the kironi magic than he was. Jisten doubted Rak was even aware of the audience. Nor would he care if he knew.
Jisten tried to ignore her. The kironi magic made it easy. All he had to do was close his eyes and all that existed was he and Rak, and the pleasure flowed back and forth between them, exponentially growing as they shared their souls with one another. Jisten lost himself to it as surely as Rak already had, and the pair of them strove together, thrusting and yielding, submitting and dominating until a truly massive buildup of pleasure reared up and crashed down upon them like an avalanche.
Jisten blinked back to awareness on the floor with Rak, still naked, atop him. His cock was still in Rak, at half-mast. A pair of feminine leather riding boots was off to his left. He looked up at the Valer.
“I am Sura,” she said, “dhelion to Koros clan and kin to several of those working here. I am here to help you with the kironi. I know much of kironi lore.”
Jisten was dismayed to discover that he was fully erect again and pumping idly into Rak’s belly.
Sura stepped back, but she didn’t leave.
Jisten wanted to tell her to get out, but for some reason, he couldn’t open his mouth to say those words. His action built up momentum, and soon, he was delivering powerful thrusts into Rak’s belly. His hands reached around to the small of Rak’s back and he pressed the smaller man into his hammering rod.
Rak moaned and writhed against him, the squirms of a man well caught, and Jisten moaned at how good it felt. He pummeled Rak’s opening for a solid half hour. He took great pleasure in Rak’s absolute submission to him. He loved how hard Rak worked to increase his pleasure. The third climax left him spent, gasping for breath on the floor. Rak rolled off him but stayed beside him.
By the time Jisten could open his eyes, he and Rak were alone in the bathroom, and he wondered if he’d imagined it all. “Did you see her?”
“See who?”
“Sura, a dhelion.”
Rak frowned and shook his head. “I saw nobody. Nor did I sense anybody. We were alone.”
“Strange. I would have sworn I saw her.” Jisten grimaced. “Too much wine?”
“Not enough sleep, not enough food.” Rak sat up and put his fists on his hips. “How you can claim you are not hungry when your mother is the cook is quite beyond me.”
Jisten snorted with laughter and stood up. He helped Rak to dress, fixed his pants, then the two of them headed for the kitchen in search of breakfast. When they got there, Jisten could feel his jaw coming unhinged. There was a Valer woman with white streaks in her hair helping Despina.
Rak must have sensed his agitation, for the Loftoni was rigid beside him, staring at the woman with a very odd expression on his face. “Who are you?” he asked, sharply, a hand falling to the hilt of a shortsword.
“I am Sura, the dhelion of Koros clan. I have kin here amongst those you’ve freed, for which you have my humble thanks.”
Jisten shivered and shook his head. “How long have you been here?”
“I only just arrived this morning; I have been here, assisting Despina with the cooking since I came in.”
“Interesting,” said Rak. He looked to Despina. “Matre, do you know her?”
“Only by reputation,” said Despina. “She is a most powerful and respected priestess of the All-Mother.”
“Hmm.”
Jisten glanced at Rak then said, “We are pleased to meet you, Dhelion.”
Rak sat down at the kitchen table and poured two mugs of café. He added the cream and sugar, handed one of the mugs to Jisten, and focused his attention on drinking the contents of the remaining mug.
Jisten settled down beside Rak and sipped his own mug as he wondered how he’d known the dhelion’s name.
Chapter Twelve: Arrivals
Єktεra Atεlio, Aoranz Fεngari
6th day, 2nd week, Auranz’s moon
Sunday, the 17th of Auranmon
Ioli slipped between two boulders and paused, head cocking as he listened to the wind rustling the grass. Two days into Loftos, their supplies were running low. Since they were in safe territory, Ioli and his guards had split up to hunt. Ioli had been lucky enough to stumble across a game trail, and he was tracking what he thought was a gazelle.
He froze as he cleared the first boulder. The gazelle was directly ahead, no more than thirty paces, upwind of his position. He nocked an arrow to his bow and smoothly drew, aiming down the shaft and compensating for distance and wind. He let fly, and the bow thrummed in his hands as the arrow flew.
His arrow thunked home in the gazelle’s chest a moment later and the animal fell to the ground, dead or dying. Ioli slung his bow and climbed down the hill toward his dinner. No sooner than he’d emerged in the clear than strangers surrounded him. Unhappy-looking strangers. Armed strangers, Ioli amended as the nearer men leveled spears at him and the further men aimed at him with bows.
“Tu chi se? Cosa stae facendo quy?” the lead man demanded.
Ioli started to worry. He didn’t understand a word the man was saying. He quickly signed, “I am S’Ioli of the Thezi Sect of the Lord of Night. Do you understand fingertalk?”
The men stared at him with blank hostility. “Sta confinare nelle nosra terr,” barked the lead man. “Lasciare ora morire.”
The men were drawing in, their expression tense. Ioli recognized the look. They were about to attack him. He raised his hands and called. Explosions of smoke and black flame as the enraged vranyxia translated to his side forced the startled men back. The equines wailed, an unearthly sound that sent shivers up the back of even those who worked with him, and flashed their bone spikes in a threat display, snorting flames amidst the usual smoke because their blood was up.
The men stood frozen, their grey and blue eyes locked on the vranyxia. With an attack on himself no longer imminent, Ioli removed his glove and pulled his signet ring off. He offered it to the lead man.
The man was brave enough to take a step forward and pluck the ring from Ioli’s hand. He studied it for no more than a moment before handing it back. In heavily accented Okyran, he said, “Priest?”
Ioli nodded. “I am trying to reach my temple.”
The man waved off his flashing fingers. “You come. Chief, dhelion, they speak.”
It took some time to return to camp and to gather his guards, but the sun hadn’t set yet when Ioli and his guards were escorted into a neat, tidy campground.
Asfalea and a strange man came out to greet them. Asfalea was beaming at them. “This is high priest’s assistant,” she told everyone in Koilathan.
“I speak Valer, if you’d be more comfortable in that tongue.” Nymis then proved his point by saying in Valer, “We meant no trespass. We are en route to our temple here in the Vales. S’Ioli is acting as envoy while S’Rak is indisposed and has been called north to speak to the priests there.”
“We will give you an escort,” declared the chief. “It is the least we
can do and will prevent misfortune. Other clans are more likely to attack on sight and ask questions of the corpses. But that can wait. Tonight, we shall celebrate having a priest of Zotien with us!”
* * * *
Єvmεra Atεlio, Aoranz Fεngari
7th day, 2nd week, Auranz’s moon
Seaday, the 18th of Auranmon
Pajel surveyed Karpos City with great interest. On first glance, he liked what he saw. The creamy ochre buildings with their russet tile roofs were pretty, as was the greenery the buildings were all set in. Even the smallest homes had grass, trees and bushes about them. The roads were stone paved, grey-green cobble smoothed over by years of use, and relatively straight.
He rode beside Tyll, keeping to the outer part of the road. There was a raised path on either side of the road for pedestrians. He approved. He noted the conservative dress, the profusion of sun symbols and the bowed, mostly covered heads of the women. That fell right in line with what he’d been told. The country was very patriarchal and fanatical in their worship of Auranz.
They didn’t much like outsiders, either, given the looks he and Tyll were receiving. Pajel was certain their reception would have been far chillier had they arrived openly as dark servants. As they rode, Pajel took note of the temples, all dedicated to deities of the house of day, which lined the road. The temples were getting larger the further they rode, until finally, the road spilled them out into a large, circular plaza dominated by a fountain in the center and a temple on the north side.
The fountain was lovely, Pajel thought. Four rearing hippocampi, in the same russet and ochre stone as the buildings, supported a rampant gryphon which faced south, a sentinel of sorts for the sun temple to its north. The water splashed from the open mouths of the hippocampi, and jets shot water up against their sides from the large basin they sat in. The gryphon, streaked with green moss, looked almost alive, except for the water fountaining up from between his spread wings.
They rode past the fountain and approached the sun temple. It was large. The walls were golden-veined cream marble, a few shades mellower than deathly white. The domed roof was hammered gold, reflecting the light of the sun in a blinding display of wealth. Atop the dome, almost lost in the glare, was a spherical crystal held aloft on a thin, golden spire like a second sun.
Tyll glanced at him as they dismounted. “The ylion is an ally.”
“I remember. I still find that passing strange.” Pajel tied his horse to the hitching post and nodded to Tyll in a professional manner.
Tyll nodded back and headed up the steps.
Pajel followed, playing the bodyguard once more. The tingle hit as soon as his foot touched the bottom step. By the time he’d climbed the dozen steps up to the temple entrance, the tingle was an unpleasant burning sensation. From the reports he’d read, this would only get worse.
They walked right past the young temple guards posted at the doors and into the temple.
Pajel school his features into blankness as he tried to cope with the pain of walking inside a sun temple uninvited.
Tyll led the way swiftly, and soon, they were at a pair of closed doors guarded by attentive men who didn’t seem too keen on allowing them past.
“I am Bard Tafflynn. Ylion Forael and I are friends. Please tell him that I wish to speak with him.”
“Tafflynn?” One of the guards looked at him carefully then nodded. “I remember you. The Dark Bard. Enrick, I’ll be right back.” The guard slipped through the doors, leaving Enrick alone.
Pajel waited at Tyll’s back impassively but not for long.
The guard returned and waved them through. “Go right on in. The ylion is expecting you.”
Forael was an older man, with wild silver hair and a face lined with age. But his pale blue eyes shone with intelligence, and the power that surrounded him was unmistakable. He looked from Tafflynn to Pajel and said, “I invite you both into my temple. Be welcome here, cousins.”
The searing pain of the floor vanished abruptly, though a low-level itch remained.
Tyll inclined his head, “I thank you for your courtesy, Ylion. This is my, ah, bodyguard, Anehas.”
Forael’s lips twitched as he regarded Pajel steadily. “I am sure that isn’t your real name or position, but it will do for now. Welcome to Koilatha. Unfortunately, at this time of year, nobody of any rank remains in the city.”
“We heard,” said Tyll dryly. “Summertown, yes? Why aren’t you there?”
“I remain with my temple. Tasebius is now the senior assigned to the royal court—he is in Summertown as he must be.” Forael smiled faintly and Pajel refrained from nodding. Rak’s reports had spelled out how the ylion had fallen into disfavor with his anti-slavery stance. Rumor had it that the mother sun temple in Klyma was considering whether to send the Sun Inquisitors to purge this temple of heresy.
“I see,” said Tyll. He shrugged a shoulder. “I will be heading to Summertown tomorrow, but I wished for the two of you to meet. Anehas may remain here in Karpos; he is tasked with investigating the chaos temple.”
Forael’s expression turned grave. “I pray that you will be most careful, cousin Anehas. That temple, even in a ruined state, is deadly dangerous.”
“All the works of the Unmaker are dangerous,” Pajel replied, unruffled. “This will not be the first chaos temple I have infiltrated.”
“Ahh, you are one of those Kephi who crosses the border regularly?”
Pajel almost smiled at the Ylion’s circumspect description. “Indeed I am.” Their talk turned strictly to pleasantries after that, and before long, Tyll and Pajel said their farewells and received assurances that they were always welcome to visit. Pajel was relieved to exit the sun temple, and once free of the building’s area of influence, he said, “Let’s find an inn.”
Chapter Thirteen: Rak’s Exam
Rak concentrated on the page before him, using a charcoal stick to quickly sketch what he saw through Scorth’s eyes. The dragon slowly flew back and forth across Jisten’s lands just above tree height. He wasn’t doing this to scare the peasantry, but so that Rak could map the details of his mate’s property, all the little things that didn’t show on the larger scale map of the area that was the best Jethain could come up with. All Jethain’s map had done was show Rak where the borders of Jisten’s lands should be.
In Okyro, all young dragonriders were extensively trained in map-making by the Astri scholars. Accurate maps were one of their best weapons against the chaos forces, and the aerial view provided by the dragons lent themselves to making perfect, highly detailed maps at any scale that could be desired.
Rak was pleased at the thought of being able to offer detailed maps to his mate; it would make managing the lands that much easier.
Scorth finished his series of east-to-west passes and immediately turned into a new pattern, flying north to south. Rak continued sketching, making what was essentially a second map of the land. Once he was on the ground, he would use both sets of drawings to render the final map. He would also draw more detailed maps of smaller regions of interest.
By the time the second set of passes were done, it was mid-afternoon. They’d been in the air since just after dawn. Scorth landed neatly before the manor house and said, I am going to go find a nice ox to eat, then I am going to soak in the lake.
“Let me drop these off inside, and I will join you at the lake to groom you.” Rak jumped off Scorth’s back, wings spreading for the glide to the ground. He landed easily, without even a stumble, which was quite a feat given how his swollen belly was affecting his balance.
Bring Jisten for the heavy work, oh pregnant one. Scorth bumped him affectionately with his muzzle before springing back into the air.
Rak turned and walked into the manor. He ran across Sura in the foyer and his wings rustled with a sudden, inexplicable tension. He wondered what she was doing in the foyer even as the woman glided up to him. He took a step back. Something about her set him on
edge, and he had no idea what.
She paused, as if sensing his hesitation. “High Priest S’Rak, I have much experience with kironi lore, including the birthing. Please, I need to examine you and your baby.”
“I have a healer already,” Rak replied a trifle sharply. “S’Liast has delivered my babies before.”
“Ah, but this time is different. This baby is the product of a heart adoption, and I need to make sure that everything is proceeding as it should.” Sura’s expression slid into one of gentle sorrow. “I would hate for you to lose your son. If anything is amiss, I can pray to Si’Yeni to fix it before it’s too late.”
Rak grit his teeth. Half of him wanted to do as she suggested, the other half of him wanted nothing to do with her. He stroked his belly, torn with indecision.
“Jisten asked me to examine you,” Sura added. “You don’t want to disappoint him, do you? You don’t want me to tell him that you wouldn’t allow me to check on his baby, do you?”
“Very well, you may perform your examination,” Rak said reluctantly. He only agreed because he didn’t want to upset Jisten.
Sura smiled. “Come with me.” She turned and walked out of the foyer. Rak followed her. She led him downstairs, to the first level where all the storerooms were. “I have a small infirmary down here,” she explained as she opened one of the unmarked doors.
Rak walked in. There was a bed, presumably for her patients, a sink beside a workbench with built-in shelves holding an assortment of labeled jars. Rak noted the labels, all of them medicinal herbs. He calmed himself and sat on the bed.
“Disrobe, please,” said Sura.
He almost protested, but Jisten had asked for this. He stripped down to his wrap, wondering if she’d let that pass or require full nudity of him.
“Please lay on the bed, S’Rak.” Sura didn’t object to the wrap. Reassured by that, Rak complied, lying on his back with his wings half spread beneath him.