A Noble Estate

by A. C. Ellas

“Students,” called S’Chirind, “this way.” The Ekli priest led them toward the building to their left, the administration building, if this complex really did keep the layout of the rest. The students, including Raevel and Tarryn, followed obediently. They had to sit through the same lectures and warnings every time they were ported to a new temple to study the region. Very few temples existed outside of A’filozenoi, of course, but the dark servants didn’t discriminate against those outland temples—they were fair game for school sorties.

  They would probably be let out after mass to pick medicinal herbs or look for rocks or fruit, or something equally boring. That was the usual pattern, and the dark servants had a saying—twice is habit, three times is tradition. And tradition often had the force of law, especially if it became a part of the kanon, the rules the priesthood must follow in addition to the three laws.

  And so it proved to be. After mass, the class followed their teacher out the gates and into the wild, mountainous country of the Vales of Loftos. It was debatable as to whether the Vales were really a part of Loftos or not. The Loftons on their high mountain peaks disregarded the nomadic Valers who inhabited the land.

  When the students fanned out in their search for herbs and edible foodstuffs, Raevel and Tarryn drifted south and west, away from the group. Nobody called them back—there were almost fifty young men and women hunting through the brush and none of them had any reason to stray. Except for Rave and Tarr, who had made their plans as soon as they’d heard the Lofton temple was their destination. They were going to rescue their father, and nobody was going to stop them.

  They had the basic survival kits of the brotherhood, plus slings, stones and swords. The swords had been the hardest to conceal. They’d taken a pair of Rak’s short swords, one for each of them, and hidden them in their pants, lashed to their thighs. Now, they wore them openly on their belts. By dawn, they were many stadia away from the temple and traveling easily. They spied a cave and quickly claimed it for their sleeping space for the day.

  Raevel pulled a black book from his thin pack and leafed through it until he found the page he needed. He carefully chanted, focusing his power and his will. He’d not only inherited his mother’s mage talent, the power had come on him far earlier than the norm. As a result, he was already taking lessons in controlling and using the ability. He cast a spell to keep unwanted wildlife or searchers from finding them.

  Chapter Sixteen: Labor Pains

  Dεktεra Atεlio, Aoranz Fεngari

  10th day, 2nd week, Auranz’s moon

  Erday, the 21st of Auranmon

  Nearby, the priestess chanted, low and guttural. Not in Valer. Not in Koilathan. Not in Loftoni. She focused her malice on the subhuman slave and his weak, chaos-touched partner. The subhuman was a freak; she had witnessed this with her own eyes. It was unnatural for males to bear babies. That was a role reserved for women, for mothers. Her lip curled in hatred as she thought about the sex slave’s smug expression as the Valer used him. The freak would soon be put to the use of men far more worthy than the Valer simpleton.

  * * * *

  Rak dozed with Jisten spooned about him, the best position with Rak’s advanced pregnancy. He was tucked neatly against Jisten’s body and his upper wing was in easy reach of Jisten’s questing hand. He came fully awake with a gasp as his belly convulsed, the muscles slamming against the tightly and magically sealed opening.

  Jisten startled awake as well. Black hair strewn over his face and shoulders, he looked around wildly.

  Rak lay limp only a moment before another spasm sent him curling back, wings flaring.

  “S’Rak! Is this it? Is the baby coming?” Jisten stroked tense wings to no avail.

  Scorth, in draconic form outside, bellowed but his mind told Jisten, Too early.

  “Send for S’Liast!” Jisten’s clear baritone rang through the manor’s halls.

  Footsteps clattered through the hallways. Sura strode in, her face grave with concern.

  Rak took one look at the dhelion and shrieked something incoherent, flinging a wave of black fire laced with green lightning at her.

  “Shhh,” the dhelion said and consumed the lightning. “Not your enemy.”

  Jisten stroked Rak’s hair. “She’s here to help.”

  Rak blinked at her. He’d been sure she was a chaos priestess. But no, she was a dhelion. He could feel the sunset power. Another contraction left Rak breathless. “Too soon,” he gasped over a minute later.

  “Your body fights itself, High Priest.” She laid a hand on Rak’s belly. “Conceived in chaos, was this babe, despite Si’Yeni’s heart adoption.” The dhelion stroked Rak’s belly, soothing away a contraction. “The baby may be damaged. Are you sure you wish to save it?”

  “My baby,” snarled Rak. “Jisten’s baby.”

  Jisten let out a breath and his shoulders slumped in relief.

  “Truly a high priest of Zotien, who loves even the imperfect,” the dhelion said as apology.

  Rak twined his fingers with Jisten’s then clutched as another contraction hit. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  * * * *

  Liast had been outside, learning about the harvesting of cocoa beans when the alarms had been raised. He’d hurried back to the manor as fast as he could. When he reached Rak and Jisten’s chambers, he went right in and stopped in surprise. The new dhelion, Sura, was there, and she seemed to be doing something to Rak. It didn’t feel quite right, but he sensed nothing overt.

  He stepped closer, trying to edge between Sura and the bed. “Thank you, Priestess, I’ll take it from here.”

  Sura turned, frowning at him. “He is in early labor.”

  “I can fix that,” Liast said firmly. “S’Rak is my patient and I will do my duty for him. Please leave the room; you are no longer needed here.”

  Sura pursed her lips and Liast could see the fury flashing in her eyes.

  Sura shook her head and muttered, “Bad labor, hurt baby, hurt mind.” She turned and walked out without another word though, and Liast wanted to slump in relief.

  A gasp from Rak caused him to turn to the Thezomeh and set his hands on the rippling belly. He concentrated, calling his power, and he flooded Rak with the soothing, healing fires of his calling. The contractions eased then stopped, and the pain etched in Rak’s features faded, to be replaced with contentment.

  Liast pulled his hands back and glanced at the door. “S’Rak…I do not like her.”

  “I know this is wrong of me,” said Rak, “but I do not trust her like I trust Asfalea.”

  “Has this ever happened with your other pregnancies?” wondered Jisten.

  Rak shook his head.

  “No, certainly not,” added Liast. “He usually goes into labor once then has the baby. Not even practice contractions like women get.”

  “Sura is said to be a more reserved sort. She mingles less with the Valers and loves to study and learn languages. The Kydem clan grieved when Asfalea had to stay in Karpos City.”

  “Something about her sets me on edge,” Rak finally said. “And I do not think it’s her scholarship.”

  “You did attack her with lightning,” Jisten said.

  “I thought she was a chaos priest. I must have been dreaming. I have killed more chaos priests in the past several long moons than I had in the previous two years.”

  “They are alone here. No army of monsters between you and them. And you win,” Jisten added smugly.

  Rak grinned at Jisten fondly. “With your help, yes.”

  Rak pressed against Jisten and closed his eyes. “Thank you, S’Liast. If you do not mind, I wish to be alone with Jisten now.”

  Liast nodded. “I think I will cadge some chocolate from Despina. And keep an eye on that dhelion.”

  “Thank you, S’Liast.”

  * * * *

  Outside in the pasture, Zala let out a howl. She sensed the death of little ones, infants, human, Loftoni, avtappi. It was an eerie th
ing that brushed her mind. Jisten sent calming thoughts to his mare. Zala whimpered and licked Vyld’s muzzle. Vyld trotted in tight circles around his small herd, ears flicking and senses alert to danger. He was the pack stallion, and avtappi had much in common with horses. Vrema and the other mares obediently huddled with Zala. Varn sniffed the wind and watched.

  The sense of chaos passed without ever once coming into enough focus for Vyld to attack. He snorted in disgust then pictured a deer to his mares. Time to hunt. They stamped cloven hooves, eager to dispel the pent-up frustration. The avtappi trotted out in a loose pack formation, now acting more like a wolf pack than a herd.

  “They’re hunting,” Jisten murmured to Rak. He dared stroke a hand down Rak’s belly. It stayed quiet.

  “A good kill will settle them down.” Rak stroked Jisten’s hand.

  * * * *

  Riders come, Scorth announced abruptly. Many of them.

  Rak touched Scorth’s mind and looked through the dragon’s eyes. Dark-haired men, dressed in leather and wool, mounted on sturdy mountain ponies were approaching from the north. Behind them streamed caravan wagons of the type favored by the Valers. Rak sat up and touched Jisten’s shoulder. “We have company.”

  Scorth obligingly shared the images with Jisten, who sat up with a whoop. “That’s our clan!”

  Jisten was up and dressed with his usual swiftness.

  Rak was slower, but he still joined Jisten on the porch before the first riders brought their ponies to a halt under the canopy.

  “Cousin Jisten,” the lead rider called, “we are come in answer to your plea!”

  “Cousin Viamun, it’s great to see you. There’s stabling in the back for your entire party, even the wagons. You’re all welcome here, there’s much we can do once we have enough hands.”

  More and more Valers arrived. Rak gave up counting somewhere in the thirties. He tried to lend a hand to the unsaddling and grooming of the horses until Jisten finally picked him up and carried him inside. What Rak had been able to determine was that Asfalea wasn’t there. She’d remained in Kydeno with the clan chief.

  Chapter Seventeen: Dragon-Roasted Café

  Pεndεra Ligo, Xrεnys Fεngari

  3rd day, 1st week, Xrehnys’ moon

  Harday, the 24th of Auranmon

  The Valers brought the wagon into the market and dropped the side down to form the market stall. Baskets of produce were set out, each carefully labeled. But it was the sacks of coffee beans that drew the most attention from passersby. There were two varieties on offer from the lord’s estate: “Oven Roasted” and “Dragon Roasted.”

  Curious shoppers crowded in, and the Valers started passing out samples of the brew.

  “What’s going on?” Nergin asked, his perpetual scowl appearing deeper than usual.

  “Looks like the café harvest has begun,” replied Chernil, wondering if Nergin was really that dense or if the man was looking for an opening to launch into another of his long-winded rants.

  “Why aren’t they wearing collars?” Nergin motioned to the Valer sellers, happily talking with the myriad of customers.

  “The new lord’s a Valer,” said Chernil. “I’m guessing these are his clansmen.”

  Nergin nodded. “Yeah, good, they won’t be here all year then.”

  “I’m going to see about getting some beans now.” Chernil usually bought in bulk and shipped south to Karpos at a profit.

  “Humph, those beans are probably wormy,” but Nergin was talking to himself.

  Chernil wormed his way into the crowd. He’d read the signs when they’d set them up and was eager to learn more about the dragon-roasted variety.

  “Free samples!” a cheerful Valer teenage boy called out and Chernil was quick to take him up on the offer.

  One sip and he was hooked. There was a smoky taste to the café with hints of chocolate and nuttiness. Better yet, the fuel-oil aftertaste was completely absent. “How much for a full wagon load of the dragon roasted?” asked Chernil.

  “Oh, we’d like everyone here to be able to buy a sack, if they want, just to try it. You are welcome to buy the remainder of the wagonload,” said the spare Valer man with grey hair at his temples.

  Chernil chortled. “No, no, you misunderstand. I wish to buy direct from the estate. My people would bring the wagon. We do this every year.”

  “Ah, now I understand. If you pick up, the price would be ten royals per bushel of beans. Or, if you trade in grain, two bushels of grain to each bushel of café beans.”

  Chernil brightened. “Grain? I can trade you grain?” He was nearly dancing with glee.

  The Valer man smiled at his happiness. His wife smiled, too, but at the prospect of grain to trade to Okyro. The Okyran gold spent just as well as Koilathan, and thus they would be helping the Loftoni in Okyro. And the silk was easy to resell, what they didn’t keep for themselves.

  The Valer man took Chernil off to the side to speak while the other Valers continued to sell the beans to the townsfolk.

  Nergin’s expression darkened as he watched Chernil. He resented his fellow prospering, but the man didn’t trade in the same items as he did, so he couldn’t even complain that the man was cutting into his business.

  * * * *

  A veritable river of gold poured through Yagebor’s hands. Lini was his and her people had sold to his profit. Chloi was now glutted with slave-meat, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten gold enough to purchase fine steel weaponry and armor for his warriors. The warriors of every clan respected him now. He’d given them the dream life. Plenty of booze, plenty of cunt, plenty of blood. The choicest females now ran at the stirrups of even the least of his warriors. His best had entire harems.

  The women of the clans were enjoying the task of breaking the slaves to the yoke. There were so many hands to perform the necessary tasks that the clan women were no longer burdened by menial labor. More and more of the clan women were turning to mysticism, learning the womanly magics of their totems. Yagebor approved. He wanted them to learn magic and use it against their enemies.

  The boys young enough to be malleable were progressing nicely in their training. The youngest, the babies, would never know they were anything but Lythadi. Except, of course, for their lack of magic. That didn’t particularly trouble Yagebor. But he knew he’d need to make use of every tool he had in order to conquer Koilatha. Lini had been a training exercise to teach his warriors how to work together and to make enough gold to upgrade their arms. Koilatha would be a tough nut to crack, but it was theirs by right.

  Once they had reclaimed their homeland, they could settle, returning to the days of plenty. And even better, Koilatha sat across the only trade route for the valuable Loftoni slaves. That was a trade worth fighting to get a piece of. A healthy, winged adult Loftoni of either gender would fetch more gold at auction than any ten human slaves.

  * * * *

  Єvmεra Ligo, Xrεnys Fεngari

  7th day, 1st week, Xrehnys’ moon

  Firday, the 28th of Auranmon

  Rak groaned in gustatory bliss. “I cannot walk. I will just sleep here.”

  Jisten patted Rak’s belly. “Nice and full. For about twenty minutes. Nap and when you awake, there will be more food on the table.”

  “Okay,” agreed Rak with a food-induced yawn. He curled up and used Jisten’s firm thigh for a pillow.

  Jisten fondly stroked Rak’s wings. Despina pulled a chair over so Jisten could prop his feet up.

  There was a lot more space here in his manor’s casual dining room than there had been at his mother’s cottage. Although he did miss the homey feel of the cottage, Despina finally had a kitchen worthy of her talents. The dining chairs had padded seats and backs, so Jisten was comfortable. Despina refilled his goblet of wine, so he sipped and stroked Rak’s wings.

  Dolron poked his head in and announced, “S’Tyll has arrived.”

  Rak peeled off the chair and headed for the door, Ji
sten hot on his heels.

  Tyll was just dismounting when they stepped outside. He tossed the reins to a Valer boy and stepped up on the porch in time to catch Rak in his arms. He hugged Rak tight, swung him around, then grinned at Jisten and offered a hand. “Long journey but worth it. Nice manor you have here, Baron.”

  Jisten rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Bard. Can we dispense with the formality now?”

  Tyll chuckled. “Of course.” He pulled Jisten into his embrace and a three-way hug ensued. “Now, I want all the details of what happened while I was away.” He steered the two men back inside.

  After much discussion, a few bottles of wine and a meal, Tyll was not only up to speed on current events, he was horny. He stood up and offered Jisten a hand. “Enough talk,” he said, smiling.

  Jisten gripped his hand but didn’t really need the help to stand. “I agree.”

  They both turned and helped Rak up. The Loftoni was off balance now due to his swollen belly.

  Tyll ran a hand over the large bump and felt the baby moving. “It won’t be long now, will it?”

  “No. A few more nights.” Rak sounded eager at the prospect of the imminent birth, not that Tyll was surprised. The baby inside his spouse was a heavy drain on the man’s slim resources.

  They went into the bedroom and clothing flew as three pairs of hands went to work. Lips and tongues explored the newly bared flesh, and the three men fell into bed in a squirming knot of hedonistic action. But Tyll noticed that while Rak didn’t avoid him, he didn’t seek him out, either. Rak paid most of his attention to Jisten, and it was his kironi opening that he pressed to the Valer’s large erection.

  Jisten slid into Rak with a softly murmured, “Love you,” and his hips pumped against Rak’s bulge.

  Tyll entered Rak from the rear, sandwiching the smaller man between them, and he nodded to himself when he felt no resistance…but also no pleasure at the penetration. He languidly made love to Rak, but it was as if Rak wasn’t really there. He could sense Rak’s pleasure via his empathic abilities, but that pleasure was being entirely generated by Jisten. Rak tolerated his lovemaking, nothing more. Tyll climaxed and Rak did not orgasm in response.