by S E Meliers
‘Stupid?’ the Lord laughed a berserker’s laugh. ‘Of course not.’
Cedar wondered how much he’d had to drink. ‘If we succeed in taking the Lady,’ he qualified. ‘You will listen to what she has to say before taking action.’
‘She is my fvccanting wife,’ Charity glowered at him. ‘The love of my life and mother of my children. What do you think?’ He signalled the men and kicked his horse into motion.
Cedar felt ill at ease.
Cinder
A volley of arrows answered Cinder’s mangonel strike defiantly, but the damage was already done. The wall was unstable, cracking. ‘Ready the men,’ he grinned to Ironwood, his flesh quickening with the rush of battle. ‘As soon as that wall starts to go down, get our longbow men to rain death on the archers on either side: give them something else to worry about instead of shooting arrows into our attack party!’
‘Yes, my Prince!’ Ironwood’s teeth flashed in an answering grin.
‘Damn, what I would not give-!’ Cinder cursed his bandaged shoulder – he could not ride into the battle as he could not wield sword and shield. The mages had managed to slow the rot, even to reverse some of the decay and blood poisoning, but they could not heal the source. Necromantic magic, he was told. His only hope lay with the necromancer who had cast the spell – the self-same necromancer Cinder had set a dragon on. Honesty had his revenge – Cinder would either die a long, slow, painful death, or spend the remainder of his life with a wound that would not heal and would not allow him to wield a weapon. ‘I hate not being in the thick of it,’ he ground out. ‘How am I supposed to lead from a tent behind the army?’
‘It is the way most noblemen lead,’ Granite commented. ‘Safer.’
‘There are many men with swords out there,’ Obsidian added, ‘but only one Prince to lead them.’
‘Ha,’ Ironwood snorted with a soldier’s disdain for platitudes. ‘Safer, these two say. They are just enjoying their time sitting around on their butts and curling their hair. You had best get that shoulder sorted out, and get back in the gore of battle before they get so soft they grow breasts, my Prince. But leave this one to me; it is time you shared some of the glory and there are many other Rhyndelian cities for you to fell.’
‘I suspect my only earthly cure went down a dragon’s maw at Lyendar,’ Cinder grimaced, but refocussed on the task at hand. ‘Prepare the siege towers and the ladders – let us hit them in several places at once, but concentrate our forces on the wall breached by the mangonel,’ Cinder frowned over the map as if it would magically put him in the centre of the battle. ‘Let us get these Guarnites under the Shoethalian banner and I may take the time to take a pilgrimage to the High Priests of the Monad for a blessed cure before delving further into Rhyndel.’
‘If anyone is worthy of the Monad’s mercy, it is you,’ Ironwood turned as the mangonel sent a large stone projectile soaring to the city walls. ‘Ah! Close. I had best get to it then, my Prince,’ Ironwood bowed his way from Cinder’s audience.
‘I am of a mind to give him Guarn,’ Cinder said to his guards. ‘Service and Humble are in the army moving on Amori and thus forfeit their right to any mercy from me, leaving Guarn without a Lord, and Ironwood will like the Guarnites – from all accounts they are a dour people, without sophistication or pretence. I am sure he will find a woman to fill his needs from the nobles here, and would make a solid Lord.’
‘His loyalty is unimpeachable,’ Granite agreed, ‘a good man to have in Rhyndel.’
‘Yes,’ Cinder was pleased with this decision. He turned as a great rumble of sound heralded the fall of the city wall to the mangonel. Ironwood proved his efficiency: the ground between Cinder’s army and the city was immediately flooded by Cinder’s forces – carrying heavy siege ladders to the walls, pushing the unwieldy siege towers into position, or surging into the narrow passage created by tumbled stone. The air was thick with arrows going both in and out of the city, and Guarn’s forces frantically sought to plug the hole in their defences whilst fending off siege ladders and towers.
They were simply outnumbered; Cinder’s men were like ants swarming over the dying carcass of Guarn, but the Guarnites fought valiantly – surrender was not in their vocabulary. Even the women were armed with scythes trying to ward off the invaders on the walls, skirts flapping in the wind. Cinder grinned with approval at their determination. Yes, Ironwood would find a strong woman to suit him here.
His forces pushed forward and the Guarnites inevitably faltered. ‘Pass along the order to save as many as you can,’ he said to Obsidian. ‘I like these Guarnites.’ Obsidian passed the order on swiftly, sending a messenger on fleet foot racing to the front.
‘We have the wall,’ Granite noted as the arrows stopped striking from the city.
‘Good, let us follow our men, then,’ Cinder gestured a page to clear the maps, and strode to where his horse was being held ready for him. He mounted awkwardly, unable to use his bandaged arm. ‘Curse it,’ he swore as he settled in the saddle and took the reins in his good hand.
‘My Prince,’ Granite was sympathetic. ‘The gates are opening.’
‘Good.’ Cinder started his mount towards the main entrance to the city. By the time they entered, his army was settling the last resistance and had breached the castle. Unlike Lyendar, the Guarnite nobles had not cloistered themselves into safety leaving their people undefended. The entrance to the castle was thick with refugees being herded back out into the city by his men.
Ironwood gathered the nobles in the main hall; a basic space, sparsely decorated and furnished with heavy tables and benches. There was a raised dais on which the head table was placed at one end. Cinder snorted: these Rhyndelians and their aloofness. The tables and benches had been pushed back, and the head of each Guarnite noble family was being forced to their knees in the cleared space. Ironwood was consulting with his second-in-charge and looked up with a delighted grin when he was alerted to Cinder’s arrival. ‘My Prince,’ he beamed. ‘May I present to you: Guarn.’
‘Well done, Ironwood!’ Cinder clasped his shoulder. ‘Ironwood, Lord of Guarn, has a nice ring to it, do you not think?’
‘Mr Prince,’ Ironwood was abashed and delighted.
‘You deserve it, my friend, and I think Guarn will suit you,’ Cinder swept his eyes over the gathered nobles. ‘We are not destroyers,’ he said to the Lords kneeling on the stone. ‘We are conquerors. A city without its people holds little value to us. So, this I offer you: convert to the Monad, swear allegiance to my throne and to Ironwood as your Lord, and we will be merciful. Congratulations,’ he squeezed Ironwood’s hefty shoulder and stepped away. ‘I will leave this to you, then, as your first role as Lord here.’
He took a seat at the raised table as Ironwood turned to the nobles and began to sort through their pledges or defiance. The nobles of Guarn were a sullen but pragmatic lot he noted as he watched; and he suspected an honest group. Those that refused to recognise a Shoethalian ruler and convert to the Monad said so, and those that capitulated did so after careful examination of their options and moral obligations and positions. There was enough resistance to set apart the ornery Guarnians from the lying Lyendarians and the scheming Amorians. These people were closer to the Truens in nature, he decided, but with less polish. Ironwood would suit their temperament.
A page ducked into the chamber and ran to speak with Granite quietly. ‘My Prince,’ Granite murmured moving to stand at Cinder’s shoulder. ‘The Priest Gallant has arrived.’
‘Interesting,’ Cinder considered the news. ‘Send him in.’
The Priest entered the chamber and viewed Ironwood’s proceedings keenly, before bowing obsequiously to Cinder. ‘My Prince, congratulations on your success!’ he said.
‘Congratulate Ironwood, he led the battle,’ Cinder shrugged.
‘No doubt guided by your brilliance,’ Gallant qualified Ironwood’s achievement.
Cinder sighed, irritated. ‘Why are you here?’ he asked. ‘I have
sent for no Priest.’
‘My place is at your side, my Prince,’ Gallant bowed again. ‘And so I have come.’
‘Hmph,’ Cinder regarded him suspiciously. There was a scuffle on the floor as a defiant noble was removed from the chamber. This departure seemed to decide some of the nobles who had been, to that point, undecided, and three bent knee to Ironwood at once.
‘It does appear that they give pledge to Ironwood as Lord,’ Gallant said, low and perturbed.
‘That would be appropriate, as he is now Lord of Guarn.’
‘Is that wise, my Prince? Guarn is, perhaps, not a highly desirable holding, but there are many in Shoethal who will feel their support ill paid in their sons being overlooked in favour of a common soldier,’ Gallant murmured.
‘Ironwood had been my loyal friend and right hand man since I was a minor Lord in Shoethal. My rise has been due, in large part, to his sword,’ Cinder glowered at the Priest. ‘No man has offered me as much support as this one, and thus his reward is only just.’
‘Indeed, of course, my Prince,’ Gallant nodded, hurriedly. ‘I offer no criticism; only warn of possible ill feeling from Shoethal.’
Cinder’s fingers clenched on the arm of his chair as he glowered: ‘I have raised Shoethal to glory unimaginable; I have shed blood, journeyed far from my home, and succeeded where none have dared to dream, and still my people would question me? If I choose to give Guarn to Ironwood, they should applaud my decision and hold festivals in his honour. Where is my reward, Gallant?’ he leaned forward suddenly and savagely. ‘Where is my crown?’
‘It comes, my Prince,’ Gallant swallowed hard. ‘It comes.’
‘It had better,’ Cinder growled. ‘My patience wanes.’
Shade
As the afternoon lengthened into night, the Hallow led them to a farm on the outskirts of a small village. Shade was dubious about the wisdom of taking shelter amongst the locals, however had to concede that it would be more comfortable for the Lady Patience to sleep on a proper bed and not a blanket before a fire in a rocky field. The village was so small it did not boast an inn or tavern, but Rogue, by parting with a small fortune of gold, was able to persuade the owners of the small farmhouse to sleep at their neighbour’s for the night.
The little farmhouse comprised of two rooms and a loft. The larger room was occupied by a table and the implements of day to day farm life, including a lazy old bitch with a litter of chubby pups and an ornery cat that hissed and took a swipe at him. The second room had a straw-filled mattress and threadbare bedding. This room was assigned to the Lady Patience and her maid. The loft was obviously where the many offspring of the resident spent their nights, atop of slightly soured hay bales tightly packed and roughly covered by sacking.
The Lady’s maid assigned the manservants to stirring the fire to life and heating water for the Lady to bathe, so Shade withdrew from the house into the dusky evening as the little room became a very busy place to be. He made a lazy loop around the house to locate Song and Sorrow who had disappeared shortly after arrival. He was not concerned by their absence, but curious as to where they had gone and edging into horniness at the thought of Song.
The farmhouse was set in a patch of bare earth, the constant tread of feet had packed the earth beyond fertility; a dusty yard without even a single weed pushing through its crust. One wall of the house doubled as a wall for the stable which had been occupied only by a few bales of hay, a scattering of stringy chickens and a bad tempered donkey, but now was crowded with their horses. The chickens and donkey had been evicted – the donkey had been taken with the family to their neighbour’s home, and the chickens scattered around the yard conducting a last search through the dirt torn by the horses’ hooves for bugs and seeds before they found roosts for the night. Behind the stable was a well, covered by a rough wooden lid. This little patch of barren farm was surrounded by fertile and well-tended fields, the harvests focussed on grain though a small patch was devoted to vegetables; it was evident that the farmer and his family focussed their attention on their crops and not their abode. A row of apple trees marked a line between home and field, in case anyone was confused.
He focussed that inner sense of life and death, and found the flame of Song against the void of Sorrow, deep within the farmer’s crops towards the setting sun, so he pushed through spears of green taller than himself and as thick as his thumb with a smile on his face. Song would wish to bathe after travelling all day, and images of a naked and wet Song set a pulse to throbbing deep within him.
A body of water bigger than a stream but too lazy for his definition of a river wove through the fields and the section where Song bathed had a bank that was almost a beach, a shallow recession of earth into water that was bare of grass. The water was clear and the current slow. Sorrow stood guard in the shade of a tree, and stood as he approached, easing into the greenery and out of sight.
Song was wading out of the stream as this exchange occurred, water running from her wet hair down her naked flesh. He fell to his knees before her and tasted the water beading her left knee. The fingers of his hand closed over her right ankle and he stroked upwards over her calf as he caught each droplet on her left thigh with his tongue. She shuddered and placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He turned his head and kissed the pulse on the inside of her wrist before turning his attention to her belly. He moved his hand up from her calf up the back of her thigh, resting his fingertips just against her inner thigh, drawing her focus to their presence so close to her centre. Her breathing quickened, and her skin pricked with gooseflesh.
He moved his other hand to her left ankle, stroking up the back of her calf and thigh, to rest, fingertips just between her legs, his thumbs curved around her buttocks as he licked a flicking line from her bellybutton to her mons, nuzzling through her pubic hair. She took an unsteady step to part her thighs, and he pulled her hips towards him, tongue parting her flesh and stroking up against her clitoris. He held his tongue there with a firm pressure, letting her feel him against her, until she wriggled against him involuntarily. He closed his mouth over her, rolling the tender flesh with his tongue. Her fingers clenched, kneading the muscles of his shoulders. The muscles in her thighs shook and he knew she could not stand much longer, so lifted his mouth and guided her down to straddle him.
He licked his way from shoulder to jaw as she reached between them and released him from his trousers, stroking her thumb over the smooth head to the ridge below where he was most sensitive. He hissed as she rubbed a small circle on that spot, making his flesh jump in her hold. He stroked from hip to shoulder blade, before reaching between then to cup her breast, pinching and tweaking the pebbled nipple between thumb and forefinger. Her teeth grazed his earlobe.
The stubble on his chin caught her hair in a dark web as she drew back, lifting herself to rub the head of his cock against her opening, up against her clitoris, and back down. He kissed the base of her throat as she guided him into her, just a shallow entrance before withdrawing so he moaned and had to pull her back down so that this time he slid deeper, pushing and stretching her muscles with his entrance, gliding through the silk of her, until he could go no deeper.
She lifted up, the muscles of her thighs shifting beneath her skin, and he shifted his hands to her waist to help her hold her weight. Her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling a little; sharp spikes of pain to offset the pleasure of their merged flesh. He kissed her chin, and stroked his tongue along her lower lip before thrusting into her mouth as he thrust with his hips. She gasped, throwing her head back, her throat vibrating against his lips in a moan that was not quite vocalised. He thrust again, lifting her from her knees. She pulled his shirt up from his waist so she could thrust a hand under, running her palm up his stomach and her nails lightly through the hair on his chest.
He pushed up against her, rolling his hips to grind his pubic bone against her clitoris with each stroke. He felt the change within her as she edged towards orgasm and reac
hed between them to capture her clitoris between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed it lightly so that she tensed and came, teeth clenched against uttering a sound. He groaned and pushed up a final time as he came, emptying with her. Her head lolled, coming to rest with her forehead against his, so that they gazed in each other’s eyes for a long moment in repletion.
‘These trousers are ruined,’ he commented noting the mud that he knelt in. She trembled with silent laughter. She rose to her feet and waded back into the water to wash off the stickiness of their lovemaking. He stood, grimaced at the mud stains on shin and knee as he stepped out of his boots before shucking the trousers off and hanging them and his shirt over a tree branch where her gown already hung. He waded into the water to bathe. ‘There is a loft in the house,’ he commented as they waded out to dress. ‘It is probably the best we will be able to do for the night.’
She smiled and presented him with her back so he could lace her dress.
As they made their way back through the crops, Sorrow joined them, her face dour. ‘And what am I supposed to do tonight whilst you sleep?’ she grumbled.
He opened the farmhouse door for Song. ‘Watch and ensure we are not disturbed.’
She sighed, ‘I wish you had killed me properly.’
‘So do I; sometimes,’ he muttered. Inside the house was stifling; the EAerymen had caught a brace of rabbits, and the serving men were roasting them on a spit over the fire for dinner whilst the EAerymen chopped vegetables raided from the farmer’s small plot into a pot. The giant EAerymen crowded the small table, and the room seemed especially claustrophobic for their presence. Song and Sorrow made their way up to the loft, but Shade backed out, back into the dusty yard where the sun pushed its last orange rays into a deepening sky.