5 réponses à ce sujet

[Maria13]

Delivered from the blast
The last of a line of lasts
The pale princess of a palace cracked
And now the kingdom comes
Crashing down undone
And I am a master of a nothing place
Of recoil and grace

The Smashing Pumpkins, The End is the Beginning is the End

 

Chapter 1

 

He heard the shouting and screaming before any of the servants were fleet enough to advise him. His first thought was how had his wards been breached, he was a very fastidious and talented ward keeper, but of course, there were always those whom no ward could detain.

 

His partner whimpered as he withdrew, but, for now he had other priorities. He seized one of the sheets they had loosened in their lovemaking and wrapping it around him flinging a corner across his shoulder left the chamber barefoot at speed.

 

As he walked down the staircase to the lower floor his ears picked up minor details, mumbles… Moans. Not good. A scattering of servants stood nervously in the study. He gestured for them to keep back and placed his finger on his lips as he walked past.

But he needn’t have relied on his acute hearing as he approached the atrium he saw figure convulsing on the serpent stone and aurum mosaics.

 

As he drew closer, it gasped and with immense effort lurched itself up and fell upon its back. There was blood everywhere. He looked down at the face of Timon one of his most faithful and enduring servants, his eyes were rolling back in his head and his mouth was wide gasping for breath and attempting to form words. One of his hand was clasped tightly to the deep wound to his stomach.

 

He held up his hand in a pacifying motion. “Spare yourself the effort, old friend, I know who it is and what she wants…” He whispered.

 

She stood in his courtyard as he had last seen her covered in gore and blood, from toe to crown. She had one of the younger servants, Nenhera, pinned to the wall by her neck, and was shrieking and gurning, her lower jaw almost seemed to have been dislocated from her face. She held a naked blade in her left hand, a short, ugly thing, probably a skinning knife, but with a point as fine as a needle, and was making jabbing motions towards the young elf’s breasts. Nenhera, his poor, sweet Nenhera, the most recent addition to his household and a single mother, was babbling pitifully like a sparrow caught in a glue trap.

 

He noted she wore her battle armour formed of a multitude of glittering gems laced together with cords of fade-touched silverite and dragon bone moulded into a bodice and then falling around her thighs in a fine mesh of chain. What gems were not covered in filth glinted slyly, a thousand facets of magic. The aura emanating from the enchantments cast upon the armour alone was sufficient to weaken anything within a visible distance from it, including himself. And then there was the squirming body of the young deity it encased. And the magic bow and quiver strapped to her back.

 

“Andruil…” He said, attempting to disguise the distaste he always felt in her presence and carefully keeping his voice barely above a murmur. “Release her.”

 

“Fen!” And suddenly her voice was full of shrill, girlish delight as she turned on her toes towards him. Almost inadvertently she released Nenhera who tumbled to the floor with a gurgle clutching her throat but still had the sense to begin to crawl towards the vestibule.

 

Behind Andruil he glimpsed several indistinct mounds and bloody masses. He hoped the children were unharmed.

 

He had forgotten how small she was, under the gore her face seemed thinner than before, her cheekbones more prominent, her mouth appeared to have sunk, her dark eyes were certainly larger and more excited but her bare unarmoured right arm seemed almost emaciated, just tight, honed muscle and bone under skin, no flesh whatsoever.

 

Her curly dark hair was piled upon her head in a bizarre fashion that lately has become all the rage, forming a sort of ship’s prow crest over her brow, leaving the sides of her skull bare. Personally he thought it was ugly and barbaric, but no one cared what he thought.

 

“My lady,” he placed his right hand on his chest, his lips formed a smile, and he gave her a slight deferential bow.

 

“Fen…” She smirked up at him, ran her tongue along the corner of her mouth and at the same time lifted her skirt from under her armour to wipe the knife on it. “Ugh! This mess, it gets everywhere…”

 

“I trust your latest trip went well?”

 

She bent down to slide the knife into her ankle scabbard. His eyes drifted down to her waist, where he caught a brief glimpse of a patch of ashen flesh. “It was crazy Fen, crazy wild. About eight weeks this time… I found one of them you know, filthy, ugly bastard. In the end he was cowering in a cavern like a slug under a stone, weeping... Pah!” She stood up and spat on the floor. “I took his head, and his balls and…”

 

He flinched, and then froze realising his mistake.

 

Andruil guffawed “I love the expression on guys’ faces when I say things like that… You are all just so sensitive aren’t you? Even the dread wolf…” She reached up with her left hand and entwined it in the auburn locks that fell just below his shoulder, toying with them. Such a tiny hand, he thought looking at it as it twirled in his hair, such a tiny delicate, dirty little hand, all its frail bones lying next to each other in perfect harmony.

 

“I haven’t been that for a long time…” He said hoarsely.

 

She grabbed his hair and jerked his head to one side, he felt his neck crack.

 

“And more is the pity.” She pulled his head down towards her face “Where is she, Fen…” She hissed. Her breath against his ear had the dark stench of offal with a slight vinegary tang. “Tell me where she is, where’s my little lost halla?”

 

“Let me go Andruil and I might be able to help you.” He made no motion to free himself, it would be pointless in any event.

She got an even firmer grip in his hair and shook him “You reek of ****** Fen, did you know that?”

 

The teeth rattled in his head. “If you had cared to announce your visit I might have had a chance to bathe…”

 

“Always with the words Fen, so clever, aren’t you?” She sneered, “Would you be so clever with your tongue if you were hurting, I wonder?”

 

“I doubt it.”

 

“I, too, doubt it…” But at least she let him go.

 

He righted himself fussed a little about the sheet, extracted some of the sticky clots she had left in his hair, “You were saying…”

 

“You heard me the first time, I am looking for Ghilly…”

 

“Why here?”

 

“Why not here?”

 

“It is always a pleasure to see you Andruil but we’re not friends and I find it very strange that you would…”

 

A calm voice coming from behind interrupted him “Andruil...” She stood like a burnished flame her long white hair falling to just above her slender waist, meek eyes wide, lips and breasts still bruised by his kisses. And naked.

 

There was a very long silence.

 

Fen broke it. “Well there you are…”

 

He smiled turning to Andruil who was standing, still stunned, a petite anaemic princess, a lost toddler who had taken a tumble and got covered in mud. He took a few steps towards her and grasped her hand and as if she were the child he had just envisioned her to be, marched her to where Ghilly stood, “Hand.” Equally mesmerised Ghilly extended her right hand, he joined them, tanned skin to sallow. “So you found her, dah’len. Well done. You two make a perfect couple.”

 

Took a step back. Exhaled.

 

Waited for the storm to break.

[Maria13]

Chapter 2

 

“I would ask you to reconsider.” Fen had exhausted all his other arguments, and he knew that this final appeal to reason would be equally waved aside. Nevertheless if only by sheer dint of habit, he felt compelled to make it.

 

The air was sweet then in Arlathan particularly up here on the hill overlooking the city, it smelled of rosemary laurel and orange blossom from the nearby orchards. They were on the rooftop of her villa.

 

“I could order you to do this.” She turned to face him, she looked tired in the morning sunlight, there was a greyness about her features and little lines around the corners of her eyes and mouth. Streaks of white had begun to appear in her hair. Her hands looked crabbed the veins very visible and bumpy under parchment thin skin. She was wearing a simple olive green robe with a dark copper overmesh. Her temper was obviously short, he well knew that this matter was personal but perhaps are also other things happening in the background, things of which he was not aware.

 

He made a mental note, time to stop playing Lord of the Manor. Perhaps he had grown somewhat complacent lately, overconfident, he would always be an outsider here, he needed to put out feelers again and find out what was going on behind the scenes.

 

“I am aware of that. But surely there are other approaches we could take. Slightly less, shall we say…? Confrontational?” Though really he knew that if at that moment she had challenged him on specifics, he would have been at a loss to put forward an alternative proposal.

 

“Your newfound subtlety grows tiresome, and I and Arlathan am lacking in both time and patience. My daughter brings danger to our door as she breathes by embarking on these mad quests of hers, and she is beyond persuasion.”

 

He look towards the fragrant oak forests on the mountainside trying to absorb some of their balance and serenity. “It is not the principle or the timing I dispute, but the method… fighting fire with fire is never…”

 

“Enough!” She stood up straighter placed her hands on her hips, “she is a goddess of sacrifice and blood and force, she understands nothing BUT force, particularly now.”

 

“She hates me…” This sounded weak even to his own ears.

 

The mother of Arlathan shrugged, “And we will use that against her, you should be happy, this is your chance to adjust the score…”

 

“I don’t hate Andruil… Despise her? Perhaps. I have no wish to adjust any scores. For what? … What I feel towards her is more aversion… Almost pity.”

 

“Whatever it is. Use it. We have discussed this, you have disagreed, I have overruled you, and nevertheless you will do as I say.”

 

He hadn’t even raised the issue of collateral damage it was long since their kind had shown any kind of consideration towards normal Elhven, towards those supposed to be their people, now they were of no more account than blades of grass, chattels or toys to be played with and then discarded at whim, and there would be nothing further to be gained by making that argument to Mythal, it might even make him look weak.

 

As of late he found himself fretting about this ever more frequently.

 

* * *
 

She shrieked, Fen had expected something more akin to a war cry something deeper from her chest but this was more like a screech, the screech of some animal in terrible pain. Nevertheless it was ear splitting to the extent that he found himself clutching his head. On and on it went, coursing up and down the sound scale the tone may have varied but the pitch seemed to remain constant for an unnaturally long period of time.

 

Eventually it ceased but any relief he might have obtained was short-lived, because Andruil, approaching him faster his eyes could follow and lashing out with her left arm, punched him in the jaw. It was more shocking than painful, though he was fairly certain there would be pain later on. Meanwhile Andruil stood over him her face screwed up, “you fucked Ghilly.”

 

“Yes,” he said “I did.” He began to lever himself into a standing position, although his legs were shaking, “But you can have her back now, I’m finished with her…”

 

Andruil cursed and used her armoured forearm to pin him to the wall much like she had done Nenhera a few minutes earlier. His throat felt as though it was on fire, his eyes and nose were running, and he could feel his jaw begin to swell… “She wasn’t very good, though…” He was choking to get the words through, “A bit… On the tame side…”

 

From over Andruil’s shoulder he saw Ghilly, panic in her gentle eyes, mouth at him “Why are you doing this?” Oh, the most overlooked of their happy little clan.

 

Then Andruil pressed down still harder and cut off his breathing entirely.

 

And at that point, Fen did struggle, he did claw at her arm he did utter words of contrition and appeasement. And he regretted his cleverness and everything he had done wrong and much he had done right, and he promised whatever deity would come to his assistance lifelong fealty, devoted service, for a mouthful of air just a gulp, just a taste, just a thimbleful of air…

[Maria13]

Chapter 3

 

Fen woke up lying naked on the ground under a sky speckled with stars. The night was balmy and gentle as well as clear so for a while he just lay there, one hand on his chest over his heart, taking deep, relieved breaths, picking out once familiar stars and constellations. After feeling a little more composed he began to assess his situation. Nothing was broken it seemed, everything appeared to be in working order which was a blessing when he thought about it. His whole body ached and his jaw was now swollen and in particular his neck felt crushed and tender.

 

Andruil had put a collar on him and the collar was chained to one of the three oak trees that stood in her courtyard. He had been there before a few years ago and recognised the place, it was considerably larger and more ostentatious than his own. The collar was made of tough thick leather and chafed his neck somewhat, even though it was lined with fur, it was closed with an immense brass ring which in turn was affixed to the chain by a padlock. There was no way he could pry it apart with his fingers, and it was too close to his body for any form of magic to be effective. From its smell he could tell that it had been previously used for a large dog of some description. He wondered if she had any idea how he loathed collars of any kind but of course she did, she knew perfectly well why he hated them.

 

There was a brazier a few yards away but entirely out of reach, and by its light he examined meticulously both the collar and the chain, running his fingers around his neck, tugging at it to test its strength, feeling the links for any indentations, cracks or weak spots, it was while he was doing this that Andruil found him.

 

In the meantime she had bathed which at least afforded some relief to his nose. She squatted down on her haunches in front of him. Even though she had presumably rested, her appearance was no better than before, her eyes looked inflamed and sore as if she had been weeping. He saw her swipe at them a few times. She was wearing a simple white linen robe cinched at the waist with a heavily bejewelled aurum torq together with long trailing matching earrings and anklet.

 

He refused to acknowledge her presence and continued examining the chain.

 

“Hello Fen.” She cleared her throat, her voice sounded rough. “I really wouldn’t bother if I were you, it used to belong to my bullmastiff Mayhem, and he never once got away… Unless I wanted him to. He died a few months ago, sometimes I really miss him…”

 

Just for show he gave the chain one last indignant tug. “Please excuse me if I shed no tears.”

 

“Here’s what I’ve been thinking… Because you took Ghilly away from me…”

 

He turned towards her. “Last time I checked Ghilly was a free citizen, so you might want to examine the logic underlying that statement…”

 

Well he knew hunters and predators tended to hate politics and any form of complex thinking about the nature of power unless it conferred an immediate advantage on them. Their approach was always simplistic because it was based on brute force, the one thing at which they excelled. Nevertheless, being chained up had put him in a peevish mood and thought he might as well make the situation clear to her.

 

Andruil, of course, ignored him. “Anyway, as I was saying, because you took Ghilly away from me and you lied to me about it Fen, even you can’t deny that… I have decided that as recompense you should serve me in my bedchamber for a year and a day…” She paused and smirked, “A year and a day. Isn’t that the appropriate period in law?”

 

“Na in alas, Andruil.”¹  he found the idea extremely disturbing, he’d known a few who had been used as the sexual playthings of other members of his class and most of them seem to have been severely traumatised; the term ‘crazy as a hare at Wintersend’ didn’t even begin to describe Andruil’s mental state or behaviour, let alone her preferences in the bedchamber of which he had heard the usual rumours. “You are insane and you don’t even like males.”

 

She got to her feet. “Stand up.” Without well-knowing why he stood up. “You could really make this so much easier on yourself.” She remarked. “What I did to you before… Some grow to see as a pleasure because it excites the body… As if in preparation for mating.” She ran her eyes over his form, he resisted the temptation to cover himself. “You are not entirely unpleasing, Fen… For a male… I could have a good deal of fun with you, enjoyment which could be shared… Somewhat.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not with you Andruil… Never with you.”

 

“Kiss me.”

 

“No.”

 

She pulled the chain so his face was almost level with hers, “Kiss me, Fen.”

 

“No.”

 

She ran her hand lightly over his balls and he shivered, cupped them ever so gently, the hair rose on the back of his neck. Her voice was almost a whisper “Last chance, Fen, kiss me.”

 

“No.”

 

It felt as though his guts had just lurched to the bottom of his throat, and, for good measure while he was rolling on the ground she kicked him a few times. He hadn’t noticed that even her slippers ended in dainty aurum points…

 

She had loosened the chain and began to drag him towards the main house, “Garas…”²

 

He was so incapacitated by the agony radiating from between his legs that he did not even attempt to get to his feet to stagger in her wake, but just clung to the chain to spare himself from being choked again… Let the ****** make the effort he thought, insofar as he could think beyond the pain…

 

“Oh for ****’s sake Fen! Half of Arlathan can hear you groaning like a bronto, have you no shame…”

 

He was on his knees and stomach when he noticed it, at first he took it to be a visual disturbance brought on by the hurt, a few minutes of determined concentration dispelled that notion: there was a tiny sliver of red iridescence, a subtle scarlet glimmer outlining every footstep Andruil took.

 

A bare handful of slaves loitered in the shadows of the cloister surrounding the courtyard, most of them were pretending not to see anything amiss, or perhaps this was just a normal day chez Andruil, who knows? A few, however, and were clearly enjoying the show. It was to these that he appealed, “Vena mamae…” he croaked weakly, “Vena Mamae, sahlin!”³  and then, summoning all his power, “FIND MOTHER NOW!”

 

 

Footnotes:

 

¹ "You are full of ****, Andruil..."

² "Come..."

³ "Find Mother now!"

[Maria13]

Chapter 4

 

It was too late. There was something approximating a clap of thunder, there was a sudden cloudburst of frozen hail, the air filled with tiny sharp crystals, the branches of the trees whipped in a cyclonic wind, creating a swirling vortex. The elves in the cloisters quite wisely began to run for shelter and the most sensible ones made a dash for the Villa’s entrance.

 

It had been an eventful day in Arlathan, Fen reflected ruefully as the ice pelted him, and it hadn’t ended yet.

 

Andruil turned about and dropped the chain in her surprise, but he was too incapacitated and too fascinated by the spectacle unfolding before him to take advantage of that fact. Then the swirl of ice became a grey black eddy of ash, sand and other solid particles, even several yards away from its core he could feel the heat on his face where he sat.

 

“Ghilly! Bring me my bow!” Andruil screamed groping for the chain.

 

A hot wind buffeted them both, a lazy slap on the face, foetid and at the same time sweetly fragrant, like roses rotting on a dung heap. A familiar shape emerged from the maelstrom and began to advance towards them with an easy gait, clad in polished black armour with a matching helmet shot through with scarlet veins pulsating as if it were alive, he held a javelin in his hand seemingly made of grey bone tipped with a red iridescence and there were several more strapped to his back.

 

As swift and as sure-footed as the beasts that she had once created Ghilly rushed downstairs towards her lover. He noticed that her torq, earrings headdress and anklet exactly matched those of Andruil but hers were in silverite rather than aurum.

 

“Remove the collar,” Fen murmured but Andruil adopting a bow woman’s posture had already nocked a barbed golden arrow and was drawing her ironbark bow, while Ghilly glanced down at him with a scowl.

 

“Is that one…?” She asked Andruil looking back up at the approaching spectre.

 

“Yes.” Andruil replied grimly. “Halt.” she barked at the approaching figure, “Return to where you came from.” She added drawing the bow even tighter.

 

“Andruil…” The stranger’s voice was deep but strangely melodic “Andruil, you slew my brother… “
 

“Yes I did, and I would slay him again… As I will slay you…”

 

The stranger stopped and shrugged non-chalantly, leaning on his javelin. “But I do not come this night for you…”
 

“Then why are you here?”

 

The stranger looked down at her feet. “I came for the wolf…” The veining on his armour pulsed suggestively.

 

Suddenly Fen’s stomach roiled.

 

“Who do you mean? Surely, you can’t…” Fen felt her falter resisting the temptation to look down at him, he needed to get a handle on this situation.

 

“Hold steady,” Fen hissed at her, “do not look away…”

 

“Fen…” Ghilly exclaimed. “Fen… What the…”

 

“Why?” Andruil asked the stranger. “Why do you want him?”

 

“What does it matter, Andruil,” Fen said raising his voice and then very calmly “Take him down…”

 

“Ah! How interesting, the wolf speaks…” The stranger remarked mildly.

 

“Take him down now Andruil, or you will regret it later.”

 

The stranger laughed and moved his hands to his neck to unbuckle the helmet. He shook his head, his eyes were large and limpid, the deep blue of cornflowers and his hair which fell just below his shoulders was the colour of wheat, his mouth was full and red, perhaps a little too red... Ghilly gasped.

 

“It is a glamour, Ghilly,” Fen said scornfully, noting that the stranger did not have the same effect on Andruil. “Anaris is Lord of the Plague, even at full strength he is incapable of retaining this form for more than half a day, it is doubtful you would find his true shape so appealing.”

 

“Tell me, dah’len,” Anaris said in a voice as smooth as butter addressing Andruil directly staring at her with his large eyes and ignoring Fen and Ghilly, “how did you find us? How did you locate the void?”

 

“Do not…” but neither of them were now listening to Fen.

 

Andruil opened her mouth, then closed it and opened it again. “We found a map… Ghilly?”

 

“I think it was a year ago or so… One of the local merchants… Said he’d been passed a small casket containing some antique jewels. We like sparkly things. So he bought it around to show us. His asking price was very reasonable, so we purchased it. After tipping everything out, we found a small parchment at the bottom, with a map…”

 

“Reading is not my strong point…” Said Andruil picking up the story, “but Ghilly was able to decipher it.”

 

“Merely out of curiosity,” Asked the Lord of the Plague. The veins on his armour had turned purplish and were now swirling around one another in intricate spirals. “In what language was this parchment written?”

 

“In a form of ancient Elvhen,” Ghilly replied, “In fact, Fen, very kindly offered to trans…” She hesitated. “Oh, ****…”

 

Anaris raised a blond eyebrow. “I see.” There was a pause while he glanced at Fen, moistened his lips then addressing Andruil once again, “in answer to your previous question dah’len, it would be my pleasure to see to it that this perfidious runt will never trouble Arlathan again…” He smiled, and it was as full of radiance like a pyre. “As to how I might go about that… Well, I will leave that to your imagination, though I might extend an invitation for you to take part.”

 

“He is to serve me for a year and a day in my bedchamber. To pleasure me and only me.”

 

Perhaps it was The Nameless One but Fen could distinctly recall the advice, if not the identity of the mentor, who had given it to him long ago: should you ever have your pick of adversaries, always take the most foolish down first, not only is it good practice, it is also good strategy. He was almost proud of Andruil.

 

“Unacceptable.” Anaris replied after raising both eyebrows. “In that time he could wreak havoc, and, knowing him, he will…”

 

“Too bad. He is my prey. Although I don’t much care what happens to him afterwards…”

 

“Andy…” Ghilly began.

 

“Shut up, Ghilly. This is my decision.”

 

The Lord of the Plague sighed and rubbed the back of his head, “I have not come all the way here to…” He said pensively. He tapped his helmet against his hip, looked up at the sky, and looked at Andruil. “Duel.”

 

“Done.” Andruil snapped back.

[Maria13]

Chapter 5

 

Fen was chained to the tree again and once again he found himself tugging at it, this time more in frustration than hope. He had all but given up on the possibility of Mythal putting in an appearance. If he had to choose between the huntress’s bedchamber and the abyss the logical choice was obviously the bedchamber, if only because it was for fixed term and as Anaris had pointed, out the opportunities for escape were so much better.

 

However, something deep within his soul found the very thought of contributing to Andruil’s sexual pleasure extremely repulsive. He had no love for her, no affection, no sympathy and no empathy. She was a brute at heart and stood for everything he had always found objectionable. That detestation was mutual. If what has happened so far had been a foretaste then it would involve pain, considerable amounts of pain, and humiliation. He had never endorsed slavery which was one of the reasons he had escaped from the abyss, and he had never found pleasure in the rape or torture of others. But even less did he derive personal enjoyment from pain or abuse. Strangulation was one of the least offensive deaths he could think of and yet there were now a lot of things he would give to forget his recent experience of it, let alone to avoid going through it again. … Oh, he could put a game face on things and perhaps for some time, but that was precisely what it was, a façade.

 

As for what awaited him in the void…

 

The forgotten ones were not known for their merciful predispositions. He could end up mute, unsexed and blind, no… Blind only at a later stage because they would want him to see what was coming… Tranquillity was also a distinct possibility. For the void he desperately needed a worst-case scenario plan… A way to end it...

 

He tugged at the chain one final time, deal with that if and when it happens… Meanwhile, he told himself, concentrate on the here and now.

Anaris appeared to be limbering up, striking a series of increasingly ridiculous poses, if Fen himself were not the prize in this sick little pissing contest of theirs, he would have laughed. Anaris caught him watching him and ran his finger across his throat, in response Fen raised his eyebrows and then looked away…

 

On the other side of the courtyard Ghilly was helping Andruil into her armour, which he found distinctly more interesting. The two women were going about this with the grace and confidence of dancers, even an observer ignorant of their relationship would recognise that they were no strangers to each other, the eye contact, the shy touches, the little murmurs. He was slightly reassured to see that Andruil was donning the same still soiled armour that she was wearing when she visited him earlier that day.

 

After much tedious wrangling and petulance, the basic ground rules were agreed: No magic was to be allowed other than that already inherent to their armour and weapons. They were to start at a distance of 25 yards. Anaris was allocated four javelins, two to be placed in the ground one in hand and the remaining one strapped to his back, and Andruil six arrows, since, so she had argued, they were less lethal than the spears, one notched, two in her quiver, three stuck in the ground, all the projectiles were recoverable.

 

The agreement having been reached, Andruil took Ghilly in her arms and pulling her tight to her bosom, gave her a prolonged, vigorous final kiss for luck.

 

One of the household slaves was given the duty of opening the tournament and he did so in a perfunctory manner merely ensuring that the contenders were the correct distance from each other and bore the correct weaponry, finally shouting, “Begin!”… Following that he departed as quickly as his aged legs could carry him.

 

For a seemingly endless few minutes Andruil and Anaris circled each other warily.

 

Andruil elegantly crossing her sandaled feet over one other as she walked sideways, her profile facing Anaris, offering always the smallest possible target, her upper body utterly still, bow taut, face impassive.

 

Anaris had the advantage of being able to feint and this he did with some enthusiasm making strange guttural huffing sounds moving the arm holding the spear backwards and forwards, mumbling under his breath, but his feints hardly caused Andruil to exhibit more that the slightest twitch. He seemed to have no concern about presenting a target, leading Fen to wonder which of the two was the most foolhardy.

 

At last with an almighty scream the Lord of the Plague released his javelin from the strap, the air fizzing around it. It was a good throw and faster than Andruil may have anticipated. She pitched herself to one side, and the spear narrowly missed her. She let loose an arrow in mid-flight. That went wide but upon landing she loosed another, which she had removed from her quiver, striking Anaris in the left arm as he raised it to protect his faceplate.

 

The Lord of the Plague grunted in pain, then growled in fury and ran for one of his spears stuck in the ground barely a few feet from Fen. As soon as he reached it he launched it, this time without bothering with the strap, grazing Andruil’s right shoulder, missing her neck by a hair’s breadth.

 

“Anaris,” Fen murmured, “look at her armour, there is a hole to the right, just below her waist…” The Lord of the Plague snorted in acknowledgement.

Andruil threw herself on the ground and rolled to reach another of her arrows.

 

They were both bleeding now, Anaris from his left forearm and Andruil from her right shoulder.

 

Andruil groped for her arrow but it lay just beyond her fingertips and she didn’t quite manage to grasp it. Anaris removed the javelin from his back, Andruil meanwhile had gotten the arrow and was squatting to nock it. Before she could Anaris’s spear struck her in the side sinking into her flesh with a sickening sucking sound.

 

For a moment there was utter silence then Andruil gave a thin little cry, a strangely poignant whimper… As if something had been irreparably lost. From the corner of his eye Fen saw Ghilly rush to her in a blur of white and silver and wrap her arms around the fallen figure.

 

He turned his attention to the Lord of the Plague, chest puffed out now striding confidently towards him, the veins on his armour throbbing with confidence, he scrambled to his feet. “You owe me.”

 

“Like **** I do, wolf…”

 

“You couldn’t have taken her down without my counsel.”

 

“What gives you that idea?”

 

“Like it or not she drew first blood…” He indicated Anaris’s arm “And neither of you can kill each other here. You’re getting old, slow and weak Anaris, why, even a mere girl can take you now…”

 

“Well she certainly took you, wolf, look at you, naked and chained to a tree, as for the bruising…”

 

Behind him, Fen saw Ghilly, prop Andruil up. He needed to keep talking.

 

“Ah but, unlike you, she was not challenging me in my strongest area…”

 

Andruil clutched her beloved bow, Ghilly handed her an arrow, Andruil grimaced in pain as she accepted it.

 

“…which, as you know is not physical combat…”

 

Andruil nocked the arrow with a look of concentrated hatred frozen on her features…
 

“… or hunting…”

 

Kissing her lover on the cheek, Ghilly helped her hold the bow steady while Andruil aimed…

 

“… But rather…”

 

Andruil, let fly, Anaris opened his mouth to reply, and gasped as the arrow hit home with a dull thud full in the centre of his back.

 

“… Misdirection.”

[Maria13]

Chapter 6

Shortly before dawn Ghilly woke him up by unlocking the chain. “You knew I would do this, didn’t you Fen?” She was standing on tiptoe reaching up above him to where it was secured around the oak’s trunk.

 

“Yes.” He replied quietly, he hadn’t realised he had fallen asleep. He felt the need to offer her a little more, “Because I know you have a conscience.”

“That makes me a fool, doesn’t it?” She said bitterly still straining.

 

He sat up. “Not necessarily. But it does make you vulnerable.”

 

She let the chain fall. “The healer said she is very ill but she will recover, with sleep and time. Someone appears to have taken Anaris…” He followed her gaze and saw a burnt patch on the grass, his nose picked up burning and then putrefaction. He had little doubt the Forgotten Ones would return, once they had found a path here, they would never desist from harrying Arlathan.

 

Not good.

 

Her fingers upon his neck as she released the collar roused him from his reverie. “That will teach me to run to you for consolation the next time Andruil leaves. I should make a complaint to Elgar’Nan.”

 

“Elgar’Nan himself has been sick for months, years even…” He said looking away, attempting to conceal just how pleasurable her touch still felt to him. “No-one has seen him for that long…”

 

“Mythal then.”

 

He gave a dry laugh. “Who do you think set me up to do this…” Ghilly looked disappointed but not surprised. “Did Andruil hurt you?” He ran his hand around his neck.

 

She seemed genuinely taken aback. “No!”

 

“You gave up everything for her… All those wonders you created…”

 

“I did it because I love her. When she offered me…” She opened her arms to taking everything that surrounded them, the courtyard, the house, the ephemeral beauty of a new day dawning in Arlathan. “This. I did realise that it meant some danger and I made her swear to me by the darkness and the void that she would never hurt me, never ever hurt me, and she has kept her promise. But she’s kept her promise not because she swore to but because… She loves me.” There was a pause. She looked at him shrewdly, “You have never known a love like that have you, Fen? Intimacy built on absolute, unshakable, trust…”

 

He didn’t really have to think about it. “No.”

 

“Then that’s your punishment right there. Long may it last.” Like all the most effective curses this was not said with bitterness or anger but with a sad, clear, certainty. “I bought you some clothes.” She added eventually tossing a bundle at him.

 

He was on his feet by then and stretching. “Thank you, but I don’t think that’s necessary.”

 

Fen‘Harel the dread wolf had three eyes, the third in the middle of his forehead, he was as black as midnight and stood higher than Ghilly’s waist. He bowed to her in the same way that dogs do by placing his front paws together keeping his rump high but lowering the rest of his body. She had never seen him in wolf form and he was pleased to see her surprise.

 

He trotted over to the burnt patch and smelt it, growled a little, clawed at it with his front paw and smelt it again as if memorising the scents. Following that he went over to the tree where he had been chained sniffed round the trunk, raised a leg and took a good long pee on it… No slave dared bar his way as he left the villa.

 

It was part of the magic, he thought and part of his being, but he always forgot just how good and how pure it felt to be in wolf form. He was running in fresh daylight up the hills of Arlathan and towards his own home. He could feel the sun upon his pelt, the fresh breeze from the mountain in his nostrils and a strange enthusiasm for life and all it entailed within his belly which he never felt when in Elven form. Upon one turn he found himself crossing a small marketplace where the vendors were just setting up their wooden stalls at the start of a day’s business, some of the merchants paused to look at the huge black wolf running past them others purposely averted their eyes and pretended not to see, there was a rumour abroad that meeting the dread wolf was bad luck, something he found extremely useful…

 

He soon arrived at his street door and for a few minutes had to suppress an impulse to run past it, head up into the mountains, never to assume Elven form again, to renounce Arlathan and everything in it, especially the wretched politicking, the self-absorption and the petty rivalries, to surrender simply to his desire for boundless freedom.

 

It was then almost with regret that he stopped in front of it and scratched and growled for it to be opened…

 

Nehnera opened the door to him, then took a step back in surprise… He trotted past her, tail high, making sure she got a good view of him in this shape, his wolf was anything but modest. He crossed the vestibule and when he arrived at his own courtyard changed back to Elven form.

 

She caught up with him while he was chanting and waited patiently while he finished.

 

“My apologies, Nehnera, but I always like to cast the wards before doing anything else.”

 

“I understand, Hah’ren” She took a good look at his nakedness and then dropped her eyes to her feet.

 

“Tell me, were any of the children hurt?”

 

“No, Hah’ren, but as you are aware Timon died. As did Alizey and Petrus”

 

There was a few moments silence while he tried to capture an image of their faces in his mind and to recall the last words he had exchange with them. “It is good that none of the children were hurt… I will attempt to make some arrangements for the families of Timon, Alizey and Petrus and seek some reparation. And how are you?”

 

“I’m fine…”

 

“Does your throat not hurt? I know mine does…” He said gesturing towards the marks on his own neck.

 

Nehnera studied them carefully “What happened?”

 

“It is a long story.”

 

“I have time,” and then “is she dead?” Black eyes glittered with hope.

 

He laughed without humour, touched by her naïve overestimation of his abilities. “No, unfortunately, such is her power I cannot kill her, and frankly I doubt any of us can, only put her into uthenara for a certain period… Which I did…” He cleared his throat, “Indirectly…”

She bowed her head, “I am afraid.”

 

There were several answers available to him, he decided to go for the most honest. “So am I.” Nenhera turned away from him and he saw her shoulders shake.

 

He touched her arm. “I am very sorry.”

 

She turned round and clung to him weeping convulsively.

 

“If something had happened to me…” she sobbed, “or to you, my beautiful Ala would be on the slaver’s block…”

 

He put his arms around her shoulders.

 

“And they would mark her skin… Mark her beautiful clear skin with that… Obscenity…”

 

She was right, of course. He listened to her crying, awkwardly at first keeping a distance between them, but eventually he relaxed bending over her pulling her against him, nuzzling her face and jet black hair. She smelt good of sunlight, the kitchen… and a chewable intoxicant that had been all the rage in Arlathan for the last two seasons, Oh, naughty Nenhera.

 

Eventually when her crying lessened, with some regret, he released her. “I must retire I need to rest.”

 

“Can I come with you?”

 

“You mean to my bed?”

 

“It has been a long night, I may not be able to…”

 

She cut him short. “For comfort only.”

 

“For comfort only?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I do not think…” Prudence would have advised against further amorous entanglements but that morning he was still young and hot-blooded, if not quite so cocky… and sometimes it costs nothing to say, “Yes.”

 

And for a short while he was happy.

 

THE END