by R A Oakes
“I’m expecting Jagatta to report back in a day or two, my lord,” Tark said referring to the spy he’d sent to keep an eye on Aerylln and her companions. “Jagatta has always proven to be gifted at his work.”
“Don’t get too close, I don’t want them to become so alarmed that they panic. Just keep a general awareness of their movements and with whom they talk.”
“Why not capture the young woman, Lord Daegal? Why give her time to mature? By then, she’ll be even more dangerous.”
“Aerylln’s not much of a threat to us now, and it could be a while before her talents surface.”
“But why delay further?”
“We’ll have little influence over her feelings, if we put her into prison.”
“Her feelings, sire? You’re concerned with her feelings?”
“Having lived a sheltered existence, Aerylln might be innocent, naïve and susceptible to outside influence. Maybe her feelings can be molded.”
“Molded in what way?” Tark asked while down on one knee, fearful in his master’s presence, being well aware of his lord’s quick temper.
“We must draw Aerylln close to us, befriend her and get her to trust us.”
“Trust us, how?” Tark asked unable to imagine that happening.
“Young women like to experience life, discover who they are and explore the world of young men. After living a sheltered life, Aerylln might be eager to reach out.”
“What’s that got to do with us?”
“We’re going to bring her into contact with people and events that will shape her attitude.”
“But Aerylln’s already with people who are shaping her attitude.”
“We’ll introduce her to a few people ourselves.
Hopefully, we’ll get her to like and trust some people her own age,” Lord Daegal said. “Maybe we can have someone save her life.”
“I suppose we orchestrate the threat.”
“Naturally.”
“Zorya will be suspicious of anyone getting close to Aerylln, and she might not allow the young woman to befriend the people you send,” Tark pointed out.
“Oh, I hope Zorya tries to keep Aerylln from talking to one person in particular.”
“Who?”
“A young man her own age. Someone who’s adventurous, intelligent, strong, bold, yet kind, understanding and a good listener. In short, we’ll introduce her to a young man who’s good at dealing with teenage girls. And if Zorya forbids Aerylln, then she’ll take an even greater interest in him.”
“And who’s this boyish lady killer? Where do you intend to find him?”
“I believe you have a son Aerylln’s age, don’t you?” Lord Daegal asked.
“Marcheto?” Tark asked in disbelief. “He’s a bit of a scamp, don’t you think? Are you looking to lead that innocent, young woman into a life of debauchery? I doubt that a sweet girl like her would even look down such a path.”
“Marcheto will have to learn finesse,” Lord Daegal said.
“Marcheto? My Marcheto? Why, he was seducing
household servant girls almost before he could walk. Marcheto’s learning finesse with a sword but with women?”
“Would you let a daughter of yours around another man’s son, if he was like Marcheto?”
“Never.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, Zorya will certainly dislike him.”
“And more importantly, we want Zorya to forbid Aerylln to see your son,” Lord Daegal said.
“Okay, we’ll portray Marcheto as a romantic hero,” Tark said. “And he’ll be sort of a highbred vagabond who rescues Aerylln and her little group from, say, some bandits.”
“Now you’re getting into the spirit of things,” Lord Daegal said smiling.
“The seduction of innocence?”
“Yes.”
“It won’t take Marcheto long to get his hands up her skirt,” Tark said.
“No, that’s not what I want. She’s important to me, and I don’t want her trifled with. In fact, inform Marcheto that if he so much as rubs his manhood against the girl, I’ll have him castrated.”
Not sure if Lord Daegal was being serious, Tark looked at his master’s eyes, but there was no humor in them, and the warlord wasn’t smiling.
“Send Marcheto to me,” Lord Daegal ordered.
“Sire, putting my son near a young virgin is courting disaster.”
“I’ll convince him not to harm her in any way.”
“How are you going to accomplish that, sire?
Marcheto’s developing into an excellent warrior, but his weakness is a lack of personal discipline.”
“You and Marcheto get along well. And, his being the youngest, haven’t you always doted on him?”
“Yes, my lord, Marcheto’s a fine son, and we love each other.”
“Well, I’ll explain to him that if the young woman
doesn’t remain a virgin, I’ll have you killed.”
“That should do it,” Tark said almost laughing, not taking his master seriously. But as he turned to leave, Tark looked into the warlord’s cold eyes and realized Lord Daegal wasn’t fooling.
The hairs on the back of Tark’s neck stood on end. He would enter eternity, if Marcheto entered the girl. At that moment, Tark gave himself no better than even odds of surviving. If Marcheto and his brothers lost their father, it would be hard on them. It would be hard on everyone in the family. But would Marcheto remember who Tark’s death would be most hard on when his rascal son had his own hard on? Tark felt doomed.
Chapter 7
“Ohhhh!” Marcheto groaned falling out of bed and making a resounding thump as he hit the floor. Tangled in the bed sheets, the young man propped himself up on an elbow, struggled to his knees and tried pulling himself back onto the mattress. Feeling spent and exhausted, he nonetheless tried tugging on the covers but fell back onto the floor with another resounding thump! This time he gave up and didn’t move.
A feminine hand gripped the edge of the mattress with long, claw-like fingernails. Her skin had a soft luster to it, however Marcheto had discovered this was the only thing soft about the young woman. As sweet and loving as she’d been outside the bedroom, she’d sprung at him like a ravenous wild animal once they crossed the threshold. As it was, the experience had come as a rude awakening to the young man. Up until now, he’d romanced and seduced his share of women, but this time, he was the one being used. And he’d come up short, not meeting the silken tigress’ expectations. Not at all.
The young woman slung one of her arms over the edge of the bed and pulled her upper body into view. Long, blond ringlets flowed down obscuring most of the silken tigress’ face. Taking a hand and running it through her hair, the young woman held it behind her left ear while gazing at Marcheto with cold, lifeless eyes.
The silken tigress was strikingly beautiful, but her hungry, predatory gaze was her dominant feature. And Marcheto, though approximately the same age, seemed more and more like an old man to her. Feeling annoyed, she wondered if he’d been injured and thought, What did mother say? Oh, yes, older men have weak hearts and can’t take much strain.
Noticing that Marcheto’s eyes were open but staring vacantly into space, the young woman arched an eyebrow, more out of curiosity than concern, when she couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. However, after Marcheto moved his head, blinked a few times and shifted one leg, the silken tigress decided he was showing enough signs of life. Reassured, she slid back into the center of the mattress snuggling in a warm blanket that somehow had remained on the bed.
The young woman heaved a sigh of frustration feeling let down after having heard so much about the young man now lying crumpled on the floor. Marcheto was a legend of sorts around the castle. Yet after just two hours of love making, there he lay almost unconscious by the foot of the bed. Experiencing a sense of emptiness deep inside, she was aching for more but could see that this old man was past his prime. As she slowly drifted off to sleep, she thoug
ht, Next time, I’ll trust my own instincts instead of listening to rumors.
With a sense of relief, Marcheto heard the young woman’s breathing change, then opened his eyes and thought, What an ordeal!
The silken tigress had pushed him past his reserve an hour ago. The only reason he’d continued was after trying to roll off of her, she’d given Marcheto an incredulous look like he’d just grown two heads. “Where are you going!” she had almost shouted.
Marcheto wasn’t going anywhere in particular except for getting out from between the legs of this young woman. The silken tigress possessed what seemed to him like hips made of rubber in that they kept flexing, grinding and urging him onward long after he had his fill.
I’m getting too old for this, he thought. When he hadn’t been able to pull himself onto the bed and had fallen down a second time, Marcheto felt he was past his prime. As it was, things had turned out badly, and the only way he avoided being openly humiliated was to feign unconsciousness.
I must have peaked as a man almost a year ago, he thought. My days of being able to keep up with a woman like this are over.
The silken tigress was a bundle of energy barely encased in human form, and Marcheto’s confidence was shaken. What am I going to do? he asked himself. If I can’t keep up with a woman’s needs, how can I avoid embarrassment? Fear crept into his heart.
All Marcheto had ever excelled at was being a swordsman in the bedroom and on the battlefield. Now he’d begun doubting himself in one of those areas. Desperately needing to get away, he picked up his clothing and quietly stole out of the bedroom.
Just before reaching the safety of the hallway, as he was almost out the door, the young woman opened one eye and asked, “Are you alright? I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“No, I’m fine,” Marcheto said cringing, wishing he were invisible.
“You shouldn’t be ashamed of being impotent,” the silken tigress said. “It’s really not your fault. I’ve heard that it runs in some families.”
“Thank you,” he croaked, as his face turned bright red.
◆◆◆
After stumbling into his clothes and walking down the hallway to the foyer, Marcheto glanced into the rooms and thought, I’ve never been in chambers this nice before. Not that his own rooms weren’t impressive, they were, but this residence had something more to it possessing a certain style and elegance.
Marcheto thought, Maybe the young tigress has an older silken tigress for a mother? Anyway, my whole life has revolved around power and political intrigue, but the teenage tigress seems to exist simply to enjoy pleasure.
He recalled how the young tigress had her eyes closed and her delicate jaw set firmly, as she clenched her teeth, tilted back her head and ceased to be anything more than a moving pelvis. The pleasure she’d felt was like a living presence settling upon her. The disturbing thing for Marcheto, however, was that no matter how hard he tried to satisfy her, the young woman’s hunger had just increased as she fed off his life energy and funneled it through her inner self.
The silken tigress had a deep, empty well inside of her, and she ached for him to fill it. And even though he’d poured his own soul into the young woman, no matter how much he gave, she always had room inside her for more.
But Marcheto was like a bucket of water being tossed inside a woman who spiritually was like a dry, parched riverbank yearning to be filled. To Marcheto, it had felt like he was being sucked dry. And while he was gradually overwhelmed by fatigue, the silken tigress had become more animated.
Marcheto hadn’t understood what was happening to him, but this young woman was a sexually charged bandit of the spiritual world robbing him of his energy. Her stranglehold was the luscious cradle of her open and welcoming thighs, ever so desirable, ever so deadly and impossible to resist. A spiritually dying man would drag himself onto the luxurious plateau of her firm, flat tummy and with the very last shreds of his inner strength would caress the intoxicating nature of the well leading to her inner being.
But having little knowledge of feminine mystical arts, all Marcheto could do was ask over and over, What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?
Stumbling along dazed and confused, Marcheto bumped into the mother of the silken tigress who was tall, grave and beautiful. Clad in an elegant, white dress, she had golden hair and flawless skin with no signs of age upon her except, perhaps, the depth of her eyes. As he looked into them, they seemed to possess wells of deep memory.
“Marcheto, you have served my daughter well enough but beware of the one to come, for she will prove to be either your savior or your undoing. It will be your choice as far as which way your soul will turn.”
Feeling her eyes penetrating his very being, Marcheto wondered if this woman was some sort of prophetess and felt a chill run down his spine. When she released him from her gaze, he felt drained, almost as drained as when he’d tried to please the young tigress. For what seemed like an eternity, he stood there dumbfounded until she turned and walked, or almost glided, down the hallway.
As he felt the chill of her gaze subsiding, Marcheto thought, I’m definitely too old for this, something’s got to change.
◆◆◆
After running up a flight of stairs, Marcheto saw his father at the far end of a hallway. The young man called out to him, and they shared a hug.
“Marcheto, I had a rather interesting talk with Lord Daegal.”
“What about father?”
“About you getting me killed more than likely.”
“Father, don’t say such a thing.”
“Lord Daegal’s plan might have dangerous repercussions, at least for our family.”
“What could be as bad as that? I’m not afraid to die in battle.”
“I know you aren’t, but this could be more difficult than conventional warfare. It involves a pretty teenage girl. Lord Daegal wants you to get to know her, and he wants you to win her heart.”
Marcheto felt sick. Having just escaped the clutches of the silken tigress, he was in no mood for more female entanglements.
“However, Lord Daegal insists that I issue a stern warning to you. Our master says you’re not to touch her in any way a virgin may feel is inappropriate. This young woman knows nothing about sex, and you’re to keep it that way.”
“No sex?”
“No sex, Marcheto,” Tark said gravely.
“Lord Daegal specifically said that?” Marcheto asked, his hope rising.
“He said he’d castrate you and kill me, if the girl doesn’t remain a virgin.”
“That’s wonderful news, father, wonderful news!”
Tark looked at his son in disbelief.
“Truly, is she untouched?” Marcheto asked.
“Untouched,” his father assured him.
“Unspoiled?”
“Yes, unspoiled, and she’s to stay that way. And Lord Daegal has ordered you to stop womanizing and carousing in taverns. You’re to focus on this girl alone.”
“Oh, this just keeps getting better and better!” Marcheto exclaimed, the joy and relief apparent on his face. The young man hugged his father, kissed him on the cheek and ran off down the hall.
Bewildered by his son’s behavior, Tark watched Marcheto bounding along and thought, What’s different about him? And then it dawned on him!
Marcheto’s happy! The boy’s actually happy!
Since the tragic death of his wife and only daughter, Tark hadn’t heard his son laugh or seen him smile. And Tark, a battle scarred, old warhorse of a man, turned down a short passageway, put one arm against the wall, lowered his head and wept.
Chapter 8
“Lord Daegal wants to see you,” a castle guard had told Marcheto, and so the young man obediently followed the burly soldier to an anteroom outside the warlord’s personal chambers. But that was hours ago, and he was still waiting.
I hate waiting, Marcheto thought to himself in frustration as his mind began wandering. Recalling his experience with the sil
ken tigress, he was unhappy with his performance believing himself to have been inadequate.
What’s missing? What’s wrong with me? Marcheto asked himself sensing an inner emptiness that was leaving him feeling drained and hollow. He suspected there could be something more between men and women but didn’t know what since love was a bit of a foreign concept to him. However, the young warrior’s disappointment in himself was edging him closer to exploring a new concept. Maturity.
“It’s one of the key elements of creativity,” his grandmother had once told him. “Nothing of any lasting value is ever attained without it.”
“I’m not exactly concerned with lasting value,” Marcheto had said politely while smiling at the kindly older woman. “Everything changes. Why pretend otherwise?”
“Unless the ground is solid, you can’t use a ladder to scale a wall. Obstacles can’t be overcome unless you’re on firm ground,” the elderly woman had said, her eyes bright and lively.
“There’s no firm ground in life, grandmother. None.”
“Then create some for yourself,” she’d replied patiently.
“How?”
“You’ll find a way.”
“You and grandfather have been together for a long time.”
“Almost 50 years.”
“How does one find love, grandmother?”
“Sometimes you just have to stop looking for it.”
“But there’s nothing worth having, not really, is there?”
“If you know that already, then you’ve discovered one of life’s greatest secrets.”
“What?”
“It’s only when you possess nothing that you can gain everything.”
“That makes no sense, grandmother.”
“Maybe not now, but it will.”
