by Aldrea Alien
Zurron’s face was no longer starkly pale. Instead, it had taken on an equally unhealthy shade of purple. His arms strained as if he fought something invisible, but Darshan showed no sign of constraining the man—the spellster even seemed somewhat sympathetic towards Zurron. So, was the elf actually restraining himself?
Hamish tried to recall the last time the pair physically clashed. He couldn’t remember what about, only that it was a trivial matter coming to a head.
The elf had taken a fair number of blows from Quinn, who probably knew he had won only because he’d struck first and was a far bigger man. Most humans were. Even some of the children towered over the tallest of elves and Hamish would be surprised if Zurron was an inch over five foot. But the elf hadn’t looked anywhere near as angry back then as he did now.
Quinn huffed and picked something out of his teeth. “You dinnae have to get all prissy about it. I dinnae care, I just thought you’d ken your own people.” He shrugged, his dark brown gaze flicking Darshan’s way. “But I guess you’re nae interested in hanging onto that knowledge.”
Wincing, Hamish set his bowl aside. He wasn’t all that keen on having to restrain Zurron, especially if the man slipped free. The one thing he knew for sure about the guard was that he’d a kick like a mule and had broken various bones on people down at the docks with a well-placed foot. He’d vastly prefer not collecting it.
Zurron leapt to his feet, an echoing heat of the campfire raging in his dark eyes. The promise of murder twisted his lips, baring those uncomfortably long canines. If it wasn’t for the fact the elf grappled for his belt knife, Hamish would’ve sworn the man intended to tear Quinn’s throat out with his bare teeth.
“That’s it!” Gordon roared. “Zur, sit down before I have him—” He jerked a thumb at Darshan, who sat in bewildered silence with his mouth wrapped around the head of his spoon. “—restrain you.”
Quinn snickered, earning him a glare from every pair of eyes in the camp.
Swallowing his food, Darshan gestured at the two guards with his spoon. “I would vastly prefer not to have to break up a fight, but if it is needed…”
The elf sank back to the ground. He continued to glare at Quinn over the campfire. The heat in that gaze had dulled, although his eyes had gone harder than the chips of obsidian their colour mimicked.
“Quinn,” Gordon said, his voice dripping venom and blood. As always, the tone pinned the man in question to the spot without a single hand being laid upon him. “You will return to the castle at dawn and turn yourself in for disciplinary measures. And dinnae think you can sidestep that like a snake because I will be sending a pigeon once we arrive at Old Willie’s. We’ll make the trip fine without you.”
“But I was just—”
Gordon cut him off with the dismissing wave of a hand. “I dinnae care what you thought you were just doing. You’ve been warned. Be lucky I’m nae sending you on your way now or without a horse. Because I can and will order it if you continue. For now, I think it’s best if you retire for the night.”
Quinn clamped his mouth shut so tight that his lips disappeared beneath his beard. He rose, slowly and eyeing Darshan the entire time, before stalking off to the tent he shared sleeping quarters with Sean.
Zurron’s sharp gaze followed the man and he glared at the tent for some time after.
The rest of them returned to their meals, occasionally peeking at either the elf or the tent. Hamish dared to glance at his brother in an attempt to gauge his thoughts on the matter. As commander of the royal guards, he had the power to send either guard wherever he deemed acceptable.
Gordon sat with his back pole-stiff. He chewed with that dead-eyed, brow-knitted expression that spoke of wheels turning. Unlike the rest of them, his gaze never left the elf.
Were they going to have to restrain Zurron until the morning? The man didn’t seem the type to start anything violent. As a whole, elves didn’t have an altogether decent reputation, with those outside of the nomad caravans often labelled as troublemakers and murderers.
With the majority of the elves passing through, those who stayed in Tirglas bore the brunt of such a reputation. More often than not, it led to them proving certain opinions right. Zurron was one of twenty-four elves in the whole guard—often sent on their duties in pairs to limit this sort of behaviour.
But if this was how a man like Zurron got treated by someone Hamish had thought was the elf’s friend, then he wasn’t surprised some elves retaliated violently. No man should be expected to weather being constantly pushed down.
Only when Quinn showed no sign of leaving the tent confines did Zurron relax. “What kind of world do we live in?” he muttered shaking his head. “I expected a remark like that to come from someone like…” The elf waved his hand, gesturing in Darshan’s general direction. “Well, like you, nae me own kinsmen.” He wrinkled his button nose, turning the tip upwards, and added, “Nae offence, you understand?”
Darshan hummed consideringly. “I do. Although, I would not have spoken so crudely even if I did not already know the answer. At least when it comes to the outlook of Udynean elves.”
“Oh aye?” Zurron arched a brow and tipped his head back. “And what do they believe?”
“You understand this is merely an outlook by those working in the imperial palace?” Darshan cleared his throat once Zurron nodded. “You see, once particular defining elven features have vanished to the point where they can pass as humans, most within the palace—even the city, really, there are quite a few part-elf, part-human children—seem to consider themselves as human. Takes around two generations of breeding with humans. Or three, depending on how virulent the elven bloodline is.”
The elf squinted, the faint gleam of light twinkling on the thin slit between his lashes the only evidence he saw anything. “What features would they be?” The words pierced the air with a note of already having been answered.
Whilst the pointed ears were a strong feature of elven blood, it wasn’t the only one. Beyond their short stature and the elongated canines, there was the eerie length of their fingers. Although not noticeable at any great distance, once Hamish had first spotted it on a stablehand several decades back, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from staring. They weren’t creepily long, just an inch or so, but it was enough to lift the hairs on his neck that time. Learning it was natural and not some monster of lore trying to pose as an elf had also helped.
But to see such a feature on an otherwise human-looking person would certainly bring stares and speculation in several circles. Enough to ostracise the individual? He wished he could be certain of the outcome there.
“As you seem to have already guessed, the point in the ears is generally the last thing to go,” Darshan murmured. “It is not uncommon to see some attempting to hide the smaller tips.” His lips curved into a smile slightly on the watery side. “Although, I am quite certain that, if one of them ever felt the need to travel there, they would be welcomed into Heimat regardless.”
Zurron’s jaw twitched from side to side as he appeared to mull over the words. “Are they ashamed to be part elven?”
“More, I believe, searching for a better life. There are still places, social heights, barred for elves.” Darshan bit his lip and toyed with the tuft of his beard. “I think your father and grandmother would know that better than I. It is changing, albeit very slowly. The current council rather considers it as anathema.”
“Nae doubt because of the rampant slavery in your lands,” Sean murmured. The man had silently inched closer to his fellow guard. Seeking to protect. Who? Hamish wasn’t entirely certain there.
He glanced over his shoulder at the tent. No sign of Quinn. That ruled out one scenario.
Darshan’s eyes slid shut. “That…” His whole body seemed to deflate at the word, his breath gusting through his barely-parted lips. “Certainly does not help matters. It may come as a surprise, but not everyone in Udynea is happy with the current situation in regards to slavery and
the number against it rises with each generation. Will they abolish it within our time?” He spread his hands wide and shrugged.
They finished their meals in silence, beyond a brief bicker between Sean and Zurron over who would polish off the remains in the pot. As always, the elf won and happily consumed the spoils of victory. The act was almost normal enough to make Hamish forget all that had happened since sitting by the fire.
Talk turned to the usual discussion of which duo went on night watch and who with. Zurron, as always, opted for the final watch. He preferred taking it alone so that there were, as the elf put it, no clumsy humans to distract him. The other two guards generally took the first watch together, leaving Hamish and his brother to take up the midnight hours. That would likely change after tonight with Quinn returning to the castle.
Hamish stood, stretching the kink out of his spine. He grabbed his pack and, with a nod to his companions, sauntered off to bed. They’d be up at first light and he aimed to get as much sleep as possible before his time on watch.
The inside of his tent held only a few woollen blankets folded near the entrance. Tossing his pack to one side, he laid one blanket on the ground. To look at, they weren’t anything fancy, but they were sturdy, practical and, above all, warm.
He bundled himself up in the other blanket and pillowed his head on an arm. The light of the campfire danced across the tent wall before him, throwing odd shadows as the men outside moved. Closing his eyes was enough to throw the world into darkness, but as much as he tried to sleep, his mind raced faster than a boarhound on the scent.
Tomorrow, they would reach Old Willie’s Farm around midday. By the middle of the afternoon, they would’ve taken their first steps on the road leading towards the Crowned Mountain, where the cloister nestled in the foothills.
Would their path be clear? Whilst there were no actual villages, the land between here and the cloister had a few sizable farms. The farmers might not have magic to aid in the removal of downed trees, but Hamish found it hard to imagine they’d suffer much blocking their way for long.
Sleep had just begun to claim him when a thump from within the tent jolted him awake.
Scrambling to sit up, he came face to face with Darshan kneeling just inside the entrance. The tent flap fluttered in the wind, thin streams of moonlight peeking through the gap. “What—?”
“It is freezing.” Darshan was wrapped in a thick blanket and still trembled as he crawled along the ground. Although Hamish couldn’t quite make out the man’s expression, there was the distinct energy of a glare directed his way. “How can you travel like this?” his lover demanded.
Even with his heart hammering, a puff of laughter shook Hamish’s body and eased his muscles. He leant back on his arms. “It’s nae that bad. You should try it in the winter, when there’s snow.” They didn’t typically travel far then, but there’d been a few times in his youth where braving the cold had sounded like the sort of challenge worthy of a man.
Via a flicker of moonlight, he caught Darshan pull a face as the man imperiously flapped his hand. “Move over. If we are to traverse through this frigid clime, then you are keeping me warm.” He flopped onto the ground and rolled over to present his back. “I swear this bloody place is going to be the death of me.”
“Aye,” Hamish chuckled. “Pay nae mind to the bears and rogue boars that can gore a man to shreds in seconds, it’s the cold that’ll kill you.”
A soft, unamused grunt emanated from the bundle of blankets.
Hamish wrapped an arm around the pile. The sweet scent of whatever Darshan put in his hair still clung to the strands. Had he brought it along with him? What of other lotions? “I could warm you a lot better if you were naked, you ken,” he murmured into the man’s ear.
Silence greeted his suggestion.
He waited for some sly remark or a comment on his boldness, but nothing was forthcoming. Maybe he really is cold.
“That is some sort of Tirglasian trick, right?” Darshan wriggled deeper beneath the blankets. “You shall not get me to shed a single layer.”
Still chuckling breathlessly, Hamish slithered beneath the blankets to the muffled squeak of Darshan’s protests about letting the night air in. “Then I guess I’ll have to come in after you.” He felt his way along his lover’s side, searching for the hem of the man’s undershirt. However much Darshan protested, he had discarded at least the outer layer of his garments.
At last finding a gap in the soft fabric, Hamish worked his fingers beneath. His lover’s skin was chill against his fingertips. “Goddess’ breath, you’re as cold as an orphaned lamb.”
“What did I tell you?” Shivering, Darshan scrunched tighter on himself. “And you are letting all the heat out,” he grumbled.
Hamish pressed himself against Darshan until his chest was flush with his lover’s back. He rubbed at his lover’s arms, using the friction to work some heat back into the limbs. “Can you nae heat up the inside of a tent with magic?”
“I can,” Darshan conceded. “But not when I am asleep. Not safely.” He squirmed beneath the blankets, twisting around like a rebellious pup on a leash. “How can you sleep like this? The ground does not exactly have much in the way of give.”
Hamish continued to rub furiously at his lover’s arm and back until heat slowly returned to Darshan’s skin. “You get used to it, I suppose.” He had spent a good portion of his youth roaming the hills surrounding Mullhind, sometimes opting to sleep out under the stars with the castle just an hour’s walk away. And, whilst the ground didn’t have an ounce of give, his bed wasn’t much softer. “Did you nae go camping as a lad?”
“We had beds.” The gentle tremor in Darshan’s voice was starting to fade along with the cold radiating from his body. “Wooden frames with strong linen hung between. And pillows.”
Hamish chuckled. No mistaking the emphasis there. With Sean’s decree to pack only the essentials, anything resembling a pillow with no other function had been the first thing to go. “Lift your head.” When his lover obeyed, Hamish gently slid his arm into the space beneath and urged Darshan to relax onto it. “It’s a wee bit firmer than a wool-stuffed sack, but—”
“I will take it, thank you.” Although the lower half of Darshan still sought out whatever comfort eluded him, his torso remained relatively still. Eventually, even the man’s legs calmed down, reaching back to entwine themselves with Hamish’s. Mercifully, he had discarded his boots somewhere between entering the tent and burrowing under the blankets. That he still wore socks was a blessing, too.
Hamish closed his eyes. He dozed, drifting to sleep only enough to jerk himself back awake before repeating the cycle. Anything deeper eluded him like a fish taunting the bait line.
“ ‘Mish?” a voice hissed.
He peered through one eye. Had he dreamt that? It sounded almost like Gordon, but it couldn’t be their turn to take the watch, he had only slept for a short time.
A figure lurked by the tent entrance, bent over but still the right size for his brother.
“Wake up, you lump,” the voice growled before Hamish could move. The command was swiftly followed by a whump as a hand came down onto the blankets.
A shriek erupted from the covers. Darshan sat upright to face his assailant.
Hamish flinched. He would’ve been prepared to weather the usual good-natured slap on his thigh. His lover, not so much.
The spellster’s shimmering barrier slammed around them, enclosing only half of Gordon’s body. His brother launched back through the tent flap, cussing every word he knew. The shield trembled at the action.
Hamish thought nothing of it until Darshan groaned and pressed a hand to his temple. “Are you all right?”
“I will be.” He glared at the entrance. “Kindly request your brother to not wake me in such a manner again. He was fortunate my first thought was a shield otherwise we would be short one tent.”
And one brother. He’d only witnessed one moment of magic being used violentl
y, but he had heard plenty of stories about battling spellsters and could well-imagine the damage a provoked spellster could do, especially when startled awake by a slap to the flank.
Hamish hauled on his overcoat whilst his lover returned to his woollen blanket cocoon. A yawning sigh, followed by Darshan’s barely audible breathing, was the only way Hamish knew the man had resumed his slumber.
He sorely wished he could rejoin his lover.
Gordon glared at him when he exited the tent. His brother stood not far from the campfire, which neglect had seen it burn low during the previous watch. “You could’ve warned me he was in there.”
“Warn you?” he echoed, his voice high but hushed. “You didnae give me a chance. You just belted the blankets.”
“I didnae bloody expect him to be in there with you.” His brother eyed him, then the tent. “I wasnae interrupting anything, was I?”
“Only our sleep.”
The look his brother shot him was one of complete and utter disbelief. “We’re nae home, you ken, you dinnae have to hide the truth. Lad moves fast, I’ll give him that. We’ve only been on the road a day. I expected him to wait at least for a few more before getting his end away.”
“We were nae having sex,” Hamish hissed, struggling to keep his voice low.
Gordon crouched by the fire to give the barely-burning wood a few pokes. Flames flared up between the pieces then died. “Bloody wet wood,” he mumbled, chucking a thin branch onto the coals. “You’d think Sean would ken better than to…” The words trailed off into a stream of grumbles and curses as he worked on getting the wood to burn.
After a couple more encouraging prods and a handful of dry branches, the fire sputtered back to life.
His brother brushed the dust from his hands, looking immensely pleased with himself. “Now then, what’s this? I thought two men didnae do sex, that you called it something else?”
“I do.” So did every Tirglasian he’d been with. “Apparently, Udyneans dinnae differentiate. And I’m nae pulling your leg. It really was innocent. He was cold and so—”
