by Aldrea Alien
To attempt the same examination on a grown man?
His lover could very well have learnt to suppress any abilities without knowing. Darshan couldn’t exactly outright ask Hamish for the same reason, not even in private. Never mind the risk of offending the man should his querying prove false.
“—nae halting to cook one measly rabbit,” Gordon was saying, his hands raised placatingly towards the guards. “We wasted too much time at Old Willie’s. If we’re lucky, we might be able to add a few more to the pot for a decent supper.” He nodded at his brother. “String it up for now.”
Hamish tied the rabbit to his saddle, letting it hang down one side of the mare’s shoulder, and mounted his horse. “Supper? Dinnae we usually wind up sharing the farmhouse’s fare?”
“I dinnae think we’ll make it to the guard tower before dark never mind a farmhouse. Maybe if someone hadnae taken so long or had chosen to wear suitable clothes for the journey.” Gordon shot Darshan a meaningful look.
Darshan returned the expression with a carefully neutral one. He was no mind reader, nor did he masquerade as such, unlike some. If their journey was operating under time constraints, the man really should’ve mentioned it earlier.
“We couldnae have been that long,” Hamish said. He tugged his mount’s head away from a tree branch, growling unintelligibly at the animal. “That’s enough of that, lass.” He urged the horse down the road with a firm nudge of his boot. Pine needles still hung out the mare’s mouth as she continued to placidly chew.
“An hour or so,” Gordon clarified. “It’s enough to see us still on the road come nightfall.” He bent over his horse’s shoulder to peer at the road. The ruts and holes forced them to remain in the middle or trudge along the dubious footing in what little strips sat either side of the road. Still, there was plenty of room for two horses to ride abreast. “The footing should improve the closer we get to a farmstead, but beyond that, we cannae risk the horse’s tripping in the dark. Zurron?” He shot over his shoulder. “Keep a lookout for any more rabbits.”
They rode on in silence, the rest of the men hesitant to relinquish their bows, especially after the third rabbit poked its nose out from the undergrowth. They halted briefly at a creek just around mid-afternoon, letting the horses drink and rest for a bit whilst they ate a meagre meal of crumbly, almost biscuit-like, bread.
Darshan eyed the trio of rabbits that’d been strung up by their feet in the low branch of a nearby tree. Hamish and the guards had taken their rest as an opportunity to field dress the animals, leaving the hides largely intact. Little in the way of blood had drained from the animals on account of each one having rapidly bled out when shot.
They had Hamish to thank for that. Every time there was prey, it would be his lover’s arrow that downed the animal. It didn’t matter the man was often the last to draw or even when the final of the rabbit trio had nipped back into the bushes at the last moment, Hamish still managed a hit. And each arrowhead pierced the heart in the exact same place.
He would definitely have to discuss the prospect of magical power within the man the next time they were alone.
The rest of their afternoon journey was somewhat less eventful. No more prey revealed itself for Darshan to witness another perfectly-placed shot. They slowed as the light began to wane, Zurron taking the fore as his elven eyesight enabled him to pick out details far better in the gloom. The elf peered at the roadside, seeking for a suitable place to camp.
Kneeing his pony into an amble in order to keep up with the two brothers’ far bigger mounts, Darshan cleared his throat. “That was an impressive display of archery back there.”
His lover twisted in the saddle, glancing at him over a well-muscled shoulder. Even if the possibility of the man possessing magic was true, only actual physical exertion could’ve sculpted that frame. “You’ve a little experience with a bow, then?”
“Very little,” he confessed. “My father rather insists on all his children mastering several types of weaponry beyond the magical.” But even with magic to aid him, he had been handier with a blade than any sort of projectile. The skill there went to his eldest half-sister. He’d a scar on his torso that could attest to the trueness of Onella’s aim. “Quite frankly, I am astonished you managed to hit, not only one but, all three rabbits directly in the heart, especially with the way they were bounding about.”
Hamish brushed aside the remark with a swipe of his hand. “I just got lucky.”
“You mean lucky again,” Gordon said, leaning across the gap between horses to clap a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He very nearly missed, leading to him waving his arm in search of purchase even as he hauled himself upright in the saddle. “Dinnae listen to Lord Humble here, ‘Mish has nae missed a mark since we were wee lads.”
“Never?” Even magic occasionally missed a target if the proper focus wasn’t applied.
“Nae even one.”
Darshan rolled the bottom tuft of the pony’s mane around a forefinger. Perhaps the man’s aptitude for a clean kill was merely skill. On the other hand, he had heard of extremely weak spellsters specialising in but a few abilities. If Hamish was one of them, then it would certainly be harder to prove. Perhaps starting at the beginning would help gauge the truth. “How young?”
“Seven,” Gordon replied. “It’s the normal age to begin training.” He eyed Darshan, seeming to consider his next words.
“This way,” Zurron declared before Gordon could speak further. The elf steered his mount off the left side of the road. “Wait here.” He dismounted and, chucking his reins at his fellow guard, swiftly vanished into the undergrowth to leave the rest of them waiting on the edge of the shadows.
“Since we were on the topic,” Gordon said. “When does your average spellster start training their magic? I assume you have to learn to control it.”
“That is what they teach at the cloister, correct?” Only healing, which took considerable years to perfect to the point where, like a physician, a spellster could be certain of not harming the patient through the attempt to mend.
The man nodded. A few shorter lengths of ruddy hair had escaped the cord confining the mass of curls at his nape, they gave an extra bob. Without a pause, Gordon huffed them out of his eyes.
“There is a touch of truth in those words, although some of the power is more instinctual. I cannot speak for other lands, but most of the spellsters in Udynea start at around the age of five.” There was the occasional late bloomer, typically discovering their magic at the far later age of nine, but they were few and often too weak to protect themselves from those looking to use them as a way up the ladder of political power.
“That’d be for minor things, though?” Gordon pressed. “Those shields and the lifting of objects. Nae dangerous magics like fireballs and all that, right?”
Darshan shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. It was a crime for these people to be so ignorant. “Actually, for many, fire is often the first controllable force. They do not call it the easiest magic for nothing.” Sometimes he wondered if it was considered as such simply because their tutors told them it should be. Whilst he had mastered in within the expected timeframe, his twin had struggled. Instead, she had taken far more swiftly to the complex art of forming and directing ice.
“That’s nae exactly—” Sean said, cutting himself off as the rustle of bushes and the definite thump of an axe preceded what Darshan hoped was the elf’s return.
Sure enough, Zurron appeared from the bushes with the same ease as he’d entered. “I was right,” he announced, jerking a thumb behind him. “There’s a gap in the brush a little ways back. Nae all that big, but it’ll get us off the immediate roadside.”
They forged a path through the undergrowth effortlessly enough; the ease helped by the fact Zurron had already cleared some of the troublesome branches out of the way. True to the elf’s words, the space was small. To call it a clearing at all was being generous. Darshan had envisioned so
mething like last night, but a little more snug. This was barely big enough for a few tents.
His thoughts must’ve shown, for Gordon clapped a consoling hand on his shoulder. “We’ll make do for the night,” he said as the two guards set about pitching the first tent. “Since you’re obviously fine sharing sleeping space with me brother—and I dinnae ken how you can get a wink with that row rattling in your ear—I’ll share with Sean and Zurron.”
“Still not willing to put up with me snoring?” Hamish snickered over the top of the horse he was unsaddling.
Darshan frowned. He hadn’t recalled any such noises. But then, being curled up in the man’s embrace had been the deepest sleep he’d had since he was a small boy. “Will that not be a bit snug?” Darshan enquired of Gordon. “All three of you in one tent?”
The man shook his head. “Shouldnae be any trouble. Sean’ll take first watch, I’ll be taking the middle and Zurron the last like always.”
“Alone?” Sean added, his head popping out from behind the second tent he was currently in the process of fixing into position. “Nae that I’m complaining, but I do prefer company on a watch.”
Gordon hummed for a bit, then clicked his fingers. “Hamish?” He pointed a forefinger at his brother. “You’ll share the watch with Sean tonight.” The digit swung towards Darshan. “And you can join me, I assume you’re capable.”
“Of course.” It might take him a moment to distinguish the unfamiliar night sounds, but that wasn’t anything he hadn’t attempted before. “I thought you would’ve preferred sharing the watch with someone you are more familiar with.”
“And who is also nae a spellster?” Gordon grinned, the starkness of that likeness to Hamish’s expression rather eerie. “I dinnae think you’re about to do anything untoward. Besides—” Gordon’s gaze slid to his brother and back. “I’d prefer the pair of you to be watching the forest rather than each other. I dinnae fancy having me face chewed off because you two were snogging when you should’ve been focused on your duty.”
“And when have I ever done that?” Hamish demanded of his brother.
“How about the summer of your eighteenth year? At the foot of the castle cliff, if I recall correctly.”
Darshan glanced at the guards. Neither man gave any indication they had heard Gordon. He could’ve dismissed it there, if he wasn’t entirely certain that Zurron most definitely would have. Maybe the elf already knew about Hamish. And, perhaps, Sean did, too. Knew and didn’t care. It stood to reason Gordon would fill his travelling party with those who wouldn’t judge his brother.
“Arse,” Hamish muttered, his expression darker than the jesting tone suggested.
Gordon merely stuck his tongue out at his brother.
“Come on,” Hamish said to Darshan. “Let’s leave me brother to his fanciful delusions and see what wood we can find.”
“Nae much in the way of dry stuff, I’d wager,” Sean grumbled, most of his attention directed to tying down the second tent. “Dinnae wander too deep into the forest, either. I think I saw tracks further back.”
“You think?” Gordon asked, swinging around to face the guard. “Did you also think to confirm that? Or what sort of tracks they were? Or did your thinking just consist on praying to the Goddess’ left tit that you were wrong?”
A tap to Darshan’s shoulder had him turning from the conversation. Hamish jerked his head at the tree line to his right before striding off into the brush.
Darshan jogged to keep up with the man. “Are you all right?” he asked once he could be confident none of the others would hear. “You seemed upset by what your brother mentioned.”
Grunting, Hamish brushed it off. “He surprised me is all. I did something foolish years back, I just didnae ken he was aware of it. Dinnae pay it any mind.”
They picked their way through the undergrowth in relative silence, scrounging for whatever bits of wood they could find that were dry enough to burn. Darshan likely could’ve ignited even the wettest of pieces if he put any actual effort into the act, but it seemed counterproductive to use up what energy he had when simpler means were at hand.
At first, the forest seemed reluctant to relinquish any remains of its fallen brethren, but after a little more poking and prying around some of the bigger trees, they were able to gather a modest amount to tuck under an arm. They made their way back slowly, rechecking the undergrowth in the off chance of a bigger haul.
“Well,” Hamish mumbled around a piece of bread he had produced from a ball of cloth tucked into his belt pouch. “We can rule out any bears from this direction. I’ve nae seen a single sign.”
Darshan grunted as he poked around the bushes huddled beneath a gnarled pine. After being warned of the danger they posed, he rather wanted to see one up close. Just for a moment, as irrational as he knew that desire to be. Anjali would be so jealous. He didn’t get many chances to tease his twin, and most of them were too cruel to consider. Letting her know he had seen a Tirglasian bear up close would ruffle her feathers for a month and she would be begging their father to let her travel here by the end of it.
“Dar?”
Blinking, he lifted his head to find Hamish looming over him, concern creasing his features. Darshan straightened slightly, the nape of his neck tingling although he could discern no immediate threat. “Is everything all right?” The hum of a shield not quite formed ran through his body and vibrated the air.
“That’s what I was going to ask you. You’ve been staring into that bush for a while now.” He frowned and reshuffled his load of branches and twigs. “Have you nae heard a word I said?”
He released his hold on the half-formed barrier with a sigh. No danger, just a man concerned he hadn’t been heard. “Something about bears?” His thoughts might’ve wandered a touch, but it couldn’t have been for too long.
The expression on Hamish’s face spoke of it being the wrong answer well before the man opened his mouth. “That was several sentences back. I was asking if last night was what you’d call one of these dates of yours?”
Darshan chuckled. “Not like any date I have had.” Unlike the men who attempted to woo his sister, few sought anything more than a few hours of pleasure and, occasionally, a little favour. He’d be stretching to call any of that a date. “But the ones in our folktales tend to start out that way… generally just before the lord’s lover vanishes under mysterious circumstances. And thus begins the saga of adventure and battles leading to a glorious culmination and much rejoicing.”
“Would you have counted it as one?”
“Perhaps,” Darshan replied as he resumed poking around the bush, spying a short length of tree branch tangled within the budding leaves. He certainly wouldn’t shirk at the idea of spending more time passively consuming food in such company, the ocean view had been a bonus. A shame we had to leave.
“And now?” The words might have been muffled by the rustle of leaves and crack of dead twigs, but the wariness in his lover’s voice was thick enough to taste.
“If you wanted it to be.” Darshan surfaced with his haul. He slid the piece into the bundle tucked snugly beneath his arm. “Although, I believe it is typically more intimate than this.”
The forest echoed with the clunk and clatter of wood hitting the ground. His lover pressed close, scooping Darshan into his arms, then up against a tree before Darshan could think to react. The wood that’d been tucked neatly under his arm tumbled to the forest floor, the tip of one branch scraping his shin on the way down.
Hamish hovered over Darshan, one muscular arm corralling him either side. “You mean like this?”
He barely heard the words over the rhythmic beat of his pulse marching in his ears. His mind blanked terribly. The hissing pain of the injury and the soothing warmth of his healing magic clashed with the jumbled knot in his stomach.
Nevertheless, Darshan found himself biting his lip even as a small groan of acquiescence escaped his throat.
His lover bent to kiss him. Soft skin wh
ispered against his own, feather-light and nothing more.
Still, his body shuddered. Darshan grabbed for the man, his legs embarrassingly weak. With his fingers full of the man’s overcoat, he hauled himself up to deepen the kiss, parting his lips just slightly.
Hamish moaned, pressing harder against Darshan’s mouth, but not taking the unspoken invitation. Firm hands fell on Darshan’s hips, lifting him until his toes barely touched the ground. Their hips met clumsily, the force slamming Darshan’s back against the tree.
With a low guttural sound that was half pain, half desire, Darshan took possession of his lover’s mouth, greedily deepening the kiss. His hands twitched, longing to traverse the expanse of chest and shoulders before him, but to release his handhold risked a rather painful slide down the tree trunk.
Darshan opted to abandon the forest floor completely, wrapping his legs around Hamish’s waist to grind against him, his thoughts bent only towards chasing pleasure. His lover thrust chaotically in response. Each movement crushed Darshan against the tree, but he no longer cared.
Their lips parted far sooner than he would’ve liked, both gasping for air. Darshan tipped his head back, resting it on the tree.
“You ken,” Hamish murmured, humour huffing out with his trembling breath. “For someone who speaks about control so much, you give it up quick enough.”
Heat flooded his face. Few back home would knowingly entertain the idea of playing anything but the submissive for their vris Mhanek. Fewer still actually restrained him with any intent. And none turned his limbs to water with a rather straightforward kiss.
Gods, was that would it took to get him off now? Simplicity? Clumsy innocence?
He squirmed against the tree, looking for a way to wriggle out of this position. Just when had Hamish pinned him so tightly against the trunk that he could do nothing but grind against the man? And, if he wasn’t mistaken, his lover was rather enjoying Darshan’s bid for freedom.
