“Healing magic?” I hung back near the door, watching her.
Rutha held up a finger, eyes closed. When she was done drinking, she made a face and set the empty flask on a table beside her. “There’s no such thing as healing magic. This is plain old medicine.”
“No such thing as healing magic?”
“True healing magic was an art lost eons ago. Some say it never existed at all, or that only the Aesari were able to use mana for that purpose.”
“Huh.” A world without healing magic – that was new. “How’s your leg?”
“Well, the Sisters had to reset some broken bones. I’m glad you weren’t here to listen.” Rutha motioned me over, patting the edge of the bed. “But the worst is over. These potions aren’t ‘magic’, exactly, but they do speed the healing process considerably.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I came over – not too close. “I’d sit, but if I do, I’m going to stink up your bed. I was wondering if I could ask for a bath and something to eat here? Sir Asshat gave me my marching orders when I asked to go with him.”
Rutha’s lips twitched, pouting a little in surprise. “You asked to join the Order of Saint Grigori?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.” From a few feet away, I couldn’t help but notice the curves of her body underneath the blankets that covered everything except her legs. “No offense to you, Lady.”
The elf bit her lip. Now that I had time to see her and no one was trying to kill us, I noticed that she had silverish freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were deep violet that contrasted with the white-silver of her hair. “No offense taken. The dragons are magnificent, but as I’m sure you realized, knight commander Arnaud can be somewhat abrasive. He’s a bastard.”
“Yeah, he’s definitely kind of dick.” I paused for a moment. “Wait. You mean, like, an actual bastard? Like-”
“The product of an affair outside the marital chamber, yes,” Rutha said delicately. “And all bastards are prickly, you’ll find. His birth was a scandal: his father is one of the great Lords of the realm, and was a member of the Kingsguard. He was removed from his post and stripped of his titles by the Mad King when his infidelity was discovered, casting the family down into poverty. Perhaps because of that, Arnaud played a major role in the Civil War and is greatly invested in the new regime.”
“Forgive me for sounding like a blunt barbarian,” I said. “But I don’t care whether or not someone’s parents are married or not. He’s an elitist asshole. He went on some rant about ‘leather clad savages’. I know I need a bath, but really? Does he think slave ships smell like roses and unicorn farts?”
The sorceress laughed, a high tinkling sound that echoed through the hospital suite. “He really can be overbearing, but that stubborn nature helped him survive before he joined the Skyrdon. And yes, you could do with a bath. If you go behind that screen over there, there is a bathtub. It even has hot water.”
“As in, running hot water?” I began to move in that direction. The ornate screen she was indicating had some measure of privacy. The area behind it was shadowed.
“No, even better. The water runs cold, but there is a sigil that heats it to an agreeable temperature.” I heard her sigh happily. “I’m so glad to be back in civilization.”
“Me too.” Curious, I went to see what she meant. A large stone tub was set into the floor with a single faucet, which I opened. Water gushed into the bath, and soon it was full enough for me to consider stripping down and getting in. “How do I activate the sigil?”
“Just speak the word of power. Orfailen.”
“Orfai-len?” I said uncertainly. I crouched down, and stuck my hand in the water. It was ice cold. “Orfailen! Orrr-fai-len?”
Rutha’s laughter echoed out from beyond the privacy screen. “Or-fai-len. Say it as if it were three words.”
“Or-fai-len.” I tried mimicking her, fighting the urge to roll my eyes, and yelped when a yellow tracery of lines flared on the bottom of the tub and the water was suddenly hot. More out of shock than anything, I jerked my hand out and nearly fell over on my ass. Rutha’s laughter grew louder.
“I do not live for sorcery.” Grumbling, I stood up and began to strip. Only then did I remember the Mark of Matir, and Talenth’s warning that I shouldn’t show it to anyone that wasn’t a ‘friend of the old gods’. It had been hidden under the long sleeve of my jacket. “See? This is why I’m a leather-clad savage. I’m too dumb to be a mage.”
“Nonsense. You’re terribly clever.”
“That’s not what my grades said. You know what I read on every single one of my school reports? ‘Hector could try harder in class’. ‘Hector needs to pay better attention’. All of it code for ‘Hector is a dumbass’.” Before I got into the tub, I searched for a towel and made sure it was close at hand.
“Well, there are different kinds of intelligence, you know,” Rutha called back to me as I finished undressing. “Some people are good with their minds, some are good with their hands. Some are good with other parts of their body.”
I chuckled, easing into the water. “So, what you’re saying is that you feel better after that potion?”
“Quite a bit better,” she said, in that same English schoolmistress voice. “Healing draughts like this get the blood moving, you know.”
I glanced ruefully at the Mark. Goddamn cockblocking ancient gods of darkness. More alarming, though – the gap in my shoulder was still there. The place where the wood had been sticking out was a black void where my flesh should have been, but when I touched it, it felt like warm skin. Still… Rutha was making her intentions clear, if I was reading her right. Swallowing, I gathered my nerves and tried to sound confident. “Feel well enough for a bath? There’s room in here for two.”
“You know, warm water and some very careful positioning might actually be good for my leg,” she replied. “Let me get my cane.”
I kinda hadn’t actually expected her to agree. Suddenly frantic, I grabbed a handful of soap – a kind of fine sandy stuff, heavy with perfume, and threw it in the water. Then I sloshed it around and churned it up into bubbles… bubbles that I submerged my branded hand under as Rutha came around the screen. She had a sheet clasped around her hips, naked from the waist up, and my eyebrows nearly hit my hairline.
“Mmhmm.” The elf rolled her lip under her teeth as her gaze roamed from my chest, up along my neck, to my face. “Very careful positioning. With my back to your front in your lap, perhaps?”
“As the lady wishes.” My heart was hammering, and my blood was warming, too. But I couldn’t suppress a passing concern that Archemi would have some weird sex system I was going to have to figure out on the fly. Tap this circle to make her cum! Or worse, a fade to black session with no actual relief. Fuck. I have no idea what I’m doing. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
As if reading my mind, Rutha flashed me a crooked little smile and let go of the sheet she had held around her waist. Like every elf I’d ever seen illustrated, she was small-breasted, slim and smooth, but not completely hairless. She did have some wisps of hair down there… a very fine, straight dusting of it, as pale as the pour of silver down her back.
My eyes widened. Okay… that was what I was getting into.
“You’re gawping like a boy who’s never seen a woman before,” she teased.
“Umm.” So much for being ‘terribly clever’. “If you… umm… come over here, I’ll give you a hand in?”
Getting into the tub was difficult for her, but I was able to assist – mostly with one hand – and nervously guide her onto my lap. She had to tilt her head back to kiss me, but that was fine… while she nibbled and panted against my lips, my hands could roam, slippery with soap, until the woman’s kisses turned to moans of pleasure and she threw her head back against my shoulder.
“Feeling better?” I asked hoarsely.
“Much better.” She rolled her hips against mine, suggesting what was to come… and when i
t came, it was everything I had ever imagined.
Some time later, Rutha dozed in the still-hot water against my chest, slippery and warm, while I relaxed back with a lingering high, a slowly replenishing Stamina bar, and mild concern that I hadn’t asked her about birth control. She didn’t seem to be worried about it. When I fingered a long strand of her hair, she smiled and kissed my neck with a soft sound of satisfaction.
“See?” Rutha said. “Very clever.”
I chuffed, almost a laugh, and flushed. “That… uhh… that was my first time, actually.”
Her eyebrows nearly hit her hairline, and it was my turn to laugh.
“You’re joking!” She nearly squealed. “Don’t tell me I just-!”
“Yes ma’am,” I replied soberly. “You did.”
It was Rutha’s turn to flush. She whapped me on the chest. “Why didn’t you say something? I’d have been a bit more careful, or, or… gentle, or something.”
Sheepish now, I shrugged. “Well, you know… it got going, and then I got going, then you got going. And, well, I wasn’t about to stop you and blurt out ‘by the way, I’m a virgin’.”
She looked me up and down, lips pursed. I had my branded hand hidden behind my back, practically sitting on my left hand. “A virgin? I really find that hard to believe.”
“Well, it’s true. Just never happened for one reason or another.” I shrugged again. “I mean, I had girlfriends, but we never went beyond kissing and fumbling. Never liked brothels… and if you’re in the army, you either visit the camp girls, swap brojobs with the bi or gay guys, or become a monk and be completely celibate. I chose option three.”
“I see.” She seemed to consider that for a moment. “Well… hopefully I haven’t scarred you with my forwardness.”
“Are you joking? I’ve been grinning for half an hour now. My face is going to end up stuck like this.”
Rutha laughed, and settled back against my chest again.
“Say… you have the brain-smarts, so maybe you can tell me a story.” I reached around with my right arm, caressing her stomach. “Who or what, exactly, are the Aesari?”
“Talking dirty, are we?” Rutha tipped her head back with a sigh, before her NPC instincts to provide information took over. “Very well. The Aesari are one of the Elder Races. They, the dragons, and the Meewfolk are the oldest races of our world. Humans, Elves and the Mercurions didn’t appear until after the First Cataclysm.”
“The Drachan.” I slowly ran my hand up over one of her breasts, listening.
“Mmhmm. They brought Humans and Elves to this world as slaves. The Aesari were the greatest civilization of all time – they were somewhat human in appearance, but with wings and other strange features. They were also great mages, the greatest artificers the world has ever known. They created at least one new race - the Mercurions - as soldiers against the Drachan, and they created the Caul of Souls. But after sealing the Drachan away, they were corrupted by their power. They enslaved humans, elves, and the other races as well. Instead of using their own reserves of power to feed the Caul, they sacrificed our bodies and souls to it… and eventually, the oppressed races rose against them, destroying them, their gods and their wonders and casting them into the ocean. They say that they still live there under the waves… demons who used twisted magic to build great cities underwater.”
“With waves like what we saw? No way.” I shook my head, amused.
“Well, the ones who say that are the priests and preachers,” Rutha said, mischief in her voice. “So make of that what you will. But speaking of the Aesari… I have something you might like.”
“Something else? I dunno… I think I’d be pretty hard pressed to find anything better than this right now.” I tweaked her nipple with expression of great concentration, and she laughed and shoved playfully at my leg.
“Help me up and out of here, will you?” Rutha asked, looking back over her shoulder.
“Only if you close your eyes.”
“What? Why? The woman rubbed back against me under the water. “If you’re feeling shy, I’m certain I’ve already got the measure of you.”
“Because if I’m going to start feeling weird about this, it’s going to be when I’m standing up buck-ass naked in front of a beautiful woman for the first time.” I smiled down at her.
She quirked her eyebrows, sighed, and closed her eyes. I lay a small towel over my branded arm, threw another dry one over my shoulder, then scooped her up and carried her out. The floor wasn’t carpeted, fortunately, because water went everywhere. I sat her down on a stone bench and toweled her dry, careful to be gentle with her injuries.
“Can I open my eyes yet?”
“Not yet.”
She scrunched her nose up, but when I began to gently rub her dry in more sensitive places, she made a soft sound of appreciation. I was most of the way done when the door to the suite flung open and a Sister walked in on me, naked, toweling off Rutha’s foot while she rested it against my chest. The nun screamed, I screamed, we all screamed. I threw the towel over my arm, and the Sister backed out of the door with a sharp scandalized yelp, and Rutha cracked up with helpless laughter.
Chapter 16
Thirty minutes or so later, I was back in my filthy clothes, Rutha was dressed in a much nicer scarlet shift that clung to her body in interesting ways, and I was being led away from her and through the airy gothic corridors of the Dinant Palace by a nervous Chamberlain. He took me to a huge pair of double doors made of the strange, pale, blue-tinged wood that comprised so much of the decoration in this place.
"This is one of our guest quarters," the Chamberlain said. He was a tall, plump man with sour features and pale, papery skin. He had a flat, slightly nasal voice, and was dressed in a stiff, plain doublet and breeches, with no ornamentation or embroidery. "I can prepare you a bath, though I'm afraid we don't have any of this dust bathing nonsense that they do on the plains. Water and soap only, I'm afraid."
"We prefer mud baths where I’m from. But don’t worry, I just had one." Admittedly, my clothes still did smell pretty bad. Still, I wasn't entirely sure everyone was being such an asshole about it. “All I need is a change of clothes.”
"Very good, missiure. I do have clothes in here that ought to fit you." The Chamberlain threw open the doors into a modest but attractive suite. Like the rest of the palace, it was open and airy, with high Gothic ceilings and big blue and crystal stained-glass windows. There was a bed, a chair, a chest, a writing desk, a wardrobe, drawers, and a trunk. A copper tub sat behind a screen. The Chamberlain went to the wardrobe, opened it, and began to shuffle through the rows of clothing.
"I don't suppose you can get me some armor?" I hung back, watching him as he pulled out tunics and gloves and trousers. “Light armor, heavy on leather, preferably black.”
"If the gentleman desires," he replied, laying out the clothing over the desk next to the wardrobe. "Though I would advise that you let me shave you and trim your hair before you try putting on armor."
"The hair stays. All I need is a comb and maybe some oil." I sat down and began to unbraid the central mohawk-like length of hair and the two long braids to brush them out. The hair reached down almost to the backs of my knees. IRL, I’d always had short hair, but I’d adjusted to the braid pretty quickly.
"It is highly irregular for men to have long hair," the Chamberlain replied stiffly.
"Maybe it is here, but where I’m from, the length of your hair tells people how badass you are.” I looked over the clothes he picked out for me. A plain gray and white tunic with a square collar, pants, black boots, a Celtic style loop belt, and gauntlets long enough for me to tuck the sleeves of the tunic into them.
He sighed a long-suffering sigh, and handed me a hairbrush from his grooming kit. "I will go and see what armor I can find in your size, missiure. Will you let me shave you, at least?"
I took the brush, then reached up and felt my face. Stubble. I kind of hoped shaving was one of those things I would
n't have to do inside of the game, but no. "Sure. But if you touch my hair with anything sharp, I’ll pull your lungs out through your asshole."
"How vivid of you, missiure,” the Chamberlain said dryly.
He made something of a show of stropping his razor before carefully trimming the hair on my face. Once he was done, he left to find my armor and I sat down on my bed and redid my mohawk-braid. Somehow, I knew how to do it: how to plait my hair down the center, then split it off into two braids and weave them with the strips of red cloth tied into them. I’d never braided anything in my life, but provided I didn’t think too hard about what I was doing, I could twist it all up with the same kind of effortless skill that came from years of practice.
Beaky McPrissyface returned after nearly an hour had passed. I was napping when he knocked and entered, followed by a guardsman who was carrying armor inside of a bundle. I sat up, yawned, and watched as he laid out the pieces on top of the desk. As I had requested, it was mostly black leather, and what appeared to be a close-fitting tunic of dark, heavy cloth stitched over metal plates:
Jack of Plates
50 armor
+10% resistance to slashing damage
+10% resistance to bludgeoning damage
+30% resistance to piercing damage
Light armor
Body slot
100% durability
Hunting Breeches
15 armor
+2% resistance to slashing damage
+2% resistance to piercing damage
Archemi Online Chronicles Boxset Page 13
