A Soul of Steel

by Troy A Hill

  He stepped forward and touched my chin with his hand. He cupped it with his thumb and forefinger. I raised my chin to see him better.

  “I was in a class by myself, until you picked up that practice sword.” His eyes bored right into mine. Damn, the passion was already brimming over in me. I wanted to wrap my arms around him now, but we were on his damned practice field. Just like my brother’s attitude. Neither of them would violate the sanctity of the sword floor. I’d sooner be able to get Ruadh to swear off mead, than get Emlyn to violate the etiquette of the practice field.

  He chuckled, as he read my predicament.

  “Soon,” he breathed. “First… we need to test your dress.”

  We began with a warm-up meditation.

  “Let us run double weapon meditations,” he suggested “That way if you discover the dress is not to your liking, you can go change your clothes.”

  We exchanged our steel for wooden weapons.

  “I’d prefer steel for practice,” I said, unsure of what was in the Penllyn Armoury.

  “I’ll ask the smith to work on a set for you,” Emlyn replied.

  “No one here you’d trust to bash each other with blunt steel practice weapons?”

  “My men are good,” he said. “I’ve duelled against one or two of them with steel. But wood grows on trees. I’d rather have our steel all sharp and ready to use. Too many Cymry lords keep their eyes on what their neighbours have, and are willing to ride in armed to acquire it.”

  “Fair enough,” I said and walked back onto the weapons field.

  My altered dress worked well through the meditations. Emlyn led with more complicated attacks, that moved us through a wide variety of thrusts, slices to each of the quarters, high parries, low parries, defections, and footwork that forced me to go with a variety of wide stances and lunges. The slits in the side seams gave me extra room to move in, though I needed to watch for the material gathering between my legs. I didn’t want to come out of a long stance and step on the material. One very low lunge that Emlyn tempted me with didn’t work at all. I felt the seam rip as I dropped my hips low. Instead of going into the deep lunge with a thrust into his outside lower quarter, I converted to a medium level drop, and made a slice at his moustache. He avoided it and smiled again.

  “We’ve found the limits,” he said.

  “Men's clothing would be less restrictive than this tight dress,” I replied. “I need to have a few dresses made for me. Gwen and I are about the same proportions in the bodice. I don’t have a problem with the top of the dress, just from the hips down.”

  “Ready to spar?” was his only reply. I smiled and raised my wooden swords into my favourite guard position. One high, and the other on line in front.

  I raised my weapons to my ready position. He said one word as he launched an attack.

  “Faster.”

  I pulled energy from my blood demon and increased my speed to where we had been in our last dance. We stayed at this pace. He kept moving around the field. Although he did not fight a defensive battle, he seemed to want to make me move. I sensed my desire for him increasing with each step I took. He played another game. He moved to increase my passion. Baiting me. Teasing. Two could play at that game.

  I pulled more magic power sped up again. If he wanted to be chased, I would make him fight for every step. We were playing two games tonight. Who was best on the field? And who would inflame the other’s passion beyond the swords? I knew I had the ability to pull speed and strength from my demon to best him, but neither of us would view that as a win.

  We danced with blades because of our passion for the dance, passion for the skill in the other. That inflamed our passions for each other.

  Moments later he signalled for a break and stripped his tunic off. His chest was already covered in sweat. His breathing came fast, but his eyes sparkled with joy. They lingered on my face. He grabbed his jug and took a deep drink. I stood, waiting, with my leg out the slit in my dress. Teasing again. His eyes drifted down my form and lingered the pale flesh of my leg. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his gaze lingered.

  “More dancing? Milord Penteulu?” I asked and dropped into a guard stance. Wooden blades at the ready. He slid his eyes up to my face, then stepped on the field. He leaned back in a stretch, the tight muscles in his chest rippled. His eyes found mine. He grinned a real grin. Tease. And he knew it. I didn’t give him time to enjoy it. As soon as his blades were in line, ready, I unleashed an attack.

  Emlyn’s wooden blades kept up, barely. Damn! He was fast for a human.

  Every strike I made, he countered just in time. Every time I slide my wooden blade down his, hoping to lunge in for a strike, he pushed it off the line by a whisker. I made him concentrate on the dance. More than concentrate. I knew of only one sword master this good. Aemi, and he was undead. Emlyn, for a mortal, kept up. Barely.

  He only moved as he needed to complete each parry and thrust. I pressed him that hard. But, I got used to the rhythm, and he surprised me with a low, off-hand swing. He was beyond good.

  I didn’t have time to block. Both of my blades were too high to block, so I leapt over his blade, but jumped high due to the extra energy I was drawing from my undead side. I turned my momentum into a backflip to give me some distance to recover from the extra power in the jump.

  “Emilius only let me use that move once,” Emlyn said. I raised my blades in salute. He echoed the gesture, then turned to get another drink from his jug. Sweat drenched his body and stained the waistline of his trousers. His dark hair was slick with perspiration. I smelled his musk from across the field. I had to concentrate to keep my legs from running toward him.

  Gods! The passion he stirred in me with this dance. I wanted it to be over, so I could dance with him a different, more intimate way. But, I knew I couldn’t just use my undead speed to end it. No, we had to dance the full dance. Which of us would cross the line and give into our passion first? Which of us would make the one little mistake that gave the other a win?

  “Care to show me your leg again?” he asked and stepped back on to the field.

  “You’ll have to land a strike to see my flesh, milord.” I dropped into my guard stance. “What do you offer me if I land a strike?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead he smiled. Emlyn smiled.

  My knees went weak, but I didn’t have time to think. His wooden blades moved. Crap! He had played with my lust again. But I deflected the blows.

  Again, we settled into the rhythm of a dance. I had to fight to keep my attention not on how his chest moved, but on how it signalled his next blow. I wanted to run my hands along his flesh, but I had to block his wooden blades. I wasn’t the only one distracted. I caught his eyes on my bare legs when I lunged and one peaked out through the slit in the dress. I leaned in and caught his gaze shift to the bodice of my dress. I could play the game, too.

  But, he was beyond good. He was an excellent swordsman. Even with the distractions, he kept my blades from touching him. Damn! I had only fought this long against Aemi. Emlyn fought on, with just a ghostly hint of a smile on his face. He had to feel this way too, the way his eyes jerked off my flesh each time I tempted him.

  When would this end? I considered letting one of my parries drift too far off line. I felt the desire in me burn for him. I had to finish this and feel his flesh against mine. I had to. It was time.

  Emlyn blocked my stroke at his chest pushing my sword wide. He attacked with his other weapon at the same time. We both parried, which left our arms wide open. He stepped into me, and my face tilted. Our lips met, and I dropped my blades to wrap my arms around his neck. This! This was what I wanted. The guards below be damned. I wanted him now!

  He pulled back just enough to whisper “You conceded, the match is mine.”

  That made me laugh, which pulled me back from my lust just enough that I didn’t push him to the ground and fall on top of him. Instead, I pulled his face close, and continued the kiss. He returned
my passion just enough to inflame my lust again. My hands found the ties to his trousers.

  “Bring the weapons,” he said and passed me his two. “Emilius will scold us if we leave our practice blades on the field.”

  I laughed and retrieved my wooden blades. Emlyn already had his tunic draped around his neck, and our sword belts looped over his arm. He swept his arms under my knees and behind my waist. He cradled me against his chest. His lips met mine again. The fire he had lit within me blazed again.

  “Soon,” he breathed and carried me down the path toward his cottage.

  “People will talk if they see us like this,” I breathed.

  “Talk doesn’t frighten me,” he whispered.

  15

  Soulmates

  Emlyn took just a second to hang our sword belts on a hook by the door. His foot caught the wood slats and kicked it closed behind us. Once our weapons were safe, he unleashed the energy he was been holding back. He pulled the dress over my head and kicked his boots off at the same time. Another tug and my underdress hit the floor. His face was next to mine. A kiss on my neck as I untied his trousers. His hands were under my arse as he lifted me toward his bed. Within seconds his warmth was on top of me.

  Our kisses seemed to last years. He was warm next to my cold flesh. The demon within me stirred. She wanted to feed again. But, another, more pressing passion to consumed me right then. The damn demon would have to wait.

  Emlyn ran his mouth down my neck, and onto my breasts. His hand reached between my legs and found the little nub there. His fingers danced below, as I explored his body with my hands. He kept his flesh blade just out of my reach, while he caressed and kissed me into a back-arching release. I pulled his face to mine as the waves of pleasure peaked through me. Our lips met, which helped me keep the sound of my pleasure under control.

  As I came down from that high, he shifted his body, and I felt the tip of his shaft at my opening. He gently rocked back and forth, to spread my juices, as we kissed.

  He pulled his face back, and gazed into my eyes.

  “You must feed,” he whispered.

  “How do you...?” I asked, but I knew the answer. Aemi.

  He kissed me again to silence me.

  “Feed, and share our passion.” His eyes were an open invitation. I reached out with my mind, through his gaze. I didn’t need to manipulate his mind, just share my passion with him. His eyes were open before me. I sensed his mind, his passion. My gaze dove into his, and I wound our minds together. His passion bubbled like a pot in a fire. I was about to toss in the ingredients that would make us both boil over.

  He leaned in and bit my neck gently with his normal, human teeth. I took his hint, and pushed my fangs out. I gentle nip was all I needed. Just a love bite, but one that sliced a thin cut in his. The aroma of his red nectar stirred my demon. Feeding was her time, her passion. A part of me understood she was me, and I was the demon. She craved his blood, and I craved his flesh. I placed my mouth over the cut. The taste of iron hit my tongue as he slid his flesh into me. Joy for me and my demon. Blood and flesh. Gods! How I wanted this. I wrapped my arms and legs around his body and let him thrust into me as I sucked hard at his neck.

  The pleasure loop was intense. With every thrust of his body, his enjoyment passed through the link into my mind. For every swallow I took from his neck, I sent our pleasure back into him. The lust, the joy, the radiance of our union continued to grow. I thought I was going to drain him dry. But he kept thrusting, building and building our pleasure.

  My vision was red, as I was sure my eyes were now. I pulled my mouth away from his flesh, and gasped as he shuddered. My body trembled, and I buried my face back into his neck as I tried to stifle the moans that leaked through my mouth.

  As he finished, his mouth found mine. Instead of intensity, this kiss was one of long entwined passion.

  After a moment, he rolled to the side. I scooted against the wall to make room for him. We laid together for several minutes. His arms held me as I lay on my side against his well-toned, and now sweaty body.

  I only found this level of passion after a sword dance with one other person, and I wanted to hear Emlyn tell me his own story.

  “How did you know?”

  “That you needed to feed? Emilius was my teacher.” He was quiet for a moment. “In the dance of our blades, he showed me what heights passion could go to. In our last few years together, he would drive my passion on the practice floor until I could stand no more. I was crazed. I needed release, but even a whore or two in the morning didn’t satisfy me.”

  Emlyn sighed.

  “I never bested him on the floor, and I begged him to let me have release of the passion. I thought I was asking to learn how to win.”

  His hands drifted, and stroked my hair. I snuggled in closer to him. His blood warmed my insides, and I wanted to feel his warmth on my skin as well.

  “We danced one very long bout, when my blood boiled. I wanted to best him. I needed to find release. It was that night he took me into his chambers. He didn’t explain. His thoughts touched my mind, his teeth my neck. He fed and shared the pleasure across that link. From then on, I looked forward to each match. Only then could the passion I built on the floor find release.”

  “He has so much energy,” I said. “For him, the blades are his passion. You are special if he let you remember your time in his chambers. We usually cloud the memories of our donors.”

  “Emilius was …” Emlyn paused, searching for the right term.

  “Special is the best word I have found for him,” I said. “Even that doesn’t tell all that should be said about Aemi.”

  “’One day," Emlyn said, trying to imitate the rich baritone of my brother, "'you’ll meet the other side of your soul.’ That’s what he said when I left. I didn’t believe him.” Emlyn kissed my forehead. “Fifteen years later, you, Maria, showed up in Penllyn.”

  I rolled over and looked Emlyn in the eyes. “That is the second time you called me by my Roman name. Here I am Mair. ”

  Emlyn gave a soft smile.

  “After my first year he gave me and another student private instruction.” Emlyn chuckled. “He would use your name to scold us.”

  “Scold?”

  Emlyn chuckled. “Whenever we struggled with a new technique, or fumbled on the practice floor, he would say ‘That is not how Maria would do that.’ Eventually, I asked him who Maria was.”

  “And, what did he say?” I asked. I kept my eyes on his face. Only a thin sliver of moonlight drifted in through his shuttered window. But it was enough to see his smile again.

  “He said ‘she is the other half of my soul. She is the one with whom I can dance our dance of blades with and be complete. No other person has ever come close to her skill, and there is nothing I have left to teach her.’" Emlyn reached up to wipe the tear that leaked from my eye. "I was overjoyed," he continued, "the first time Emilius told me ‘That is what Maria would have done. You are learning.’’’

  I felt a catch at the back of my throat. I knew my brother thought highly of me, but he had never told me I knew everything he did about our dances with the sword. I always considered him my mentor, not my equal with the blade.

  Aemi and I danced with as much passion than I found with Emlyn tonight. But, with Aemi, I was able to release my preternatural nature, and find heights of speed and agility that Emlyn couldn’t match.

  “When I left to come back to Penllyn,” Emlyn said, “Emilius said the only part left to teach me was experience.”

  “You said that was when he gave you the other sword,” I said, but paused. Even now, almost a century since I’d last kissed his lips, Aemi reached out to help me. "How did he know?"

  “I imagine he guessed, but I learned to never underestimate Emilius,” Emlyn said. “After he explained his nature, he revealed that you were like him. ‘She has not come to see me for half a century,’ he lamented on the day before I left. ‘I dare not seek her out, due to the guild who
seek us.’ Right as I was about to leave, he pulled the third blade from where it hung on the wall of our practice hall. He would take it down for our meditations. That is why its grip shows wear. His hands used it for years. I have held it for practice meditations from time to time.”

  “He kept the sword for me all that time?” I almost sobbed, but I held my emotions together. Well enough to ask that question, anyway. I felt a blood tear leak from each of my eyes. Emlyn pulled me close and kissed my forehead again. For a second, I imagined myself in Aemi’s arms. Both men, one in memory, one in the flesh, holding me.

  “Yes, and even before I became his student. The grip was already worn when I first saw it.” Emlyn sat. I moved to give him room. “You haven’t really looked at the blade, yet, have you? At least not in dim light like this?” I shook my head.

  He stood, and went to light a small lamp from the coal in his hearth. I enjoyed the view of his sleek form as he moved around his cottage. The small building was larger than the one Gwen and I shared. There was a small chair and a work table, with whetstones, oils and other tools.

  He drew his two blades, and wiped them with a rag that smelled of oil. As he lay them on the bed before me, he moved the lamp to the chair by the foot of his bed. “Tilt the blade until you can see the lettering. We don't have a written Cymru language, so he did the best he could with the Latin letters.”

  I angled the blades, and saw faint letters gently etched into the surface somehow. One blade read “Corff” and the other was inscribed “Medwyll.” The names translated to Body and Mind. Then he set mine before me. I tilted it. The word “Soul” danced along its surface.

  “Emilius worked with a master swordsmith in a distant land to find the right combination of acids and techniques to get the etched letters to show best in dim light. He wanted it hidden during daylight. He said you were … something…” he searched for the right term.