War and the Wind

by Tyler Krings

  He slowed his breathing. He bent to kiss her breasts, making a long lingering circle until he held her nipple between his teeth. She groaned as her fingers worked the catch of his trousers. Her hand slipped past the cloth and found him ready. She shimmied further beneath him, taking a harsher hold. He released her nipple and licked his lips as her free hand worked the fabric of his trousers over his hips. He pulled back long enough to grasp her undergarments and tear them from her. Naked together, they paused a moment and looked at one another in the pale moonlight. Everything about her was perfect; her Aden reflected the night, and the creamed perfection that was her body was a poor mirror to his scarred and bruised torso. He lowered his lips to hers, kissed her slowly, and smiled. He moved down the length of her body and took her sex in his mouth.

  He stroked her with his tongue as she moaned encouragement. She buried her fingers into his short hair as he covered her sex with his lips and suckled sweetly at first, and then harder. She gasped and threw her head back to the ground, taking his head between her thighs and squeezing. Her nails raked the back of his shoulders, drawing blood in places the rocks had grazed. The pain in his head and back infringed on his desire and he jerked his head up with a grimace. Ana noticed and released him quickly.

  She brought herself up on her elbows with surprised eyes. “S-sorry!” she managed.

  The concern in her expression rekindled his desire, banishing the pain. “It’s all right,” he promised, intending to be gentle. “It’s all rig—” She grabbed his face in her hands before he could finish and brought his lips to hers, swallowing his words. As their kiss heated, she flung him aside. He landed on his back beside her with a grunt—Apparently she’s not that sorry—but as she moved atop him and held his arms to the floorboards, working him inside her, her movements banished any lingering pain in his back. She sighed as he entered her fully and released his hands. He took hold of her rear and worked his hands to her hips, holding her close as he thrust.

  They began to move in rhythm with one another, and it did not take long for Jon to feel his passion come to a head. He shuddered as he felt himself release, Ana rode his orgasm like a gentle wave. She grinned coyly.

  “Was that all?” she asked.

  Jon took a couple breaths and gathered his wit. He looked into her sky blue eyes and tried his best to match her smile. “Uh…No…not even close.”

  “‘Gun squad four’…what the hell is a gun squad?” Ham shoved the notice into his pocket as he continued to lace up his boots.

  “I dare say it has something to do with your new promotion, Corporal,” Rom answered. He donned his leather armor and adjusted his sword belt, grabbed his sword from the rack, and made his way outside the barracks. The fields were already brimming with men, both local and not, all busy with some task or another—a stark change from times prior to their new arrivals. The new captain was already among the Maddogs, discussing something Rom could not hear, and handing out assignments. The local boys did their best in their new roles, actual soldiering, but there seemed to be a clear discrepancy between the veterans and themselves. Ham came up next to him, adjusting his belt. A young man waved at them from across the field.

  Ham waved back. “Who the fuck’s that guy?”

  “Corporal Frill!” called the young officer.

  “I think he likes you,” said Rom. Ham groaned.

  The man approached. He might have their age, but the scars on his arms and face marked him a veteran and their senior. “Corporal, I am Lancer Killian. I’ve been instructed to introduce you to the squad and get you familiarized with the cannons.”

  “Aye, about that Lancer,” started Ham. “I think there must have been some mistake. I barely know what a cannon is, and I definitely don’t know how to fire one.”

  Killian gave a fake smile. “No mistake, corporal. The commander wishes to integrate this garrison with the Maddogs to insure everyone is up to speed on the latest military protocols. Even your friend here is sure to receive new orders shortly. As for as finding the wrong end of a cannon…well you’ll only do it once.”

  “Right…” Ham looked to Rom for help, who shrugged in turn.

  “Sorry, mate,” said Rom. “I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”

  Ham grunted and walked away with the lancer. Rom crossed to the field to where his squad usually mustered, to find only Hersh and Beeter waiting with their thumbs in their belts. Rom looked around. “Where’s Arne?”

  Beeter shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since last night. Shook off his armor and wandered into town again.”

  “Didn’t see him this morning either,” Hersh added. “Been acting kind of weird for a few days now.”

  Rom nodded. “So, Arne’s not here, and the new fellas just took Ham into a gun squad.”

  Beeter spit, and Hersh huffed. The two looked up over Rom’s shoulder as one and snapped to attention. Rom turned and did the same as their new captain approached. The man was tall and thin, and his mouth had not touched a smile in some time.

  “Private,” said the captain, “Where is your sergeant?”

  “He’s, uh, just running a touch late, sir,” Rom replied. “Something about his gruel last night not agreeing with him.”

  “He’s in the shitter?”

  “…Yes?”

  The captain growled under his breath. He handed the missive with their assignment to Rom, along with a new badge. “You’re a corporal now. Congratulations. When your sergeant is finished relieving himself, inform him I would like a word.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “One other thing.”

  “Sir?”

  “You are acquainted with Jon West and his wife Ana?”

  Rom swallowed. “Aye, sir.”

  “Good. Come by my office after your shift. It’ll be quick.” The captain turned and walked to the next squad.

  Rom stared at the captain’s back stupidly before turning to find equally stupefied expressions on Hersh and Beeter. Oh, shit. No no, it’ll be fine. Their marriage is completely legitimate. I’m sure of it.

  Noah, the Wolf, Irving and Isca stalked the camp. Leavings of a fire, a stew, and their clothes made it seem as if the boy and Ana had left in a hurry.

  “They were here,” said Irving. The horse’s ears flickered at the camp sight. Old soot in a small pit, the boy’s bow and bundle by the hollowed tree.

  “Aye,” the Wolf agreed, “but it was a day past at least. The arrows in the trees are not his, and these men here are corpses.”

  “Yes,” said the horse dryly. “Was it the stench or the decay that gave them away?”

  “I mean these men were either already dead or on the verge. Hunt must have recruited them.”

  “That is not typical of the Hunt,” Noah remarked.

  “But these are his arrows,” Wolf remarked. “I would know them anywhere.”

  Noah nodded, his suspicions leading him to unsettling conclusions. This stinks of Murder. “Wolf,” he said, “Did you find where they went?”

  “Yes, their tracks lead to the gorge…and then into it.”

  “She flew…”

  “I think not,” the Wolf argued. “The boy’s marks are the ones that met the edge. I think perhaps they took to the river.”

  “If they survived the fall,” Irving surmised. “But if they did, they would have been carried downstream.”

  Noah rubbed his beard. “Irving, do you remember the trading post? The one on the forest path before the plains set in?”

  “If you want to call it that, yes.”

  “Then we should make haste.”

  His shirt was still a bandage on her leg, and all their equipment, save his belt knife, had been abandoned before their plunge into the river. He created a sack from a torn pant leg and a bit of twine. A burlap sack that once held rotted grain was now his satchel for what food they could find. He did not mind their long hikes in the days that followed. The sun was warm, and their constant uphill battle to regain ground kept his blood pumping. In f
act, he felt better than he had before their plunge. They found berries and wild things in the ground that worked well enough for eating, and he even convinced Ana to let him make a few rabbit snares from materials salvaged.

  “What do you suppose the old man is doing now?” Ana asked. They walked among a grove of tall oak trees, sparsely spaced in the makings of a young forest. Their branches hung low and the shallow roots did not allow for an abundance of other vegetation. Jon threw sticks high into their branches to save himself from boredom as they hiked.

  “Smoking and drinking all the brandy,” he answered. He doubted that, but he sought to allay Ana’s fears. They had been gone too long. Nearly half a week had past, and the old man was no doubt scouring the northern fields and forest for signs of their passing. It would take them another day before they reached the edge of what Jon and the old man referred to as their land, though it was not legally so.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Ana remarked. “Perhaps we will see him over the next hill. Irving and Isca will be with him. Perhaps he’ll even be pulling a cart so that I might lay my head down all the way home.”

  “Oh, aye,” said Jon. “And he’ll have packed the cart with gooseberry pie and a barrel of ale…and perhaps even a spare shirt.”

  “I did offer you mine,” she said sweetly.

  “My manliness demanded I refuse. And it gives me something to use to coax you over to my side of the fire.”

  “Coax? Is that a new term for ‘begging’?”

  He laughed. “I don’t recall any of that.”

  “How very convenient that must be for you.” She sidled over to him and took his hand as they walked. “So, what happens now?”

  “I should think that obvious. We’re still hunted.”

  “I mean with us.”

  He stopped walking and met her eyes. He smiled and pulled her close. “I know what I would like to happen.” Her eyebrows rose with a question. “I’d like to marry you,” he finished. Her eyes sparked and breathed out slowly.

  “Real marriage,” she said softly.

  “We’re already bound, yes?”

  She paused before responding. “Yes.”

  “Can we not make it official?”

  True marriage, a binding of two souls, would not go unnoticed by the gods. The marriage of a goddess and a man would draw even more attention. The eyes of Fate would find them very quickly. But isn’t that what Maerko suggested all along?

  “Jon,” she said slowly, “a true marriage would bring a Lamen upon our heads.”

  He was unmoved. “And?”

  She laughed. “You beautiful idiot. We’re trying to stay hidden.”

  “You asked me what I wanted. I’ve told you.” With a smile in his eyes, he got down on one knee and gazed up at her. “Ana…Arina…uh…”

  “Arienaethin.”

  “That one. Would you do me the highest honor, and become my wife?”

  “You don’t even know my name.”

  “That’s not a no.”

  “You’re right. It’s not.” She got down with him and, with his head in her hands, kissed him. “Yes. I will marry you.”

  She cupped his face in her hands as Jon pulled her closer. They kissed in the quiet forest, the tree limbs swayed in a happy breeze and even the birds quelled their song as they looked down upon the two lovers on the forest floor. He tasted the salt on her lips as they curled into a smile. She placed her head to his and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Sort of glad you fell from the sky,” said Jon.

  She pulled away slightly and took his chin in her hand with an admonishing look. “Sort of?”

  The fog was not subtle. It sprang from the ground, grasping their ankles and concealing the undergrowth. The sun became dim and a chill set into the air. Jon broke from their embrace and glanced upward first, finding the sun where it should be, but its blaze only just cut through the sheet of mist. The trees in the forest appeared farther away from them; their branches bending and reaching unnaturally.

  He spied the figure past Ana’s shoulder, cloaked in furs as he had been when last they met. His hood and boar’s mask shielded his burning eyes, and his body was covered in the furs and skins of dead things. He gripped a bow of silver light as tall as the boy, took himself to one knee, and drew.

  “Ana, down!” he cried. The arrow missed her as she dived with unnatural speed.

  “Arienaethin,” called a deep voice. “Surrender the boy, and you will not be harmed.”

  Jon’s thoughts raced. Surrender the boy? The hell…?

  “You should not have gotten involved, Erlwyn,” came her response. She was beside him suddenly, and a spear alit in her hand. He drew his belt knife, then looked from the small weapon to her spear. It’s bigger, yes, but it’s how you use it that counts.

  Jon roared and went one way; Ana darted the other. Arrows came quickly, which he dodged deftly. They plunged into the ground at his feet and into the hearts of trees he used as cover. Even as he sprinted from tree to tree the forest seemed to move away from him. Dark shadows of arrows flitted through the fog, flying past his face, their flight paths altered at the last moment. He spun as arrows flew past his face, dark shadows flitting through the fog. He took to the lowest branches of the nearest tree and, using his feet, bound from trunk and limb. Jon came upon the Hunt from the air and put a fist to the masked face. The Hunt staggered to the ground and dropped his bow and rolled quickly beyond Jon’s reach. The god leapt to his feet as Jon assumed a fighter’s crouch. The two took a long moment to circle one another.

  The god came at Jon quickly, throwing a jab to Jon’s face. He blocked the god’s the first blow, moved to the side, and delivered two of his own to the Hunt’s body, his fist slamming hard into armor that had the consistency of brick. The Hunt grunted and twisted away from a third body strike while drawing a wicked knife from his boot. Jon dodged through the horizontal slashes, waited a breath for the Hunt to lunge, and moved into his reach, just past his extended arm. Jon grabbed the arm that held the blade and threw his other palm into the nose of the boar’s head, twisted, and launched a knee into the Hunt’s midsection. With the leverage Jon had gained, he threw the god over his shoulder and into the ground. The Hunt recovered quickly; a gloved hand reached up and grabbed Jon’s upper arm. With a twist of his body, the god threw Jon into the earth and bounced to his feet.

  A piercing wail sounded as Ana screamed through the air. She attacked viciously with the butt and blade of her spear. The Hunt parried quickly as the girl rained blows of thunder and power. With unnatural speed, the Hunt grabbed the spear and threw both it and the girl into the forest; her body cracked into a tree, splitting the trunk. Jon launched himself from the ground and grappled the god from behind. He stabbed wildly with his knife, only to have the blade snap off when it met the god’s armor. Ah crap. The Hunt reached and took hold of the boy’s arm. Before he knew what was happening, Jon was flying over the god’s shoulder before he slammed into the ground. He rolled to his feet quickly, trying to ignore the lack of air in his lungs. And stumbled. The Hunt watched him. Jon held out a finger.

  “One moment, please.” Jon tried to straighten and felt a satisfying crack through his backside. He took a large breath and exhaled in relief. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  The Hunt cocked his head and grunted assent. The god lunged and made two then three blinding fast punches that Jon parried before the Hunt kicked Jon in the knee. A disheartening snap and a flash of pain dropped the boy onto the one knee he had left. The Hunt admired the boy briefly before lashing out with his foot, catching Jon squarely in the chest with the power of several charging horses. He flew several feet before a tree was kind enough to break his momentum. His head spinning and his back in pieces, Jon found it much easier to stay on the ground rather than continue fighting.

  “Impressive, but you are no Lord,” the Hunt said. His voice was a gravelly growl and carried power that caused the forest floor to sway. He gathered his wicked blade from where it lay
and approached the boy’s prostrate form, still trying to find breath.

  A dark figure pounced from a nearby shadow and took the Hunt to the ground with speed that Jon could barely register. A moment of terrifying battle too fast for Jon to follow, and the two separated, making a slow circle of one another. The Wolf snarled and snapped as the Hunt readied his body for another round.

  “Old enemy,” the Hunt growled.

  The Wolf rose on his hind legs, his forward paws shedding fur and becoming clawed hands. “You should never have come here, Erlwyn.”

  The Hunt stiffened, knife in hand, and with a howl the titans clashed. Jon could not see much of what ensued, for a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him clear of the wanton carnage. He looked up to see the old man, his sword in his belt, as he hauled the boy up and placed his back to a tree. The thunder of the brawl sheared nearby trees and ripped at the ground. The old man brought Jon’s eyes to his own as he assessed the damage. After consideration, the old man nodded. “You’ll heal.”

  The old man turned from Jon and drew his sword before wading into the fray. Both the Hunt and the Wolf were bleeding in various places with the Hunt now favoring a leg. The Wolf bounded forward as the Hunt stepped to the side, driving upward with his knife before spinning clear. The Wolf landed with a violent grunt, his legs failing him as he collapsed. The Hunt seized the moment and made to drive his knife into the heart of his hated foe. The old man moved just then—a lightning strike would not have been faster—and his sword sliced cleanly through the Hunt’s upper neck, just below the chin.

  Hunt’s body gave a spasm and fell forward, his neck spouting smoke and the head rolling several feet. A great shock like neighboring thunder shook the forest, and the whole of the world around them gave a great mourning cry. The old man held the sword of Natheran steel perfectly still before falling to his knees. Huh, that sword has a…silvery light to it, Jon thought. Irving trotted from the trees to where Ana lay and sniffed her face. Isca made for the old man, plying her nose to his face.