“I’ll take that into consideration,” Ugoth said. He stared at the single candle. After a second, he walked toward the larger table on which it rested. “What do the blue orbs do to you if they don’t kill you?” he asked. His finger and thumb doused the single candle.
“Generally, I explode,” Herfod answered within the darkness.
“What?” Ugoth cried.
Herfod estimated Ugoth was halfway back to the chair. He rose and stepped away. “The power reflects back out of me,” he explained and heard Ugoth alter course toward him. He grinned and slipped elsewhere.
“What are you doing?” Ugoth demanded.
“Aren’t we playing hide and seek?” Herfod teased from yet another direction.
“Prick!” Ugoth hissed. He grinned. Herfod didn’t answer. Ugoth held very still and listened. There wasn’t a sound from within the tent that he could discern. The camp was relatively quiet. The occasional muffled voice broke the night air. Ugoth remained immobile for a moment longer and then whirled and grabbed.
“Shit!” Herfod cried. “How did you know?”
“I know you.” Ugoth laughed and lowered his lips to his prize.
Herfod thought about this as Ugoth kissed him, and when the king released him to drag the large undershirt off, made his opinion known. “I guess I’m not so surprising after all,” he muttered.
“Hells, Herfod! Everyone knows what a big tease you are,” Ugoth whispered back. “Not surprising! All your damned secrets! And you swore to tell all.”
“A tease?”
“Yes, a tease! Shut up and kiss me.”
“I’m not a tease!”
Ugoth grabbed his head and forced the kiss. Sweets and kisses seemed the only way to shut the man up. He smiled against Herfod’s lips. Perhaps he’d be able to end arguments quicker now.
“What are you smiling about?” Herfod said softly.
“I was thinking that this was a good way to win an argument with you.”
“Oh, right! As if we’ll argue in a dark tent every time.”
Ugoth didn’t answer, just tested his theory by shutting him up again.
***
In the darkness not far off, Ufrid observed the opaque tent walls. He had listened as much as he could without attracting the attention of the king’s guards. He hadn’t caught much that was useful. Most of what he heard hadn’t made sense. The darkened pavilion made even less sense. Granted most everyone had settled in for the night, but Ugoth had claimed an interest in further discussion with the monk. So why was his brother having a conversation with Herfod in the dark?
Ufrid stared somewhat longer; then he backed off and returned to his own tent. As he dipped beneath the flap, he ordered his personal servant to fetch a whore. He waited in a chair, looking out the flap without really paying attention. A single candle illuminated the enclosure.
When the whore arrived, he lowered the flap, but didn’t bother dousing the small flame. He used her quickly, impersonally, and sent her out. Afterward he overheard some of his men whispering and laughing outside, talking about the way he’d put her legs up over his shoulders so he could bang at her as hard as he could.
Ufrid didn’t care that they’d been watching, but he turned and stared at his shadow on the canvas. Summer issue military pavilions in Ulmenir were sparse structures without multitudinous layered walls to ensure privacy. Silhouettes were not diffused, but glaringly obvious. After a few minutes of thinking it through, Ufrid smiled maliciously.
“It appears Ugoth decided to try a boy before I did,” he said to himself.
What an interesting choice. What an enlightenment. What a perfectly sharp knife with which to cut Eshaia’s last few shreds of reservation.
Chapter Five
Within minutes of the sun’s birth the next morning, Ufrid hailed from outside the entrance of his brother’s pavilion. A responding voice called a word that seemed to mean nothing, that slipped past his ears all wrong. There occurred a small flash of blue, and the monk bade him enter. Ufrid stomped inward, scanning the confines quickly: the rich furniture only a nobleman would be expected to use in an encampment; the monk standing before the larger table, wearing an undershirt and leather leggings that were too big for him; Ugoth in his narrow bed, glowering sleepily over the intrusion; a gathering of furs and blankets nearer the armchairs, obviously the place the monk had slept. Ufrid suddenly had doubts.
“Ufrid,” Ugoth muttered and promptly rolled over to the canvas wall.
“Get up, you lazy bastard,” Ufrid growled. This rude wake-up call did nothing to move Ugoth further, but provoked Herfod to smirk at the scroll he read. “What are you doing here, monk?” Ufrid snapped.
Herfod looked up placidly. “Reading the reports,” he said.
The monk’s frank stare made Ufrid uncomfortable. He averted his gaze, icy eyes darting back to Ugoth, who had twisted to glare resentfully at him. Personal insults Ugoth would take, but not the questioning of his confessor. Interesting.
Herfod turned away from Ufrid. “It never fails to surprise me whenever I look at you,” he murmured. “You’ve managed to end up looking exactly like your father, though I can’t say you match him for character.”
“Yes, and we both know you think less highly of mine than of his and my brother’s,” Ufrid retorted acerbically. “Why aren’t you in a habit? If you’re going to start spouting over my failings, you should be properly dressed for the task.”
“Washed it,” Herfod said.
“And why was there a ward on the tent?”
“Safer for Ugoth,” came the mild response.
“Why the hells didn’t I have one, then?”
“You didn’t ask,” Ugoth growled. “Gods!”
He threw his covers off and stood. He was naked. Ufrid’s suspicion returned full force. He watched keenly his brother drag himself to the basin and splash water over his head. He waited to see if Ugoth would wash his genitals, but he didn’t. That was disappointing, but after a moment, Ufrid decided it meant nothing; Ugoth could have washed last night after dipping into the monk, or perhaps the monk had sucked him to physical bliss.
Ufrid’s attention reverted to Herfod. It struck him that the monk was pretty for a man. Herfod had very fine features, not girlish really, but attractive in a way that might be appreciated by both sexes, if both sexes were so inclined. Ufrid wondered what he might be like in bed.
As if Ufrid’s narrow gaze bothered him, Herfod grimaced and looked up. “Was there something you wanted of me, Highness?” he asked. “You keep staring and saying nothing.”
“What are you doing in here?” Ufrid asked again.
“Reading reports. You already asked that.”
“What do you want, Ufrid?” Ugoth said. He shoved past and sat on his bed, where he bowed his back and put his head in his hands. “Oh! My head!”
Herfod smirked at him. “Want some more wine, Majesty?”
“Shut up! Just shut up and cure my head!”
“Can’t do one without the other,” Herfod retorted. “Either I shut up and don’t cure your head, or I cure your head and don’t shut up.”
Ugoth looked up and scowled. “Just get over here.”
Grinning, Herfod walked over and cured the hangover, a hand set to Ugoth’s scalp as he did so. The blue that rushed off him was startlingly bright. His service to his monarch accomplished, Herfod returned to the table, picked up the report he’d been reading, walked to a chair with it and sat, during which Ufrid continued to stare fixedly at him.
“Ufrid!” Ugoth barked. “What do you want?”
Ufrid decided to be more direct. “Why are you naked, Ugoth? Did you enjoy a little monk ass last night?”
Ugoth shot to his feet, expression furious. Ufrid sneered, looking his brother up and down contemptuously. Remembering his nakedness, Ugoth snatched his leggings from off the foot of the bed and hauled them up. “You bastard! Get the hells out of my tent if you’ve come to cause nothing but trouble.”
&nb
sp; “He has an earth dragon!” Herfod interjected.
Ufrid’s gaze darted to Herfod. “We already know that,” he responded scathingly.
“Yes, of course. I was just … surprised,” Herfod said. “I should have known.” He glanced at Ugoth. “I should have been told. I need to work out a way to keep it from surfacing.” He stood. “Where’s that Samel when I need him? I want my habit.”
Ufrid found Herfod’s behaviour perplexing. Why would reports of an earth dragon be more shocking than an accusation that he yielded his bottom to another man? And why wasn’t Ugoth still protesting the insult?
Ufrid discovered in short order that Ugoth had decided to follow the monk’s lead and ignore the offense.
“Marten!” Ugoth roared.
Ugoth’s squire rushed in. He’d been waiting for the summons since before dawn. The army had more than half finished taking the camp apart. With the ward up, he hadn’t been able enter the pavilion to awaken the king. He’d almost bellowed a wake-up call from outside, except Prince Ufrid had performed the service for his own reasons. But the ward was down and Marten entered now bearing folded grey cloth in his hands. He shoved this at the monk.
“From Brother Samel,” he said. He snatched the king’s undershirt from off the back of the chair and shook it out as he approached his liege.
Herfod blinked at the habit in his hand, then set the scroll on the small table and began to strip off the borrowed undershirt. Momentarily forgotten, Ufrid stared at him. The shirt came off. Ufrid saw nothing but a perfect torso, if a little thin, the muscles well defined and clearly well exercised. Herfod was just about to loosen the ties of the trousers when a call for permission to enter occurred.
“There’s a witch with clothing for Brother Herfod wanting in, Majesty!” one of Ugoth’s guards barked.
“Let her in!” Herfod moved toward the entrance. “My suit!” he said, brushing past Ufrid.
“Your suit?” the prince repeated. He swivelled to continue observing the slighter man. The witch entered. She noted Ufrid’s presence and scowled. Ufrid sneered in response.
“What’s he doing here?” Uma whispered to Brother Herfod.
“Causing trouble,” Herfod whispered back. “I see you’ve met.”
“He accosted one of mine,” Uma said. “She refused, of course. He hit her for it and threatened to have her hung.”
Hands filled with the black suit and his original habit, Herfod froze. Uma watched his face harden with anger. “Was he stopped?” he asked.
“We surrounded them, and he left, but only after he threatened to hang her.”
“Out,” he commanded.
She nodded, but not before glaring at Ufrid, who had grown nervous watching them speak in undertones. As Herfod turned, Ufrid stepped back a pace, spine prickling with foreboding. He was on the tent floor in seconds. Despite armour, despite weapons, the monk had him beat before he’d so much as realized he was in trouble. Ufrid coughed into the canvas floor cover. He had a vague memory of a high kick in the chest sending him there.
“Get off!” he wheezed. Herfod was above him, pressing him face down into the canvas. Ufrid heaved upward. Herfod knocked him on the back of the head. Ufrid banged into the earth a second time and received a sharp blow to his side. Once more the padding and chain mail hardly helped. He grunted with pain.
“Why are you beating my brother?” he heard Ugoth demand from over near the cot and with a tone that was far too mild.
“He tried to rape a witch!” Herfod snarled. “He hit her and threatened to hang her for refusing!”
“Up!” the king barked.
The weight on Ufrid’s back departed. He rose hastily, but had only just righted himself when his brother hit him in the jaw. He flew backward onto the floor. He sat up, shaking the pain off. His brother’s leather-garbed legs planted in front of him.
“Do not touch the witches again, Ufrid!” Ugoth said. “If you make them useless to my army, I will have you hung for treason. Now get out of my tent!” He stalked away.
Ufrid rose with a hand pressed to his sore jaw. “Have you told him, brother? Have you told the monk about the fast way to end this needless war?”
Ugoth whirled to face him. “Get out!” he hissed.
“What fast way?” Herfod said. He stomped forward, glaring from one royal brother to the other. “Tell it, Ugoth! Someone else might the moment I leave the tent.”
“Someone else won’t!” Ufrid said and blood dribbled from his mouth. He wiped it off with the back of his hand. “He burned the message after he read it. He ordered me to shut up.”
“Which you haven’t obeyed,” Ugoth said. “You stupid bastard.”
“Stupid? I’m not stupid! You can end the war now!” Ufrid shouted.
“Shut up!” Ugoth hissed, stepping forward threateningly. He wore only his tunic and leggings, but that didn’t deter him. He could do what Herfod had done, perhaps not as quickly, but just as well.
Ufrid paced back one step. His older brother was shorter than him by several inches, but still a better fighter, as Ufrid well knew from the few times they’d sparred for fun—well, fun on Ugoth’s part, testing on Ufrid’s, with mortifying and sometimes painful results. Such results were not to be repeated just then, however. The monk distracted Ugoth and saved Ufrid from further punishment.
“Tell me,” Herfod said, his expression grim. He evidently knew the truth wasn’t going to be easy to hear.
“Marun sent a message across our border before I returned to Durgven,” Ufrid said, watching his brother balefully, but Ugoth made no further threatening moves forward. Ufrid continued with the revelation. “The message came from the Shadow Master himself. He signed it with only his initial.”
Ufrid’s gaze darted toward Herfod and froze on him. The monk’s skin had paled dramatically. Ufrid found that interesting. It was as if all the blood had drained out of him.
“He made an offer. An exchange,” he ended. “He would ignore Ulmenir if we handed over a certain crimson-haired monk.”
With a completely expressionless face, the crimson-haired monk walked away. Ufrid stared after him. “Ugoth wouldn’t say why you meant so much to the sorcerer, monk. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me? Why would Marun be willing to end a war to have one man?”
“Get out, Ufrid,” Ugoth said. “Get out now, before I kill you.”
Ufrid fixed upon his brother. Ugoth’s eyes were startlingly blue in his face, icy blue, predatory. Without another word, Ufrid backed away and ducked out of the flap.
“Marten! Out!” the king commanded. His squire rushed by. “Say nothing, Marten!” Ugoth warned just before the young man vanished, to which Marten swallowed nervously and nodded. The flap dropped and sealed the remaining pair from the sight of the camp.
“You’re not going,” Ugoth said. Herfod didn’t answer. Ugoth turned toward him. Herfod stood motionless, staring at the floor blindly. Ugoth approached and pulled him around by an arm. “You’re not going,” he repeated. “You can’t go. Even if you were to go, I would still have to fight for our allies in Omera. The offer is useless to me. It’s useless to Ulmenir. It was an offer designed for only a fool to accept.”
Herfod nodded. “I know,” he said. It was stunning nevertheless.
“Would he have kept his word?” Ugoth wondered. He’d been curious since receiving the message.
“Until you went to aide Omera. He figured the same thing as you. Either you were a coward, you would withdraw for good, and he would have me; or you were an idiot, you would fight for Omera afterward, and he would still have me. Either way, he won.”
“I want to kill him,” Ugoth said, soft and malevolent.
Herfod pulled his gaze from the canvas flooring. He looked into the cold of sapphire and knew Marun wanted death for the king of Ulmenir. However much he’d eased Ugoth’s pain last night, Herfod had done his king a disservice taking him as a lover. Whatever promises had been offered in writing, only murder would suffice now. Marun
wouldn’t rest until he’d butchered the man who had pre-empted his place in his beloved Kehfrey’s arms.
Discerning the dread in Herfod’s gaze, Ugoth cried out softly and jerked him forward. His lips came crashing down. Herfod felt as if a wild beast had seized him. The violence of the kiss shivered through him, hate and love and desperation. Then Ugoth lifted away and made his demand, his plea for devotion.
“You will promise not to disappear,” he said in Herfod’s ear. “You will not leave because of this.”
“I promise. I don’t want to go back to him. He’s lost!”
Ugoth almost crushed him. “You still love him,” he snarled. “You only dread seeing what he’s become.”
Herfod shut his eyes on the truth. Ugoth’s head dipped and captured his lips again. Herfod shivered once more, now with a terrible yearning ache. Being with Ugoth had dragged it from the pit he’d stamped it into, wrenched it flaming outward from his very core. It burned. It burned like hell. He wanted Marun!
And suddenly he was punishing Ugoth for it. He broke free and knocked Ugoth to the earth. Then he was on him, rolling him onto his stomach, lost in the madness of a need he couldn’t begin to understand, a need that had little to do with this act he perpetrated, this ferocious rape. This was something more, something desperate, something that had to be done.
Ugoth’s leggings ripped downward. A hand wet with spit touched him roughly, probing hard into the place where gentle touch and almost reverent kisses had been received the night before. Ugoth didn’t fight, not even when it hurt. Somehow he just couldn’t fight.
Herfod lowered down over his back, positioned himself, thrust. Ugoth hissed in pain, and then he gasped in utter torment as blue washed over them both. A fire had erupted from Herfod’s skin, an aura of brilliant azure. It took the pain away. It took more than the pain away. It was so good! It was so good! It was—!
Herfod smothered Ugoth’s cries with a hand. He barely retained his own last exclamation, which issued as a soft, choked cry against Ugoth’s shoulder. The azure corona flickered out, and he almost fainted over his lover, drained and nearly dead of what he’d done.
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