“Will you allow me to look upon you then?” Lorace asked.
Iris lowered her eyes. “After the feast and we are alone, then you shall see how I am marked,” she whispered then raised her face to kiss him deeply again.
An unmistakably loud whistle from far below disrupted their solitude in the sky. Falraan waved, beckoning them down. Lorace lowered them to find the plaza almost empty of people, everyone having gone to their homes while the elves and dwarves had settled into their respective halls. Falraan took hold of Iris’s hand as soon as Lorace lowered her feet to the paving stones and led them up the stairs and into the Guardian’s Hall.
Falraan introduced Iris to Adwa-Ki and Prince Wralka while Tornin, Oen, Sir Rindal, and Moyan took turns pounding their congratulations onto Lorace’s back.
“Do not hurt him,” Hethal quipped. “He is going to need all his strength tonight.”
Lorace turned to the lanky monk with a questioning look which brought a bark of laughter from Moyan.
“He requires no gift for this prophecy,” Moyan grinned, but sobered quickly under Falraan’s hard stare.
“I do not understand,” Lorace said.
Sir Rindal put a heavy arm across Lorace’s shoulder and turned him toward the great table laden with food. “You are innocent,” the paladin whispered. “I will impart some wisdom your father Veladis shared when addressing a young knight in a similar circumstance. “If you are uncertain tonight about anything, just remember to be slow and gentle—until told otherwise.””
Lorace nodded but remained confused as the paladin sat him at the head of the table in the large, throne-like Lord’s seat. Iris was seated beside him in the ornately carved Lady’s chair before the rest of their guests politely sat. The food arranged before them was a feast for all the senses. Breads, cheeses, and steaming meats in variety and a host of vegetables prepared in sauce and butter.
“How have you done all this,” Lorace called to Oen at the far end of the table.
“Oh I did very little actually,” Oen returned with a chuckle. “I merely told the right people about your blessed union. From there it was a foregone conclusion that the whole city would know of it within the hour. It is amazing how adept some people are at dispensing information throughout Halversome, and none more so than Ehddan, the innkeeper of the Green Dragon. Indeed by now, there are very few who do not know the entirety of your destiny as we discussed it before his table.”
Oen halted at the concern this brought to Lorace’s brow.
“Be not worried. How could they not already know?” Oen assured. “After watching how you purified the army of Zuxra, making them our allies and friends. Watching as you defeated that vast black horde of demons, hearing the thunder of your chain, and seeing the light of your strength outshine the sun. They saw the very walls of Halversome itself come alive in your defense. Your divinity is a foregone conclusion in their eyes already.”
“What is all this you say?” Prince Wralka looked back and forth between them, with lowered brows.
Oen turned to Wralka and Adwa-Ki, forestalling their questions with a raised palm. “Let us share in this feast and afterward all of us here will share our story of what has happened over this last day. His friends will tell Lorace’s tale, for he and his bride must depart our feast early. Their time alone together is too precious for us to delay with our talking, as important as it may be.”
Oen gestured for them all to begin their feast before continuing.
“This food was prepared by many people of Halversome who wanted to show their appreciation of Lorace and their joy of this union between he and Iris,” Oen dished a serving of a flaky white fish onto his own platter. “Others have cleaned out this hall and prepared a private chamber upstairs for them to share this evening together. Just as many have prepared the elven and dwarven halls for the arrival of Adwa-Ki, Prince Wralka, and their warriors.”
“We are thankful,” Prince Wralka declared while Adwa-Ki nodded and smiled. “I salute you, Lorace, and your fine Lady Iris, may you be together always.”
Lorace’s smile faltered; he quickly reached out to Iris as her eyes brimmed with sudden tears.
“Forgive me,” Wralka half rose out of his seat. “I meant no offense.”
“No, none taken, Prince Wralka,” Lorace said. “You will understand our emotions once my tale has been explained. It involves a destiny written before I was born. For now, please, enjoy this wonderful feast with us.”
Impatience written strong on Prince Wralka’s features, while Adwa-Ki appeared more patient to await the story. Not wishing to keep his friends in the dark throughout the meal, Lorace turned to Sir Rindal. “Sir Knight, would you care to begin the tale by speaking of the Order of the Lady and my parents?”
Chapter 16
A SINGLE NIGHT
Twenty-Eighth day of the Moon of the Thief
-in Halversome
Between mouthfuls of roasted goose and red potatoes, the paladin began his tale. He told the story of Fara, much as Lorace had already recalled it during their journey through the Keth. He spoke in detail of the building of the Temple of the Lady and his recollections of Taggi, answering many questions from Wralka regarding the life of the wayward dwarf.
Iris held Lorace close as Rindal described the scene of Tezzirax’s rampage, the death of his parents and the paladin’s closest friends. Many at the table cried for Lorace and Sir Rindal both, even those who had heard the tale already. When the paladin described the attack on Zed by the demons of Lord Aizel and his escape by sea, they all forgot their food and stared in rapt anticipation. They gave an involuntary cheer as he described the deft sword stroke which removed the foul spirit of the demon from Lorace’s soul and body.
At this point Oen rose and bid good evening to Lorace and Iris, dismissing them firmly to their chamber. The couple stood and graciously retreated from the table, Iris leading him up to the room in which Falraan brought her to dress. As they ascended the stairs, they heard Tornin begin his tale of finding Lorace in the fields south of Halversome and cutting down Hurn’s foul wolves.
Their passage was lit with many candle filled sconces along the walls, wafting rich scents into the air. Iris halted before a heavy door of dark reddish wood which opened upon a high vaulted chamber nearly the size of the great hall downstairs. A dimly glowing fireplace warmed the chamber. The centerpiece of the room was a large, canopied bed adorned with red ribbons and yellow flowers, real versions of the lace flowers sewn onto Iris’s dress.
Lorace bent to examine the fire while Iris closed the door behind them. He looked upon the glowing coals, stalling for time. The first stirrings of arousal made his face warmer than the rising heat.
Iris closed the distance between them and held him close. “Fly with me again,” she whispered as she looked up into his eyes with her own uncertainty.
He removed the satchel from his shoulder and set it down. Then he lifted her up in his arms and raised them from the floor while cool air flowed into the room from the open windows to take the place of the air he built up beneath them.
Her giggle of delight chimed through the room as he lifted her till their lips meet. They floated above the floor, kissing and thrilling to a deeper warmth building between them. Iris’s hands dropped from his shoulders to lift his shirt off over his head. The scarring on his lean chest and shoulders brought the briefest of frowns to her face before her hands lost themselves to tracing the lean muscles of his belly. His whole body twitched in a ticklish spasm, but her hands continued their ruthless caress up to his chest.
He settled them back down to the floor before another involuntary spasm could break his concentration. Iris stepped around him, tracing his scars with her fingertips before she began kissing the pure unmarked areas of skin on his back.
“I do not know what to do,” Lorace said in a mixture of urgency and embarrassment.
“You are innocent, my love,” she said as she moved around to face him again and smiled up into his e
yes. “I know of what is to be done, but I have never been touched by a man until I awoke in your arms.”
Her eyes clouded with memory. “When I first came to Blackdrake, before I had driven the Queen insane-” she hesitated.
“Iris,” He cupped her face in his hands. “come back to me. You do not need to explain.”
“I know,” she turned and placed his hands upon the laces at the back of her dress. “Ivrane used to surround herself with courtiers. She would reward them with grand orgies. I was kept nearby to ensure that the Queen’s appetites of the moment were most sincerely fulfilled.”
With fingers unsuited to the delicate task, he untied and loosened her laces. “I assure you I am most sincere already,” he breathed into her silken fall of hair.
“You may wish to keep your chain ready if I should determine otherwise,” Iris said, letting her dress fall from her shoulders. She gave her own shiver beneath the touch of his hands down her back, further awakening his body.
The touch of his hands was incredible, as though the golden sparks of his spirit were dancing on her skin beneath each of his fingertips. She giggled softly at the thought—that may actually be the case. He had shown her things, impossible sights through his gift. He changed her life, not just from the horror of what it used to be, he continued to change it and she continued to grow.
When he had faced his darker side that morning, and she had seen fear and rage breaking him down, she held steady for him. She did for him what she had wished in her previous life someone could have done for her, been a beacon, someone to hold onto until the fears passed. The touch of his chain had made it easy, but her love only grew as his eyes had held hers in their grip through his turmoil.
A lifetime in a single night. She thought as his hands continued their exploration of her back. Would it be enough? Her new understanding of magic was because of him. Her introduction to his Lord brothers had expanded her universe a hundred-fold. What more would transpire in the precious few days to come?
She stepped backwards out of the entangling folds of her skirts and fully into his embrace as his hands and arms encircled her. His arousal pressed against her back while his hands continued their caress of her belly and tentatively ascended to her breasts. She gasped and quivered at his touch before gently pulling his hands away.
It is time to show him.
Turning to face him, she saw that his eyes were shut tight. “You may look now,” she said in a husky whisper as she stepped away. “Look and see how I am marked.”
Lorace opened his eyes. Iris stood before him lithe and buxom, her breasts lifting toward him with each heavy breath. Her porcelain white skin gleamed red in the candle and firelight. Started at her knees and extending upward along her flanks to just below her breasts were deeper red spots like the ticked markings on a cat’s pelt.
“You are beautiful,” Lorace sighed. “No woman has ever spoken of such markings to me.”
Her laugh chimed in his ears. “No woman has these markings, not even the most freckled of women could match them.”
Lorace stepped forward to put his hands over the broadest spots at the curve of her hips. “What are they, besides all mine?
“They are from my earliest attempt at using magic. I gathered the energy to me without having a focus for it, a direction for it to follow.” Her fingers went to the antler buttons of his trousers. “It could just as easily have torn me apart and killed me, but then I would not be here now.”
Iris tugged his trousers to the floor then led him to the bed. “I think now that Vorallon saved me, instead of letting his magic slay me, he marked me as yours.”
He embraced her again, pulling her tight to him.
“Oh, Lorace,” Iris moaned.
She shifted her body under his, and heat blossomed in all his senses. The golden sparks of his spirit linked with the gold and white swirls of hers. Their bodies merged as did their spirits. Her spirit surrounded his, hinting of her intimate desires. He slowed his sparks when her white swirls slowed, matched her gold with his own until they mirrored one another.
The passion of his body, the focus of his sight, and the flowing energy of the air merged into one overwhelming unity of sensation which he shared with her through the link of their spirits and flesh.
Her fingers dug into his back and her breath let out in a gasp.
“Is it too much?” he breathed.
“No,” she whispered as her body trembled. “You promised to share everything!”
They lay together in each other’s arms, breathless and weeping. He struggled to grasp the sudden growth of emotions within while Iris held his face in her hands and kissed the tears from his cheeks. Nothing mattered but Iris. He thrust his plans for the coming days aside.
“I do not know if I can face what needs to happen to me,” Lorace said softly. “I do not know if I can let you go. It is as though the rage deep within me has arisen again as passion for you, your touch, your body, everything that is you. I will never be able to fully release myself from your spirit. There are no words in my lungs to say how much you mean to me, how much I love you, Iris.”
“I do not want to let you loose from my arms, Lorace, ever!” Iris sobbed at him, her confidence unraveling. “Tonight you are mine, tomorrow you can save the world.”
“For the people of Halversome I would move mountains to save this world,” Lorace said. “For you, I would crush this world if it meant being able to keep you in my arms forever.”
Iris pushed him away to look deeply into his eyes, her face clouding with concern. “Lorace take up your chain, I fear I have used my gift on you unwittingly in my passion.”
“And if I do not?” he challenged. “I could just leave it, and we can spend these last days together until the end comes.”
Iris rolled apart and retrieved Lorace’s satchel from the floor, tossing it at him forcefully. “Take your chain up now!” she cried at him, her fists clenched at her sides.
Lorace lay propped up on his arms and made no move to grab the chain from the bag in his lap. If what he felt was a coercion, he had no desire to end it. As long as she was with him, rather he would embrace it, and allow it to fill his senses until the end came.
“Please, Lorace,” she leaned over him, dominating him. His every breath was at her command. “Take up your chain before I throttle you with it.”
It was his greatest pleasure to reach into his satchel and pull forth Sakke Vrang. Quick sparks of golden light skipped across the dull silvery links.
“Still love me?” she asked, leaning down to kiss his bare chest.
“More than ever. More than anything,” Lorace said with wide, honest eyes. “And I must save you. I must save all that remains of Vorallon’s life. I am sorry, Iris.”
“Do not be sorry,” Iris traced again the muscles of his stomach until he jerked beneath her feather touch. “I accept the time I have with you, and I am so very happy. So there is no sorry tonight, nor ever.”
She put a hand on his chest and forced him down onto his back.
“How is it that you are so strong?” he asked wide-eyed and smiling.
“I am not strong at all,” she held him pinned with a hand to each of his shoulders as she wriggled slowly, “you are just extremely willing.”
-in Ousenar
“Palla can go no further,” Andrigar said as he dismounted from the quivering warhorse. He surveyed the moon-lit highlands for any sign of movement, any more of the shambling dead or twisted monstrosities that they had turned wide of throughout the day. A light snow dusted the rocks and scrub, but his senses showed nothing.
Marek’s gifted awareness was another matter, judging from the man’s wide-eyed stare, the needful, hateful presence pressed all around.
Marek clutched at him, nearly falling from Palla’s back in his haste to insure that he remained within the sphere of Andrigar’s protection.
“Your gift shields us,” Marek had answered when Andrigar asked what kept them from becoming mo
re of the southward marching monsters. With that revelation had come the need to always be in contact with Marek and Palla, or his friend and his mount would be consumed by whatever it was that had risen out of Blackdrake.
His secret gift. He shook his head and shrugged his cloak higher up on shoulders. Trust to something he could not see or feel against something else unseen, yet all evidence showed to be undeniably real.
If he had known that he simply needed to be touching Marek to prevent Scythe from ever taking hold of the man’s emotions, the events of the morning before last would have gone far differently.
With one hand on Palla’s lowered head and the other holding tight to Marek’s shoulder he spared himself the time to curse the woman again. Somehow all that had befallen them was attributable to her. She had fed his men to the giant then lead the abomination to Blackdrake, and before the sun had reached the noonday mark, an unseen horror had begun consuming the life of the world around them. If she had not yet met the fate of the white-eyed monsters they had seen, he vowed once more to carry out the Queen’s task. He held to that desire, as he held to his friend and his mount.
“We will wait out what remains of the night here,” he said. “We are safe as long as it cannot touch us.”
“How long can we endure, Andrigar?” Marek asked. “We have no supplies. We cannot even separate to search for wood for a fire against the cold.”
Andrigar gave Marek’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. He pulled down on Palla’s bridle until the great horse obediently laid upon the bare dirt, then he and Marek sat against his side, huddled in their cloaks, but out of the wind. “There is someplace beyond the reach of this thing, and we will find it, Marek,” he said, filling his voice with stern confidence. “Tomorrow we will find water on the downslope of these highlands, then we will continue onwards until we find our kingdom.”
Gifts of Vorallon: 02 - City of Thunder Page 18
