“What must I do?” The words tumbled out as he was nearly overcome by conflicting emotions, unable to think clearly.
“Swear fealty to me.” Her eyes burned with some inner fire, and even though she maintained a human visage, she was both fearsome and alluring at the same time.
Elyas dropped to a knee. “I swear to serve you for as long as I draw breath.”
She clutched his head in her hands, fingers running through his short hair, then held his face to her muscled belly, the swell of her firm breasts pressing against his forehead. “I accept your oath, Elyas son of Wyat. This oath binds you to me, and if you would seek to ever break it, thereupon your death shall follow. Now rise, a conqueror!”
Elyas rose.
Chapter 5
The stable master Kerrol was a barrel-chested older man with thinning hair whose stables looked well-kept and tidy. Ferret knew next to nothing about horses, but the mounts stabled within seemed of good health and spirit. The animals didn’t like her much, shying away at her approach, so the trio decided to purchase only two mounts. Ferret assured Taren she would be able to keep up with them on foot.
Taren haggled with the man a couple of minutes before parting with a number of gold coins from the heavy purse Nera had given him. Kerrol didn’t object too strenuously or push them to buy a third mount. The stable master grinned and shook Taren’s hand when the negotiations were complete, then he bellowed for his son and two grandsons, who served as stable hands. Within a few minutes, a pair of healthy, spirited horses were ready to go, saddled and bridled.
Snow was falling more heavily by the time the trio departed the city gates. They drew curious looks from a large group of guards huddled around a fire but were left to go on their way without incident. Once outside the walls, they turned onto a nearby country lane, crossed a fallow field, then rode into the Llantry Woods a short distance. Ferret jogged along tirelessly with Taren and Mira as they rode.
Once they were far enough to be out of sight of the city and any travelers who might be out on the roads, Taren reined in. He dismounted and handed his reins to Mira, then consulted his locator stone again.
“I should be able to transport us a good deal closer to where they have Sianna captive. Unfortunately, I can only take us places I’ve seen before.” Taren closed his eyes and concentrated a long moment.
Sparks seemed to flicker in the air, coalescing into lines of fire that formed the outline of a door. The backdrop of the woods seen within the door shimmered as if through a heat haze for a moment then disappeared entirely, replaced by a gloomy-looking scene of burned buildings and a huge, thick-trunked tree.
The horses stirred nervously at the magic use but calmed when Taren patted their flanks and spoke to them in soothing tones. He gave each one an apple to munch on, taken from his pack.
When the horses were settled, Taren gestured for Ferret and Mira to pass through the gateway he’d created. Ferret stepped through and found herself on the muddy road outside the grim town of Mitterwel, free of snow, although gloomy gray clouds filled the sky. The great hangman’s tree loomed overhead in front of her, its boughs filled with bodies dangling like morbid fruit. Mira led her nervous horse through the gate next, followed by Taren. A moment later, the flaming gateway faded and was gone.
Ferret studied their surroundings, wary for the Nebaran soldiers who had been stationed there the last time they had passed through, but she saw no sign of them. Nobody was about to witness their arrival.
“Looks as if the locals got tired of their occupiers,” Taren said with satisfaction. He pointed at the tree.
Ferret then realized what had become of the occupiers. Most of the corpses had the dark hair and sharp, hawk-nosed features of Nebarans, many still dressed in their black-and-gold uniforms. The oldest of the corpses was scrawny and badly decayed, and she suspected it was the spy they’d uncovered during their skirmish in the local tavern. A score or so corpses ladened down the branches, all Nebaran from what she could determine. Crows also huddled in the branches, apparently hopeful of the prospect of fresher meat, from the way they peered down at the three of them.
I’d like to see you try to take a bite outta me—likely break your beaks off. That thought brought a small internal smile, as did another, which she voiced aloud. “The townsfolk can thank Mira for starting this revolution.”
Mira nodded solemnly but seemed pleased at the way events had turned out.
Taren studied the locator stone once more. He turned, palm extended outward, and Ferret watched the orange arrowhead glyph rotate and point across the town, toward the direction she guessed was northwest.
“Sianna is much nearer now, although I think we still might have a few days of travel to get to where she is,” Taren said. “Somewhere across the central plains, it would appear. I can’t gate us any closer, so now we must ride.”
They mounted up and brought the steeds up to a brisk canter. Ferret was forced to sprint to keep up, but she didn’t mind. Running was effortless, the only difficult part maintaining her concentration on where she stepped so she didn’t stumble and fall.
Just then, the clouds decided to start unloading their fat white flakes, and snow swirled around them as Mitterwel swiftly disappeared behind their heels.
Chapter 6
Elyas allowed Nesnys to take the sword from his hand with nary a thought of striking her down. She sheathed the blade and set it back on the dresser. When she turned back toward him, the raw hunger on her face made his pulse quicken, though he also felt a tinge of fear.
“And now,” Nesnys said, “let us seal our pact. I would have you in my true form.”
She slipped out of her silken robe, allowing it to fall to the floor. Her naked figure stole his breath away before she blurred and shifted. The metal wings reappeared on her back, folded neatly behind her. Talons sprouted from her fingers, and her eyes were pupilless silver coins once more, her teeth sharp and pointed. She was a bit terrifying yet somehow every bit as sensual as she had been a moment earlier, perhaps even more so with her wildness.
As she stepped forward to press against him, he noticed an old scar mottling the flesh on her flank. He hissed when she raked her talons down his chest just hard enough to draw blood. Elyas cupped one of her breasts in his newly restored hand while running the other down the smooth flesh of her hip and thigh. She gave a sharp intake of breath then shoved him backward hard against the wall. She was on him in an instant and unfastened his waistband and roughly yanked his breeches down. He seized a handful of her thick ashen hair and jerked her head back then kissed her throat. His other hand gripped her buttock and pulled her against himself, her smooth flesh hot against his own. A low growl reverberated in her throat, and she shuddered in pleasure. He grunted when her talons pierced the flesh of his back. She leaned forward and buried her teeth in the muscle between his neck and shoulder, eliciting a bellow of pain.
Nesnys abruptly flared her wings wide then swept them forward to impact the wall, striking sparks from the stone and cocooning the two of them in iron. Blood coated her lips, and her breath was hot on his face as her talons dug furrows across his back and shoulders. Upon noting his arousal, she smiled wickedly. She gripped his neck and lifted herself then mounted him right there against the wall.
He lost himself in a swell of violent passion.
***
Elyas woke to find Nesnys gone some hours later. He lay sprawled across the four-poster bed, feeling as thoroughly drained as if he’d battled the Sledge again, only to have narrowly survived this time.
Nesnys’s passion was as fearsome as her swordplay. He was sore and bruised, scratched and cut from her claws, and her teeth had left bite wounds in several places. Dried blood caked his neck and back, judging from the prickling sensation as he peeled the sheet free. The bedding was slashed and torn, likely from the sharp edges of her wings when they had moved their coupling to the bed. Elyas lay there propped up on his elbows in a stunned state of awe, feeling much as he had
as a green lad after lying with a whore for the first time.
Gods, I don’t know if I’d survive another bout of that. He would be hard pressed to consider their exertions lovemaking—“copulating” would be more accurate. Yet even with his doubts, the prospective challenge excited him.
With a groan, he levered himself fully upright, got his feet planted, then walked over to the dresser, where a carafe of water waited. He drank half of it in one go. He was surprised to realize he was holding the carafe in his sword hand and again marveled at his arm’s restoration.
The price of this, though… Therein lies the problem.
He pulled on his smallclothes and breeches and walked out on the balcony and leaned his elbows on the balustrade. The sun already had crested the horizon, and a fine view overlooking the vineyards spread out below him. Slaves were at work in the fields, pruning vines and plucking weeds, perhaps even harvesting any late-season crop. Although he couldn’t see the training yard from the balcony, he knew the gladiators would be finished with their breakfast and immersed in their grueling exercises and sparring. For a moment, he yearned to join them, to redeem himself in the eyes of his peers now that his arm was restored, but he swiftly cast that thought aside.
Peers no longer… Everything has changed now. His eyes sought the northern horizon, where hundreds of miles away lay his homeland. Just barely visible in the distance stood the jagged Sundered Peaks, the boundary between the two nations. I can’t wait to leave Nebara behind and return to Ketania.
While he stood there and drank more water, he reflected on his actions of the past night. To his surprise, he felt no great shame or disgust with himself for either giving his oath of fealty or lying with Nesnys. Those expected feelings seemed a dim memory. Instead, he felt grateful for the restoration of his arm and a measure of admiration and lust for his lover.
“Now where has she gone off to?” he wondered aloud, frowning as he probed a scabbed claw mark across his chest.
“Retrieving a gift for my mighty champion,” came the reply from behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Nesnys crossing the room, a bundle slung over one shoulder. He didn’t know if she’d used the door or teleported herself inside, but it mattered not. She retained her natural form, including the shiny black mail—formed of fine, smooth scales like those of a fish—which clung to her as if it were liquid poured over her body. Her sword and dagger hung at either hip. She didn’t quite smile, but her eyes held a sultry challenge as she regarded him.
Elyas swallowed nervously, for he wasn’t confident he was in any shape to go another round with her if she hungered for more passion.
Fortunately for him, she didn’t. She slung the heavy sack down on the floor, where it landed with a metallic clatter.
“Appropriate armor for a mighty warrior.” She clasped his groin and squeezed firmly, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as she leered at him. “Ironshanks indeed.” She laughed and released him then leaned on the balustrade beside him. “Come, try it on. With this Soulforge armor, you shall be a truly unstoppable warrior.”
Within the sack was an impressive set of full-plate armor. He pulled out a heavy soot-black helm that was fearsome in appearance, fashioned in the likeness of a snarling fiend’s head, with small horns jutting backward from the crown. It had slits for eyes, its maw a cleverly fashioned visor that rose on concealed hinges. Runes were etched in the helm, breastplate, and other pieces. The whole set smelled strongly of steel yet also carried a faint brimstone scent—that and perhaps a subtle coppery odor of old blood, though he could have imagined the latter. The armor made him suddenly uneasy, and he started stuffing pieces back into the sack.
“I’ve never worn full plate,” he objected. “I’d need a squire to don such a thing.”
“Nonsense. I’ll aid you.” Nesnys snatched the sack away and overturned it, spilling pieces all over the floor with a clamor, then shoved a gambeson and set of padded breeches into his arms. “Put these on.”
Elyas did so, removing his short pants and pulling on the full-length breeches. He next donned the gambeson then picked up a vambrace and shrugged.
“Stand over there,” she directed. “Hold your arms and legs apart like so.”
He did so, legs spread a bit past shoulder width and arms held straight out to his sides, feeling a bit foolish. The morning was chilly, yet already he could tell he would be sweating in no time wearing the thick garments covered with all that steel.
Nesnys regarded him raptly, a look of intense concentration on her face. The pile of armor rattled and shifted then rose up into the air, sorting itself into separate pieces. Elyas was enveloped in a maelstrom of flying steel in the next moments. A heavy mail shirt dropped over his head, followed by breast- and backplates clapping around him. A gorget slammed around his neck, then pauldrons, greaves, vambraces, and the remaining pieces followed until he was thoroughly ensconced in steel—all but the helm, which Nesnys held in her hand.
As thick as it was, the armor was surprisingly light—likely the result of an enchantment. He flexed an arm and was satisfied to discover it more maneuverable than expected. He slapped a gauntlet against the thick breastplate, and the metal rang.
“Now you look a suitable warrior.” She nodded with approval. “I had a thought earlier: I would like you to ask your cousin to join us.”
“Taren?” Elyas was surprised by the question, wondering how Nesnys knew of him. But then he remembered how the inquisitors had pursued Taren and him across Ketania, and he realized she must have assigned them the task.
“Yes, Taren.” She said his name slowly, as if tasting it, and seemed to be judging his reaction.
“I… I don’t know. Even if I knew where he was, I don’t think he’d approve of us. Of any of this.”
“Leave finding him to me. Your role will be to talk some sense into him. Let him know that together we can negotiate a surrender. Ending the war will spare many thousands of lives.” She smiled.
“If that is your wish, then I’ll talk to him.” Surely Taren would approve of restoring peace to Ketania. He held on to that thought.
“Excellent. Here, ’tis time to finish suiting up so we can be off.” She held up the helm. “This might hurt a bit.”
“Hurt?” He frowned in confusion.
He received his answer a moment later when the helm shot out of her hand. He ducked instinctively, but it didn’t collide with his head, instead hovering above him then slowly lowering into place. He caught a brief glimpse of what resembled protruding fishhooks ringing the steel dome and opened his mouth to protest, but he was too late. The monstrous helm descended over his head, carving bloody channels in his flesh. He cried out in alarm as a hot wave of pain assailed him. He reached for the helm to cast it aside but was again too slow. The helm clacked down against the gorget and locked in place. His gauntleted hands fumbled at the seam, but he couldn’t find any catch to release. His head blazed with agony as he stumbled about, clutching the helm, desperately trying to wrench it free, not considering what it might do to his head if he did so.
“Don’t fight it,” Nesnys said. Through the narrow eye slits, he saw her watching his struggles as dispassionately as a fisherman might watch a caught fish flopping around on the shore as it slowly suffocated.
Elyas finally relented, breathing hard while trying to calm his panic, and soon the pain faded. It was still there, down deep, but the raw edge was gone. His hysteria ebbed away like dirt rinsed off in a stream, and then he felt calm and collected.
“Much better. How do you feel, my champion?” Nesnys sauntered closer, studying him from head to toe.
Elyas didn’t feel much of anything, in truth, his doubts and fears of a moment earlier snuffed out as if they’d never been. He was curiously unfeeling and briefly wondered what was happening to him, then that conscious thought slipped away.
All he knew then was that his mistress was standing before him and she had a duty for him to perform. The desire to pleas
e her became the only thing that mattered.
“I am ready to serve, Mistress.”
A slow smile spread on her face, one filled with cunning. “Then let us go review your troops, General.” She muttered in the fell speech. The words she spoke sounded natural somehow, and for an instant, he wondered how he’d been discomfited by them earlier.
The room swirled and was gone, Nebara replaced with Ketania, his life as a slave replaced with that of a general. And all he’d had to do to put all of that behind him was sell his soul.
Chapter 7
On the night of their third day of riding since having departed Mitterwel, Mira reined in her horse when Taren called a halt. Her steed was blowing hard and foaming with sweat despite the cold air, a testament to their hard riding. Mira patted the animal’s neck and dismounted, glad to have solid ground beneath her feet again. She had been on horseback on only a handful of occasions in her entire life prior to their departing Llantry, and those had been vaguely remembered experiences as a child. The days in the saddle had made her sore, but she was pleased her riding skill had improved.
Her nose and cheeks were numb from the cold air blowing steadily in her face. She could have fortified her body against the cold but had decided against doing so, wanting to conserve her ki energy for the rescue attempt, for she suspected she would need every bit she had.
Taren dismounted just ahead of her. He grimaced, knuckling his back and stretching his legs. He was a more accomplished rider than she, but he too was obviously sore from the long hours in the saddle.
A multitude of campfires burned on the distant horizon ahead, giving the sky an eerie glow. Finally, they had reached the Nebaran camp. Darkness had fallen just two hours past, and the camp was still alive with activity.
Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3) Page 4
