* * * * *
Seanen shoved as hard as he could, but the creature would not budge. It appeared to have wedged itself in the opening at an angle, so that it completely filled the opening. He changed tactics, pushing upward, praying that a pocket had formed at the roof where he might at least find enough air to keep himself alive long enough to search for another way out. If he had air, he could perhaps find a sharp rock, and hack his way through the thing. If he had air…
He pushed up hard, extending his hand, searching for the roof. Nothing but water.
Undulating his body like a fish he swam up through the murky depths. Up and up he went, still finding no roof or ceiling. At last he broke free of the surface, gulping in lungfuls of stale, dank air that had not seen the light of day in any lifetime remembered by man. There was another smell here he almost recognized. He treaded water, searching for the source of the memory.
Lye. Crude, coarse lye soap.
Many years ago his mother had used it for boiling the laundry. He almost laughed. The creature had brought him deep into the heart of the castle, to the place where the keep emptied its wastes. He was directly below the kitchens. Somewhere there would be a drain in the floor, a hatch, something. If the laundry water could get out, he could get in. There was always a back door.
For a thief.
* * * * *
Yarwyn soaked in the big copper boiler while the kitchen slave picked at her hair with a spatula-like comb. The Dwarven girl couldn't have been more than twelve, yet she bore her lot with the typical Dwarven stoicism. She pushed gently on Yarwyn's head, indicating that she should rinse the strong lye soap out of her hair. Apparently the leaches didn't like lye. Not that she blamed them. Her hair would undoubtedly have the consistency of old straw by the time the girl was done. She slid under the water long enough to scrub her fingernails through her short cropped mane once again, assuring herself that the last of the loathsome creatures were indeed gone.
The Dwarven slave-girl's shriek brought Yarwyn straight up out of that water and reaching for her blade. She lunged toward the intruder, only at the last moment capping her desire to slide her arms around the ghost before her and instead follow duty, laying the fine sharp blade against his throat. He knelt before her, his posture the correct combination of subservience and fear. "Don't move," she ordered in Dark Elvin.
Whether he spoke the language or not, he could surely understand the message in the dirk's finely honed blade.
Ignoring her nakedness and the water dripping from her hair, she addressed the man huddled before her. "Never have I seen such a pitiful pile of filth. Who and what are you, man-thing, and what are you doing in this place?"
"I do not understand," he responded in the Northlander's tongue.
"Perhaps another language," Élandine suggested. He kept his drawn rapier resting comfortably in his hand.
Yarwyn was careful not to acknowledge the male's comment, though she took his advice. "Who are you?" she asked again, this time in the ancient language of the High Elves.
"Know you the speech of the humans?" Seanen countered.
Yarwyn turned to Élandine, her face a mask of frustration. "This is the one. The man-thing who escaped into the moat. I must interrogate him."
Élandine looked the huge invader over carefully, fear still his paramount emotion. "I should hope so. Can't have bunches of them this size running about. Perhaps he is so big that his body has no room for a brain. He may speak only gibberish."
Yarwyn prodded the slave girl. "See if you can communicate with it."
"Yes, Mistress." The girl eyed the huge Northlander warily. She spoke something unintelligible, and Seanen glanced up quickly, then looked down again. He shook his head, once, but his fingers moved in a quick gesture that Yarwyn was sure had some meaning.
"Know you my tongue?" the girl queried in Dwarven.
Seanen glanced up at the girl again, then focused his attention back on the stone floor. "Aye. A little."
"The Priestess would know who you are and how you come to be here."
"I am a slave," he replied in careful, halting Dwarven. "I was captured by patrols near the City of Stone on the frozen ground. I was–lifting–carrying barrels of–drink–mead–to the store room when the Priestess grabbed me. She frightened me. I was–I tried to get away through the water, but a giant worm creature attacked me and carried me under the water. I killed it. I came up through the kitchen drain."
"You killed it," Yarwyn repeated in the same guttural tongue. "You killed the giant worm creature with your bare hands under water. Yet you profess to have been afraid of me."
Seanen still fixed his gaze on the floor. "Aye, M'Lady. Mistress."
Yarwyn glanced at Élandine. The Dark Elf didn't seem to find the slave's statement incongruous.
"Why don't you keep him, Mistress," Élandine suggested. "He may amuse you. But I would keep him chained. Even if there's only one like this, no one has ever escaped the worm before."
Yarwyn glanced down at the slave, disgust evident in her voice. "He's filthy. Clean him up. Bring him to me when he is presentable."
* * * * *
Seanen swallowed his outrage, painting himself the picture of a docile slave as he allowed himself to be shackled. Inside, every fiber of his being was screaming at him to throttle the small Dark Elf in front of him and make his escape. He couldn't. He was an actor, playing his role, just like the cast of the traveling theatre troupes who'd visited the Northlands when he was a child. He'd dreamed of joining their troupe, of leaving that squalid hovel behind even then.
At least he was clean. Even his ragged kilt had been washed and wrapped back around him, though the technique could use work. He followed his captor down a long hall with a series of broad, stout doors lining its sides. The Dark Elf knocked softly on one near the end, waiting for a call from within before he lifted the latch to enter.
Seanen caught his breath, staring at the sight before him. The small chamber was simplistic in design, functional and sparsely furnished, hardly befitting a Dark Elf Priestess. The slaves had worked quickly, transforming the room with pots of scented oils and drapes of silk and pillows of deep, rich velvet until the room took on an air of exotic fantasy.
Yarwyn herself was the center of the tableau. The Dwarven slave girl had attended to the Priestess, anointing her hair with oils that made it reflect a violet sheen much like her eyes. They had dressed her in fine colorful silk robes that shimmered in the light of late afternoon. She might as well have been naked. The translucent silks did nothing to disguise the curve of her breasts or the outline of her nipples. Seanen felt his body respond both to the woman who was his lover and to the exotic ebony beauty before him.
Seanen found one set of chains exchanged for another as the male shoved him back hard against the wall. The Dark Elf yanked the tartan off him, dropping the plaid in a casual heap at his feet. Whatever he said made Yarwyn laugh, though her laughter stilled when she ran her eyes over his body, admiring him as an intimate stranger. The Dark Elf spoke again, his tone both familiar and suggestive.
Yarwyn shook her head, dismissing the Dark Elf with a casual wave of her hand. She slid off the bed, her attention fixed blatantly upon Seanen's naked body as she crossed the room to the open door. She waited, her hand pointedly resting on the latch, as the Dark Elf took his cue, bowing as he backed out the door. Seanen found that one's eyes on him most unpleasant. It was a great relief when Yarwyn snapped the latch shut behind him.
The relief ended when she turned back to face Seanen, crossing the room like a large, predatory cat stalking its prey. A shudder of something between fear and excitement passed over him. "Get me out of these chains," he demanded, though his voice felt less than forceful.
She traced a gold plated nail over the manacle on his wrist, then trailed her fingertip along his arm. "I cannot. I don't have the key."
Yarwyn didn't look as if the thought of leaving him in chains disturbed her overly much. Seanen's heart thrashed
against his ribs. Her sharp features reminded him more and more of a feral cat. She stopped before him close enough to touch him, but just out of his reach, dropping the bright flowing robe from her shoulders so that it puddled slowly on the floor like a misplaced scattering of flowers.
She moved in closer, brushing against him, then backing away. "Do you know what it did to me, thinking you were dead?" she whispered, her voice deep and husky with sex.
He would not respond to her. Not like this. He would not surrender himself to be used like a tool. He willed his body not to respond. Still, he had to swallow hard before he could find his voice. "Shall I apologize for having survived?" The words didn't come out nearly as angry or as defiant as he would have liked them to. Perhaps because as she brushed against him he had forgotten to breathe.
"Don't fight your feelings," she whispered. "I know what you want."
Seanen tried to focus on the anger, but it was slipping away as her body enticed him. "No," he managed. "You don't know what I want. Not if you think I would condone this."
Yarwyn ran a piece of red silk over his arm, trailing it down to his fingers, then slipping away so that he was left with nothing but the silk to hold. "Isn't this every man's fantasy, to be held captive by a woman who desires his body for sex?"
"No," Seanen argued. "I will not. Not like this."
Yarwyn moved in again, teasing, touching, deliberately grazed the edge of her teeth over the tight, hard nub of his nipple. "You cannot lie to me," she scolded. "I will always know."
To hell with not responding. He would have her, and have her now. He lunged against the restraints, determined to tear them from the wall until he could get at her.
"Cease!" Yarwyn ordered, concern in her voice. "You will hurt yourself!"
When he ignored her, she simply stretched her hands over the length of his arms until she stood pressed flat against him, so that he could not shift a muscle without feeling her skin against his. His body twitched convulsively in response to her nearness, just grazing the mound of soft curls at the top of those long, long, silk covered legs.
Frustration warred with desire. It didn't help any that he was sure the little Dark Elf male stood listening at the door. "Have I no rights over my own body?" he demanded, not even trying to shield her from his anger.
Yarwyn drew her hands back up his arms to capture his head, holding him with a strength he had not suspected her small body capable of, stretching up on her toes to plunder his mouth with a deep, seeking kiss that stilled his hands and nearly stopped his heart. Her hands slipped slowly down to trace the full, hard length of him, while her mouth tasted everywhere, outlining his jaw, working down and across his shoulder, outlining his nipples until he didn't know which was worse, to have her lick and suck and send him shuddering towards what he could not reach, or have her not touch him at all.
"Now what do you want?" she teased.
He tried and failed to remember what he was angry about. "I want you," he admitted.
She nipped his lower lip hard enough to hurt. "But what you want doesn't matter at all, does it, slave?"
He wasn't sure if she was serious, or simply toying with him. She picked up her discarded silk robe and draped it across his chest, teasing him with the feel of the soft fabric as it dripped down his body to hang across his distended shaft. She moved her hands over him again, stroking him slowly with the silk. "Say it."
"No." His tone was more whimper than defiant. He tried again. "No. I will not."
She was so familiar, yet so different, her dark ebony skin a dusky contrast to his expanse of bronze chest. She brushed her nipples across his chest, circling until they rubbed over his, leaving him shuddering with desire. "Say it." Her voice was softer this time, almost an invitation.
He almost moaned the words. "It doesn't matter what I want."
She cupped his straining balls in the silk, lifting, kneading, testing the weight of him, until he meant the words he'd spoken. "Then what does matter?"
"You," he rasped out. "Pleasing you."
She moved closer, rubbing the tip of his penis over her mound, stroking herself with him until he thought he might spurt with the need of her. "Good. You may yet make an excellent slave."
Her breasts brushed over his chest again, the nipples tight and hard, but he couldn't quite reach them to take them in his mouth. "Let me taste you," he almost begged.
She raised one small breast with her hand. "This is what you want?"
His heart thudded against his chest like it might explode. "Please."
Her thumb slowly encircled her nipple as she considered his request, until the delicate coral tip hardened under her touch.
He strained towards her, his body ready to burst with this new frustration. "Please," he managed, his voice thick with need. "I promise, you will enjoy this as much as I will."
Stepping closer again, she raised one breast just far enough for him to suck the nipple into his greedy mouth while she continued to stroke herself. Her moan as he circled the hard bud with his tongue told him that he had not lied to her.
Sure, strong hands stripped away the silken barrier of her leggings. She was through teasing him. In a show of athletic prowess she raised herself over him, her long dancer's legs wrapping around his waist to support her as she impaled herself on him, shoving his hips back against the wall.
She set the pace, fast and furious, demanding satisfaction and taking all he had to give. Her hands roamed everywhere, stroking his outstretched arms, caressing his chest, urging his hips on as he pumped into her time and again. Her fingernails clenched into his thighs as the first orgasm shattered her, then stroked up his back as she crested again and yet again.
"Seanen!"
Fear washed over him. It didn't really matter what they did, not here where there was no right and wrong, only master and slave. But out there, on the other side of the door, she wasn't supposed to know his name. He released her breast in favor of her lips, smothering her cries as she gasped his name again. Pulling her closer with the tip of his tongue leveraged against the back of her teeth, he sucked the cries from her with the force of his will.
Despite his fears, or perhaps because of them, he found the experience heightened his sexual appetite until she was an all consuming need, until touching her with as much of his body as he could became paramount. He felt as if his balls might burst from the need to fill her, yet he managed to hold back, giving her pleasure as long as he could, knowing that his release would end this, would move her out of his reach, would leave him alone here and desolate.
Need overpowered the fear as he thrust into her again and again, straining against his bonds to fill her tight, wet sheath with all of his length. Desperation drove him into her with all his strength.
The male Dark Elf might reappear at any moment. Seanen pushed himself toward climax with a final frantic fury. She was slipping from him as her sated body began to wilt against him. "Now!" she demanded, her nails clawing his back. "Now!"
The release was shattering, as if his balls had opened up to spill a lifetime's treasury into her. His heart felt as if it had exploded in his chest, and the room went black for a moment before he tumbled slowly back to the world where he hung naked, chained to a cold stone wall, while the woman he'd come to need more than life itself slid slowly down his drained body.
A soft wrap sounded at the door. Yarwyn roused herself enough to recover her robe and her silken leggings, wiping herself down with a piece of toweling as she did her best to restore her careless Dark Elvin Priestess image. Just as he'd suspected, the Dark Elf male leaned lazily against the doorframe when she opened the latch. Seanen had no doubt but that he'd never moved farther than the corridor when she'd dismissed him.
The ebony face took on a trace of cynical humor as he surveyed the scene. "I see that you have finished with the slave, Mistress. I return to offer my services."
Anger flushed Seanen's face. He would not stand by while some other man used his woman. But as the Dark
Elf moved across the room, understanding dawned. The Dark Elf wasn't interested in Yarwyn's person. He had his eyes fixed on Seanen's naked, exposed body.
Chapter Five
Yarwyn glanced casually over her shoulder as Élandine followed her into the room. "I have no need of your services at the moment."
Élandine had his eyes fastened on Seanen's naked body. The young male would enjoy this, she was sure. The lust that trailed off that one was dark and evil. "I know your tastes, Mistress. I shall endeavor to provide you with ample entertainment."
Entertainment? A Dark Elf Priestess would find that entertaining to watch? Yarwyn searched frantically for some way to divert Élandine's attentions without alerting his suspicions. She tried to sound bored. "The slave will not be of any use for a while."
Élandine turned back to her, amusement blending into his lust. "That will not matter, Mistress. He will only be more compliant."
Compliant? She didn't think so. Not Seanen. Not for anyone but her.
Anger stirred within her, and perhaps a bit of jealousy at the way Élandine eyed Seanen's exposed body, but she kept those emotions out of her face. Instead she ran the tip of her fingernail down Élandine's bare chest. His skin was as smooth and soft as a young girl's. "Perhaps you shall entertain me after all." Her low laugh was calculated to stir Élandine's blood. "Do you think it is safe to unchain this one?"
Élandine let his eyes drift over her. "I trust the prisoner will not escape you again."
Yarwyn smiled her agreement as she turned back to latch the door, waiting until the Dark Elf's attention was focused once again on Seanen to reclaim her small leather pack. She could feel the anger and defiance radiating from Seanen from across the room. Though he wasn't attempting to tear the manacles out of the wall this time, he drew his breath in deeply, prepared she was sure, to fight Élandine with every ounce of strength he possessed. Seanen might have played along with her game, but he'd never allow this. If she didn't act quickly, she knew he'd hurt himself.
Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I Page 12
