But then some part of his mind rejected his rejection, citing the soft, warm, intoxicating creature removing his tunic and quietly asking him to move over as a compelling reason to do so. He’d nearly been killed today, as had she, and her lips were like a glass of honey-rimmed mead. A knight knew that mead was for celebrations, he remembered dully. That seemed like enough reason for him to abandon his misgivings and cooperate with Ishi’s blessing.
Belsi was hesitant but determined when she began, penitent and apologetic; but as he began to respond to her actions she renewed her efforts and her kisses with enthusiasm, particularly her attack on his neck. She crawled on top of him, just to lay there with her breasts pressed against his hairy chest, and nuzzled her nose into his neck below his ear.
“I feel so safe right now,” she sighed, her body going limp on top of his..
Rondal didn’t respond – he wasn’t sure what to say, and now really wasn’t the time for conversation. But it seemed to banish some of the lingering doubt about whether she truly wanted to be with him, and why.
He knew she did not love him. He knew she favored Tyndal more. He knew that her giving herself to him might be a bribe, or an attempt to maneuver.
But that is not what his instincts told him as she twisted and turned in his arms. Here was a very, very frightened girl who had suffered and brush with death and was desperate for comfort and security. He was not her jailor, here, nor her commander, nor her lord to her common blood. He was a merely a strong man who could make the vulnerable girl feel safe, and her actions were, in part at least, inspired by the pure gratitude she bore him, and her desire to reward and indulge it.
That he understood. That he could accomplish. He didn’t have to be cute or wealthy or brave or handsome, he just had to be here and be her protector for a little while. That was a role he understood. He considered what Tyndal had said about confidence, during their errantry, about it being the feeling of assuredness you got when you knew what was going to happen. Regardless of anything else, he knew he could give this poor, mixed-up girl a sense of protection to cling to.
He considered saying something stupid and funny to break the tension, like he would after an awkwardly stolen kiss. Instead he kissed her back, feeling his accumulated rage and anger mingle with his feelings of victory and success and all of that transformed with the touch of her lips into passion.
Overwhelming passion. His heart thudded like he was in battle, and his hands traced her lines as he delighted in her reaction. The fear, the rejection, the suspicion, the sense of betrayal he’d felt for her evaporated in the face of the inundation of pure, animalistic passion he felt now that he had he in his arms.
In moments, he was as naked as she was, the cool of the night forgotten as he began to explore her body with his hands. His fingers felt in the dark all that he had dreamed of about the girl. Her rounded arse, her perfectly curving back, the nape of her neck, the firm, resilient and utterly soft skin of her breasts. He was gentle, if firm, and he noted with pleasure that his hands had her quivering with excitement as they sought to commit her body to memory.
She, too, became caught up in passion when his hands found her most sacred parts, just before her hands found his. Eagerly, their hands sped the connection they both sought. Their mutual passion became a cleansing wave, scouring away the encrustations of doubt and confusion he’d borne so long. Regardless of everything else, there was something right, something pure in this. He understood Ishi’s Blessing, now, he realized in part of his mind. He understood the magnificent restorative power a woman’s touch could have on a man – not just his body, but to his soul.
They coupled feverishly, at first, with a terrible intensity that threaten to overwhelm them. But Rondal realized the danger of such a precipitous course and eased her pace instead into one of consistent, but compelling desire. He chanced magesight a few times to monitor how Belsi was enjoying herself, and she seemed just as engaged and excited as he was. He relaxed and allowed his body to enjoy itself. And hers.
He did not know when Tyndal joined them, but after they had sated their desires a first time and were beginning a second, his fellow knight and apprentice quietly appeared over them in the darkness.
Rondal was confused - was the Haystack actually jealous? Until Tyndal also slid into the impromptu nest – helpfully bringing another blanket. “Scoot over,” he whispered to Belsi.
Rondal struggled a moment with a surge of emotions so strong and vicious they threatened to accidently be expressed magically. He felt a sense of possessiveness and territoriality with Belsi after such an intimate moment. But felt her heart quicken under his breast and he saw the gleam in her eye by magesight and he knew that she favored the inclusion. She was not his, after all. She had shared herself with no promise or expectation. With barely any words.
Rondal tensed as his fellow joined them, but he let the tension dissipate. He decided he cared not if she favored Tyndal the more, or if she was posturing for escape or angling for favor in his decision. As sweet and attractive as Belsi was, she had proven herself unworthy of his permanent affections. This was not a woman he would wed, he knew, nor did he care to give her his heart any more than he had already.
Other parts, he decided, he was far more willing to share.
“Scoot over,” repeated a half-naked Tyndal. “It’s cold! But I brought a bottle of spirits.”
Belsi giggled and did just that, making Rondal move, too. He started to get resentful again when her hand stayed him.
“No maid was ever so fortunate as to have the favor of two such magnificent knights,” she announced in a contended voice after she took a sip of the small bottle. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your bravery today. And all the days before. Whatever may come, you have my respect, admiration, and gratitude for that.”
It was a speech Lady Arsella would have made, Rondal realized. It sounded natural coming out of her mouth. He looked across her naked breasts at Tyndal’s grinning face. He was willing to take her declaration at face value. Rondal sighed and decided he would do the same. It just kept things less complicated.
Rondal watched, idly, for a few moments as Belsi mounted Tyndal as she had him, and he enjoyed the vicarious thrill of observing her passion from a different perspective. In magesight he saw the wild, untamed look on her face as she found Tyndal’s manhood and seated herself on it, a moan of satisfaction escaping her lips. He watched them couple for awhile, appreciating the act from a spectator’s vantage until it began to have an effect on him.
He rose, silently, and both of the lovers looked up, confused, momentarily stopping their lovemaking to look at him. Belsi looked more fearful, Tyndal looked more curious. Rondal had a brief desire to let his suppressed anger and rage overtake him . . . but that was not his first or strongest inclination.
Wordlessly he bent to kiss Belsi, who continued her gyrations atop of Tyndal. Indeed, her movements became more excited the longer he held the kiss, until he felt her hands once more wander to his body, her skin nearly aglow with excitement. Her desires had gone from apologetic to grateful to enthusiastically eager, and she demonstrated that by her willingness to entertain both of the lads at the same time. Indeed, Rondal noted, she seemed to enjoy that most of all.
Rondal almost reached out to Tyndal, mind-to-mind, during their long, lusty night, but something held him back. This moment was to be shared without magic, he decided. He could feel Tyndal’s participation in the tryst, and he even reacted when his rival counseled a change of positions and manner of fulfillment. But the feelings and emotions were too intense for mere words. Ishi’s blessing, Rondal decided, was to sand away such rough emotions under the relentless refreshment of the pleasures she ordained.
They lay together late into the night, enjoying the safety and security and the intense intimacy of each other. But in the morning, the three were quiet as they dressed in the chill and prepared to return to Maramor to reunite with the rest of the unit.
That was fun, last nigh
t, Tyndal sent to Rondal as they saddled the horses.
Yeah, Rondal replied, non-commitally. Then he had to grin despite himself. It had been a whole lot of fun, he admitted to himself. He felt . . . renewed. I enjoyed it. I think Belsi did, too.
I know she did, agreed Tyndal, confidently.
So why did she go to your bed first? Rondal asked, hating himself for feeling compelled to.
You want to know the truth? Tyndal asked, after a pause.
Rondal considered. He wished he was the kind of man who could just accept convenient fictions, but he wasn’t. Yes, I want to know the truth.
Well, she said she didn’t come to plead for her life, Tyndal said. She said she was just scared, she felt rejected and depressed after Alwer’s death, and she was looking for comfort.
With you, Rondal finished, dully.
Tyndal paused and considered. Yes, with me, he admitted. I’m sorry, but that’s how it happened. I didn’t ask her to.
So why didn’t she stay with you? Why did she come to my bed?
Because I told her I wouldn’t even consider such a thing with her after she had treated you so cruelly. She knows you have feelings for her, but she stepped all over them the moment I showed up. That touched my sense of honor.
You have a sense of honor? But wait, you told her no . . . because of how she treated me?
I told her that I wouldn’t so much as speak with her intimately until she was square with you. I won’t favor a girl who treats my friends like that. It’s disloyal.
I . . . thanks, Rondal replied, for want of anything else he could think of.
And she does like you, you idiot, Tyndal insisted. She just likes me more.
Asshole!
“Lady Arsella, your mount is saddled and waiting,” Tyndal called formally. He turned to Rondal. “You scryed the route?”
“It’s deserted,” he said, taking the saddle. “We should be back at Maramor in a few hours. Less, if we have to run for our lives.”
They walked the horses, keeping them on the dry edges of the road and not the muddy channel in the center, and barely spoke in the cool autumn morning. Rondal welcomed the silence. As pleasant as the previous evening was, he had a major decision to make about the girl who had been so giving of herself. And he realized how he had complicated his decision even further.
The short journey back to Maramor passed without incident, until they came to Maramor Village. There they were challenged by a sentry, an armored man with a crossbow hiding in a blind made from a burned-out hovel. He accepted their passwords and blew a very short single note on the horn he carried before letting them pass.
Maramor looked almost like home, when they saw it. But once they passed the gate, it looked less like home and a lot more like a military camp. While the lads were on their mission, an unexpected party arrived from the south: Marshal Brendan, on a surprise inspection and re-supply tour. The guard at the gate informed them of his presence. He had arrived with a hundred commandos, part of the Third, who would be temporarily based at Maramor before spreading out to other outposts in Gilmora.
Rondal looked around in amazement. The courtyard bustled with activity, and the stables were beyond capacity. And with Marshal Brendan here . . .
“Take . . . Lady Arsella to her quarters,” Rondal ordered Tyndal in a low voice. “Keep her there, for now.”
“But I—” Belsi began, her eyes open wide at the press of activity.
“I have to brief the Marshal,” Rondal explained quickly, in a low voice. “I have a lot of briefing to do, actually, after that raid. It might be awhile before we discuss your case. Just . . . stay in your room and stay quiet while I handle this.”
“Listen to him, Belsi,” Tyndal urged, just above a whisper. “He’s smarter than you and me put together, and he knows what to do.”
Rondal tried to look confident at the compliment – he was surprised at Tyndal’s assessment – but then he realized he was just trying to make her feel better. He wasn’t trying to encourage Rondal.
That was almost a relief – if Tyndal started being respectful and conciliatory to him, it might serve as proof of madness. He relaxed, handed his reins to a stableboy – when the hell did they get a stableboy? – and entered the re-inhabited great hall of the manor.
With the additional men, the place was crowded. Rondal wondered how the suddenly over-taxed kitchen would struggle to feed them all. Walven was standing near the fireplace, speaking with a group of men who Rondal assumed were his comrades from the Third Commando. His squadmate saw him and beamed.
“This is Commander Sir Rondal of Sevendor, gentlemen,” he introduced Rondal, pulling him forward by his hand. “Sir Rondal is the knight mage in command of this outpost for the moment. My lord, it pleases me to present Ancient Oskad, and sergeants Reithe and Drafan.” Rondal found himself bowing to three men much older than he. The point was noticed.
“Begging your pardon, milord,” Oskad – a large, well-muscled balding man in his early thirties –said with only a token trace of apology in his voice, “but aren’t you more of an age to be tending the horses, not commanding them?”
Rondal could appreciate why the man was skeptical: there were plenty of young snots whose pedigree got them a command, he knew, not their experience. It would be easy enough to assume that’s how Rondal got his. But if Oskad didn’t know who Rondal was, then he must have just arrived.
There was a time for modesty and a time for boldness, as Sire Cei was fond of saying, and meeting a military subordinate you may command was a time for the latter. Timidity earned you no respect, when meeting a man for the first time. If he was a good Ancient – and Rondal could only assume he was, based on what he knew of the new Royal Commandos – then he was right to be skeptical.
“I’ve done my time with shit-work,” Rondal dismissed. “I’m just an up-jumped bastard warmage, so don’t kiss my ass too hard. I work for a living.”
“You’ve seen battle?” asked Reithe in such a conversational tone that it subtextually implied a challenge. Rondal responded coolly, as he knew he should.
“Today? No. But my second and I just eliminated an enemy depot a half-day’s ride north of here yesterday. And we destroyed a few patrols a few days before. It’s been a quiet week.” He was just as casual. It seemed to impress the men – but it didn’t end the challenge.
“So you’ve only seen fights with gurvani, then?” asked Drafan, a slender, dark-haired man in his late twenties. A veteran campaigner, if Rondal was a judge. “Never against humans?”
Rondal fixed the man with a steely stare. Only gurvani? “Humans? A few times. And I understand why you might not think a few scrugs are very noteworthy. But they’re just part of this war. Soldier, may I ask how many dragons you’ve faced? Or shall we limit our count to trolls?”
Drafan looked startled and had no reply – but his mates laughed uproariously. Drafan joined in, after a moment. He might be seen as merely a liar of the first order, but Rondal knew his presentation had been convincing even if the man doubted the truth of his deeds.
“No offense meant, Commander,” Oskad assured him with a grin. “Just getting to know our officers. Walven has mentioned you’ve run a model operation, here, he just didn’t mention your . . . lack of experience.”
He meant his age, Rondal knew. “Ancient, I’ve been fighting goblins on and off for almost three years,” Rondal explained, “when I wasn’t learning magic on the fly or cramming my skull full of useful stuff. I daresay I’ve seen more blood than most men twice my age. But that doesn’t mean I know what the hells I’m doing.”
“If you and your mate destroyed an enemy installation yesterday,” Drafan observed, “you must be faking it pretty well.”
That caught Rondal short. The last two days had felt like a running disaster. But when viewed like that . . .
“I’ll catch up with you gentlemen after I’ve spoken with the Marshal,” he promised, “and if there’s a keg of beer or a bottle of spirits in this du
mp, we’ll drain it.”
“One more thing, before you go, begging your pardon,” Oskad said, catching his elbow and speaking earnestly. “Rumor has it that the scrugs are using mutts, now, in force. Any truth to that?” That was something Ron felt he could speak with with some authority, owing to his last encounter with them.
“All too true, and they are bigger than any cur you’ve laid eyes on,” Rondal assured. “Fast, too. Riders carry bows, javelins, swords, and bolos. They work in packs. We faced one yesterday.”
“Any advice?” the Ancient asked, thoughtfully. Rondal appreciated that. Here was a man of his craft.
“Remember,” he said, after considering a moment, “They’re big mean dogs, but they’re just dogs. They act like dogs. Apart from using magic, you can distract them or confuse them. They hate high-pitched sounds, like dogs. And even though they’re vicious, they have their weaknesses. When they’re attacking in relays, you defend in relays. Attack the mutts, not the riders. Don’t let them get on either side of you. Oh, and get your hands on all the demon pepper powder you can – they hate that stuff. It burns their eyes and confuses their noses.”
He hoped the advice was helpful, he thought to himself as he tiredly mounted the stairs toward his office, where he’d been told the Marshal awaited him. It had been dearly won, but perhaps if it saved some of his comrades, poor Alwer’s sacrifice might mean something after all.
The rest of the day was filled with meetings and briefings with the Marshal and the officers of the 3rd Commando, as well as a walking inspection of Maramor and an in-depth discussion about the local situation over maps. By midnight, Marshal Brendan was satisfied that this advanced base was well-chosen and well-maintained, and he retired after commending Rondal on it.
Knights Magi (Book 4) Page 55
