by J. C. Owens
His fingers tightened upon Torin, but he made no other move, afraid that if Torin awoke, then Nairat would harm him. Hopefully, the bastard would find the leavings of their lovemaking, and leave, unable or unwilling to face a supposedly randice fuelled Torin.
Calloused fingers probed within his cleft, encountered the leavings of their congress, but did not stop there, the thick forefinger sliding easily within his body. He could not help it, he arched away from the foul touch, unable to continue his pretense of sleep.
A hard hand came down upon his shoulder, holding him down.
“Stay still, little prince. We would not want you to suffer further, would we? I will take what I want while he sleeps it off, since Heratis will not allow me to remove you from this room. I refuse to wait. I will have you, wet with his spending, and all.” The whisper was all smooth command. There was the faint rustle of clothing, and then Aidan found himself sandwiched between Torin and Nairat.
He tried to rise, but a large hand slammed him back down, wrapping around his throat, restricting his air.
He felt the probing of a large cockhead at his entrance, sliding in Torin’s seed, and he began to struggle mindlessly, uncaring now of anything but avoiding the rape to come. He would never be clean again…
A cry rose to his lips, then the world tilted, everything moving, the hands falling away, and he was falling…
He hit the floor, grunting at the impact, half stunned, completely unsure as to what had just happened. The room was silent once more, his own heavy breathing loud in his ears.
A hand came down to grasp his forearm, and he cried out, pushing himself frantically backward until he hit the wall, gathering himself to fight, to…
Torin’s concerned face loomed above him, and he blinked at the other man owlishly. Had it all been a dream? He shook his head at the thought. No, he could still feel the violation of those fingers, of that instant before he was pierced with that cock. It had to be true.
Torin pulled him up, laying a finger over his lips, and Aidan subsided, eyes wide and questioning. He glanced past Torin to the bed. His breath caught, disbelief rising within him.
Nairat’s naked body lay sprawled on the coverlet, his neck broken, his dead eyes staring blankly.
Torin’s arms slowly closed about Aidan, offering comfort, but he could not take his eyes off the dead man. It was too much to take in. His nemesis was gone, and though Heratis still survived, the evil of this man’s touch, his lust, was forever eliminated.
But the punishment…
He clutched at Torin, turning to look at him. They would know full well who had done this, and Heratis would take great pleasure in the rebel general’s torment.
His look of panic was met by cool composure, and another admonishment to silence.
Aidan took a deep breath, settling his nerves. He was not alone. Torin was a leader and he would not wait for the enemy to act. He felt his panic subside somewhat. He trusted that the general knew what he was doing and he would follow him—anywhere and through anything.
Even if the older man never knew the loyalty and devotion he had inspired.
Aidan well understood the almost fanatical love of Torin’s army toward their leader. It was well earned as far as he was concerned.
He was one of their ranks now, even if he knew their commander somewhat more intimately than they had ever been granted.
Torin turned away, pulling the body off the bed and onto the floor. He swiftly and silently gathered the man’s discarded clothing and put them on. He was somewhat more broad shouldered, leaner in the waist, but the clothing fit well enough. He looked more commanding, less approachable, in the enemy uniform, as though he had regained his mantle of leadership. He gestured Aidan to dress, and he did so quickly, heart pounding, obeying without question.
The general just inspired that much confidence.
He watched in confusion as Torin braided his thick, black hair, tucking it inside Nairat’s uniform, before comprehension made him suck in a deep breath of wonder and hope.
They were going to try to escape. In the dim light of the corridor, and with it being dark in the room itself, the guards would not be able to see clearly enough to distinguish details. Hopefully for long enough that escape was possible.
Aidan turned aside and began to search Nairat’s discarded cloak and belt. The man would not have been fool enough to come here unarmed.
There was no gun upon him, but a large knife tucked into the cloak, along with a smaller one that was obviously something for general use. It was easily concealed under Aidan’s clothing, and he steeled himself for what was to come. He was no flower to let Torin be the only one to put himself at risk. So far, he had been treated as though he were weak, fragile. In reality he was anything but. They had trained him, now they would see the results.
He would do Torin proud, and perhaps, in the doing, make the man see he was no boy, but a young man grown, and able to be a part of the rebellion in his own right. That seemed important to him now, that Torin understand that he could be more, that he could be an asset, instead of a burden. Everything that he had been taught, could now be used for the rebellion itself.
He geared himself for what lay ahead, silently waiting for Torin’s orders as any good soldier would.
The general shot him a quick, questioning look, as though he felt the change within the younger man, but he said nothing, only gestured toward the door.
Aidan followed, his heart beginning to pound with the anticipation of conflict. He had always found his martial training to be something that resonated within him, something that had always appalled him, as though a beast lay waiting within him, waiting to rend others. He had always tried to thrust the instincts down, style himself a thoughtful, learned person, and yet, here it was. Now, it might be the saving of him, or perhaps of them both.
In these circumstances, it seemed a beast might be an asset.
Torin took the larger knife, then beckoned Aidan closer, curling his arm around him from the back, and holding the weapon close to his neck.
Completely trusting, Aidan relaxed against him, allowing the general to do as he thought best, willing to follow his lead.
Torin shook his head, and his rough whisper tickled Aidan’s ear. “You are a wonder, my boy.” He felt a warm rush of pleasure, of pride.
The general knocked upon the door in a certain pattern, and Aidan felt foolish that he had never noticed such a thing before.
It opened slowly, warily, but Torin had his back to it, his face cast into shadow. Only Aidan could be seen, held with a knife against his throat, taking the guard’s attention as the large, burly form of what was presumably Nairat began to push the young man forward.
The guard took a step back, trying to peer into the room around the two. The uniformed shadow held a finger to his lips, and the guard hesitated, shooting a glance at his partner, who stood across from him. They both looked uncertain, probably having received orders from Heratis about Nairat wanting the young prisoner, and not allowing it.
But Nairat was also a general…
The moment of indecision cost them dearly.
Torin moved with swift and silent precision, even as Aidan slid under his arm with such dexterity it was as though they had practiced the maneuver a thousand times over. The rebel general dispatched the first guard, cutting his throat viciously, ensuring no outcry could give away the unfolding drama to any guards further down the dim hallway. Aidan pressed against the stone wall, looking terrified, letting the second guard lunge past him at Torin. He slipped forward, mimicking the general’s killing stroke. The beast within him gloried.
“First rule of combat. Never, ever underestimate a potential enemy,” he whispered in the dying man’s ear. He lowered the convulsing body to the floor and wiped the blade clean upon the man’s clothes.
He looked up to meet Torin’s fierce eyes, seeing the astonished respect in their depths. “I am no flower, my lord. When they trained me, they perhaps created m
ore than they should have.” His whisper held a hint of bitter amusement as he concealed his weapon once more.
Torin only nodded, then jerked his head southward, down the hallway. They held to the initial disguise, Aidan walking just slightly ahead of Torin, the general’s hand on his shoulder. Aidan’s pulse thundered in his ears, so very loud that he feared it might make him unaware of an enemy approaching, but he could only trust to the rebel general’s expertise and training. He, himself, might have abilities, but he had never been in true combat before this day.
It sank upon him then. He had killed. Without remorse, without mercy.
He shuddered, thrust the horror away. Now was not the time. Later he could mourn lost innocence. Or was this what he had always been meant to be?
Oil fed torches lit the hallway, though few and far between. The low visibility was as much a hindrance to them, as it might be to their enemies, so they took it slowly, cautious, but walking at a decent pace that would belie any image of deceit.
To his utter astonishment, they met no one. At the juncture of two hallways, Torin gestured to the right, and within moments cautiously eased open a door and pushed Aidan within.
The general seemed to see easily in the gloom, and he left Aidan’s side after a warning touch to stay still.
A short time later, a match struck, and a candle slowly sputtered into life, wavering a moment before truly catching.
“Where are we?” Aidan whispered as Torin returned to him. The general’s face looked gaunt and grim in the flickering illumination.
“The heir’s suite of rooms.”
Aidan gasped, looking around with new eyes, understanding the pain behind those gritted words.
In the dimness, he could see the destruction. Furniture in pieces, art slashed and hanging crookedly from equally destroyed wall hangings that had once kept the stone walls warm and bright with color. A large bed lay in pieces, hacked savagely, bed curtains ripped and splayed across the filthy floor. The windows jagged and broken, letting in the weather. Everything was coated in years worth of dust, half rotted.
Aidan was grateful there was no more light. He had no idea if the heir had been killed here, or taken away. He had no desire to see any evidence that would give Torin more grief than he already held.
He laid a hand upon Torin’s sleeve, but the older man jerked away, as though comfort held more threat than a blow. Chastised, Aidan curled his fingers away, withdrawing into silence as he awaited whatever was to be decided.
Chapter Five
Torin cursed under his breath at the telling action of his retreat from touch. He did not apologize, could not in the emotion of the moment. To have to come here, to these familiar rooms, to see firsthand the destruction of what he had held dear, was more than he could bear. It almost overwhelmed his intentions, his cool, calm logic that would see them free.
This room had lived in his imagination for all these years, a retreat from the horrors, a place of love and contentment, with Amadan magically waiting there, timeless and ageless, alive.
To see it thus, putrid and tainted, rent something in his heart that had managed to remain whole up until this point.
He had come here, knowing perhaps in some corner of his mind that it could not possibly be the same, but he had imagined it stripped bare or used by another, not this desecration.
He shuddered and closed his eyes, fighting the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. There was no time for this…
There had been good purpose in their arrival here, and he had to see to it, to push aside this discovery.
A deep shaky breath brought him back to a weak semblance of control, and he blinked, taking in Aidan’s worried stare.
Gritting his teeth, he strode across the room, stepping over the shattered remnants of the past, echoes of ghostly images parading through his mind’s eyes. So much happiness had been here. How wrong it was for its beauty and memory to be lying in dusty tatters, how wrong it was for Amadan himself to be forever silenced.
Tears rose in his eyes, and he cursed himself, moving faster. He had to get out of here, had to silence the memories that battered at him from all sides. He stumbled, over something he refused to look at, desperation beginning to find a foothold. It felt like his sanity was on a knife’s edge, so fragile, so…
A hand came under his elbow, discreetly balanced him.
Despite his earlier rejection, the young man was back, bravely offering support without surety of outright hostility this time.
The heat of those fingers dragged him back from the edge, centered him in reality once more.
He reached out, grasped that hand tightly, continued to hold it as he moved faster. Please, by the gods, get him out of this place.
On the right side of the room, he shoved a massive battered cabinet to the side, pressing against the wall behind it. A small panel slid aside, and he pushed Aidan forward, urging him to crouch down and squeeze through. He followed, not allowing himself to look back around the room for a final farewell. Once inside, he turned, carefully working the cabinet back into perfect alignment.
Complete and absolute darkness engulfed them, the sense of entrapment almost overwhelming in the tight space. He fumbled around over their heads, finally finding the small niche he was searching for, heaving a sigh of relief as he felt dusty wax under his fingertips. Beside the small pile of candles lay the small airtight box, and he brought them all down to his lap. Tucking the surplus candles into any and all available pockets in the unfamiliar uniform, he then saved one and brought out the small flint striker. Several moments later, he had a flame, and then the comfort of light as the wick sputtered and began to burn more steadily.
Aidan’s sweat dampened face shone in the gloom, blinking at him as his eyes adjusted to renewed light.
“A passageway?” he asked, hope evident in the tone.
Torin nodded, his thoughts veering from the room he had just left. He had someone to keep safe once more. Even if the someone was a former enemy. Aidan had proven himself by his actions these last two days, but he was young, untried and unused to the ways of the world. Rather like Amadan when he had first met him…
He growled to himself, shredding the image viciously. There was no comparison to the one he had loved so dearly, but the boy deserved to be free, and Torin would see it done. He had always done better with looking after others rather than himself, and he felt a renewed strength flow through his veins.
He staggered to his feet, having to bend almost in two in the sloping corridor. It had seemed so gigantic when he and Amadan had first tried it out, when they had been only thirteen.
He held out a hand to Aidan, relieved when the young man stood awkwardly and accepted his touch. They had to stay in contact, and he could only pray that he could remember the twists and turns of the complicated system. Could only hope that they would not be traced to the room too quickly, or the passage found immediately.
Heratis would not be merciful.
Nairat had been his brother, after all.
* * *
Aidan felt that they had been in this nightmare for days, rather than mere hours. Only occasionally did the passageway open enough to stand in comfortably, and his back ached from the unaccustomed stance. They stopped every so often, dropping down to sit on their heels in the dampness. There was only the sound of their labored, pained breathing and dripping water. Occasionally a rat’s eyes reflected back, disappearing abruptly as the animal fled. The air was thick, dank and humid, hard to breathe.
At times, the candle flame wavered dangerously, and Aidan would watch it fearfully, afraid that their air would disappear, the candle snuff out, and they would die here, in the dark.
One by one, the candles burned down, and Aidan fought to restrain his fears. If they ran out of the candles… He had never been fond of the dark in any form, but to stumble around down here, unable to see even a hand’s turn before them…
Torin made no attempt to speak, and the light from the single cand
le flickered over his features, showing a strong concentration, as though he fought for memory to lead him true.
Aidan could only pray that memory did not lead them astray.
He trod close upon Torin’s heels, glancing behind them into the darkness, straining to hear any pursuit. The only comfort, was that it was unlikely that their pursuers would be able to move any more quickly.
They had already passed several side tunnels, and walked through a multitude of pools of water. It was unlikely that their trail would be clear to any followers.
After an eternity of stumbling progress, they passed into a chamber that arched above them, disappearing far above their small light. Before them lay three tunnels, and here Torin stopped, frowning. He walked from one to another, peering down each passageway as far as the candlelight could show.
Aidan slumped down to rest, watching with building anxiety as Torin made no move toward any of them. Had they come this far only to become lost deep below the fortress?
He remained silent, reluctant to interrupt Torin’s focus, wrapping his arms around his torso in a futile attempt to warm himself.
The general finally went to the passageway on the left, holding out the candle and watching its flame intently.
It stayed steady for a moment, then flickered.
Torin nodded, then gestured Aidan to him.
He rose with difficulty, tired and worn, hungry beyond measure. He did not dare ask if Torin was sure in his choice. Some part of him did not want to know.
Very faintly, they heard a sound behind them and both glanced back, their tension rising.
The tunnel had been found.
Torin grasped Aidan’s hand, and drew him forward. This tunnel was higher and although they had to duck beneath several low lying spots, the majority of it was high enough for even Torin, and so they moved faster, almost jogging when their light shone far enough ahead to show the way.
Torin was pleased with Aidan’s silence, his quiet acceptance of Torin’s lead. The lack of questions was pleasant, because at the moment, he had no answers to give. He hoped he was leading them in the right direction, and it seemed that there was air here. Certainly the candle had indicated a faint airflow, and his memory had claimed the left one to be correct.
