In Pain and Blood

by Aldrea Alien

Maybe the trick only worked on tilled soil. The earth was harder, more compacted and full of roots, than the soil of the tower gardens where he’d last practised this technique. He might as well be back in his nightmare, fighting the influx of mud, for all the influence he was having.

  Switching tactics, Dylan slowly formed an ovoid barrier just beneath the ground. He hardened the shield and tried to lift. Sweat beaded his brow as it resisted, but there was the tiniest bit of give that let him spin the shield in place. The muffled creak of breaking roots emanated from somewhere beneath his feet. Tiny cracks formed in the earth, growing as he heaved the section upwards.

  Like a giant’s hand, the shield rose out of the ground with the earth still nestled within. Dylan waited only until the barrier was free of the hole before letting it dissipate, dumping the earth in one conical clump.

  “Well now,” Marin murmured as she unsheathed her hunting knife. “Aren’t you full of surprises.”

  Panting, he grinned her way. “It was wood you wanted, right?” Before she could answer beyond a nod, Dylan headed out into the forest. Authril was right, they were surrounded by the stuff. It shouldn’t take him long to find enough to serve their purpose.

  He should’ve predicted the forest was waiting to prove him wrong. Much of the wood he found lying amongst the leaves was rotten and the rest required he possess an axe or slice at it with precise swipes of thin constructs, a skill he’d never had the knack for.

  By the time he returned, the boar hung a little higher in the tree above where the hole had been and was being steadily carved at by Authril and Katarina. It was already absent of its forelegs, they were secured on a pole above the campfire, which was busily being turned by Marin. What seemed stranger still was the peculiar structure standing where the smoke curled.

  Dylan dumped the armful of wood near the fire and frowned at the array of sticks. The framework looked to be made of saplings, the long horizontal poles at the top forming a grill-like pattern. Strips of meat dangled from this. “What—?”

  “Jerky,” Marin replied before he could finish asking. “Or it would be if I’d a proper drying stand. Haven’t done it this way for some time.”

  He eyed the stick she was rotating before realising it was actually metal. “And what are you doing?”

  “Roasting dinner. Hopefully. It’d be a lot faster if I could get the fire to stay hot, but it’ll do the trick eventually. We’ll cook the rest of the boar tomorrow.” She tilted her head. “Haven’t you ever seen something roasting?”

  “No.” The tower servants would occasionally serve them cuts of roasted animals, but most meat was typically found in a stew similar to the fare the camp cooks dished out.

  “Haven’t you ever seen anything cooking? Or even cooked anything?”

  “I… No,” he confessed. He’d done a few stints in the massive kitchen the tower servants used to prepare their meals, but it’d been manual labour, punishment from his guardian for… Well, he could no longer remember why she’d sent him there, only that he spent hours peeling and dicing so many things. He never did find out how the cooks turned the things he had a hand in preparing into edible food. “I wouldn’t know where to start with cooking something.” He rubbed the side of his neck. “Beyond fire, obviously.”

  “You don’t know how to cook?” The hunter threw her free hand up in exasperation. “Did no one think to teach you how to survive out here? Sure, they couldn’t have predicted what happened, but they take you on scouting missions, don’t they? What if you got lost? What did they expect you to do then?”

  “Die,” Authril replied as she placed more strips of pork on the drying frame. “If he was foolish enough to get separated from his warden, then he’s more likely to die before being found.”

  Marin snorted. “Well, that’s stupid.” Her gaze ran over him, those light brown eyes molten in the firelight. She patted the ground next to her. “Sit down,” she ordered him. “I’m teaching you how to spit roast boar legs.”

  The elf frowned at the other woman, her eyes hardening. “He’s not meant to be taught anything other than how to kill the enemy. It’s supposedly so they’re less of a threat to the general populous if they do ever become unleashed.”

  The hunter stuck out her tongue and made a long flatulent sound at the elf’s back as Authril returned to carve more strips off the boar carcass. “Tough,” Marin yelled. “I’m not part of the army and, except for you, they’re not here to stop me.” She swung her attention back to him. “Sit, already.”

  He slowly sank to the ground next to the woman. “I don’t—”

  “Just listen. It’s not really the fire that’s cooking it, you see?” She nodded at the rotating chunks of pork. “Sure the flames touch, but it’s the heat they put out that’s doing most of the work here. Now…”

  Dylan remained silent as she continued to explain. It all sounded very familiar to his old teachings of thermal conductivity. Most of the principles didn’t seem much different than what he’d done to the spellster, just over a longer time and on a smaller scale.

  “I think I have a rough idea of it,” he eventually said, finally cutting her off. Focusing on the fire, he cupped a shield over both it and the meat. It was a fine balance leaving enough space near the ground for fresh air to enter as well as keeping the barrier porous enough for smoke to escape.

  The hunter jerked back, eyeing the barrier between her and the food. “How is that supposed to help?”

  He took up the handle and resumed turning. “Like you said, it’s heat that cooks it. My shield can hold most of that heat in.”

  “You mean it’ll work like an oven? Yes!” Flinging her arms around his shoulders, she planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re such a quick learner.”

  “Wow,” Dylan breathed, rubbing his cheek. “What do I get if I actually cook it?”

  Laughing, she ruffled his hair and sat back. “Why, dinner, of course.” She motioned him to lift the barrier and threw another bit of wood on the fire. “It’s a shame there aren’t more spellsters I could teach.” Gasping, she grabbed his arm. “Do you think—? I mean, I’m not likely to go back home, not if there’s nothing between me and Udynea, but do you think your tower would let me teach spellsters how to survive in the forest?”

  “Honestly? I don’t think so.” It was possible the orders not to teach leashed spellsters how to survive on their own came from the overseers. Or even the king. “We’re rather discouraged from thinking about beyond the tower walls.”

  They sat and waited for the boar legs to cook, taking turns at rotating them. Small tendrils of steam escaped the barrier, tweaking his nose. Even when the tower cooks served them meat, pork wasn’t usually a staple. It smelt good.

  Soon, they were joined by Authril and Katarina. The hedgewitch gave a single appreciative sigh and settled down to watch the forelegs cook. On the other hand, Authril looked ready to devour the meat half raw.

  Night had settled and his stomach was growling by the time Marin declared the meat ready. They didn’t stand on formality, or use utensils, opting to eat straight from the bone. It was a little gamier than he remembered and a little charred near the feet, but not terribly bad.

  Authril didn’t appear to mind the flavour as, with much abandon, she tore off great chunks of pork with her teeth. He wasn’t even sure she chewed all that long before swallowing and moving on to the next bite.

  Marin watched the elf, her expression one of sick fascination. “You put away a lot of food for someone so small.”

  Authril glared at her over the boar leg. One side had already been stripped to the bone.

  “Elves usually do,” Dylan said, earning him a portion of the woman’s glare. “Especially meat.” He recalled quite fondly the way his elven friends would fall upon their evening meals like ravenous wolves, devouring all on their plates and scrounging off their nearby human companions for more.

  Katarina, having eaten her fill, stood and disappeared into their tent with a farewell nod in t
heir direction. Marin made a few more adjustments to the drying rack before joining the hedgewitch, leaving him on watch with strict instructions to keep the fire burning.

  The warrior watched him over the leg she still munched, those sea-green eyes narrowing as the other woman left the fireside. “You’re staring again.”

  His gaze swiftly dropped to his own half-eaten meal, almost forgotten in his hands. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to.” He risked a glance up to check that she was still looking in his direction. “You just rather remind me of the women back in the tower.”

  Those luminous eyes narrowed, turning sharper than any blade. “If the word beautiful passes your lips, I’ll punch you.”

  He grinned. “Would you settle for gorgeous, then?”

  She stiffened, the leg of pork almost slipping from her hands. A flush of pink darkened the fair skin between her freckles. She turned her face, just as he caught her eyes turning glassy with tears. “Stop that right now.”

  Frowning, Dylan ran their conversation through his head. Admittedly, he hadn’t known the woman long, but he couldn’t see anything inherently wrong in anything he’d said. Of course, the words didn’t always matter. There were far too many variables to try guessing which line he’d inadvertently crossed. “I meant no offence. I just—” There hadn’t been any heat behind her voice, the words more a plea than a command. “I won’t pry any further unless you want to tell me, but I take it there’s a personal reason behind it?”

  She nodded. “I’d a… partner in Danny’s Cutters and he used to call me that all the time.”

  Used to. Dylan stared into the fire, mentally kicking himself. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t lose anyone close to me when they attacked.” He’d been so caught up in what he hadn’t been able to do to stop the enemy that he hadn’t even begun to consider what Authril had gone through. “Do you know what happened to him? Did he suffer?”

  Authril shook her head. “Clashed against one of their brutes. Bastard took his head clean off.”

  “That—” He couldn’t imagine how he’d have coped if one of his friends had been there. “It couldn’t have been easy to watch that.”

  “Well, I certainly wasn’t ecstatic. But Danny always used to say that in our line of work, death’s an occupational hazard.”

  “If it upsets you, I won’t mention… that word again.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “It’s still true, though. If you don’t want me to call you… that, would you be offended if I used handsome? Or perhaps imposing? Terrifyingly commanding, even?”

  She eyed him as if trying to solve a particularly difficult blacksmith’s puzzle. “Exactly what are you expecting to happen with your poor attempts at flattery? I’m not the type of woman to swoon into a man’s arms because he flashes his stupidly charming smile at me.”

  He shuffled across the ground until their legs touched. “I’ve a charming smile?” He’d not heard that line for some years. Although the last person to say it had been a man.

  “I believe there was a ‘stupidly’ in there somewhere.”

  He grinned. “So there was. My mistake. As to what I expected… Nothing really. A smile, perhaps?” It’d been a rough few days. For the both of them. He bumped her shoulder with his own and whispered, “But you know you want this.”

  A great peal of laughter escaped her lips before she could stop it. “That was terrible.” She shoved him, tipping him onto his side. “If you think I would sleep with the likes of you after that, then you’re dead wrong.”

  The likes of him? Was she like Marin, then? Just less inclined to let him down easily. No, she’d mentioned a male lover. Still, being uninterested in men hadn’t been the only reason an elven woman would turn him down. He’d weathered several lashings from sharp tongues purely because he was human. And Authril was clearly a little uneasy around his magic, so there was also his spellster status to consider. Maybe it was all three?

  Sitting up, Dylan brushed off his sleeve. Well, it was nice to know where he stood on that, even if it wasn’t in his favour. “That may be so, but still…” He picked a wayward leaf from his hair. “I made you laugh.”

  “That you did.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and grinned up at him. “And I needed that. Thank you.”

  He flashed her another ‘charming smile’. “Anytime.”

  Dylan yawned as he unbuckled his belt and hauled off his boots. Authril had taken over the watch, leaving him with much of the night to sleep. It would seem strange pulling down the tent tomorrow after a third night in it. With much of the elements at bay, he’d gotten used to sleeping on the ground, surrounded by the hush of the forest. He could almost see why Marin had decided to live so far from any village.

  Not that he wouldn’t have plenty of opportunities in the coming days to listen to the sounds of nature around him. It’d take the better part of a week to reach Toptower, but he’d no knowledge of what their next campsite would look like, or even if they’d find a suitable place before darkness forced them to stop.

  The faint scratch at the entrance was all the warning he had of an intruder entering his tent. Dylan dropped his recently shed robe and scrambled about on his knees to face the tent flap, ready to attack if need be.

  Had someone, despite Marin’s assurance that no one could, managed to track them down? Were they here to kill him? He’d heard no alarm from the others and Authril was…

  Right here.

  He took in the half-dressed figure before him. The light came over her back, but it was definitely their staunch warrior. “Aren’t you meant to be on watch?” There’d been no more boars, or much sign of any big wildlife, but no one was willing to take a chance that this night might be different.

  The tent flap fell, throwing them into relative darkness. He blinked hurriedly, willing his eyes to adjust faster. When she was still a shadow against the canvas, he coaxed a tiny ball of light into being.

  She stood there, her hands on her hips and her legs planted. “We’ll be fine, but you said things a few days back that suggested you might wish to sleep with me.” Those gorgeous sea-green eyes roamed the tent, the floor. Everywhere but directly at him. “I’m here to take you up on that offer.” That gaze fell on him. Hot and wanting.

  Dylan stared at her. His mouth moved, but nothing came out. This was the last thing he would’ve expected from the woman.

  “Are you still willing or are you content standing there catching flies?”

  “I… Yes.” Realising the ambiguity of his answer, he tried to make himself clearer. “That is to say— I mean… now?” This was a trap, wasn’t it? She didn’t actually want to sleep with him.

  She rolled her eyes and crept closer. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t meaning to do it now.” Those lips that he’d wanted so badly to feel, moulded against his. Sweet and delicate. Much like the rest of her face; the one place where refined bones and soft angles hadn’t been overlaid with raw power.

  He leant into the kiss. His hands wandered across her shoulders, slipping down her arms. They sought out the hem of her undershirt, lifting the fabric to brush his fingers over the warm, silken skin beneath. Just when he’d managed to gather up enough of the light linen to remove it, she sat back.

  A small smile graced her lips. She slowly peeled off the undershirt before moving on to the rest of her attire.

  Dylan sat still, his heart thundering in his ears as he watched the increasingly-naked beauty before him. There’d been few times he had seen Authril without all her armour and padding. But now? By the gods. Even with just the light undershirt gone, he realised he’d been ill-prepared for what lay beneath.

  The slim frame he’d long associated with her kind had vanished, moulded by years of training and battle. The freckles that covered her face also carried on here. They speckled her body, a mighty dusting of brown stars across the lightly-tanned sky, collecting at her shoulders and thighs. Scars also decorated her skin, varying between tiny
slashes to what must have once been a nasty burn on her right shoulder. Each one silently begging to be kissed.

  She knelt before him, seemingly ashamed. “Sorry I’m no great beauty.”

  “Why? Because of these?” With one wide sweep of his arm, he drew her against him. He kissed along the scars, adoring each one in turn. The muscles beneath his lips were firm. A warrior’s body. Beautiful and strong in equal measure. “They just show that you’ve lived. That you fought.” His lips reached the puckered skin covering her shoulder. He gently sucked and nibbled his way across the area, making for her neck. “And won.”

  Authril trembled in his hands. The warmth of her breath heated his face only moments before their lips found one another. He sunk his fingers into her hair, relishing the taste of her as their tongues twirled around each other. She tugged at his clothes, growling and biting his lip.

  Dylan obeyed the request, leaving her grasp long enough to strip off his undertunic and smallclothes.

  Feeling watched, he glanced up to find her tracking his every movement. The depths of those sea-green eyes burned with such hunger, uncoiling a familiar warmth within his gut.

  He tried to be gentle in coaxing her to lie down, misjudging the distance to the ground by an inch or so. She bumped onto his bedding with a shocked squeak, a sound he hadn’t expected to ever come from her.

  A groan bubbled in his throat and he buried his face into his palms. There went his chance.

  Muffled giggling drew his hands down.

  Authril lay propped on her elbows, smiling up at him. “Oops,” she snickered.

  He grinned. That she could face his clumsiness and laugh only fuelled his desire for her. “Sorry,” he said, lowering himself on top of her with less incident. He adorned her neck in tiny kisses, relishing the little purrs vibrating her throat as he drank in her scent. His gaze lifted to her lips, still curved in humour.

  Dylan slithered down the bed, worshipping every inch of her body along the way. He cupped her breast, a nice handful and typical for an elf. His mouth closed around the other nipple, eking out a breathy squeak from her lips. Her fingers dug into his hair, trembling but gentle. His other hand drifted down, seeking to tease.