by Greg Curtis
Unfortunately protecting her and her people looked like being a major undertaking. Her people were refugees, and their enemy was likely still pursuing them, placing Ry and her family, in jeopardy. And even if they hadn't been his people as well, he would have been honour bound to have protected them.
But it looked like being a task more difficult than any other he had known, and his progress was limited. After more than a week of studying he still had still not discovered the source of the passage that stayed in the back of his mind, though its words would always return to haunt him in the quiet moments. But he had read and reread the histories of the Dragon Wars, and they had scared him. If the warlord was truly among them once more, what had been seen at Shavarra was but the merest fraction of his power. A test perhaps as he stretched his fingers out against a relatively weak and unready target. Exactly as the first Dragon had done five thousand years before. Soon this enemy would reach out his hand against one or other of the more powerful realms, and then another and another until the entire region was in conflict. Then the suffering would be far worse than any could know. Exactly as had happened five thousand years before.
Once a few of the more powerful kingdoms had fallen to him – if he followed the same course – he would begin his true assault, hunting down the people. Using the armies of machina he had created together with an army of mercenaries, he would plunder the resources of every land he conquered to feed his war machine. All the while seemingly bent on only one thing; murder.
How could he protect her people against power and evil on that scale? How could anyone? Any mage no matter how powerful? Despite his dreams of winning a legendary victory against their enemy, Sam knew it couldn't be so. No single warrior, no single spell caster could do that. All he could do was fight by their side.
The first time the Dragon had failed, he had lost for only one reason. He had moved too quickly from destroying just a few lands to trying to conquer the rest. He had let his armies and machina be spread too thin. He had compensated by using mercenaries. But they could be bought by the other side just as easily. It was a mistake that the Dragon – if he truly had risen again – or his successor would surely not make a second time. This time Sam guessed his armies of machina would be larger and stronger than before, his reliance on mercenaries less, and his planning more thorough. He would be harder to defeat.
So as the journey continued, Sam had spent his down time reading and rereading the ancient histories as he formulated his own plans.
Ryshal it turned out though, had plans of her own.
“Make love to me.”
Ry made the request on their tenth night on the road, and of course Sam wanted to. He loved her so much, and he had missed her company for far too long. He had ached for her touch for five long, miserable, lonely years. But he was also scared. Even after ten days of being fed and cared for she was far from strong. It was true that the bruising was fading, the worst of her sores had healed over, there was a little more flesh on her bones, and some peach fluff was beginning to grow on her head. Best of all, she was finding her smile again. Even her laugh. She was definitely on the road to recovery. But she was still too weak and he told her so.
In the morning he told her they would reach the caravan, which he could sense in the distance. He guessed that they were little more than a league or two away. Then she would be provided with better care as she would be attended to by their physicians. A week or two after that, he told her, she would hopefully be strong enough. Then they could begin their lives together anew. They had time.
But time was not what Ryshal wanted. She had never been patient about such things, and before his brother had interceded had demanded his attention often. Her passion was one of the many things he had loved about her.
“Hmmph!” It was one of her favourite noises she made when she was irked and for a few blissful moments it brought him back to better times. He couldn't help but smile and kiss her as he'd told her to sleep. Which was when she took him.
Surprised by her strength – though he shouldn't have been, she had always been stronger than she looked – Sam quickly found himself rolled over on to his back, while his wife lay on top of him, hurriedly working on the straps to his armour. And he knew she would not be denied. No more did he want to deny her. By the light of the fire he could almost pretend that she was returned to her old self. Certainly the passion was there.
Unable to resist, he quickly helped her to find and release the leather straps that held his breast and back plates together, and then slid the entire section off over his head, his vest following close behind. A few moments later she was working on the draw strings that held his chain leggings and leg plates secure around his waist, and shortly after that he was completely naked and pinned underneath her. And hungry. Exactly as she wanted.
“By the Goddess you've grown strong!” Ry told him, her eyes wide.
She was right too he realised, though he'd never really thought about it until then. Over the last few years he'd concentrated on little more than weapons and magic, and that coupled with a proper diet as Ryshal's mother Pietrel had always insisted he eat, meant that his muscles had grown large while his puppy fat had all but disappeared. These days he rippled when he walked.
“Strong enough for both of us my love. Until you're well again, I will carry you everywhere you need to go. It will be my pleasure.”
“You will not have to carry me for long my husband, I promise you that. But for the rest of our lives I will gladly go anywhere with you.”
“And I with you.” He kissed her hand, renewing at least one of the wedding vows they had sworn together so many years ago.
“Now my husband, it's long past time to relive our wedding night.”
Sam would still have objected, but he wasn't given the chance as Ry took him exactly as she had always intended, and the time for words was long past. Instead he responded as he always had, returning her passion with his own, thrusting into her softness again and again, causing her to cry out with joy, even as she collapsed onto his chest demanding more.
At the end Ry called out in rapture just as he gave her his seed, laughing, singing and crying all at the same time, under a gloriously full moon.
Afterwards, as always Ryshal seemed filled with joy, and he knew she would have been dancing and singing if she was able. Soon he promised himself, she would be. But for the moment, instead of that she settled for giggling into his chest and kissing every inch of his skin she could find, even as she fell asleep still on top of him.
It was a position Sam knew he could happily spend the rest of his life in, and Ry wasn't the only one with tears of joy in her eyes. Instead of rolling over as he would normally, letting her sleep curled into him while he studied, Sam simply pulled the bed roll over the top of them until they were snugly wrapped up together, and let his eyes close as he thanked the All Father for his infinite blessings. He thanked the Goddess too, for her wonderful daughter and for keeping her alive long enough for him to save her.
But still the anger was there in his heart.
Chapter Nine
It was on the eleventh morning as they awoke in each other's arms – the first time in weeks that Sam had actually slept rather than cat napped – that the scouts for the Shavarran caravan came across them. Two of them arrived, riding dappled elven mares. They were fitted out in light armour as befitted soldiers who needed to be highly mobile, but most important to Sam was that neither was wearing bandages. Maybe they were simply the fittest of the surviving soldiers. Or maybe as he hoped, things were getting better. They both had the decency to cough discretely as they remained a respectful distance away.
It didn't particularly bother Sam to be caught in such a position. Once it would have been, but after the previous night he felt nothing but peace and happiness. For the first time he knew a measure of faith that Ryshal would recover fully. Already she was far stronger than she looked, and though she had fallen asleep almost immediately after making love
, she had felt like her old self as she had demanded and received everything he could give her. Being caught naked was inconsequential compared with that wonder. The anger would return, but not for a time.
Out of modesty and respect for his wife, Sam made the scouts turn their backs as Ryshal dressed. Something they were only too happy to do when they saw the flames dancing from his hand as he snapped his fingers, though probably they would have anyway. It might have been improper to intimidate them like that, even though he had no intention of harming anyone, but he didn't care. His wife's modesty was at stake. Besides, it probably told them who he was, assuming they didn't already know. And he had the strong feeling that they did, even if they didn't address him by name.
The only thing strange about it was how easily the magic appeared. Without the anger, without the fear, without even the concentration it was just there. A part of him. Perhaps he had truly reached a new level in his mastery of fire. Something more than just strength and control.
Once Ryshal was covered once more in his rude night shirt – something else he was determined to change at the first opportunity – Sam made her eat one of the apples he'd foraged the previous day while he dressed.
She wanted to go directly to her people and her family he knew, and he couldn't fault her for that. But she would have skipped breakfast to do it, and that was something he couldn't allow. Her health was improving steadily, but he could not allow her to slide back. He even raided Tyla's saddle for some cheese and a little milk he'd bought from a farmer the previous day to make it a complete breakfast, and forced their visitors to wait until she was done.
The two scouts though showed great patience, for which he also rewarded them with apples. Perhaps they respected his power, or perhaps they were simply grateful for what he had done in Shavarra. Maybe they simply understood that Ryshal was not well and therefore understood why he insisted on her eating breakfast. Whatever the reason they didn't complain as they calmly munched on their apples.
While she finished off the last of her breakfast, Sam prepared Tyla for another day's ride. He covered her now pommelless saddle with a thick rug to allow Ryshal to ride more comfortably in front of him and gave her some good oats from his rapidly dwindling supply. He also promised himself he would give her a proper rub down and grooming when they made the caravan. She was a good horse, valiant and true, and it was the very least he owed her for the last few weeks of loyal service she had given.
Very shortly after that they were under way; back to the elves, and back to Ry's family.
It wasn't a long journey. He'd sensed the caravan ahead the previous day and known they were only a league or so away. But it was a difficult one. Ry was impatient. She wanted to see her family desperately. Meanwhile Sam was more concerned about the reception he might get. After all, he hadn't left under the best of circumstances, and the chances were that there would be some unhappy elders waiting for him. It was almost certain he thought that there would be more lectures. Perhaps long swathes of stories from the elven histories that would explain to him in detail why he had been wrong to do as he had done. He hated that – almost as much as the elves seemed to love reciting the ancient tales.
Worse though, he might have to face the priests. The elves never did anything official without the priests of the Goddess in attendance to bless everything. And they would be very thorough. There would be prayers, singing, personal testimonies and of course more chastisement for his many failings. Failings that began with his being a follower of the All Father.
Still, at least the journey was over. Ry could see her parents and get the medical attention she needed. And he could return to his duties as a knight of Hanor and help protect the people. From now on that had to be his focus. First though he would have to apologise to the elders. Endlessly. He might be a half human and a follower of the All Father, but some days he thought his life was one of the God of Mischief's jests.
Ry had also told him a little of what he could expect. And a little of what he had to say. He'd told her of what had happened to her people, and something of what he'd done and why he was in trouble. For the most part she'd just laughed, but she'd also made certain he understood what would be expected of him, and what wouldn't be acceptable. Naturally defending himself against their charges and complaints wouldn't be acceptable.
She told him that once more as they rode back to her people. The scouts heard everything of course, but carefully said nothing, choosing instead to study the surroundings as she spoke. He wasn't sure why but it worried him.
But he was sure that they'd ridden out specifically to find them and bring them back. He knew that the moment the scouts led them to the front of the caravan, where he found a group of elves waiting for them. A group comprised primarily of elders. Moreover the caravan wasn't moving, despite the fact that they should have been under-way several hours before. He was expected.
“Honey?”
Ry saw them too he guessed.
“It's all right. They're waiting for me.”
He hoped that brought her a little cheer, knowing that no elf ever wanted to have to face the elders. It wasn't that they were scared of them. It was simply that they hated the thought of having done something that would have deserved being brought before them, whether for good or ill. Elves prided themselves on living modest, decorous lives. They were never too loud.
Unfortunately his actions had caught their attention. Or at least they had caught the attention of one elder in particular Sam guessed as he spotted Elder Bela standing at the head of the group.
“Elder Bela,” Sam greeted him politely. Why wasn't he surprised to see the Elder at the front of the congregation awaiting him? In truth he didn't know, yet somehow it just seemed appropriate that his final examiner should be the first to greet him on his return. Even if he did look anything but pleased to see his former charge again. In fact he looked as if he'd just eaten a particularly sour lemon, his already long face drawn and twisted into a grimace. Yet for some reason Sam was actually glad to see him. He even managed a respectful nod. After all it was the very least expected of either an elf or a knight of Hanor – and he was wearing his blue and his crest.
“Prince Samual Hanor.”
Hearing his correct name used Sam knew they'd been doing some digging. But then he'd expected that. Pietrel and Alendro would have told the elders everything. It wasn't in their nature or that of any of the elves to keep secrets from their elders. Sadly he was sure that that would mean the elders had yet more questions for him, and perhaps more telling off. He decided instead to take the initiative. He had more important things to do than to gossip. Somewhere in the caravan strung out behind them were Ryshal's parents, and he most definitely wanted them to be a family once more. They too had suffered at their daughter's wrongful imprisonment, and then more so at being told of her death. Besides, Ry needed to see them too.
“Samual Hanor at your service Elder. Exiled son of King Eric Hanor the First, though I've never claimed the title of prince before, and now I guess it would be strongly disputed if I did. And may I present my wife, Ryshal Hanor. Daughter of Alendro and Pietrel Moonmissel. But I would not use our real names as we pass through Fair Fields.”
Why he wondered, couldn't he stop grinning? It took him a moment to remember. His journey had ended for the moment, Ry would soon be back in the arms of her parents and the healers, and all the words he had given the elders before were being shown to be true. This was a victory for him.
“But –”
It was rude to cut the Elder off, but right then Sam was in a hurry, and manners weren't very important to him just then. Besides, he knew what the Elder was going to say. That Ry was supposed to be dead. Later he guessed, he would pay for his rudeness.
“I thought so too, but I'd reckoned without the devious nature of politics in the realm. I never thought I'd be grateful for that evil.”
Which was an understatement. The evil machinations of the nobles had been the very thing that had f
reed Ry from their clutches and the irony wasn't lost on him. But the elders didn't understand the true depravity and trickery of the nobles as they fought each other for power, and he wasn't sure they would even when he told them. He doubted anyone not of Fair Fields itself would have understood. Still, he tried to explain.
“One of the Lords of the noble houses tried to use me as a pawn in a coup by lying about Ry's death to her parents. He thought to make me my brother's assassin. That I would kill Heri in my wrath. His plan didn't work out quite as he expected. But I did not kill either him or Heri. They can fight their own battles and I assume that they have. The keep is still standing, though with some rather large holes in it, and there are a lot of soldiers who will likely still be being dug out of its stone courtyard. I am sure I will be the only topic of conversation in any of the inns for a hundred leagues, mainly as they fear that I may return. But for at least a little while, I don't believe anyone will be giving chase to us.”
