by Greg Curtis
It wasn't until Sam had buried it under a hundred foot tall mountain of ice that the drake finally stopped screaming. The cold coming of the prison walls probably hadn't killed it. He wasn't sure that there was much that could kill it. Instead he suspected it was simply going into its winter sleep as a result of the sudden drop in temperature. For the moment though it posed no threat, and without the imps the ice mountain would endure many weeks before it finally melted. He just hoped that no more drakes were coming.
As he finished off the ice mountain spell Sam felt the pinpricks of blackness creeping into his sight and he knew, he was going to pass out. He had no choice. Sam had used all his magical strength and this time he thought it might be many days or even months before he was once again strong enough to wage a battle on this scale. But he didn't have weeks or months before he guessed the next set of enemies appeared. He might have hours if he was lucky.
The best he could do he realised, was to create a fortress around himself and the woman. Fortunately he still had some earth magic remaining. As long as he could remain awake long enough to create the spell that was.
Digging his nails into the soft skin around the inside of his wrist, Sam managed to pull himself far enough back from the brink of sleep, and the world once more grew a little brighter. Then he began forming the ground around them into a single round stone wall at least six feet thick. A wall which kept growing higher and higher and which curved back in on itself until it formed a dome. A forty foot high dome. Remembering his lessons one last time, he left a very small opening in the very top, just big enough to let some air in, but hopefully no imps.
That he hoped, coupled with the damage from the fire ring, would have removed all traces of the two of them from the land. No footprints, no smell, nothing. When the next set of enemies appeared they would have no clue that this dome was anything other than a giant stone formation. There would be no scent to tell them that a meal was inside, and no surviving enemies who would remember. Best of all, once he had released the magic that shaped it, the stone would have no magic residue for the imps to degrade. It was just solid stone.
By the time he had finished Sam had fallen from his knees to his back, and the world was growing black once more. But even as the darkness took him, he knew he had done everything he could and more to protect the woman and himself. If by some unfortunate chance the enemies did detect them and they were killed, at least he would die well knowing that no more could have been expected of him.
It was a surprisingly comforting thought as the world left him.
Chapter Eleven.
“Good afternoon love.”
Sam woke to the sound of a woman's voice he knew well. Ryshal's voice. His heart celebrated even before he opened his eyes. And when he did the reality was even better than he could have hoped for. Ry was there and smiling as always, a cup of some herbal tea in her hand which she handed to him. He could smell the camomile and rose hip in it, and knew it was a restorative. But when he gazed at Ry and realised that he was home he knew it wasn't necessary. She was all the restorative he needed.
Beside that the darkness, the imps and the drake, were as nothing, and he pushed the memories aside.
“How long?” In truth his curiosity was only minor, as his joy at having Ry looking so happy swamped his ability to wonder about anything else. But he knew it had to be a number of days since he had last set eyes on her. There was the beginning of some true health shining through her skin, her cheek bones though still prominent were looking more normal, and her hair was finally starting to look like hair instead of bristles.
“Three days love.” Sitting beside him on the bed, she made him sip his tea. “Three long days while the elders have all visited and wondered if they pushed you too far with their test, and the healers told them off.”
The healers had told them off? Somehow Sam found that hard to accept. Whether she meant either the elven healers or the human priests who followed Phil the White, somehow he doubted either would have dared tell off the elders. They were as a rule a respectful group.
And then there was the other part. A test? Could that be what it had been? But he didn't ask it out loud. He didn't truly want to know right then. But to think that the waking nightmare he had been through was all some sort of test was just bizarre. It was one of Alder's jests surely. He could have been killed! As could the woman. And that was just a test! But he let it all go, knowing that sooner or later he would learn the full story, and just then he couldn't bring himself to care.
“You did well by the way, as I knew you would. So well in fact that the elders have been visiting daily and lamenting with one another about how best they can complete your tuition. You already have the power of the strongest. It is only the study they say you are lacking, and they worry that you are too proud and too wild to take their direction.”
She smiled tenderly to soften the criticism, but he still heard it.
“I'm not too proud and I will happily learn all that they may teach me. I will do whatever I have to do to be here with you and your family. As for my wildness,” he reached out, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tight so he could kiss her properly, “that's only for you!”
A long while later he asked her how she was feeling, more curious, than worried as he could see that she was happy. There was a certain playful spark in her eyes. Sam had no doubt that she was recovering.
“I feel good.”
She did too. He could hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes. She was starting to sound like the Ry of old and it filled his heart with gladness.
“You do feel good!” He kissed her some more and felt her respond in kind. “And you look very good.”
“Every day that passes I feel a little stronger, a little healthier, and a little luckier to have married you. No one else could have got me out of that cell. And no one else could make me feel so happy. So it was nice to be able to look after you for a change instead of the other way around. It made me feel like a wife again instead of an invalid.”
“A very wonderful wife.” He took one last sip of the tea and then put the cup down on the floor beside him. Then he pulled her down again and kissed her thoroughly, knowing they would be doing far more than that shortly. Already his hands were wandering over her body, finding so much to enjoy. For some reason he felt strong and hungry, and she was so beautiful and so near he couldn't help himself. He wasn't alone in his passion. But he still felt guilty.
“I'm so sorry,” he told her once they both came up for air. “If I'd been stronger or smarter you would never have been sent to that dungeon in the first place.”
“You cannot blame yourself for the crimes of your brother. You are a good man and he is neither of those things. And you've grown so much. Your strength now is at least that of a master, which is unheard of for someone your age. I remember enough of what I saw at your brother's keep to tell me that. Then there was the battle at Torin Vale which the people keep telling me of, and the way the elders themselves whisper among themselves about you. And you are still only twenty eight! There has never been a master of fire so young. Usually they look like dried up old prunes before they achieve mastery. Seventy is considered quite young for a master. You have achieved a goal that others could only dream of in a mere five years. Be proud of yourself. I am.”
“Some days I feel like a dried up old prune! But I'm far more proud of you Ry. For surviving long enough in such a hell for me to rescue you. I don't know how you did it, but I will be forever grateful that you did.”
“How grateful?” She had the cheekiest smile on her face as she asked, and then she wrapped herself around him, leaving him in no doubt as to what she meant. He couldn't help but want it too.
“Come and find out.” Several long joyful moments later he released her briefly, but only so that she could remove her dress and crawl under the covers beside him. A heartbeat later they were lying next to each other, skin to skin, and the excitement was making them both shi
ver.
His hands wandered all over Ry, exploring and loving all that they found. Her hips were still too bony, but now they were starting to find their womanly shape again. Her breasts were once more breasts, not yet full but getting there, while her legs had the beginnings of some shapeliness returning.
She was also stronger, and passionate in her excitement. He found that out when her legs suddenly wrapped around him like an anaconda, and she rolled backwards, pulling him on top of her, demanding to be pleasured by him as they had of old. He willingly gave in to her plea, and soon they were moving together in their usual blissful harmony, oblivious to everything else.
For Sam it was a revelation. The one time they'd made love since leaving Fall Keep, he'd been so careful, terrified of hurting her. This time Ry gave him no such leave. She was stronger and she demanded all that he had to give. With every thrust her hands on his buttocks urged him on, while she cried and moaned as a woman possessed. And with every thrust the excitement grew, while he lost a little more control. Soon his heart was screaming in his ears, while the blood raced in his veins, and the sweat poured off him. The same sweat that was pouring off Ry, even as she licked his off his face, and laughed happily.
Soon, very soon he was at his moment, and he knew he could not hold back for long. But Ry was also there, her needs and desires every bit as great as his own, and he felt her go rigid underneath him, even as her legs locked around his, holding him to her as he gave her his seed in waves of unbearable pleasure.
Afterwards, when their heartbeats had returned to something approaching normal, Ry let him roll her once more so that she was on top. It was not her favourite position, she much preferred being pinned by his weight, but it gave her more freedom to play with his chest hairs as they talked. And for once they could truly talk. Ry showed no sign of the exhaustion that had plagued her for so long, something that pleased him immensely. Not just because it was another indication of how much healthier she was becoming, but also because he had always loved to just hold her and talk afterwards.
They had been wed young. He had been twenty three, Ryshal only nineteen, and their wedded life had been cut brutally short. Barely three months after they had become husband and wife Heri had turned eighteen. He had then assumed the throne and betrayed them. But those precious few months had sustained him for the five long, lonely years while they had been kept apart. There had never been a thought within him of giving up. Of finding another. There could be no other. He suspected that that had been the truth from the day they had first met. Perhaps that was why the priests had been so happy to wed them after such a short courtship? After all a year was not long for nobles to court, and both of them had been very young. Whatever the truth, they had been apart for too long and they had a lot of catching up to do.
For hours it seemed they chattered, as they hadn't since they had first become husband and wife. Perhaps not surprisingly most of their conversation was of that wonderful time. Everything since then had been a nightmare, one that had only become more difficult since he had rescued her. And of course they spoke only of those things that made them smile. They put aside all the hardships and fears for the future. It was not the time for them. It was time to be young and carefree again.
Yet even their happy banter couldn't last forever, and slowly but surely Sam felt his eyelids grow heavy, his breathing slow. But he wasn't alone in that, as even as his eyelids drooped and he succumbed to sleep, he saw that Ry was already ahead of him. Her head was by then into his shoulder, one arm was draped over his waist, and possibly, though she would never admit to it, the faintest of snores was coming from her delicate throat.
Chapter Twelve
“Ah hem!”
The somewhat cranky tones of a man trying to attract his attention were what first woke Sam, and even as he heard them he realised he'd been hearing them for some time. He also realised that he knew the speaker. But he didn't really want to wake up and converse with the Elder just then. He was far too comfortable. Too happy.
Still, the Elder would not be ignored and eventually Sam knew he had no choice. The man was not going to go way. So reluctantly he opened his eyes.
He was still in the covered wagon at least. And he was grateful for that as in the back of his mind there was a dark desert full of monsters somewhere out there where he was sure he should still be. Ry lay sound asleep beside him, unaware of their guest and happy for it he guessed. Or she would be when she awoke. Then again if she had been awake she would probably have been watching and laughing, quietly, as the Elder bothered him. She loved him unconditionally but that didn't mean that she wasn't happy to take a little amusement in his misfortunes from time to time.
“Elder Bela.”
Sam greeted the Elder as he was supposed to he thought. But his thoughts were still a little groggy. And he couldn't help but wonder why it always seemed to be Elder Bela who annoyed him. Or for that matter why the Elder was in their wagon. It seemed a little improper.
“Samual Hanor. It's good to see you awake at last, though perhaps dressed would have been better.”
Really, Sam thought. He'd come and woken him up and then had the nerve to complain that he wasn't dressed! But he knew it wasn't his place to say anything. Not to an elder.
“Of course Elder.” Sam sat up and started hunting around for some clothes. If he had any. He couldn't see his clothes anywhere, and his armour was gone.
“You did well in our test Fire Angel.” Typically Master Bela showed no sign of embarrassment as he started talking. Unfortunately he also showed no sign of leaving the covered wagon, not even to let Sam dress in peace. And dressing was going to be an issue.
Sam was still annoyed at having been told that he'd lost his armour, even though it was apparently for only a few days while the smiths reworked it to make it look more elven. He knew it was a necessity if he didn't want to look like a knight of Hanor to the casual human observer. Yet still it hurt. Armour was a personal thing as much as any other set of clothes. More so. He had worn that armour since he had first reached his full growth, more than ten years earlier, and he had worn it every day for the past five years. Which was perhaps a part of the reason the elves of Torin Vale had been wary of him as Ry had pointed out. Armed strangers in town were never welcome. Still, his armour had become a part of him. Almost like a second skin. Without it he felt distinctly naked.
Meanwhile Ry, bless her, was still snoring away gently. She had the most contented look on her face. She was lucky he thought, not to know they had a visitor. But he also suspected that she would not have cared if she had. She was a true elf. While they always worked hard to show a refined and polite appearance, when things went wrong as they occasionally did, it didn't seem to trouble them. Pitiril sela. Accidents happened as they said.
Sam deciding that there was no point and even less dignity in sitting there while the Elder would in all likelihood continue lecturing him once more, crawled over Ry, and then staggered to his feet on the wagon's wooden floor. It wasn't easy since the bed was little more than a straw stuffed mattress on a creaking wooden floor while for some reason he felt kitten weak, but at least he didn't fall on his face in front of the Elder. That would have been humiliating. Not that Master Bela would have said anything. Then he grabbed a towel to cover his private parts and started hunting in earnest for some clothes.
“Master Lavellin was most pleased with your ability to draw and shape fire, and says that in only a very few years your mastery should be assured. You already have the strength, the feel and concentration of a true master, which is highly unusual for someone so young. It's only your lack of experience with some of the other shapes that lets you down now.”
Sam listened with half an ear as he concentrated on finding something to wear. Eventually he spied one of the elves' favoured white robes hanging over the side rail and hurriedly started putting it on. But being a robe made for an elf it didn't fit well. Though he might be much the same height as the typical elf at around si
x foot or so, he was far from the same shape. Thinned down as much as he was from a good diet and regular training, his shoulders, chest and hips were still simply too large for the robe, and he heard what sounded suspiciously like stitches bursting as he struggled into it. Then having finally got it on he thought he looked rather like a sausage bursting out of its skin in the frying pan. Maybe later he hoped, he could persuade Alendro to let some of the material out for him before it ripped completely.
“Fire and ice are more than just weapons,” Elder Bela continued, apparently completely oblivious to Sam's wardrobe troubles. “They are powerful tools, and should be looked upon as such. With ice as with earth you can create bridges to carry you across ravines, walls to shelter from winds, and nets to trap fish. Also, you can cool those suffering from fevers with ice water. Fire on the other hand gives you warmth and light as well as weapons, beacons to bring others to you, heat to forge metals and warm water, and spectacular illusions to warm people's hearts.”
