“I’m Pol,” he said. “Pol Burr. I was a thief until a few weeks ago.”
Artan gave him a knowing look. “We are of a pair, your magnificence. Both of us, men of high stature brought low by recent and unexpected events.”
Pol chuckled. “I suppose so.” He found the brush and soap in his bath, scrubbing himself. “Take a seat, Artan. You’re making me uncomfortable. And please, just Pol is fine.”
Artan found a chair and sat, crossing one leg over the other’s knee and propping an elbow up on the armrest.
“You are most kind, Pol.”
“Like I said, I was a thief until a few weeks ago. I don’t need a lot of bowing and scraping. You were an artist? What did you paint?”
“Sculpture was always my most passionate strength, but I was more than talented with a brush as well,” Artan conceded. “I once had the esteemed pleasure of painting the Princess Fione vai Joi, the most beautiful woman in all the known world, now an unfortunate prisoner of the hated Dragon Clans.”
“Do you always say everything ten times as long as you need to, Artan?”
“If it’s worth being said, sir, it’s worth being said right.”
“Hmmph. What was painting the princess like? I’ve never met a princess.”
“I was told you knew the Exarch’s daughter, Pol,” said Artan. “The other servants were very clear about this. They say you’re very close friends.”
It might have been Pol’s imagination, but it seemed like Artan had stressed the word “close.” How much did he know?
“She’s not a princess, is she?”
“Equal in rank. If you took the Exarch across the Sea of Lashes, he would equal any of the kings there. Therefore, his daughter is equal to any princess.”
“Well, in any respect, I’m not sure we’re friends anymore.”
“Something happen?”
“I’d rather not talk about it. What was the princess like?”
“Well, it was a rather strange request, Pol. She wished to be painted in the nude.”
“Oh.”
“Which is not a new thing for me. Many fine men and women of many backgrounds wish for their bodies to be immortalized on canvas by my paints and brushes. But Princess Fione, her request was unique, for she wished to be painted naked in the act of being... taken... by a man.”
“You painted a picture of the Princes of Tia Joi being fucked?”
“Please, sir, such crudity does not suit a Sorcerer of Tia Vashil’s Guild. I painted a picture of Princess Fione vai Joi in the act of making love.”
“Who with?”
“Whoever was her favorite at the time—I forget if it was Lord Martimar or the Baronet Lindfurn. It might have been the both of them. We had to do a few sessions, and her paramour’s face was not to be included in the picture. She wished to be displayed in three-quarters profile on her back, while the gentleman held her legs and entered her. It was very easy for her to maintain her pose, but whichever man it was had a difficult time maintaining his…”
“Cock’s pose?”
“You are a cad, sir,” said Artan, but Pol could see he was amused. “I believe it may have, in part, led to his dismissal from court, actually. The princess never had an easy temper.”
The market bells were ringing for the second time that morning again, and Artan glanced up.
“I was also informed that Mistress Margarse seeks your presence in the training yard after breakfast,” he said.
“Uggh,” said Pol, closing his eyes and sinking under the water of the bath.
* * * * *
Margase was not as easy to shut out as the world had been. Once he’d run out of breath, he’d had to surface, whereupon Artan helped him dress and went to breakfast with him. The sculptor seemed to talk endlessly, and the two traded stories, Artan of his daring exploits at the court of Tia Joi, and Pol of his daring exploits on the roofs of Lowvale. At breakfast, Artan made his excuses and Pol wandered to the training yard alone.
“Again,” said Margase.
“It’s not going to move!” said Pol. “You and I both know it’s not going to move, so what’s the point of trying to make it move?”
“The point, Acolyte Pol,” said Margase, her voice sharp and pointed. “Is that you must learn to be a sorcerer, and you must learn as much as you can of being a sorcerer. We are under a grave threat, and you will be of no use to anyone if you cannot master magic. Now try and move the rock again.”
“In the story books, the sorcerers always chant or do incantations or use an old book, or something. How am I just supposed to look at a thing and have it be done?”
“Because that is true magic, Pol. Because we are not street performers, calling people up and guessing at their past and making vague predictions of their future from a deck of playing cards or turning handkerchiefs into doves. We are Sorcerers, Pol. Our will is the world. Anything we determine we want to happen must happen, so long as we face it with the right determination. Now—Kili take you—move the rock!”
Pol stared at the rock. His will was the world. He simply had to will the world to be one where the rock lifted off the pedestal. It seemed impossible. Margase had encouraged him to start with a more believable outcome, moving the rock a little bit to the left, but that only seemed slightly less impossible. He started to concentrate. Maybe if he...
“How goes it?” came a female voice, cutting through his thoughts.
“Vash damn it,” said Pol, turning to see who’d interrupted him.
“It would go better without distractions, Mistress Heldi,” said Margase. Pol only mildly agreed with her. Heldi was undoubtedly a distraction. She wore a white jacket, contrasting markedly with the dark walnut of her skin, the laces of the front undone nearly to her waist, exposing her navel and the generous canyon of her cleavage and that she’d neglected to wear an undershirt. Her long hair, folded into a braid, had become trapped in that canyon. A light tan petticoat fell just below her knees, and her low-heeled leather boots ran up her legs to meet it somewhere above the hem. She was smiling at Pol, and he was content to let her smile at him. Distraction was quite apt. But would the lesson be better without the Master of War? Pol thought not.
“Unable to be helped, I suppose,” Heldi dismissed Margase’s concern. “How goes the progress, Pol?”
“Not well,” said Pol. “Isn’t there something simpler than rock moving?”
“No, moving rocks is pretty simple,” said Heldi. She glanced at the rock, and the black stone ball rolled along the surface and then through the air as though it were on an invisible table top. It stopped in the middle of its movement, then rolled back the way it had came, coming to rest where Pol had first encountered it at the start of his lesson.
“See?” she said.
“Well, fine, if you’re so good at it, what do you need me for?” Pol asked. “I’ll just go back to Lowvale. I’m sure they’ve forgotten all about Sir Vallan by now.”
“Oh, no,” said Heldi. “You must not give up, Pol. You must just try again. And again until you’ve got it.”
“As I’ve told him,” said Margase.
“Why?” asked Pol. “What do you need me for? A weird rite? A fresh face?”
“Oh, more than that, Pol, more by far,” said Heldi. “You know, before you came, our magic was weakening and it would not have recovered but for your Rite of Renewal. I don’t think there was another warlock in the world with as much innate power as you. I’m not sure there’s another Sorcerer in the world with such power, come to think on it. We need you, Pol. We needed you to restore us. And with the Dragon Clans in control of Tia Joi, we need you more than I possibly could have imagined three months ago.”
Pol didn’t look at Heldi. He was confused, and part of him felt like crying in frustration, and part of him felt ashamed for not living up to Heldi’s conception of him. Of the need she expressed on behalf of the Guild.
“I can’t move the rock,” he confessed.
“I know,” said Heldi.
She looked at Margase. “Would you mind if I instructed Pol for a little bit?”
“Be my guest,” said Margase.
Heldi stared at her when she didn’t move.
“Privately,” added Heldi. Margase shrugged, and exited the courtyard.
Heldi took Pol’s hands in hers and stared up at him. Her smile was bright and reassuring.
“Magic is steered by desire, Pol,” she said. “Has Mistress Margase told you this?”
“Something like that. She said during my trial that magic could give me anything or anyone I wanted. And she keeps saying ‘our will is the world’ when she talks about how to move the rock.”
Heldi nodded.
“That’s part of it, that’s the Guild motto: ‘Hum imdi qul vashi’ translated from the dragons’ tongue. But at a more base level, magic is all about what we want to happen. It’s not enough, Pol, that we believe something should happen. We need to desire that something will happen. You need to want to do magic.”
“I do,” said Pol. “I want to move the damn rock.”
“I’m sure that’s true in your head, but is it true in your heart?”
Pol paused.
“I don’t know,” he said after a while. Heldi nodded at him.
“Mistress Margase is a logic, orderly person, Pol. She has been in charge of her own world since before she came to the Guild. Her family once controlled nearly all the grain shipments in the Metropolises, though that was many decades ago. It’s easy for her to reconcile the way she thinks things should be with the way she wants things to be. She was a very fast student for Master Waldrin, who thinks in much the same way.
“But you and I, Pol, we’re not orderly thinkers, are we? We’re used to being pushed along by the world, not controlling it. We react. We don’t think too much about what we want or how things should be, we simply try and make the best of the things that are. And that makes learning magic very difficult. When I was a student, my teacher was Master Ivain. He was well skilled in the concept of desire, Pol. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Pol’s brow furrowed and he stared at her. “I don’t think I d—”
Heldi’s kiss caught him by surprise, as the Sorcerer lifted onto her tip toes and pressed her lips against his open mouth. Her mouth was hungry, her teeth tugging gently on his lower lip before opening again to force her tongue against his. His shock was only momentary, and he began to return her kiss. But Heldi broke their lips apart, her tongue sliding past his mouth and exploring his ear. He ran his hands along her sides, grabbing the firm curve of her waist, before stroking up her body. A hand lifted his chin and Heldi place her lips where his jaw met his neck, before kissing down it to his collarbone.
Pol’s hands reached for her tits, but Heldi grabbed his wrists and stepped back from him.
“Do you desire me, Pol?” she asked.
“Yes,” murmured Pol.
“Do you desire my body?”
“Yes,” said Pol, some enthusiasm leaking into his voice.
“Would you like to see my body? Touch it?” Heldi’s voice was getting lower, but her lids seemed heavy, her eyes dark with dilated pupils.
“Yes,” groaned Pol.
Heldi leaned forward, her mouth hot in his ear.
“Move the rock, Pol,” she said.
Pol groaned with disappointment, his head turning to look at the rock. He gestured at the black ball, giving it a perfunctory wave, as though brushing dust from a shirt sleeve. The rock flew from its perch, landing with a dull thud as it embedded itself in the lawn of the courtyard.
“Good,” purred Heldi. With a practised tug, she tore loose the last of the laces holding the front of her jacket together, though the effort seemed superfluous as she shrugged out of her sleeves. He stared down at her heavy breasts rising and falling slightly with her every breath. Pol stepped forward, folding her into an embrace as he kissed her again. Heldi began to surrender herself as his tongue explored her mouth, until Pol brought up one hand to knead her breast, tweaking the fat nipple between his fingers. A sharp intake of breath told him of her pleasure and the corners of his mouth slipped into a grin.
Heldi broke the kiss, catching him smiling. She rolled her eyes, her head shaking, but her own smile giving her away. She pushed on his chest, sending him stumbling backwards a ways, and then again until the back of his knees pressed against a stone bench. He sat down on it. Heldi climbed onto it after him, her knees on either side of his lap, her hands grasping the side of his face as she lifted it for another deep kiss, and Pol fondled her ass through her petticoat.
With a parting nip at his lower lip, she reared up in his lap, feeding the same nipple he’d tweaked to his lips, groaning as Pol pulled as much of it as he could manage into his mouth. Pol’s other hand stroked up the warm bare skin of her side until it found her other tit, squeezing and kneading at it. Heldi’s moans of pleasure made him ravenous, desperate to draw more noises out of her body. He felt her cheek press against the top of his head as she bowed over him.
“You could have my whole body, you know,” she whispered, her voice laden heavy with the promise. “Would you like to know how?”
Pol tilted his head to look up at her, her breast exiting his mouth save for the warm nub he kept trapped between his upper teeth and the tongue he was using the lash at it. Heldi’s dark brown eyes were gleaming at him. He nodded.
Heldi smiled and looked about the courtyard.
“There,” she said, pointing. “Make me a gift of that statue. Bring it here.”
Pol glanced at where she was pointing. The statue she was talking about was a bust of some long dead Sorcerer, fixed to corner of the balustrade that ran along the edge of a terrace overlooking the courtyard.
“This might be harder than a rock,” murmured Pol.
Heldi groaned a little in disappointment when her nipple left Pol’s mouth as he spoke, but she quickly composed herself.
“Could you make me a gift of the rock?” she asked.
Pol looked at the black stone ball sitting inert in the grass. He beckoned at it, finding indeed that gestures were conducive to magic, and the ball lifted into the air, flying towards the grass before the bench. He and Heldi were both forced to lift their feet up to avoid being hit by the ball as it bounced in the grass and rolled under the bench, hitting the wall of the courtyard with a loud smack.
“Sorry,” said Pol.
“It’s okay, Pol. I just wanted to see that you could move it. The statue is the same idea, you’ll just have to be slightly more careful with it. It won’t be as easy for us to dodge.”
Pol stared at the bust. He took both hands, holding them out palms tilted slightly up, as though he were gripping under something, like the shoulders of the bust. He lifted slightly. Cracks began to form along the railing, and the baluster the bust was sitting on began to move upwards.
“Careful,” said Heldi, touching at his elbow. “Just the statue, not anything else.”
Pol considered this, concentrating his focus on the bust itself. The baluster stopped trembling, but the bust did not. Careful. He needed to be careful as well. His fingertips felt numb.
A nearly perfectly flat crack opened up between the bust and the baluster, and Pol saw light slip between it. He lifted his hands higher and the bust rose into the air. With a gentle rolling come-hither motion in both hands, Pol summoned the bust, watching as it floated towards where he and Heldi sat entwined. With a final motion, as if setting a vase down on an unstable table, Pol turned his hands flat, palms facing the ground. The bust wobbled a little in the grass and then sat still.
Heldi smiled, lifting herself back up to stand in front of Pol as she shed her petticoat and undergarments, discarding them over the bench. Naked save for her boots, she approached him, her nipples level with his eyes.
Pol grabbed her with his right arm, pulling her tight to him by her waist, her hands finding his shoulders to brace herself. His ran his lips along the undersides of her breasts, his tongue lappi
ng at the space between. His left hand tucked under her ass, exploring back along her body until his fingers were probing at the soft outer lips of her pussy. Heldi groaned as the tips of two of his fingers slipped inside her momentarily as he dragged them across her sex.
Pol looked up at her and grinned, and she barely had time to seize the back of his head and shoulders and tighten her chest to his face for balance as the hand on her waist began to pull her around, while the other arm tucked under her knees, lifting her into a sitting position as Pol crouched out of the bench. He was deceptively strong, holding her carefully as he placed her on the bench next to where he’d been sitting as he knelt in front of her.
His hands forced Heldi’s thighs up and apart, and Pol slipped his shoulders under her knees. He was kissing her stomach, his tongue tracing around the border of her navel, then heading lower.
“Pol, do you…” Heldi began, but quickly forgot herself.
Pol’s mouth was exploring her left thigh, working his way to her knee before he switched to her right leg and worked back to the junction of her legs. He sucked at the meeting of thigh and fleshy full hips, his hands stroking along the sides of Heldi’s bare ass. He ran his lips and nose over her pubic mound. It was scratchy, shaved a few days prior, unlike her legs which had been shaved smooth only recently. His chin made accidental contact with the hood of Heldi’s clitoris, causing her to arch her back. He supposed he could relent.
His tongue snaked forward, licking her along the length of her cunt. As he probed her clit with the tip of his tongue, he ran two fingers along her slit until they were coated in her juices and the saliva from his mouth. With a slow care, he pushed his fingers past her lower lips, plunging them into her body.
Heldi groaned, one hand grabbing at his hair, the other squeezing and pulling at her breast. She groaned again when his fingertips found the rough spot on the wall of her pussy, her legs straightening slightly over Pol’s shoulders, the hand in his hair pulling him closer.
Pol’s tongue was whipping back and forth against Heldi’s clit, his fingers working in as far as they could go and then back out until just the tips were left inside, and he could see Heldi’s chest rising and falling in time with each thrust of his hand, each one meeting less and less resistance as her body smoothed the way for him. Heldi was playing with one of her own nipples, biting her lower lip, her eyes squeezed shut, her other hand cupping the back of his head to her.
Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior Page 19
