by A. C. Ellas
Rak rested his forehead against Jisten’s sloped pectoral and moaned in response. “Love you, love you, love you,” he answered in Okyran.
Jisten grabbed his mouth for a soul-stealing kiss as he tensed and shuddered in climax, swallowing Rak’s scream of ecstasy as the orgasm was shared then squared when his dependent climax rebounded back through them both. They remained there, locked in mutual tsunamic ecstasy, until Jisten relaxed and pulled out.
Rak continued to lean against the tree trunk for a moment, still half-stunned by the strength of the kironi orgasm.
Jisten abruptly pulled him forward and pushed him down, and Rak went willingly, landing on his hands and knees atop the spread-out pile of his clothes. Jisten knelt behind him and Rak lowered his chest and face to the ground, positioning his opening for Jisten’s easy access. Jisten’s hands traced over his firm buttocks, occasionally cupping and squeezing them, but after a while, Jisten’s attention was focused on Rak’s opening.
His fingers entered Rak, probing and pulling, loosening Rak’s anal ring in preparation. Two fingers, three then four from two different hands and Rak rocked his hips and moaned, “Fist me.”
Jisten withdrew one hand and worked the fingers of the remaining hand into Rak’s opening. He pumped the fingers deeper until Rak could feel the webbing of Jisten’s thumb pressing into his flesh. Then, the hand backed out and Rak could feel it moving to encircle the thumb before Jisten’s whole hand thrust into him. Rak shrieked in pleasure and pain, a false climax rippling through him to splash on his silk tunic.
Rak drew in a deep, shuddering breath as more of Jisten’s arm thrust into him, stretching him open and dominating him utterly. His muscles clamped down on Jisten’s arm as he moaned in helpless enjoyment and begged for more.
So distracted they were that it wasn’t until the branches parted to admit the slaver did they realize they’d been discovered. “Very nice,” Gerruld drawled, taking in the scene in an instant. “Please, don’t stop on my account, I love to watch a good fisting. An excellent tool for training, don’t you think?”
While the slaver spoke, Rak tensed his abdominal muscles, reached back with the arm the slaver couldn’t see and curled his hand around the hilt of Jisten’s sabre. He drew the sword in a single, smooth motion and carried it through into a short lunge. He stopped when Jisten’s hand tugged against his anal ring, but the sabre was already lodged in the slaver’s heart. Rak watched the man topple dispassionately before he pushed himself back onto Jisten’s arm.
“S’Raaak,” Jisten moaned. “You can’t be serious? What about his men?”
“The vranyxia and thansymia will deal with them.” Rak glanced back at his lover. “Does the corpse bother you?”
“Well, yes.”
Rak reached out again and yanked the sabre out.
Morth materialized under the tree with them, grabbed the corpse by the throat and winked back out, taking the slaver with him.
Several loud screams sounded from the woods about them, then all was silent once more. Rak murmured, “They are all gone now, Jisten.”
Jisten carefully pulled his arm out of Rak and replaced it with his cock. He used Rak hard and fast, clearly not wanting to prolong the lovemaking.
Rak understood that if it weren’t for his fires, they’d already be done for the night—Jisten was almost totally unnerved. Rak was grateful that Jisten was able to manage as much as he did. He accepted the use and the fire-dousing climax with sincere thanks.
Chapter Eight: The Journey Continues
Protεra Atεlio, Aoranz Fεngari
1st day, 2nd week, Auranz’s moon
Firday, the 12th of Auranmon
With the threat of the slavers no longer an issue, the party split after that first night, with Ioli, Kennit and half the temple guard heading north for the Loftan temple, and everyone else heading northwest toward Jisten’s lands. Jethain had used his knowledge of the north to direct them to places to sleep. Tonight, for example, they were staying in one of the smaller crown hunting lodges. This one hadn’t been designed for more than a dozen people, so it was hard to find, nestled under the trees.
Jethain stared at the ceiling, trying to sleep. The rhythmic thumping coming from next door both titillated and annoyed. But when he could hear Rak’s voice, crying out in time to the rhythm, he’d had enough. He thumped the wall between the two rooms, hard, and shouted, “Would you two keep it down!”
Jisten’s gasp of embarrassment initially satisfied Jethain, but he growled when Rak responded with even more noise. Then, the two laughed out loud.
“He’s pregnant! Take it easy on him!” Jethain said with deviltry.
Again, he heard Jisten’s gasp, followed by an apology this time.
“You are just jealous!” called out Rak. “Go groom your avtappi! Or I will tell your stallion to hunt you down and take you on a long, aimless ride.”
Actually, a ride sounded good. Jethain swung his legs off the bed and dressed, ignoring the resumption of noise from next door. He stalked out of the room and down the steps. To his amazement, he even managed to slip past his guards. Feeling like a schoolboy on a lark, he slipped into the stable.
Varn must have sensed him coming—the avtappi was out of his stall and clearly waiting for Jethain.
“Let’s go for a ride,” said Jethain with a grin. He pulled down a bareback pad.
Several other avtappi hung their heads over their stall doors and snorted eagerly. Jethain blinked as images assailed him, cascading over one another as all the avtappi tried to talk to him at once. One thing, at least, was clear. They all wanted to go with him. Laughing, he told them to take it easy and opened their stall doors, not that they needed that assistance, it just felt like the polite thing to do.
He swung lightly onto Varn’s back, and they all headed out of the stable. Images continue to bombard him; this time, the avtappi seemed to be communicating pack formations should any attack on the prince occur. The loose equines surrounded Varn and him so that they rode in the center of the pack.
Even Vyld and Zala joined up with them as they passed an apple orchard. They’d been snitching apples. Zala flicked her tail happily. She was going to have a colt.
The avtappi whickered over the pregnant mare with concern.
Zala snorted. She was barely pregnant, not due until next spring. She led the way, just to show that she could. And Jethain was surrounded by the avtappi, snorting and trotting happily.
Jethain was delighted by his equine guards. “I begin to understand my brother a little more,” he told all the attentive ears.
They lock-stepped and galloped, wanting to share with the prince more of their abilities.
“Except for the part where he lets other men...oh, never mind.” Jethain was too busy enjoying the ride.
* * * *
Rak sprawled with Jisten in a delightful post-sex daze.
Even after, Jisten usually kept tracing patterns on Rak’s wings. He would until he fell asleep But the topsides, not the sensitive undersides. He soothed Rak by stroking the topsides and stimulated him with the undersides.
Rak cuddled with his mate and made happy sounds of contentment.
“Where did Jethain go off to, I wonder?” Jisten mused.
“Jethain and Varn are out for gallop…along with all of our avtappi.”
“Ah, well, in that case, I’m sure he’s perfectly safe.” Jisten stretched and resumed stroking Rak’s wings.
Rak could feel his eyes closing of their own volition. “Safe as anyone in this world could be, I suppose,” he murmured as he drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
Rivday, the 14th of Auranmon
Baethsten came out of his wagon when he heard the commotion. One of the young scouts was trotting toward him, clearly intent on telling him something. “What is happening?”
“Chief, Asfalea has returned and she’s brought everyone with her,” reported Dicol.
“Everyone?” Baethsten strode quickly toward the edge of camp, motioning for Dicol to follow him.
“Well, almost everyone. She said that some of the lost ones chose to accompany Despina. She’ll explain in detail, she said, once you were there.”
The chief grunted an acknowledgement and stretched his legs a little more. Fortunately, for his impatience, the camp wasn’t that big. He reached the perimeter and the convoy of proper Valer wagons in only a few minutes.
Asfalea beamed down at him from the driver’s seat of the lead wagon.
“Dhelion, I am delighted and astonished to see you here. How came this to be?”
“Despina’s boy, Jisten, has done his clan proud,” Asfalea told them all. “Not only was he ennobled for saving the Koilathan prince’s life, he has bonded to a tesserine Loftoni high priest of Zotien, one of Princess Tevia’s descendants. And that is my other news—Tevia’s people, and Prince Torel’s, all went to Okyro, to the city of night, and swore service to Zotien. S’Rak, Jisten’s bondmate, has assured me that any and all Valers would be welcome there. My assistant, Elenna, is there already, as bondmate to the high priest’s wife S’Avetina, also a tesserine. Elenna is tending Si’Yeni’s hearth there, with the permission of the dark servants.”
Baethsten digested this in silence for several moments. The news Asfalea brought was momentous indeed. “So Jisten is a lord, bonded to a high priest Loftoni of the royal line,” he mused. “Is that how you came to be here?”
“It is. Jisten would see his people free, and his mate is of like mind. They are asking that people be sent to Jisten’s lands, the Barony of Relyt, to help Jisten manage the orchards and herds.”
“We can do that,” Baethsten replied, grinning. “But first, we must celebrate your arrival and give thanks to Si’Yeni for freeing our people from the prison of the city!”
Chapter Nine: The Barony of Relyt
Tεtrεra Atεlio, Aoranz Fεngari
4th day, 2nd week, Auranz’s moon
Musday, the 15th of Auranmon
After several days of travel, they were almost there. Desiring a chance to freshen up before facing the people he’d soon rule over, Jisten asked Scorth to find him a good place to stop. Scorth directed them to a small pond created by a beaver’s dam across a small stream feeding into the Dacti.
Everyone had been grateful for a chance to clean up, and once he was dry, Jisten carefully dressed in the finery suitable for a nobleman. At his request, Rak donned full, formal temple robes, sans torque, and Dolron retrieved the Thezi banner from the cart. Largo likewise retrieved a banner, which Jisten assumed to be the device of the crown prince. Both banners remained in their leather casing for now.
Jethain had also availed himself of the opportunity to bathe and was now dressed as regally as if he’d just stepped out of the throne room after audiences. He grinned at Jisten. “Ready for this?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Ready for what?” Rak asked.
“Jisten has to present his grants from the king to the steward to make it official. It’s considered a special moment, for after this, he will be a landed noble, not just some hedge knight.”
Jisten smiled sheepishly. “That’s why I wanted to stop and change.”
“I just thought you wanted to smell more like river weed and less like avtappi,” Rak teased gently.
“There is that,” Jethain agreed. “River weed is a subtle perfume, though, and might not outcompete that soap of yours.”
“We Okyrans always put the orange citrus fruit into our soap,” Dolron said peaceably. “Smells good and gets things clean. Works really well on grease, too.”
“I wasn’t complaining,” Jethain said. He glanced at the sky. “Are we ready?”
“Yes, my prince,” said Jisten, swinging into Zala’s saddle.
Rak mounted Vyld a moment later, and everyone else was mounted shortly after that. Dolron and Largo took point, their cased banners looking like a pair of odd lances. Jisten, Rak and Jethain rode three abreast with Jisten in the middle, followed by Sedrael and Pikara. Liast and Tebber came next. Fentri, Tegaelin, Orste and Kal brought up the rear, alternating who rode before or behind the wagon.
Scorth had chosen their stopping point well, Jisten discovered, for less than an hour passed before they could see the road posts marking the formal boundary of Relyt Manor. Dolron and Largo removed the leather casings from their banners and shook them out.
Jisten had seen the Thezi banner before, but he still took a moment to admire it before glancing at the other one. Jisten blinked in surprise, for it wasn’t Jethain’s sigil embroidered on the fabric but his own.
“Do you like it?” Jethain asked. “I had it made when you selected your device. Been looking forward to seeing you use it.”
“Thank you,” Jisten said quietly. “I like it a lot.”
Now looking much more official, the party crossed between the posts and the packed clay road abruptly turned into paved stone. By the time they reached the manor house, a three-story edifice that spread out before them in an almost ostentatious display, several men stood waiting on the receiving porch. Dolron and Largo parted, turning their avtappi to either side, and Jisten led Jethain and Rak between them and right up to the porch. The standard-bearers resumed position behind them, and the entire party came to a halt.
A tall man, with greying brown hair and sagging, tired-looking features, stepped forward. “I am Steward Cisteon, the manager of these lands. Who might I have the honor of addressing?”
“I am Captain Jisten Kydem and Baron of Relyt.” He offered the leather folder holding the grants.
Cisteon took the folder, opened it and carefully read the grants inside. “I see, sir. May I say it’s a pleasure to have you? It’s been a long time since Relyt had a real hand at the helm, although I’ve done my best, of course.”
Jisten smiled tightly and resisted the urge to intone “you may,” as gravely as possible, just to see how the steward would react. Instead, he said, “Accompanying me are Crown Prince Jethain and High Priest S’Rak. Please make them feel as welcome as possible.”
The steward bowed to them all. “Of course, my lord. Please, you must all be tired from the road. Come inside and I will have refreshments brought at once.”
“Not quite yet,” Jisten said. “First, I want to meet my people. All of them.”
It took some time and some firmness on Jisten’s part, but eventually, Cisteon had all the people brought out. In addition to himself, Jisten was made known to Dius, Hoxel and Chegalen. They were the house overseer, the grounds overseer and the forester, respectively. There were six indoor slaves, all female, and twelve outdoor slaves, all male.
Once everyone was lined up for his inspection, Jisten positioned Zala to face them. Rak and Jethain remained beside him, and the two standard-bearers were to their outside. The others had taken the wagon and avtappi to the stable in the back.
In a parade-ground voice, Jisten announced, “As you know, I am the new Baron of Relyt. I am also a Valer, the Captain of the Palace Guard and the Crown Prince’s Champion. Rumor has no need of wings to fly, but truth is often hobbled. This is High Priest S’Rak of the Thezi sect of the Lord of Night.”
“We’re all gonna die!” wailed one of the worker slaves.
Hoxel scowled and took a step toward the man, his belt whip in hand.
Rak raised his hands and said, “Free will being sacred, no man nor woman nor intelligent beast shall be bound unwilling.” Green electricity crackled threateningly about the overseer, who gasped and dropped his whip.
“No more whips,” Jisten announced. “No more collars. You are all free.”
“Lord Zotien,” Rak prayed in Koilathan, “we beseech You to free these people, enslaved in defiance of Your divine law.” Black fire descended, laced with green, red, blue and violet and every single collar cracked asunder and fell to the ground in pieces. Then the flames danced, healing every bruise, s
crape and welt.
Jisten laughed in delight. He hadn’t discussed his plans in any detail, but his mate certainly knew what he’d wanted.
Some of the ex-slaves felt their necks, some grabbed the collars from the ground, others hugged each other.
Jisten turned his gaze on the two overseers. “Do you stay and accept that the people you oversee are free, or do you wish to depart—immediately?”
“I’ll stay,” said Dius, shrugging. He nudged Hoxel.
“I’ll…stay.” Hoxel didn’t look too pleased, and Jisten was frankly surprised that he’d opted to remain.
He turned next to the ex-slaves. “You also have a choice. Stay and be paid fair wages for your work or depart my lands. Whether you chose to remain or depart, I shall gift each of you gold enough to reach Okyro, where slavery is anathema, in addition to your manumissions.”
Tebber and Pikara came out of the manor carrying a table, which they set down under the shade of the overhanging porch. Sed, Kal and Orste brought out three chairs, which they set along one side of the table. Tebber set a stack of papers down along with a bottle of ink and a pen.
Jisten was pleased by how quickly his instructions had been carried out. He sat down and rifled through the papers.
The papers were manumission forms that Jisten had brought from Karpos, and he had already filled out most of the information. All that he’d have to do was write in each slave’s name and number. He looked at Cisteon. “I’ll need the slave register.”
“At once, my lord.” The steward vanished through the doors so swiftly that Jisten wondered if he’d ever see the man again.
