by A. C. Ellas
Jethain was watching at the milling ex-slaves as he sat down. “Araken, how frisky are you feeling? Did you arrange for a portal to Okyro?”
“That really depends on how frisky S’Avetina is feeling,” said Dolron, deadpan.
“Of course I did,” said Rak, sitting on Jisten’s other side. “But we do hope that enough people remain to keep this place running.”
“As for that,” Jisten said, “I sent out a call amongst the Valers for assistance in the form of employment. The café and cacao trees here were spared the blight in the Vales.”
“Still, this is the land these people have worked, the land they know better than any other. They should have first option,” Rak replied.
Jisten nodded. “I agree. Thank you for your help. I didn’t think anything short of a display of power would convince them. Now, they can stay and not fear re-enslavement.”
Rak turned to the milling crowd, “Those that remain will be paid fair wages, in addition to room and board, and also, should you desire, priests will come here and teach you how to read, write and figure. For those who fear retaliation…” He gestured skyward, and on queue, Scorth flew overhead, low enough that Jisten thought they could reach up and touch his belly scales. “This barony is protected by a dragon. He will not eat you, nor kill your beasts without permission, and he will defend you and these lands.”
Jethain carefully wrote in each slave’s name on the manumissions and separated the copies in a fussy manner to reassure the people. As each told Jethain his or her name, they also said whether they would stay or go. Not surprisingly, not one of them chose to brave the unknown. This pleased Jisten—it meant that the overseers hadn’t been abusive enough that the ex-slaves were desperate to get away.
Jisten brushed Rak’s hand. “Have you ever tasted café that was brewed within hours of being harvested?”
“Do not the beans require roasting?” asked Rak dubiously.
Jisten rolled his grey gaze skyward. “Yes, yes, o exact one.”
I will roast your beans, volunteered Scorth.
“Dragon roasted!” Jisten laughed.
“A new sales pitch,” said Rak with a huge grin.
Scorth came in for a landing with an ox clutched in his talons.
“Will the new cooking staff please prepare the ox?” Jisten called out. “The dragon only eats animals, for he claims that humans taste terrible!”
“Ach! I prepare ox!” Despina marched out of the manor grinning ear to ear with Cisteon at her elbow, also smiling.
Jisten stood abruptly and hugged Despina. “Mother! How?”
“We leave Karpos. All of us. I come here, bring much help, tell them you come and free everyone. Mai’eras go to Kydem clan, tell chief of your lands, your needs.” Despina was beaming at him.
Cisteon handed the slave register over. “And please burn this once you’re done with it,” he said fervently.
Jisten opened the register and filled in each slave’s registration number on the manumission forms Jethain had already filled out with the slave’s name. He crossed each out of the register as he finished with it. Then, he tossed the register toward Scorth, who spat just enough flame to incinerate it before it hit the ground.
The newly freed workers cheered and many hands leapt to help Despina with the ox.
* * * *
Sino, the capitol of Lini, was called the City of Gardens. Greenery was everywhere. Every house had a garden. Larger buildings had more than one garden. There were hanging gardens, rooftop gardens, hedge mazes, mathematically precise flower gardens, water gardens, stone and sand gardens, air gardens, even fire gardens. It was beautiful. And it was burning.
The Lythadi conquerors had no respect for the work that had gone into making the city, no eye for the beauty of its gardens, no concern for anything but their brutal business of raping, pillaging and burning. Men they killed or enslaved, women they used and enslaved, but young boys not yet old enough to fight they captured and turned into more of themselves.
The gardens of Sino burned and the buildings were toppled until no two stones remained one atop another. The dead were left to rot where they fell, no more than food for scavengers. Yagebor looked upon his work and was pleased. Tokgud, his shaman and right-hand man, was chanting, dedicating the battlefield to the spirit of the great squirrel.
Soon, all of Lini would bow to him. There were reports of Linish nobles and forces gathering in the east. He looked forward to a real battle. Thus far, all he’d seen were yellow-bellied cowards who were quick to bend the knee and place their necks beneath his heels. The Lythadi already had several hundred of such not-men collared in long coffles. Soon, they would have to travel to Chloi to sell the slaves off, for there were too many to manage easily.
“Once Lini is ours,” he told Tokgud, “We ride for Chloi.”
Chapter Ten: Si’Yeni’s Altar
Rak prowled the main floor of the manor, looking at every room, no matter how small or out of the way. Meno and Ytaes accompanied him. He’d been pleased to find them here and even more pleased to learn they were migrating the Valer Chapel. There would no longer be any Valers in Karpos, not if Rak had his way.
Finally, when the inspection tour ended, Rak turned back down the main, central corridor that ran the length of the building. “I think that odd room, the one beside the ballroom, would be best for the chapel.”
The three men returned to the room in question, opened the double doors and stepped into the large, open space. The room was clearly not used for anything but storage. A pile of crates stood along one wall, and all the furniture was covered by sheets. There wasn’t much dust, so the staff kept it relatively clean.
“I wonder what this room was used for?” mused Meno.
“The last baron used it as a games room. Cards, tabliv and billiards,” said Dius, entering behind them. He inclined his head when Rak turned to him.
“So there is nothing here that cannot be moved?”
“Correct. You want the room emptied out, High Priest?”
“I do. We must raise a chapel, and this seems the best room for that.”
“Very well, I’ll get right on it.” Dius strode out. Two hours later, the room was empty. Dius had enlisted the help of the dozen field hands. He didn’t even need to tap on the palace guards to get it done. Rak was impressed. The overseer hadn’t so much as raised his voice.
Rak strode through the now-empty room, trying to sense anything amiss. He didn’t find anything. After a time, he smiled and nodded to the Movai.
Ytaes led off, chanting the hymn of summoning as he sliced open his left palm and let some blood pour onto the floor. He passed the dagger to Meno, who started the chant anew as he sliced his own palm and passed the dagger to Rak.
He waited until the right moment, musically, to slice his palm and start the third round of the melodic canon, completing the chords.
Lightning flickered from ceiling to floor, from floor to ceiling and traced along the walls. The chapel sort of unrolled before them then expanded to fill the larger space that now housed it.
It was faster and took less energy than creating a chapel anew, and Rak was pleased when he sensed that not only the sanctification, but also the wardings had transferred with the chapel and wouldn’t need to be recast. But something was different, and it took Rak a moment to realize what it was. Not only Zotien’s altar had migrated here. There was a second altar now. A hearth, tucked into the corner as if it were trying not to be noticed.
Rak walked over to this new altar and contemplated it. Si’Yeni was a friend. If She wanted an altar, who was he to say otherwise? Certainly, Zotien wasn’t objecting, and the lord of this manor was a Valer. He nodded to himself. An altar for Si’Yeni was downright appropriate under the circumstances. When the two Movai were done greeting the altar, Rak called them over and shared his thoughts on Si’Yeni’s hearth.
“We will tend it as well,” said Meno. “We’ve watched the dh
elion’s rites often enough to figure it out.”
“That will do for now,” Rak agreed. He turned his attention back to the chapel. The walls were now black marble, shot through with swirls of silver and sparkly flecks of green, blue, red and even yellow crystals. The random pattern left an impression of stars and galaxies spiraling through the vault. There were no sect sigils upon the walls, for this wasn’t a full temple. Instead, there was a large, darkened silver Thezi sigil upon the floor, leading to the altar.
The altar appeared as solid as it did the day it first took form under Rak’s guidance. He stroked the silky surface, feeling the tingle of the inlaid magical glyphs as his fingers passed over them. The two Movai were now unpacking the contents of the altar, so Rak lent a hand.
First were the candlesticks, delicate scrimshaw work carved of vranyxia bone. The bone’s natural hues of silvery blue and red made it very valuable, but the vranyxia were their allies, and the brethren protected them from would-be poachers. Rak murmured to the candlesticks as he placed them before the dragon poles, apologizing for their having been removed from the altar in the first place. The black wasp-wax candles were next, they fit into the candlesticks perfectly.
In the space between the poles, along the back edge, Ytaes set the squat vigil candle. Since it was night, it was not lit, but it occupied a central location for the balance between night and day was important.
Next, Rak lifted the goblet from its velvet-lined box. The blackened silver chalice was encrusted with nightstones, emeralds, rubies and blue sapphires. It was the sacred vessel of the nightly offering, and Rak chanted over it for several minutes before setting it in its place, to the left of the central space. The delicate obsidian ewers went with it, and Meno set each ewer just so about the goblet.
Ytaes had the collection bowl, and he chanted as he placed it to the right of the central space. The sacred dagger went with it, a truly lovely weapon of copper, bronze, true silver and black-silver, with a nightstone in the pommel. The steel of the blade was sharper than glass. Bowl and dagger went toward the back of the altar, opposite the goblet and its ewers.
The last item was the black tome, a collection of all the rites and sacred readings, and this went on the same side as the bowl and dagger, but on the side closer to where the priest stood.
Jisten’s arms encircled him and Rak leaned back into his mate’s embrace. “We are done here, I think,” he murmured.
“It looks the same,” said Jisten.
“Everything on the altar has a place,” Meno said. “There is nothing random here. Each item on the altar is needed, important to the rites, or it would not be here.”
“Thank you,” Jisten said. Then, he steered Rak toward the hearth in the corner. “Was this expected?”
“Ah, ix. But we do not mind. Si’Yeni has been very good to us. The Movai will tend her altar in lieu of a priestess.” Rak stroked the stone of the hearth’s mantle. “Are there any rites we should do to make clear that Her altar is welcome?”
Jisten’s hand squeezed a buttock. “I can’t think of anything. I’m pretty sure this hasn’t happened before now.”
“Why do you think that?” Rak asked, curious.
“Because your priesthood is meticulous. If this weren’t the first time, one of you would have heard of the last time it happened and you’d whip out a rite to suit.”
“Actually,” interrupted Ytaes from the altar of night, “There is precedent.”
Rak turned to him. “What?”
Ytaes had the black tome open. “Page one thousand five hundred and ninety-six, sir.”
Rak stalked over to the tome and squinted at it. “Ah. I see. This has happened before with Valer priests. The welcoming ritual…” Rak trailed off, struggling not to laugh.
“What is it?” Jisten asked, craning his neck to see. Rak stepped aside for the Valer, who read the tiny, crabbed script and immediately turned a fascinating shade of scarlet. “This can’t be serious.”
“The black tome is kanon,” Meno told him, tone shocked that any would question the contents of the sacred book of rites.
“Would the two of you please leave the chapel? Jisten will need privacy to complete this rite.” Rak winked at the two monks.
“Of course, sir.” Meno grinned briefly before he shooed Ytaes out the door with, “I want to speak to Ritsa.”
Once they were alone, Rak turned to Jisten and their lips locked in a kiss. Jisten broke it off first. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Trust me,” replied Rak. He was already stripping. He set his discarded pile of clothes in the corner, hopefully out of the way. Jisten gallantly assisted him getting his wings through the tunic, but once Rak was naked and it was Jisten’s turn to strip, the Valer captain proved far more reluctant. Nevertheless, he was soon naked, too, his clothes laid alongside Rak’s. “I will start,” Rak told him.
Rak moved into the center of the chapel and struck a pose. He held it only an instant before he swept into the graceful figures of the divine dance. Jisten watched for a minute or so then joined in. They danced together, in echo of the greater dance, and power built along their limbs, black fire trailed in their footsteps. The hearth was aglow with the warmth of a home fire, the altar was ablaze with dark light that twisted in echo of their dance.
From the dance came the urge for completion, and Rak shamelessly pressed Himself against Jisten at the exact moment that Jisten thrust into him. They joined and the dance continued, spinning a circle from the hearth to the altar and back again. Finally, Jisten laid Rak out before the hearth and pounded him, singing a hymn of thanksgiving to Si’Yeni all the while. Rak cooperated fully with his taking. He wanted to cry out his pleasure at what Jisten was giving him, but he sang instead, finding the higher harmony to Jisten’s soothing baritone.
When they climaxed, consummating the dance, Rak felt as if his seed was literally pulled out of him. It certainly didn’t spatter onto the spotless glassy surface of the floor. And although he felt the throbs of Jisten’s immense spear deep inside him, he didn’t feel the seed filling him and felt strangely bereft by its absence. Rak shuddered and cried out in ecstasy regardless of the oddness of the situation. When the climatic storm faded into whispers along his limbs, he gasped out, “Sacrifice accepted.”
Chapter Eleven: The New Dhelion
Pεndεra Atεlio, Aoranz Fεngari
5th day, 2nd week, Auranz’s moon
Musday, the 16th of Auranmon
Jisten had found that Rak’s belly was now too big and rounded for him to mount his mate easily to strengthen the baby and Rak was often reluctant to be on top when it was kironi sex Jisten wanted. He never openly refused, but he’d attempt to distract Jisten by offering oral service or trying to engage Jisten in regular sex. But their height difference put Rak’s opening perfectly in line with his penis, and so, when Jisten wanted to strengthen his baby, the easiest way was to take Rak standing up.
Over the course of the journey north, he’d also discovered that he was a great deal hornier than he used to be. Just the sight of Rak’s belly was enough to pique his interest, and if Rak’s belly were at all exposed, it was all he could do to not jump his mate and take what he wanted. Rak, for his part, seemed blissfully unaware of Jisten’s state of mind, for he made no effort to hide his belly. Quite the contrary.
It was midmorning when Rak padded into the bathroom. Jisten, already mostly dressed, turned at the sound of Rak’s footstep, and his mouth went dry. Rak was beautiful, naked, his swollen belly huge and inviting.
Rak paused halfway between him and the door and almost posed, his hands absently stroking the sides of his baby bump.
Jisten dropped his comb and walked up to Rak. He stopped when his tightening groin pushed against Rak’s opening, which gaped even though there were two layers of cloth between them. “I want you,” Jisten told him.
Rak lifted his chin a trifle. “Then take me, my love. The kironi magic drives us both
now, you know. I am yours for the taking, whenever you want, as often as you want.”
Jisten unlaced his pants without backing off of Rak. He shivered with delight as his knuckles brushed against Rak’s opening. “What do you mean, the kironi magic drives us?”
“The magic is strong now. It makes me want you even more than usual, but it also makes you desire me, greatly desire me, because it wants you to spill your seed in my opening not once a day, but several times a day. This is perfectly normal.” Rak rubbed his belly against the back of Jisten’s hands.
Jisten pulled himself through his shorts and stroked Rak’s belly with his semi-erect cock. “I see. So you’re saying you might as well go topless from here on out, until you have the baby?”
Rak smiled and pushed himself against Jisten’s now-ripe shaft. “Ai, that is a good idea,” Rak gasped.
Jisten set his hands on Rak’s waist and thrust, sliding all the way into Rak’s soft, moist kironi opening without difficulty. The intense pleasure of penetration flashed through him, causing him to groan. Rak shuddered in his arms, his moan even louder than Jisten’s, but Rak had always been the more vocal of the two. Jisten pushed Rak back until he had the smaller man against the wall. Once he had Rak in a supported position, he pumped vigorously, thrusting in and out of Rak as hard and fast as he could, reveling in the pleasure of it, so much better than regular sex.
While he made love to Rak, he also stroked the undersides of Rak’s wings, distracting him from his old aversion to kironi sex more out of habit now than real need. Rak pushed back against his thrusts with real gusto, the same sort of fervent energy Rak usually reserved for normal sex. Pleased by the progress Rak made Jisten hoped it meant that his mate would be willing to do it again for him some day.
Jisten gasped when he climaxed, shooting his seed into Rak’s grasping belly, but he didn’t slow.
Rak orgasmed in turn, shrieking in pleasure as he spilled his seed on the floor.
