by C. N. Faust
The king's soldiers were gaining. Clieous gave his men some sharp orders, and an entire line got down on their knees, nocking arrows as they prepared to release a volley onto the approaching army. Ezbon swore and began to cross the bridge. The soldiers were covering more ground; they would be upon them any second...
Ezbon made it the other side. Nicholas and Remphan were there with Ivan, Nicholas still proud and straight in his saddle, despite his numerous scars and wounded pride. The soldiers were spilling onto the bridge like ants, causing it to swing wildly back and forth. A few of the men were left, but there wasn't time to wait.
Ivan's men brought out torches, and set fire to balls of pitch wrapped in oiled cloth. The balls caught fire instantly and were launched into the air with slings. As soon as they landed on the bridge, they broke apart, and men screamed and tried to retreat as more balls of pitch landed, spreading like liquid fire over the old wood of the ancient bridge.
The bridge went up in flames, almost in an instant. Ezbon watched as the whole thing was slowly consumed by a roaring fire, some of the men his own. He heard the ropes snap and he heard planks of wood break. he heard men screaming as the bridge disintegrated before his eyes and plunged into the rushing white ravine below.
Slowly, he turned to face Ivan.
"Where were you a day ago?" he demanded, slowly.
"I have a longer ride than you, Ezbon Cavalla," Ivan replied evenly. "And I had to have time to prepare. Be thankful I got here at all."
"Time!" Ezbon spat. "No one had any time! And that is your fault!" he pointed his finger at Nicholas. His entire arm trembled, he was so angry. "What the hells were you thinking? Did you think we could actually win this? Where in that tiny feather-brained head of yours did you think this would work? We just lost hundreds of men - which will be hell to replace! We can't win a war if you keep doing stupid things, Nicholas. And you-" he whirled on Ivan. "You need to put your foot down! Grow a spine, godsdammit!"
"Ezbon!" Ivan growled. "Before you point the finger at others, you need to take a look in the mirror. Nicholas is at least making an effort to participate in this war, and what are you doing, sitting at home?"
Ezbon clamped his mouth shut, Ivan didn't give him time to reply.
"You didn't want this war at all! It comes as no surprise to me that you reluctantly participate in our battles - as you so reluctantly signed our treaty! But hear you me, Ezbon Domenico Cavalla, you are a part of our effort now, and you will die alongside us and support our decisions, as we will support yours. Understand?" the Baron Clieous finished his rant. His face was red and his breath came in short, angry puffs. Ezbon wished he could have put holes into his head.
"Fine," his voice was the quietest it had been in two days. It was almost normal for him. "Fine, Ivan. Have it your way. I suppose you're right."
Ivan nodded, and wiped his forehead. Sweat dripped down his neck and froze at his collar. He shivered. He wanted a bath, and hot food. He wanted to go home.
"We've effectively burned one of our few links over to the rest of the empire, though," Ezbon pointed out, making ready to depart. "I hope you took that into account."
Neither Nicholas nor Ivan replied. Evidently, they had not. At least not well.
Ezbon gave them both a curt nod. "My lords," he said, and rode away.
~†~
"Bullshit, pure bullshit." Remphan said to Ezbon when they were miles away from the barons. Their men trudged half-heartedly behind them, weary and ready to be home. "You didn't think a word he said was right. You're as stubborn as he is."
"I had to get him to stop talking," Ezbon admitted. "Or I was going to explode."
"You're happy they've burned the bridge. It was a stupid move - but it will force them to calculate their next moves more carefully." Remphan observed.
"Yes," Ezbon replied, and stroked his rough chin a bit smugly. "I suppose it will."
Chapter Ten
Ezbon’s thighs burned as he swung his leg over to dismount from his saddle. He wanted to crawl into bed and fall into an eternal sleep. He could sense the seductive allure of his fur blankets and satin sheets and all of the sudden his eyelids felt as heavy as lead.
“My lord!” Charon came running across the courtyard, slipping and sliding in the patches of ice and mud. Chickens flapped and squawked angrily as they scrambled to get out of his way, dogs came running to greet him and ran straight into the flurry of chickens. The whole courtyard was a cloud of brown feathers and gray fur, and from this could emerged a smiling, ruddy-faced boy of nineteen, with golden curls and bright blue eyes, grinning from ear to ear.
Remphan chortled and took his feather hat off, using the brim to wipe his forehead. “Well, Ezbon, I’m glad one of us was missed.”
Ezbon glanced up from rubbing his horse’s neck, unable to rein in the look of surprise that crossed his features.
“Charon?” he asked, wondering if he could even be heard over the din of the courtyard. Charon ran straight up to him, throwing his arms around the baron’s neck, pulling him forward and kissing him.
The kiss was hot and passionate, and Ezbon felt his body respond almost immediately. The boy’s body was supple and molded against his perfectly, and he could feel his need straining against his leather pants. Charon’s lips worked against his, his tongue was alive and searching. Ezbon locked his lips around it, and sucked on it, and felt Charon moan in response, and press closer.
He heard Remphan howl, and suddenly, he remembered where he was. A hot anger suddenly grew inside Ezbon, a temper that he often fought to keep under control but had been escaping him more often lately. A thought suddenly occurred to him about what kind of message he was sending this way. That this boy, this street orphan, could just run up to him and kiss him as he pleased, in front of the entire castle, in front of men of rank and title, and act as if Ezbon was his…
Ezbon growled, and braced his hands against Charon’s chest, shoving him away and turning his head to wipe his lips. The boy landed flat on his rump in the mud, glancing up at Ezbon with a hurt, bewildered expression.
“You are out of line, sir,” Ezbon snarled. “I beg you to remember your place.”
Remphan shot him a look. “Oh come on, Ezbon, he didn’t mean anything. He’s obviously glad to see you.”
Ezbon shot his friend a look. “You’re about as helpful as a needle through the eye,” he snapped. “Keep your opinions to yourself.” He thrust the reins of his charger in the hands of a stable boy and stalked off towards the castle, his boots making heavy imprints in the mud.
Charon stared after him. He could feel the hot tears stinging in his eyes, and could feel their threat to run trails down his cheeks. He looked away and blinked a few times, angrily rubbing them away his hands and trying to stand up in the slippery, cold earth.
A hand appeared in front of him, the palm open, waiting. Charon blinked and took the offered hand, regretting for a moment getting mud on the fine suede gloves. The owner didn’t seem to care; he hauled the boy up to his feet.
“Don’t mind Ezbon,” Remphan said, clapping the boy on the back. “He’s just like that, you know, Nicholas has been giving him a hell of a time.”
“I’m just glad he’s back and safe,” Charon muttered, glancing over his shoulder.
“Agreed,” Remphan said. “It’s so easy for a man to die.”
Charon glanced at him. “Is he all right? He didn’t look fine.”
“He hurt his knee, but he should be all right,” Remphan shrugged, and released the boy’s hand. “He’ll be himself again, by and by, just stick around.”
“Hmm,” Charon glanced at Remphan, and smirked. “Do you want a welcome home kiss, too?”
Remphan blinked, and laughed, sweeping his hat from his head and bowing deeply.
“No, thank you, I’ll let you save all that for Ezbon.” He grinned. “I only ever fuck boys out of necessity.”
Charon looked at him in mild surprise. “I wouldn’t know it, my lord.”
Remphan plo
pped his hat back on his head and laughed again. “I have a wife back home. You should meet her one day – she’s a hell of a woman.”
“I don’t think I should like to,” Charon said, thoughtfully. “I haven’t met many women I like.”
“That’s a shame, but I suppose it just means more for the rest of us,” Remphan grinned. “But I guess it always come down to the mother, doesn’t it? Ezbon never liked his.”
Charon bit the inside of his cheek. “I never knew my mother. She died when I was born.”
“Ah,” Remphan rested his hands on his hips. “That’s not good. A lad ought to know his own mother.”
Charon rubbed his nose and looked down. “I wish I had known her. My brother barely knew her, and my father never talked about her. Well,” he hesitated. “When he was drunk. He cursed her, then.”
Remphan clucked his tongue. “A man oughtn’t to curse his wife, especially when she’s dead. It wasn’t her fault she died.”
“Well,” Charon bit the inside of his cheek. “She killed herself.”
“Ah,” Remphan touched his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks,” Charon shrugged the hand off.
“It was a selfish thing to do,” Remphan added.
Charon’s head snapped up. “What?”
“It was a selfish thing to do,” Remphan repeated. “A woman should never abandon her children so heartlessly.”
“My mother didn’t abandon me!” Charon snapped, gritting his teeth.
“So she slit her self open in a moment of selfless abandon?” Remphan snorted.
Charon clenched his fist. “My father abused her!”
“How do you know this?” Remphan challenged. “Who told you?”
Charon’s fist was shaking at his side. All he could picture at this point was Remphan’s nose smearing across his face. Blood and cartilage reaching from chin to temple…
He couldn’t even control what happened next, his fist flew on his own. The crack of cartilage was audible, like a blacksmith’s hammer coming down on the blade of a sword. His action didn’t even register in his mind until the body hit the ground.
Charon took a step back, staring. Remphan cursed and roared, blood spurting from his ruined nose like a grotesque fountain. Charon slowly unclenched his fist and felt the lord’s warm blood running down the back of his knuckles. It was already evident – he was going to pay for this one. Remphan scrambled to his feet, shoving aside any servants who came to help him. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and it left a thick, bloody smear. He growled, his lips curling back to expose bloodstained teeth.
“You’re going to pay for that, oskli,” he spat a thick glob of dark blood onto the ground. Charon stiffened at the insult.
Remphan’s fist tightened and slammed into the boy’s face. Charon’s head snapped back, stars bursting in front of his vision as he fell back and hit the ground. He didn’t have any time to get up. Remphan was upon him in a second, laying blow after heavy blow in a merciless barrage. Charon cringed under the blows, each pound and scrape dragging a bruise or a welt to the surface of his skin. He tried to fight back, using nails and teeth to tear at the lord’s skin and hair and eyes. His mouth was open, his throat was dry, even though blood was quickly filling up his mouth from his torn lip. Charon realized he was screaming – he had been screaming all along.
“Stop!” he cried. He wondered how long he had been screaming the words, for his lips seemed incapable of forming them, and the blood kept pouring down his throat, choking him. “Stop, stop, stop!”
He eventually fell silent, he didn’t know when. Remphan stood up and loomed over him, blood running down his face from numerous cuts and his nose, and he kicked Charon hard in the ribs for good measure.
“Don’t you dare attack me again, boy, or you will find yourself in a grave.” He snarled. Charon didn’t reply, he just blinked slowly and rolled over onto his side, his stomach lurching as he did so. He felt its contents slosh, and he pressed his lips together. Oh, Azrael, please, don’t let me throw up…
Remphan took his silence as an admittance of defeat. The lord turned and stalked away, muttering over his busted nose, and Charon closed his eyes. He could feel the blood and bile rising, burning a path up his throat, then-
Without warning, it burst out his mouth and his nose. Blood accompanied by his breakfast, followed by bile. He vomited until he was certain his stomach was going to turn inside out. He gave a small sob and then collapsed into the mud, burying his face in his hands and shivering with cold. The snow seeped through his clothes, soaking him down to the bone, and his numerous cuts burned like a thousand wasp stings. He would have to get up, he knew, or eventually he would be run over by a horse, or a peasant with a cart, or the dogs would come and gnaw the meat right off his bones. All right, that last theory was a little ridiculous … not unlikely, but slightly outlandish. The dogs would at least wait until he was dead before they ate him.
He was only there a few minutes, but it seemed to drag on for hours. Finally, he told himself that he would have to pick himself up and go seek out a bath somewhere. Maybe he could beg a little boiled water off of the cook. The cook seemed to like him. He had always been the biggest supporter of her eight coarse dinners.
Of course, that would require moving. Moving wasn’t his strong point at this moment. Just get your face out of the mud, he thought. There, start there.
He pushed himself up on his palms, his arms trembling with his weight. Sighing, Charon screwed his eyes shut and concentrated. The scent of his own vomit nearby turned his stomach sour all over again, and for a moment he feared he might throw up more of what he didn’t have.
Strong hands slid under his arms and gripped firmly, and strong arms worked to pull him up off the ground. Charon squawked in protest, and whipped his head around to see who it was.
“Don’t make me drop you,” Ezbon said, roughly. Charon felt his heart quiver and melt in his chest at the sight of the baron’s face.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately. “I know my place.”
“Shut up, I lost my place, not you.” Ezbon pulled him to his feet and then dropped a woolen cloak around his shoulders. “We’re going to get you a bath.”
“They told you about the fight?” Charon cringed again with the memory, wondering if he was going to be punished.
“Remphan does that to people, it’s not the first time he taken a punch and it certainly won’t be the last.” Ezbon placed a hand on Charon’s back. “Can you walk?”
“Yes,” Charon said, and looked at Ezbon curiously. “Can you? I thought you hurt your knee.”
“My knee is absolutely fine,” Ezbon lied. To prove it, he wrapped on arm around Charon’s waist, and slipped the other under the back of the boy’s knees. Effortlessly, he lifted Charon into the air and held him close to his chest. Charon sighed and slid his arms around Ezbon’s neck, burying his face in the baron’s shoulder.
Ezbon grunted with the weight that was being put on his bad leg, but didn’t complain. He carried Charon towards the castle.
“My lord?” a servant appeared, bowing deeply and eyeing the baron’s load. “May I assist you?”
Ezbon could feel his knee trembling. He knew it would give out at any point; there was no way he could make it up the stairs again. “Take him,” Ezbon set Charon down on his feet. Charon looked at him, but didn’t complain. Instead, the boy drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. “Give him a bath,” Ezbon continued. “See his wounds dressed.” He placed his hand against the stone doorframe. He didn’t want to collapse in front of this boy.
The servant bowed. “Yes, my lord,” the servant placed his arm around Charon’s shoulders. Charon returned the gesture, and together, the two began their trek for the nearest bathtub.
Once they were out of sight, Ezbon gave in. His knee buckled beneath him and he crumpled. His knee jammed the stone step painfully, and a flash of white pain shot through his leg. Hissi
ng, he cursed and attempting to shift the weight to his other knee. He could see another servant approaching him to give him assistance, but he warned them off with a death glare. The servant stopped in its tracked and backed away, but stayed put. Ezbon took a moment to get a grip, but finally he grabbed the stone doorframe, and slowly lifted himself up onto his leg.
It burned, but it was bearable. He just had to be careful and rest it. Lifting his chin, Ezbon released his hold on the doorframe and started back into the castle, heading for his room.
It was late, Ezbon wasn’t sure of the time. He felt the fur covers sliding slowly from his back, exposing his body to the frigid night air. He grunted in protest, but didn’t have the energy for much out. He was stretched out on his stomach, his face resting on his arms, his eyes closed and his sleep deep.
Deep until he felt his shirt sliding up to his shoulders, and goosebumps spreading over his back as a product of the cold. He felt warm, soft hands sliding over his back and slowly working into his shoulders, massaging deeply, seductively. Ezbon moaned softly and felt gentle, feathery kisses dropping down the length of his spine.
“What time is it?” he muttered, his voice half muffled by sleep.
“Late, my lord,” Charon whispered against his skin, continuing his series of light, sweet kisses. “I’d say well past midnight. The rest of the castle sleeps.” He slipped his hands down the length of Ezbon’s legs, his fingers working to pry his thighs apart and stroke the insides. The baron groaned and felt himself being aroused, already.
“Forgive me for the episode in the courtyard?” Charon asked, sliding his hands beneath Ezbon to grip his organ firmly. Ezbon sucked in a breath through his teeth and slowly released it. He felt himself harden in Charon’s unrelenting grip.
“Yes,” he said. “I already said I did-“ he barely finished his thought before Charon found his lips, kissing him deeply and passionately while settling against his back.
“I just wanted to hear it again,” the boy whispered, and entered the baron effortlessly.
