Longing's Levant

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “I would if I were her,” Evann-Sin told her. He held a hand out to Kaibyn. “Let’s get going.”

  Kaibyn’s teeth sparkled in the growing darkness and he winked.

  “The Prophet, damn it!” the warrior shouted for his lady had been snagged up by the demon and had vanished.

  “You’d better watch that one,” Rabin suggested as he put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “How, when I can’t even see the son-of-a-bitch?”

  Chapter Ten

  Ashes floated through the dawn air and the smell of burnt flesh settled on the defenders of the Akkadian palace like a cloying, wet blanket. Those standing upon the battlements were weary—their hands blistered from pitch falling from their rag-wrapped arrowheads. Servant women went from warrior to warrior, carrying ladles of cool water, hunks of bread, wheels of cheese, apples and pears.

  “Look there,” Rabin said to his friend.

  Evann-Sin turned where Rabin was pointing and winced. The vista for as far as he could see was rippled with raised mounds. Though the night had been lit with the rush of exploding bodies, still more corpses had appeared in what seemed a never-ending line marching across the Akkadian landscape.

  “How many do you reckon are out there?” Tamara asked. Her hands were wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, the fumes of which helped to block the stench of death.

  “At least as many as we destroyed last night,” Kaibyn ventured.

  “With the help of my men, we can take out most of those before sunset, but will just that many appear to attack us tonight?” Evann-Sin said.

  “There are hundreds of Undead on the Isle of Sanquis,” Tamara replied. “I believe Lilit has brought them all here.”

  “We are running out of arrows,” Rabin complained. He looked to Kaibyn. “Should we not go fetch some?”

  Kaibyn nodded. “Aye, but I’ve another idea, dar…” He stopped. “Rabin.”

  Rabin arched a brow. “What idea is that?”

  “I can time travel,” the demon announced. “I don’t like to go into the past, but I have been there a time or two.”

  “Is there something there that could help us?” Tamara asked.

  “Aye, but I don’t know if I have the strength to bring it here.” He shrugged. “I can only try.”

  “You need help?” Rabin inquired.

  “I’ll get back to you on that,” the demon remarked and was gone.

  “I’ll never get used to seeing that,” the Panther remarked. He was sitting slumped against a barrel that was lying on its side. His face was soot-stained and his clothing peppered with holes from where burning pitch had lit upon the fabric.

  Evann-Sin wrapped his arms around his lady. “I am about done in,” he confessed.

  “Go take a nap,” the king ordered. “The both of you. Rabin and I will see to having my men start on opening those damned graves.”

  “I should fetch some arrows,” Rabin countered, and at the king’s nod, left in a rush of hot wind.

  The Panther sighed and shook his head. “No, I will never get used to such things.”

  “I’ll speak to the troops, Your Majesty,” Evann-Sin said.

  “You will not,” the Panther denied. “You will hie yourself and that lady to your room and rest, Riel Evann-Sin.” When the warrior would have argued, his king held up a staying hand. “That was not a suggestion, boy. That was an imperial command! Get yourself to bed!”

  “His Majesty is right, Beloved,” Tamara said gently. She was as bone-tired as her lover and barely able to keep her eyes open.

  Knowing he could not disobey his king, Evann-Sin struck a tired fist to his breast. “At your command, Majesty,” he replied.

  It was a weary duo that sluggishly descended the steps from the battlements and entered the corridor that led to Evann-Sin’s quarters. Both were hot and sweaty, uneasy with their own body odors but not willing to mention their companion’s rank stench. Yet, as tired as they were, the lovers were overjoyed to find a large copper tub filled with water sitting in the middle of Evann-Sin’s bedroom.

  “Thank you, King Numair!” Tamara muttered, and already her fingers were tearing at the buttons to her blouse.

  Discreetly leaving the warrior and his lady to themselves, two maidservants and a strapping lad of about sixteen quietly exited the room. A golden trencher piled high with fresh fruit—strawberries, figs, dates, apples, pears and bananas—sat on a low table beside the tub alongside a sweat-glistening pitcher and two goblets.

  Evann-Sin was slower to undress for he was enjoying his lady’s stripping. The sight of her shapely body and long limbs took away much of the fatigue that had only moments before been plaguing his aching body. His hands stilled on his shirt as she lifted a long leg and climbed into the tub for he had gotten a tantalizing glimpse of the ripples of sweetness between her legs.

  Tamara plucked a bar of soap from little wire basket fashioned like a saddlebag that was draped over the rim of the tub. One side held the soap while the other held a large sea sponge. She brought the soap to her nose and her eyes widened with delight.

  “It smells of lemons, Riel!” she trilled.

  The warrior could not get the sight of her most private of parts out of his mind. His staff was hardening even as he thought of that delightful, slick area. Fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, he grew impatient and finally ripped the shirt from his chest.

  His lady looked up at the sound of rending material but almost immediately her gaze lowered to the swelling in his britches and her look darkened with heat. Slowly, she raised her eyes until she was looking into the lusty stare of her lover. She unconsciously stuck out her tongue and licked her upper lip, her heart skipping a beat as she saw the effect her action had upon the warrior.

  Evann-Sin shrugged out of the remnants of his filthy shirt and made quick work of the belt looped at his waist. Dragging the leather from his body, he dropped the belt and stood on one foot to pull off first one boot then the other, tossing the heavy footwear away.

  Tamara’s attention was glued to her lover’s broad chest where muscles rippled as he moved. The flex of the biceps of his brawny arms made both her mouth and her nether region water. She swallowed as she listened to the hard thump of the blood rushing through her ears. Her hands ached to touch the warrior’s staff, to caress it, and the sight of that weapon as it sprang free from Evann-Sin’s britches brought a groan of anticipation from her lips.

  He had heard that low groan, and it caused his cock to leap with an expectancy of its own. He was at full staff, the burgeoning blood coursing through his veins as he kicked aside his britches and advanced toward the tub.

  Likening her lover’s approach to the fabled tales of his kingly father, the Panther, Tamara felt weak and helpless as he came toward her. He was all male—all sexual being as he hunkered down beside the tub. She could not tear her eyes from his for he held her enthralled with the mesmerizing depths of that golden, intense look. Her breathing was ragged, too fast, too shallow, and it made her giddy, caused her head to spin.

  Her lover reached out and took the soap from her hand. He dipped it in the water as he knelt on his knees by the tub then lifted her arm to run the silky bar along her flesh.

  Tamara closed her eyes and laid her head back along the low rim of the tub. His touch was exquisite—as soft as a feather. The slippery feel and scent of the soap was heavenly. As he laved her arm, her shoulder, her neck—her head cocked to one side to give him access—and the upper portion of her chest, she held her breath, expecting his hand to dip to her breast but it did not. Instead, she heard him stand and without opening her eyes, felt him climb into the tub with her. She drew her knees up to give him room and once he was settled, she felt his hands on her ankles, pulling her legs over his and placing them on his hard thighs. When he scooted forward in the water—his feet bumping her hips as he planted them beside her—she opened her eyes and watched him.

  He took her other arm and laved it, spreading the lemon
y lather over her limb. He took care with her shoulder and neck, each finger of her sword hand, before lowering the soap in the water and lathering it once more.

  Her legs were splayed along his thighs, her calves resting on the flanges of his hips. So large was the tub, her feet did not touch the opposite end so she rotated her ankles, grinning as each popped in turn.

  Evann-Sinn laughed softly at the unladylike sound. His lady was unlike any he’d ever encountered and it was the little things—like the enjoyable cracking of an ankle joint—that endeared her to him.

  Tamara opened her mouth to tease him, but his hand slid to her breast and all thought vanished from her brain. Every sensation, every emotion, every notion had settled between her legs and she felt her womb quicken as his thumb glided over a suddenly erect nipple.

  “Sweet,” she heard him whisper then sighed as his hand came away from her breast.

  He put his hands together, lathering his palms with the soap. When his hands were alive with suds, he dropped the bar in the water and reached out to place his palms on his lady’s chest.

  It was a delight that sent shivers down her spine and made her quiver as her lover rubbed her flesh in lazy circles, the circuits opposite one another—one to the right, the other to the left as he massaged her heavy globes. Her nipples were in the center of his palms and being worked with a delicate, sliding friction that made her begin to pant. She could feel the sensation all the way to the core of her sex and squirmed. When he began to flex his fingers along the circumference of her breasts, she could not keep the moan of pleasure from escaping her lips.

  “You like that?” he asked softly.

  “Aye,” she breathed.

  As though he were trying to pluck her breasts from her chest, the delicate drawing of his fingers, the faint scratch of his nails upon her flesh as he drew his fingers closer to her nipples, was an exquisite torment that set her nerves to tingling. Even as she ached to have those short nails plucking at her nipples, she did not want to end the heady expectation such action brought. The intimate caress went on for what seemed an eternity to her, with each drawing coming closer to the hardened nubs of her breasts. When at last he gently pinched those turgid pebbles—working them between his thumbs and forefingers—a spasm of delight coursed through her sex and trilled over her body.

  Evann-Sin felt her ankles digging into his sides as she climaxed. Her strong legs quivered and he imagined the tightening of her vaginal walls.

  Before the last contraction could claim her, he snagged his hands around her slender waist and jerked her to him, his straining cock unerringly entering her deep and hard. He was well seated within her honeyed folds as another round of pleasure rippled through her and carried him along in its wake, his own climax coming strongly.

  Tamara threw her arms around her lover and plastered her breasts to his hairy chest. She was sitting atop his thighs—his fleshy sword sheathed inside her. She ground against him as the second round of pleasure began, and rode him as though he were a wild mustang needing to be broken to saddle. Their body parts jammed against one another, they were satiated at the same moment and sat there straining to feel the last errant tug of completion.

  “By the Prophet but I love you,” Evann-Sin told her in a throaty oath. His lips were against her cheek but he pulled back and captured her lips with his hungry mouth. Stabbing his velvet tongue into the sweet cavern between her sultry lips, he claimed her once more.

  Her nails were flexed into the muscles of his back, scoring his flesh lightly as she branded him her own. As his mouth left hers to plant hot kisses along her neck and shoulders, she threw back her head and pledged her love to him, as well.

  “With all my heart and soul and body, do I love you Riel Evann-Sin,” she swore.

  Long into the morning they lay sprawled in the bed to which he had carried her, their bodies wet and smelling of lemons. He had made quick work of bathing her—and she him—then they had stretched out upon the soft bed, and he had taken her still once more. Their joining had been as frenzied as teenagers fulfilling lust for the first time, but their third joining had been slow and measured and had dropped them lazily into welcoming sleep.

  * * * * *

  It was a harsh, unnatural sound that thrust the lovers from sleep and to a sitting position in bed. Beneath them, the floor shook and they were off the mattress and standing at the window to gape at the monster that was pawing at the grounds beyond the palace.

  Tall—at least as high as the fourth floor of the keep itself—the persimmon-colored beast roared, blowing plumes of smoke from its ass as it raised and lowered its massive head, taking huge bites out of the earth with a single wide tooth only to turn and spit the dirt away. Thick black veins ran along the creature’s flexing neck and the smell from its foul body was sickening. Ugly as any beast that ever drew breath, it sat hunkered down on a bed of some kind with huge black wheels that looked as though they were padded.

  “What is that thing?” Tamara whispered, her eyes bulging from her head.

  “I have never seen the likes of it and Kaibyn is riding the damned thing,” Evann-Sin exclaimed.

  Tamara squinted against the bright glare of morning and could make out the demon sitting upon the beast’s neck. Nay, she thought, her mind reeling. He was not sitting upon the beast’s neck but rather inside its gullet!

  “He is making it gobble the ground,” the warrior marveled.

  And surely, that was what the demon was doing. Like a puppet master, he seemed to be pulling strings of some sort and when he did, the beast raised and lowered its gaping jaws and took another massive bite of earth. As it did, the ground shook and the creature emitted a horrendous shriek that set the nerves on edge.

  “Get dressed,” Evann-Sin advised. “That thing may not remain so biddable and we might have to put it down.”

  “How?” Tamara questioned as her lover began throwing on his clothes. “It looks to be wearing plate mail of some sort.”

  “Get dressed!” Evann-Sin repeated. He was searching for one of his boots and was grumbling to himself.

  Tamara reached for a pair of britches lying on a chair and as she did, scraped the edge of her palm on an exposed nail. “Shit!” she exploded and shook her hand.

  “What did you do?” Evann-Sin asked as he went to her.

  She held up her wounded hand. “I cut it,” she murmured.

  Evann-Sin carefully examined the cut then clucked his tongue. The warrior took out his kerchief and wound her hand. “It’s little more than a scratch. Be more careful, will you?”

  Offended by his tone, Tamara grabbed a shirt and had put it on before her lover had stomped into his missing boot. She found her own and barely had time to snatch them up before Evann-Sin took her arm and pulled her out of the room.

  The lovers marveled at the mighty thump that shook the walls of the palace. All around them, people were standing well back from where the mysterious beast was devouring the ground and watching the process with eyes wide and mouths agape. Even Rabin and the king were crouched off to one side, flinching at each chomp the monster took from the earth.

  “What is it doing?” Evann-Sin asked the king as he and Tamara reached him.

  “Digging a pit from the looks of it,” the Panther replied. “If you think that beast is ugly, look there!”

  Evann-Sin turned to see another beast perched off to one side. Squat and more ugly than the one upon which the demon sat, this one was bright yellow with dark brown markings and carried a long, low shield before it. The shield reflected the early morning sun and blinded those who stared too long at it. It sat low to the ground with feet that were oblong in shape and with bones that ridged the entire circumference of its paw. It had a saddle upon its back and a pommel with what appeared to be handles sticking out from it.

  “Is it dead?” Tamara asked.

  “Sleeping,” the king avowed. “It has yet to make a sound.”

  Rabin took a step or two forward but Evann-Sin put out a
staying hand. “Be careful.”

  “He brought those creatures here,” Rabin said. “He brought them from the past.”

  “He is stronger than I thought if he could lift things like that,” Evann-Sin admitted. He glanced at his lady, and a wild notion took shape in his mind—if the demon could lift such beasts as this, could a warrior win in a mortal battle with him or would he lose his love to such awesome might?

  Kaibyn intercepted the warrior’s troubling thought and grinned. The pit was almost ready and as soon as it was, he would show that snotty boy what power truly was when he transported the machines back to their time in history.

  The sun was high overhead when the mysterious monster took its last chomp out of the earth. Its roar died to a low hum then disappeared altogether as it lowered its head one last time. It sat still as death—docile and calm—as Kaibyn jumped down from its back and came striding up to the warrior and the others.

  “They called it an excavator,” Kaibyn remarked, glancing back over his shoulder. “The other is a bulldozer.”

  “These creatures came from the past?” the king queried.

  “Once,” Kaibyn said, “long ago, there were such things. The Burning War destroyed many of them and when they ran out of diesel…”

  “Deezul?” Evann-Sin echoed. “What is deezul?”

  The demon shrugged. “A byproduct of the decay of dinosaurs, which these things must have resembled.”

  “Die no sores,” Evann-Sin repeated. “You make no sense, demon!”

  “Well, no matter,” Kaibyn said. “Now that the pit is deep enough, you can have your men start filling it with anything that will burn. I’ll use the other beast to push the Undead into the pit and then we will have one helluva roast!”

  Tamara flinched at the word. She looked at the second beast. “That will push the bodies into the pit?”

  “Quicker than a thousand men could drag them there,” Kaibyn bragged.

  Evann-Sin shook his head. “This is more than I can contemplate.”