Love and the Stubborn

by Xenia Melzer

  Casto stepped forward to refill the Barbarian’s cup, but Renaldo grabbed his wrist, pulled him onto his lap, and brought the full goblet to Casto’s lips.

  The moment Renaldo caressed the young man’s upper thigh, Casto was lost. He felt a wave of lust washing over him, fired up by the sensual, sometimes rough sounds around him and the drug that had invaded his entire system. He gave up on fighting it. His eyes clouded with lust, his breath came in ragged gasps, his lips parted invitingly.

  “Please, Master. Take me.”

  With a satisfied smile that under normal circumstances would have riled Casto up to no end, but that he didn’t register at that moment, Renaldo leaned forward to kiss him.

  When their lips met, the world exploded into a red-tinged rush, and for many hours Casto’s feelings were solely concentrated on the Angel of Death. He didn’t see how Canubis spread his wife’s legs on the table, he didn’t hear how Kalad and Aegid bent their thief over the backrest of a chair and took him numerous times, he wasn’t conscious of all the people in the hall mating without shame or feelings of guilt. All he knew was that he belonged to Renaldo. All he wanted was for his master to take him.

  The Angel of Death brought him to the highest peak over and over again. Casto only existed to please his master, was reduced to the lust Renaldo aroused in him. It was strangely liberating to commit himself so wholly, to think about nothing besides pleasing his master.

  WHEN THE sun started to tinge the sky over the Valley a soft pink, Casto slowly woke from his intoxication. He felt sore and exhausted, his muscles ached, and his head felt light. He had problems thinking clearly and could but hope that his slowly returning memories were mocking him and that he hadn’t really done all the lecherous things replaying in front of his inner eye.

  Renaldo slung an arm around Casto’s hips. “Let’s go. It’s enough for today.”

  Casto was too tired to argue. He followed his master obediently.

  Or at least he tried to. His legs gave out, he was so spent he was unable to walk on his own.

  Without hesitation, Renaldo picked him up and carried him back to his chambers. Casto wanted to wash, but the Angel of Death only shook his head. “We’re both too tired for that.”

  Casto looked down at himself. The gold dust clung in slivers to his skin, his upper thighs were sticky with Renaldo’s essence, and the nerula oil had entered into an inseparable union with his sweat. The mead Renaldo had spilt over him when he’d tried to feed him with it now pasted Casto’s body.

  Renaldo had licked off most of it, but Casto’s skin stretched where the sugar had dried. “I’m going to ruin the furs.”

  The Barbarian only shrugged. “You’re not the only one. That’s what furs are made for.” He grabbed Casto’s wrist and dragged him to the bed.

  Casto followed him without hesitation. He was too tired to give a damn about anything.

  IT WAS early afternoon when Casto woke from a deep, dreamless sleep. He wasn’t surprised that the Barbarian was already up again. Since he’d reluctantly accepted that Renaldo was more than human, all the little inconsistencies summed up to a harmonious whole. Renaldo’s endurance, his unearthly skill with the sword, the speed with which his wounds healed, his ageless appearance that wasn’t a side effect of youth but a fetching mixture of the experience gained in several lifetimes and the looks you expected from somebody still in their twenties.

  Casto would never admit just how much he was drawn to Renaldo. It was a triumph that he didn’t grant Renaldo, especially not after the previous night. Casto felt his temper boiling when he thought about what the Barbarian had done to him, what he’d made Casto comply with. Furiously he stomped into the bath, where he spent the next hour getting rid of the unpleasant mixture on his skin.

  Afterward he returned to the bedroom, still naked because he couldn’t stand being clothed again after his skin was so dirty. He fought the urge to puke when he gathered the ruined furs and crammed them all into a big sack he made from one of the sheets. Then he placed the bundle in front of the door, secretly wishing he could do the same with last night’s memories. When he was done, he started pacing restlessly through the rooms, too upset to decide what to do.

  The idea to visit Lys for a short ride only appealed to him for about a minute. He would have had to get dressed to do that, and he was too tired.

  Casto’s grumbling was interrupted. Renaldo entered the chambers with four slaves in tow who carried two heavy wooden trunks.

  When Renaldo saw the angry tension in his slave’s jawbone, he sent the men away. “Put down the trunks and leave.”

  Silently, like ghosts, the men retreated, leaving Renaldo and Casto alone.

  Casto stared at his master in open fury. Renaldo had hoped the night of passion might have softened Casto’s attitude, but that wish had obviously been in vain.

  “What are those?” The blue eyes regarded the trunks with derision.

  Renaldo sighed. “Those, my unruly slave, are your Spring Ceremony presents.”

  He offered the young man the keys that would open the trunks.

  Still angry, but now also curious, Casto knelt in front of the bigger trunk and opened it. In silence he stared at the contents, his shoulders tense, his voice constrained. “If this is your idea of a practical joke, I’ll refuse in future.”

  Renaldo placed a hand on Casto’s nape; his voice was soft. “Do you really think I’d be so cruel?”

  Casto spun around, his gaze an uneasy mixture of anger and guilt. “I think I’d have deserved it. At least before you marked and humiliated me publicly.”

  Renaldo ignored that comment.

  “I’ve told you that I’d forgive and forget about the incident. You’ve made great progress in the past few months, that’s why I’m giving you this. If you still want to go to battle with me, you’re to be suitably equipped.”

  Both men stared into the trunk that held a complete armament, everything in the colors of the Angel of Death.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Casto bowed to Renaldo. “I thank you, Master.”

  Renaldo nodded. He knew that was all the concession he would get from the young man. “Come on. Look into the other one as well.”

  Dumbfounded, Casto looked at the treasure hidden in the smaller trunk.

  Inside the chest was a goblet made from gold with inlaid work in lapis lazuli, several books bound in finest leather, new clothing made of soft linen and expensive silk, and to top it off, a warm coat from mountain deer leather dyed in blue and lined with sable fur.

  Casto looked at the Barbarian suspiciously. He recognized a bribe when he saw it. “Although I acted so horribly toward you, you’re surprisingly generous.”

  “I’m a generous man. Haven’t you realized that?”

  “Where’s the catch, Barbarian?”

  “Does everything have to have a catch? Can’t you just accept the presents and be happy about it?”

  “I’d love to. But I know there’s a catch. So?”

  Renaldo lifted his hands in defeat. “Perhaps a small one. I pressed you rather mercilessly, and I’m sorry for that. I hope to make up for it at least a little bit.”

  Casto stared at his master for such a long time that Renaldo started to feel uncomfortable. Abruptly Casto turned his back on him; his voice, when he spoke, was flat.

  “I don’t like to admit it, Barbarian, but it was your right. My behavior was dishonorable. I lacked respect, and it was right of you to punish me. Whatever there is between us, in the training hall, you are my teacher, and I disregarded your authority. You could have killed me on the spot for what I’ve done, so I’m grateful.”

  With an iron fist, Renaldo grabbed the young man who had brought him to a white heat more than once, and he kissed him hard. He only interrupted the kiss for a short moment in which they both glared at each other, panting. “Starting tomorrow you’ll get the chance to show me your gratitude. Training is at the usual time.”

  Casto’s eyes filled with since
re gratefulness. Then Casto tilted his head back, offered himself to his master like a sacrifice, and with that gesture, he made it known that he wouldn’t fight back this time, that he would submit.

  With a satisfied growl, Renaldo accepted the rare offer. He pulled Casto close, his tongue invaded the slave’s mouth imperiously, and they both gave in to the lust that burned them to ashes.

  IN THE bedroom of the desert brothers, Daran woke slowly from his exhausted sleep. He was vaguely aware that at some point his masters had taken him to the bath to get him cleaned up, but he’d been too tired to do more than leave himself in their hands.

  As predicted by his masters, the past night had demanded everything from him, although he was aware they had held back. Daran blushed when he thought how much he must have disappointed his benefactors. Like a child he’d demanded to be taken along, and because they were so unbelievably kind, they’d given their permission. Deeply ashamed, he buried his face in the pillows and wished to turn back time and take back his selfish request.

  Kalad’s warm hand on his back startled him.

  “Are you still tired, little thief? You can take another nap, if you want.”

  Daran hurried to get up. He didn’t want to stress his owners’ patience any more. “I’m fine, Master.”

  Kalad furrowed his brow in concern. “You don’t look like it. It’s been a long night, and we didn’t hold back. You really should rest some more.”

  A flaming red invaded Daran’s cheeks. Beaten, he lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Master. I served you badly. Please forgive me.”

  Gently, Kalad lifted Daran’s chin with one finger; his voice was soft when he said, “You adorable idiot. You served us very well. We’re pleased. You shouldn’t forget that you’re a mere human. Of course you’d be tired after a night like that. Aegid and I pushed you way past your limit to satisfy our lust.”

  Surprise crept onto Daran’s features. “You’re not angry? Or disappointed?”

  “No! How could we be? We’re just a little concerned because you’re so pale. And now lie down and sleep some more before my bad conscience overwhelms me.”

  Gratefully, Daran kissed his master’s hand. He was pretty sure Kalad was just trying to soothe him, but he was thankful for having such caring masters. Not for the first time did he thank the Holy Mothers for the unbelievable gift they had bestowed on him.

  DAMON WATCHED, more surprised than angry, as Casto hurried toward the training hall. Only one day after the Spring Ceremony and the Angel of Death resumed the arrogant young man’s training as if they had never had a fight, as if all of Damon’s efforts had never happened. It was indeed interesting that the short-tempered and normally merciless warrior didn’t seem able to resist the beautiful stranger. Damon wondered what kind of crime Casto would have to commit to be punished seriously.

  Damon’s suspicion regarding Casto was hardening the more he thought about him. It was time to start some research to confirm it. If his hunch proved true, then the Good Mother’s victory over the two bastard brothers was only a matter of time. Even though the Good Mother had not created Ana-Darasa, as far as Damon was concerned, she had a stronger claim on the world than the two Mothers, its creators. Unlike Ana-Aruna and Ana-Isara, she was willing to allow her followers the use of magic. She even helped them, whereas they denied the humans the right to use their magical talents.

  DEEPLY FOCUSED, Sic threaded the last two links into the damaged chain mail before he turned it around and riveted the still-open ends so that the armor looked as if it had never been impaired.

  It was very placid inside the smithy. Traditionally nobody worked on the day after the Spring Ceremony, and Sic loved this day when the smithy was his alone. He treasured the tranquility and the peace, moving freely without harassment from the fellows and the apprentices. He enjoyed his work and knew he had to be grateful for being allowed to do other things than just menial jobs despite his lack of talent.

  Days like this, rare as they might be, were perfect to work on his skills. Sic wanted to become so capable that Noran could be proud of him. He eyed his work critically but couldn’t find a fault. With a satisfied nod, he turned aside to store the chain mail.

  “Good job.”

  Startled, Sic spun around. Noran was standing next to the anvil, his dark eyes trained on him. The apprentice hurried to get on his knees. “Master.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Since this morning, Master. Please forgive me, I didn’t hear you.”

  “It’s no problem. You were busy. Are you done?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Then follow me.”

  Noran went in the direction of his private rooms with Sic rushing after him.

  Noran’s personal work space was located at the back of the smithy. Essentially it was just a big room divided by a forged folding screen. In the bigger part was a forge, and the other area was crammed with a worktable and two high shelves on which Noran stored his sketches, orders, and samples. For Sic the place was paradise, and he was always happy when he was allowed to watch his master during his work or when he had to clean up the workroom. It was as if somebody had given him permission to dwell in a treasure chest.

  Now the master smith stopped next to the table, resting his hand on a trunk he had placed there. He scrutinized Sic. “How long have you been with me, Sic?”

  The young man lowered his head shyly. “I’m not sure, Master. Seven or eight years, perhaps?”

  “That’s about the right time span.” Noran hesitated for a moment since his next words were going to take him into uncharted territory. “I’m aware that I rarely praise you, Sic, but today I wish to tell you how very pleased I am with you. You’ve progressed remarkably well, and if you put your heart to it, you can go a long way.”

  Sic was so surprised he automatically looked up. Praise from Noran was indeed so rare he couldn’t remember when he’d heard it last. “Master?”

  With a smile, Noran pushed the trunk toward Sic. “This is for you. I wish you a happy Spring Ceremony, Sic.”

  The young man couldn’t believe it. For the past seven years, he had wished time and again to receive a present from his strict master, but he’d never been worthy. He had already come to terms with the fact that he would never rise enough in Noran’s esteem to get a gift.

  “You’re endowing me, Master? Thank you so much!” His voice brimmed with happiness. Sic fell to his knees again, his nape lowered in gratitude.

  The master smith was strangely touched by the emotional outburst, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. There was no doubt about his slave’s genuine joy, even though he didn’t know what he was about to get.

  “Before you thank me so eloquently, you should check out what it is.”

  Hands trembling in anticipation, Sic opened the trunk’s lid. When he saw what it contained, his eyes went wide. “Master!” Again he knelt down, but before he could lower his head, Noran saw the tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “Please, don’t start crying. It’s just a set of tools, and you really earned them.”

  “I thank you, Master. They’re truly beautiful.”

  “I hope they’re useful as well. You didn’t get them for admiring.”

  “May I try them right now?”

  The young man’s voice was so eager Noran could feel a smile creeping onto his lips. “But of course. Work with them as long as you like.”

  Sic carried the trunk to his working place with so much reverence it almost embarrassed his master. At the forge he put the tools in order and chose a workpiece he wanted to finish.

  From his rooms, Noran watched Sic working skillfully on a dagger. The boy had truly progressed in a satisfying manner. A few more years, and he could become a master himself.

  The master smith had pondered for a long time whether he should loosen the tight leash on which he’d held Sic ever since he bought him. But in the seven years since the boy had come to him, Sic hadn’t shown any o
f the bad characteristics Noran was meticulously looking for ever since his humiliating experience with Arja. On the contrary, Sic was always eager to please his master, although Noran was a strict owner who didn’t give his underlings reason to love him.

  Sic was the most talented smith Noran had ever met, and he fostered this exceptional talent by keeping the young man under his thumb to give him the incentive to work even harder. The outcome spoke for itself. Sic was already better than any other man in the Valley. Very soon he would be able to compare to his Emeris master.

  Noran was surprised about the impact his gift had on Sic. There was no doubt about Sic’s genuine pleasure and gratitude.

  Slowly, Noran started to realize that he could give more responsibility to the youth, that he could allow him to come closer. That cold, menacing voice that had been his companion ever since Arja’s betrayal was indeed telling him that he could trust nobody, but Noran tried to ignore it.

  Sic had earned his chance.

  3. Wolfstan

  WHILE THE last winter storms attacked the Valley, bringing with them the ice-cold air that was the season’s harbinger, the mercenaries returned to their daily rhythm. In silent agreement, Renaldo had doubled Casto’s training, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to keep the young man in the camp come next summer. His main target was to prepare him for every obstacle battle could throw at him.

  Casto followed the same train of thought and threw himself into work. To drill him even more, Renaldo made him fight against other warriors, among them Kalad and Aegid. Renaldo almost burst with pride when Casto did well with all of them. He did not win every match but was able to seriously press his opponents.

  With Kalad in particular, Casto reached an impasse they fought out anew every week. The spry desert warrior was honored to test his abilities with his god’s favorite. In return, Casto took intensive care of Daran, whose progress was truly remarkable. It seemed as if the thief had had a warrior sleeping inside all this time.