Love and the Stubborn

by Xenia Melzer

  Regarding the wolves that guarded the Valley, he still had to come up with a solution, but that was something he would bother himself with once he was out of here. He swore not to waste another thought on the Barbarian. As soon as he was reunited with Lys, they would turn their backs on the whole mess.

  After a sumptuous dinner, Casto went straight to bed. He was facing some strenuous days ahead that would take all his strength. As he suspected, Golob was hot on training him. A servant escorted Casto to the Master of the Mines right after he got up the next morning. There, under the hungry gaze of Golob, he had to put on tight pants in a terrible shade of red that reminded Casto of rotting entrails. It took all of Casto’s self-restraint to give his demure thanks for the gaudy crime.

  With a careless gesture, the fat creep ordered Casto to serve him. Casto did so with his natural grace, knowing well that his perfect manners weren’t met with unalloyed joy. When he realized how irritated Golob was, Casto did him a favor and knocked over a cup of tea. The amber-colored liquid quickly soaked into the fine linen while Casto kneeled down, whimpering. “Please forgive me, Master. I didn’t do it on purpose. Please.”

  Golob’s voice was cruel. “It seems to me you’re not as good as you claimed, slave.”

  “I’m so sorry, Master! Please tell me, how can I conciliate you?”

  That was the cue the sadist had been waiting for. His hand was heavy on Casto’s head, and excitement tainted his voice. “Strip!”

  Seemingly frightened, Casto obeyed. He looked right ahead at the man’s paunch imploringly. “Please, Master. I’ll do everything you want me to. I only want you to be satisfied.”

  “Then shut up and spare me your whining. This is your first lesson.” The meaty hands groped Casto’s upper arms greedily.

  Casto allowed Golob to pull him close, then snaked his hands upward and closed them around the man’s neck like claws of steel.

  Golob’s eyes widened, he tried to scream, but Casto had been trained by the Angel of Death. Without mercy, he squeezed the creep’s larynx so that all that could escape Golob’s lips was a weak whimper. Feebly the fat hands clawed into Casto’s muscular arms, the voluminous body was seized by spasms. Stunned, Golob stared into the blue eyes that now returned the gaze without pretense. Golob shuddered when he realized how dangerous an opponent he had gotten involved with. The last thing he heard before darkness consumed him was the cold, steady voice of the warrior he had underestimated so badly.

  “My name is Casto, and before I’m bedded by the caricature of a man like you, I’d rather die.”

  With difficulty, Casto dragged the unconscious body to his bed and draped him among the pillows. For a moment he’d entertained the thought of killing the creep, but in the end, he couldn’t murder a helpless man. All he did was hit him over the head with a little more force than necessary to keep him unconscious. He arranged the furs around Golob as if he was asleep, which should fool any servant passing by.

  Naked, Casto sneaked back into his own room, dressed in the warm, simple clothes he had received the other day, and set off.

  He met nobody on his way to the small chamber where the weapons were stored. It wasn’t what he’d call a satisfying assortment, but for the time being, it had to be enough. Casto put a dagger in each boot and attached two more to his belt. His shirt was just long enough to hide them.

  Finally he selected a sword, which he carried as if he didn’t know the tip from the hilt. Anybody who saw him had to believe he was running an errand. Since the smithy was closest to the gate, his path was covered till there. He was electrified by anticipation while he waited for the first guard change. Even though he had hit Golob pretty hard, he couldn’t be sure how long the disgusting bastard would stay unconscious. Casto did not want to be around when the man finally woke up. When the time came, he started walking nonchalantly toward the exit, hoping that his calm self-confidence would scatter any doubts a curious onlooker might harbor. Having his goal right in front of his nose, Casto had to force himself to keep a slow pace.

  Everything was fine. In a few minutes, he would be free again.

  “Stop him! He’s trying to escape!”

  Never in his life had Casto hated and cursed a voice more than that of Golob, Master of the Mines. Like a raven’s croak it rang out and drew everyone’s attention to Casto.

  Golob had obviously recovered faster than Casto had calculated. For a moment Casto chided himself for not having killed the man when he had the chance, but it was fruitless to muse about past mistakes.

  Alarmed by the shout, the guards came rushing. Casto knew that escape was now impossible, but he would be damned if he would give in without fighting back. If he couldn’t live, he would at least die like a warrior. With his sword raised, he waited for his opponents. The first two attackers experienced a short, deadly surprise when, with a certain carelessness, they went against the seemingly inept slave.

  Considering the bloody corpses, the other guards regrouped and were a lot more careful. Casto fought concentratedly and defensively. He would have liked to be more forward, but he could feel his strength waning with every move he made. He was still weak, and the events of the morning were starting to take their toll.

  His opponents, too, realized his growing weakness and tried to tire him. Casto managed to kill one more guard, but when he tried to duck away from the next blow, he lost his balance on the slippery ground and fell. The men saw their chance and seized him. With one of his daggers, he eliminated one more, and then he felt night descending upon him. The darkness lurking at the edge of his vision now assaulted him like a hungry lion. He still tried to fight back, but his strength was no longer sufficient.

  Just before he lost consciousness, he thought of Renaldo. The beautiful gray eyes looked at him calmly and full of love, and Casto felt a strange peace coming over him.

  The moment he was ready to give in to that peace, Lys was suddenly back.

  Awareness

  1. The Veil of Tears

  COVERED IN sweat, Sic woke with a start. His gaze wandered through the smithy and paused at the forge where the coal was still glowing softly from the previous day. Panting heavily, he concentrated on the hazy light and tried to forget what he’d seen in his dream. But Casto’s bright, azure eyes haunted him, drilled into his mind in silent accusation, and tortured him even now he was awake. It had been six days since his friend had been sent to the mines, six days during which Sic was torturing himself with self-reproach. He had saved his master, but at what price?

  Sic had betrayed Casto and watched his friend chained to an oxcart taking its sad cargo to the mines—and ultimately death. The sight of Casto, still in his torn, bloody clothes, his formerly proud gaze lowered in desperation, was something Sic couldn’t forget. Lord Renaldo hadn’t left his chambers since then, and Damon paraded around with such a gleeful look on his face that Sic wanted to throw up whenever he saw the man.

  Damon was an enemy who only caused mayhem in the Valley, but until today Sic had been too afraid to confide in anybody. Damon, who took pleasure from the misery of others, just seemed too powerful. But Sic couldn’t stand any longer to be haunted by Casto’s accusing gaze, and he couldn’t even look Noran straight in the eye without feeling guilty.

  Sic had known from the moment he took the cloak pin that his life was forfeit. That one simple act had damned him forever. Sic had betrayed his master, his friend, and above all his god. No matter the reasons, he deserved worse than death for that. All that was left for him to do was set things straight.

  Determined, he got up. Morning was close; he could already see the first shades of red in the sky. Before the sun had risen over the mountains, he said his farewell to the smithy. He loved this place that had been his home, his safe haven. For the last time, he caressed the anvil his master had given him, arranged his tools, put them in their leather bag, and then went to meet Lord Renaldo in his chambers.

  Sic’s reluctant knock was answered by an ungracious “Come in�
�� that made him doubt his decision. But it was too late to go back now; it was time to take responsibility for his actions. Trembling with fear, he took a deep breath and entered his god’s chambers.

  Lord Renaldo was sitting in a broad chair, his brown hair hung unkempt around his tired face, and his tunic looked as if he hadn’t changed it for days. He held a cup of wine. What disturbed Sic the most was that despite his devastated state, Lord Renaldo was still breathtaking. His sorrow was like an exquisite cloak turning him into a tragic beauty, a creature who breathed grace and dignity even in a situation like this. Lord Renaldo was like a character from a famous ballad of desperate lovers that enthralled every listener even though it could never end happily.

  With tears in his eyes, Sic knelt in front of his god, knowing that Lord Renaldo’s pitiful state was his fault.

  The gray eyes regarded him without any interest. “What do you want, slave?”

  Sic pressed his forehead to the ground. “I’m here to tell you the truth, Master.”

  He heard Lord Renaldo shifting in his chair and hurried to keep on talking before he lost the last strand of courage he still possessed. “Casto hasn’t betrayed you, Master. He would never do such a thing. The pin used as proof against him—I stole it from his trunk.”

  The chair fell down with a crash. Sic heard Lord Renaldo approaching him, and he hurried on. “A man called Damon forced me to do it. He’s a slave here in the Valley, but he prays to the Good Mother. At least I think he does, because he threatened to kill my master should I not do what he wanted me to do. To convince me, he killed a slave with magic. He practices the forbidden arts.”

  The dark spell that had shrouded Renaldo broke at those words with a sound like a giant’s sigh. Considering the damage the spell had caused over the years, an explosion would have been fitting, but like the fog it imitated so perfectly, it dissipated in the first rays of the morning sun.

  The spell’s all-pervasive veil simply could not hold together when hit by the blinding light of truth.

  Renaldo stood frozen. The parts of the complicated puzzle that was his relationship with Casto finally fell into their right places. The veil lifted from his eyes, and the realization of what he’d ignored for the past four years made him shudder.

  He loved Casto, and it was entirely possible that the young man was his heart, his chosen mate. He cringed at the thought of what he had done to his heart, what pain he had caused him. His own behavior was unforgivable. He had sent Casto to his death.

  Frantically, Renaldo counted the days.

  Casto had been gone for six days, and usually it took three to four days to get to the mines. In this case probably four, because of the storm that had come down on the mountains like the wrath of the Holy Mothers. So Casto had reached the mines either yesterday or the day before, depending on how fast the oxcarts had traveled.

  There was still a chance to get him back alive, but Renaldo had to hurry. He looked down on the trembling slave in front of him and felt anger rising inside. “I’m going to take care of you later. Now get out!”

  Renaldo hastened to get dressed. He put on his riding boots, threw on a warm cloak, and left his chambers. In the hallway he met his brother, whose amber eyes were bright with rage.

  Canubis, too, was no longer deceived. “You go and get Casto. I’ll take care of the traitors.”

  As if to confirm his words, a deep, threatening howl rang out from the Valley. The wolves were gathering, ready to catch those who had dared to challenge the masters of their world. Thinking about how the pack would bring down every person responsible for Casto’s suffering, a dark smile appeared on Renaldo’s face. How he would punish himself, Renaldo had yet to decide, but if anything happened to Casto, then the pain he’d feel would suffice as just retribution. He knew he would never be able to recover from that blow. And if he got him back—Renaldo was sure Casto would make him pay.

  On his way to the stables, Kalad joined him.

  Kalad, too, was wearing warm clothes, and his face was grim. When Renaldo looked at him inquisitively, he said, “You’re gonna need help.”

  It didn’t take more. They’d known each other for too long—Kalad had been his brother-in-arms for more than eight hundred years. Renaldo thanked the Mothers he had Kalad at his side. No matter how tiring the lively, earthy humor of the warrior was, how nerve-racking his sarcasm could be, he was a friend every man could only hope for, always willing to do anything for those he loved.

  Renaldo smiled with gratitude. “Thanks. Please get Ghost and Demon. I’ll go to Lys.”

  “He’s gonna kill you.”

  “I hope not. And I’m sure we’re going to need him.”

  NOW THAT Renaldo’s thoughts were no longer obscured, he remembered a talk he’d had with Casto not long ago. They had been lying in front of the fire, Casto naked and warm in his arms, relaxed by their sex play. They had been silent for some time, simply enjoying being able to spend time together. Out of the blue, Renaldo had remembered a question he’d had on his mind for some time.

  “What I’ve always wanted to ask you is how far did you get? During your escape, I mean.”

  Casto had frozen in his arms, and Renaldo had thought it was because the memory of that time didn’t make him happy. Carefully, Casto had answered as if he might discover an aching tooth that he expected to cause him terrible pain. “What would you say if I told you Lys and I had reached the border to the Eastern Kingdoms?”

  Renaldo had laughed because he’d thought Casto was joking. No horse was able to cover that much distance in only two weeks. Then he stopped pursuing the matter since it was obviously uncomfortable for Casto. Which was only logical in hindsight, because Casto hadn’t wanted to lie to his master but hadn’t been able to tell him the truth either. Seen like that, Casto had solved the problem deftly.

  Other memories layered their talk: the race in the desert when Lys had beaten Demon and Ghost, something that hadn’t happened in centuries, the battle of Ki’t where the black stallion had carried his rider safely through enemy lines without suffering a single scratch, the fact that Lys’s stamina seemed to be inexhaustible, his intelligence obvious.

  Renaldo had always admired Casto for his close bond to the steed, amused by the discussions the young man had with Lys. Now he realized that the stallion had understood every single word. Renaldo cursed the spell that had made him blind to the obvious.

  At the stables he was led to Lys’s stall by a stable boy. The black stallion glared angrily, and his hooves thundered against the walls.

  The boy drew back. “He does that every time somebody gets too close. He’s out of his mind. He lets us feed him, but as soon as he has his fodder, he starts kicking and biting.”

  With a gesture, Renaldo sent the frightened boy on his way. Then he slowly approached the stall, his hands outstretched in a calming gesture. “Please, Lys. I’m sorry. I know you don’t trust me, and why should you? But I need your help. I’ve made a mistake, a very stupid, unforgivable mistake, and if I don’t hurry, Casto pays for it with his life. Please help me!”

  Lysistratos’s big, far too intelligent eyes bore into Renaldo’s face, and his flint-hard hooves trampled the ground threateningly. Then Lys’s head shot forward with the speed of a snake, and his teeth closed a handspan in front of Renaldo’s face.

  The message couldn’t have been clearer, and Renaldo was ready to admit defeat when the stallion gave a snort.

  Lys turned his side to Renaldo, a silent invitation the warrior accepted hastily.

  “I thank you, Lys. And I swear by my honor, when we make it, if Casto is still alive, I’ll never disappoint him again.”

  That time the stallion’s snort was definitely derisive, and Renaldo realized that he was trying to justify his actions to an animal. A very intelligent animal, but Renaldo was a demigod, after all—a demigod in dire need of this animal’s help, his dry inner voice reminded him.

  He hurried to get the stallion saddled and led him outside. Kal
ad was already waiting for him, leading two powerful horses: Demon, Canubis’s steed; and Ghost, Renaldo’s own horse.

  Renaldo nodded his approval. “Try keeping up with me, but don’t overdo it. You know the route I’m going to take.”

  Kalad rolled his eyes. “I know Lys is fast, but the same goes for Ghost and Demon. We’ll never be far behind.”

  Renaldo nodded, although he suspected that wouldn’t be the case. Swiftly he got into the saddle. “It’s a long way, Lys, and we don’t have time. A rider usually takes two to three days to make it to the mines. I know you’re fast, faster than Casto had me believe, but I only hope you’re up to it.”

  The black stallion shook his head indignantly. Then he started to run.

  Kalad managed to keep up till they reached the entrance to the Valley, but when the horses arrived at the open plains, Lys tossed his head back before stretching his neck and starting to gallop in earnest. He left the other two stallions far behind in no time at all, his hooves drumming a beat on the snow-covered ground. For a long time, it seemed as if Lys would never cease accelerating, before he finally settled at a pace no ordinary horse could ever reach. Despite Renaldo’s astonishment, he tried not to disturb Lys while the landscape flew past them.

  Renaldo had assumed Lys would keep his dizzying pace for one, perhaps two hours before he had to slow down to recover. But Lys galloped through the afternoon as if it was nothing but a relaxed ride. Inwardly, Renaldo bowed to the exceptional beast and admired and cursed Casto equally for hiding Lys’s talents from him for so long. He was no longer surprised that Casto had managed to escape so easily from the Valley.

  Not even the wolves were able to keep up with this breakneck speed.

  “One thing’s for sure, you’re not a normal horse. Where do you really come from?” Renaldo only murmured the words, but the black stallion must have heard them. Lys bucked warningly; an angry snort rumbled in his chest. Renaldo hurried to soothe him. “I understand. It’s none of my concern. Please forgive me.”