by M. K. Gibson
“I demand the Right of Recompense.”
Oh . . . nice.
The Right of Recompense was an elvish tradition born from their sense of fair play. An accused party must pay recompense commensurate to the slight given to the aggrieved party.
“What do you seek?” the Lord Protector asked.
“When I call upon you, the elves must answer in force. For the slaughter of my people, yours must pay in blood and battle,” Hawker said. And it was clear he wasn’t asking.
I couldn’t quite hear what the Lord Protector’s advisers were saying, but from their wild gestures, they were clearly outraged. Talisarian’de silenced them with a wave of his hand. He turned back to Hawker and composed himself.
“When you have need of the elves, speak your request into any living tree rooted in the earth. We will come to save you weaker species,” the Lord Protector said and finally departed.
Despite the win over the elves, Hawker looked defeated. Yeesh. You’d think he just found out his allies were responsible for the systematic murder of his ancestors and were single-handedly responsible for keeping everyone in the Middle Ages.
“We should go,” Hawker said.
“Go?” Carina said. “Where are we supposed to go?”
“We have a quest to finish,” Hawker said as he made ready a large rowboat tied to the river dock that the elves had left for us. They wished us to leave not over their sacred earth, but rather over the water. The traveling method of the commoner.
Wren nodded in agreement. “You’re right. But first, I think a change is needed for us all.” The big ammalar began shrugging off his old clothes, stripping down to his small clothes.
“You would accept the gifts given by . . . them?” Hawker asked.
“Yes,” Wren said. The old soldier training in him refused to turn away fresh clothing and new armor. “And you would be foolish to spurn the gifts.”
“Foolish?” Hawker asked with an edge to his voice. It was obvious the boy was ready to pick a fight. Self-righteous fury was dying to be set free.
Wren stood there in only his medieval underwear, a small mountain of fur and muscle. But he was ready to fight. Old white scars criss-crossed his body, peeking out through his black body hair. He resembled a patchwork man. And even nearly naked, he looked formidable.
“You wanna go, kid? Then let’s do it. Might be time someone knocked some sense into you.”
“Enough,” Carina said.
Ever since her revelation as a woman, Carina had dropped the Cairn persona. With it went the brash, competitive person, and in his place, a wiser and naturally gifted mediator stood.
Also almost naked.
Carina had stripped down to her small clothes as well, revealing what the union of a human and a dwarf produced. While not quite as hairy as Wren, Carina had soft, ginger hair accenting her blocky broad shoulders, her medium bust, and her strong thighs and legs. And damned if it didn’t look good on her.
“Wren is right. The gifts, it doesn’t matter who they came from. Our old clothes, weapons, and armor were taken from us long ago. We now have better gear and provisions. So stop this grandstanding or I’ll knock the shite out of both of you.”
“Huh,” Wren said.
“What?” Carina asked, eyeing him skeptically.
“You are prettier than me,” Wren said while Carina blushed.
A loud splash and a womanly shriek caused us all to look at Lydia, who had also stripped down and jumped into the river.
“Holy gods above and below, that’s cold!”
“What are you doing, woman?” Hawker called out.
“What you idiots should be doing. Going for a swim. It might be the last bit of fun we have until we all get killed.”
Something in Hawker melted and a little smile crept up on his face. “Yes. Alianna liked swimming,” he said softly. Hawker removed his clothes and ran towards the small pier. He leaped and dove headfirst into the water, a smooth practiced motion. It was clear this was something he had done with the late Alianna many times. And it was clear, that’s where he was in head just then.
Carina and Wren both shrugged and followed, running like idiots, and jumped into the cold waters of the Lower Eld. I got a nice view of both of their hairy backs and jiggling buttocks as they ran.
Well, they were going to end up having sex. I could only hope I was not present to witness it.
“Jack, are you coming?” Lydia called out.
I began preparing my usual villainous response, laced with superiority and condescension. Then Lydia stood up and the primitive portion of my brain woke up. She stood there in her wet, curvy glory. And suddenly, swimming seemed like a good idea. What can I say? A set of wet boobs makes fools of us all from time to time.
I know, I know. It is sexist of me to see the wet skin of a woman and suddenly feel entranced. I blame her. Somehow.
But beyond the exterior, something about the woman intrigued me. Her confidence, her spark . . . the fact that she recently ran a villainous thieves’ guild and that she could take a punch . . . all of that cast a charm over me.
So, like a damned idiot, I too stripped down to my underwear, mentally thanked myself for keeping away from the sweets and carbs while exercising regularly, and hoped the cold water didn’t turn my outie into an innie permanently.
The five of us swam there in the Lower Eld for the rest of the afternoon like children. We splashed and carried on in the way companions did. A big discussion was coming, we all knew that. The one we’d been avoiding for the last week. The one where we hash out who betrayed who and when.
And of course, what our next move was going to be.
I had the answers ready for all of them. But for now, I took a little break from being the Shadow Master and just enjoyed being Jackson.
If Sophia had seen or heard any of this, she would have burned my soul to cinders while crushing my body to a bloody pulp.
She was like that.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Where I Devise a Plan, Watch a Fight, and Listen to Barry White
“We are going to strike General Anders in her lair,” I said, biting into the fresh cooked fish.
We ate the small meal beside the campfire on the riverbank as the sun set. Oddly, none of my companions seemed to be hungry. Was it something I said?
“Attack . . . General Anders. In her lair,” Hawker repeated.
“Mmm, this is good,” I said, finishing my food. “Yes. We are going to follow the Eld downstream to the Nameless Sea and then to Fyrheim. We’ll infiltrate her lair and kill her. From there, we are going to use a teleportation gate in that lair to move on to Chaud. Once he is out of the way, we move onto Grimskull himself. So, let’s say . . . five days?”
“What kind of plan do you call that?” Lydia asked.
“Setting up the third act?”
“What?”
“Nothing, never mind. Look,” I said, addressing the group, “we have the rare opportunity of the element of surprise. No one in their right mind would dare attack her directly.”
“That is us for sure,” Carina said, biting into her fish. “Crazy.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Lydia agreed as she ate her meal.
“Well, Jack, what’s the plan?” Hawker asked.
“Don’t ask me, ask him,” I said, nodding towards Wren. “He used to work for her, after all.”
“Why would we ever listen to him?” Hawker said, looking at the ammalar with narrowed eyes. Clearly these two hadn’t yet come to terms with their respective pasts. What were they doing in that week between the trial and now? Didn’t we all just go swimming as a group? Team bonding and all that?
“Hawker, are you still mad about Wren’s involvement with your village’s slaughter?”
“ . . . Uh, yes.”
Huh.
It wasn’t like anything could be done about it.
“Kyle, I’m sorry. Gods above, I am sorry. After knocking you out, and your stabbing me, I was in
no shape to go on. I swear, I did nothing to harm your people,” Wren said, practically begging. “I even saved you! After which I was left behind to die for my inaction.”
“Do you want me to feel sorry for you?” Hawker asked. “So you didn’t kill any of my people. Thank you. But how many other villages like mine had you destroyed while in service for that bitch?!”
“Too many,” Wren whispered.
Carina put an arm around the crestfallen ammalar. “We’ve all made mistakes, Hawker,” she said. “Don’t act like you’ve always been innocent.”
“I was,” Hawker said righteously. “I lived a simple life before he came. Quiet. I never hurt anyone before that night. But now I see how the world really works. It is an evil place. One of violence, death, suffering, and pain. And the only ones who survive and thrive are villains like Grimskull. Villains like the elves. Like Lydia and the Forgotten Bastards.” Hawker looked at me. “Or villains like Jack.”
Kid had a point. Maybe he was learning?
“Are you a villain then, Wren? Like Jack? You got caught and are looking for absolution? If you hadn’t had a conscience that night, how many people would you have slaughtered for General Anders?”
Carina held Wren tighter. “Shut up, Hawker.”
“Defending your man, half-breed?”
Oooh. This was getting good.
The ammalar pushed Carina’s arms off him and stood. He lumbered over to Hawker. Towering above the younger man, he stared down at him with a look most would find intimidating. Hawker, though, refused to budge.
“Say that again,” Wren said.
Goddamn. If I had popcorn, I would be gobbling it up. Hmm. If I just used a little of my power? No. Best to conserve.
“Which part?” Hawker asked, staring up at Wren. “Where I called you a villain, or her a half-breed?”
Wren’s left hand shot out and wrapped around Hawker’s throat while his right fist cocked back, ready to knock the smaller and younger man’s teeth out.
Hawker didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all. In fact, he looked like he was begging for it.
Wren was happy to oblige. His meaty fist came crashing in, but was stopped at the last second. Not by Wren’s sense of mercy, but by Carina.
The half-dwarf cut an impressive figure, standing legs askance, jawline set, and grim determination on her face as she held the big man’s wrist in her iron grip.
“Don’t,” Carina grunted.
“Why?”
“Because Carina has the good sense you clearly lack,” Lydia told Wren as she approached the scene. “For the sake of the gods above and below, Wren, Hawker’s life has just been turned upside down. His woman’s been killed, his mentor is his uncle, and his enemy is his father. Show some compassion.”
“Save your sympathy, villain,” Hawker rasped at Lydia. “Another vile person like you gets to live while the good people of this world die. The gods hate me.”
“Yes, the Bastards were a ripe group of sodding thieves, but they were good lads. My lads before Khasil infected them. They only stole from the rich and kicked back to the poor. Don’t speak of me, or them, as vile. Carina might have the good sense to stop Wren from knocking you on your arrogant ass, but I’ll cut you and not think twice.”
“Go ahead.”
“You think you’re the only one to ever feel pain? The only one who ever felt loss? Get over yourself, kid. You want to know why bad people survive in this world? Because we don’t wait for fortune to find us. We make it happen. Now, tomorrow we are most likely going to die in some fool scheme to attack General Anders. So tonight, we just live like normal people. You get to make a choice—die tonight and every night thereafter by inches, wallowing in self-pity, or choose to live and maybe die tomorrow.”
Hawker almost smiled. “Not much of a choice.”
“I know. Sucks the milk right from the teat, doesn’t it? But I have something to help.”
“Which is?”
“Elvish wine,” Lydia said, holding up bottles.
“Now where did you get those?” I asked.
Lydia flashed a smile. “I’m a thief, remember. And a bored thief is never a good thing to leave alone in your lands for a full week.”
Wren lowered his fist and released his grip from Hawker’s throat while the two men maintained eye contact.
“How could you work for her?” Hawker asked as he rubbed at his throat.
Something in Wren cracked. His cold interior demeanor fractured for a moment and he couldn’t keep the young man’s gaze. But I saw it in his eyes. Wren collected himself and looked back to Hawker.
“You’re young. Too young to have had a family. One that loved you. One that relied on you. One that could be used as leverage against you. When you’re poor, and your wife and child are sick and you don’t have enough coin to pay for a healer, you’ll do anything . . . anything to help them. Even joining a militia that serves a warlord like Anders.
“You won’t care about anything as long as the money is good enough to help them. And when the medicine doesn’t help them, and they die, and you’re still in the militia, you find out that hurting others helps to soothe pain you feel. At least for a while. And one day, when you hate yourself and you hate the pain you have inflicted on others, something in you changes. Helping one young man doesn’t wash the blood from your hands, but it is a small step to becoming the man you were before you’d ever taken life.”
“Wren . . . I—” Carina started to say something, but Wren shook his head.
“Don’t. It’s all gone,” he said to Carina before turning back to Hawker. “Kyle, I don’t want your fucking forgiveness. I don’t even really want your friendship. This whole endeavor is personal. A chance for me to try and wash a little of that blood away. I am sorry for what happened to your family, to your people. But you need to grow up and learn the world isn’t about you and your pain. We all suffer. So, for now, I am going to drink too much of that wine. And, if Carina is willing, find a quiet place in the woods and try and feel like a man again.”
Carina gently kissed Wren on the cheek and then took one of the bottles from Lydia. With Wren’s hand in hers, she led them both away into the woods.
Told you they were going to bone.
Hawker in turn took another of the bottles from Lydia without a word and went in the opposite direction as Wren, into the woods alone.
That left Lydia and me alone. At night. By a fire. With wine.
In my head, Barry White was warming up.
“Shadow Master,” Lydia said with a mischievous grin, holding two bottles of wine.
“Madam Barrowbride, leader of the Forgotten Bastards,” I said, returning the grin. As I was still sitting by the fire with my back against a log, I patted the spot next to me. Lydia took her time and coquettishly walked over, swaying her hips as she did. As she sat next to me, I placed an arm over her shoulders and she snuggled in next to me. Lydia put the wine bottle to her mouth, pulled the cork out with her mouth and spit it into the fire.
Classy.
She took a deep swig of the wine then passed it to me. “So, if I lay with you tonight, will you see me differently tomorrow?”
I took a deep drink of the wine. A four-hundred-year-old red. Nice. The little thief had good taste.
“Honestly?”
“Yes, honestly.”
I took another sip from the bottle and passed it back to her. “If we are being honest, I want to use you. Respectfully, of course. But I want to take you by the fire and let out all the stress I’ve had building up. Dark, twisted, erotic things that lurk in the dark corners of my mind.”
“I see,” Lydia said, pulling back slightly.
“Since meeting you,” I said, “I’ve been enamored of your strength, your cunning, devious nature, your ability to use a knife, and of course, your curves. This will not be the start of anything beautiful. Does this bother you?”
Lydia set the bottle aside, then threw a leg over me and sat in my lap.
“Honesty is so refreshing,” Lydia said.
She kissed me softly at first, then harder, then harder still. She tasted of wine and passion. Her kissing grew more intense as she ground her hips against mine.
“Will you still help me rebuild the Bastards?” Lydia whispered as she moved to playfully nibbling on my ear.
“That’s business,” I said. “This is pleasure.”
Lydia sat back and removed her blouse and then her support shift, revealing her full breasts. The night air made her nipples stand erect. Which, coincidentally, I was as well.
“You know all those nasty things you said you would like to do to me?” Lydia asked as she guided my hands to her breasts, encouraging me to hold them while massaging her nipples.
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, I have a devious mind as well.”
With a quirky smile, Lydia pulled two knives from behind her back and slammed them down into the log I was using to prop my head up. The edges of the knives were angled in such a way that if I were to move too much, I would cut myself open.
Interesting.
“I hope you enjoy this, but try not to kill yourself,” Lydia warned.
Removing my hands from her breasts, Lydia slowly lowered herself down my chest as her hands found my belt. One hand reached into my pants and began to slowly stroke my erection while the other undid my belt.
She took me into her mouth and teased me at first with her tongue. Then she held me and began stroking me while she worked her mouth, wetly, up and down.
The ecstasy was intense. All the more so knowing that if I thrashed about, I’d cut my throat. And knowing that she was in control of the situation was an amazing aphrodisiac.
When I felt I couldn’t hold on any longer, she stopped. “Oh no, not yet,” she said, wiping her mouth.
Lydia stood, leaving me there pinned. She removed her boots and leggings first, taking her time to bend over and remove her small clothes. Naked and free, she stood before me with her hands on her shapely hips. The firelight crackled behind her, backlighting her naked form. Her silhouette reached up and she stretched like a cat waiting to pounce.
