Treasure Revealed

by A. S. Etaski

  Jael hesitated, eyes flicking between us as I stood ready, waited to see what she’d do. Ultimately, she handed my blade out to me, handle first. Like me, she was prepared to act if either Red Sister so much as twitched. I realized I was smiling as I took back my dagger; between that grin and Panagan’s snarl, the recruit was very confused.

  I glanced at my fine-pointed weapon and saw it was covered in blood smears from tip to handle. If she’d only used it to help cut the rope, it wouldn’t have looked like that, maybe handprints on the handle. I guessed I knew now how Jael had gotten the barb out of her leg. Her own short sword would have been even less refined than this as a surgical tool.

  Determined and resourceful. Fearless. She’s perfect for us.

  Then Panagan pointed in the general direction of Sivaraus and growled, “Say nothing and run, recruit. Go. Now!”

  Like a huntress poised to escape, Jael took a step back on bare feet while glancing at me. On impulse, I winked at her, and that healed, attractive mouth twisted dryly on one side. Next moment, she turned and ran fast, still nude and holding only her House blade, white hair streaming behind. I witnessed the power of the potion I’d given her, seeing how her body was in perfect working order.

  And what a body it is.

  “Find sign to track the female Tragar, Panagan,” I said as I picked up my hand crossbow dropped during the fight. “She’s got a half-mark head start.”

  Unlike tracking Jael, I hadn’t needed Panagan to determine which direction the missing Tragar had gone. The recent path of seven Grey Dwarves coming into this area, all wearing metal and hard boots, using tools, was clear as candlelight even with my lesser skills.

  The female Dwarf had backtracked that path, going the opposite direction in which Jael had just run. Panagan and I followed at a fast, sustainable jog, closing the gap as we knew that the Grey Dwarves, like the Ketro, Pyte, or any other short-legged, squat creatures in the Deepearth, were not endurance runners like Dark Elves. Our target would stop soon and burrow in somewhere, and we assumed the need to be wary if we caught her too close to her own territory.

  While the skinnier Ketro were just smart enough to construct pit and collapsing traps around their dens and run at first glimpse of trouble, the brawny Tragar used these basic ideas for hunting but rarely ran. In instances like these, I’d been told, the non-psionic Tragar could still be expected to choose a good spot to stop running, turn around, and fight with all the will they possessed.

  Panagan and I had taken the stance that this female likely did not have any traps set up in advance. A single Ornilleth, if outnumbered, would always have planned an escape ahead of time, complete with deadly surprises. A group of Tragar, even psionic ones, were more likely to pull together a trap quickly and under duress, as they did not imagine themselves to be in retreat and pursued.

  The best Tragar obstacles and traps were at their strongholds, and it had been centuries since the Valsharess’ Army had seen it necessary to assault one of those. Here in the wilderness tunnels, with one survivor and the unlikelihood that this escape had been pre-planned, we only had to catch up with her before she got close to home.

  We ran into one of those hasty traps just as I felt a mental itch just up ahead, as the tunnel widened into another cavern. Panagan knew to stop and study before entering such a prime ambush or trap spot, though I had already slowed down from the early warning. We attempted to check it over before going forward, but the trap triggered without our having to touch anything.

  ~Move!~

  I shoved Panagan to one side, and we barely avoided being crushed by a sole, compromised boulder falling from a ledge over the tunnel’s mouth. Our prey made the mistake of shouting something at us, a threat and a crow of confidence not unlike her male counterparts.

  Certainly less bass to it.

  She was outside of range for our Dark Sight but with the noise, I still pinpointed her most likely position just as Panagan stood up, withdrew an arrow and nocked it. She drew back and released right where I would have said the Dwarf was standing.

  We heard a cry of alarm but not of pain.

  *Caught armor or clothing,* I signed.

  Panagan nodded with a scowl. *Hope that shuts her up. Can’t stand that hack and gargle sputtering they do.*

  I smirked but made no comment. It didn’t sound as coarse to me anymore, but I had a good reason for that. Part of it was strapped to my lower back. I’d even understood her.

  “Let me be, Davrin, or this place will make your tomb.”

  Not very creative, but I heard the determination in her voice and something else I couldn’t define. Not fear, maybe Tragar were too stubborn to fear much, but…

  Something causing a lot of tension.

  Panagan put up her bow and drew a dagger. *Flank her,* she signed.

  I nodded as we sprinted in opposite directions, creating two targets and circling around intending to trap her. There was no obvious escape route for her unless she could climb the rock very quickly. As we closed on her, she ducked down out of sight and didn’t come back up. From my angle, I saw the tunnel leading downward.

  Oh, fuck Braqth’s snatch with a pincer staff.

  Approaching the hole in the stone, I heard no scraping of metal as I imagined the Tragar must be moving quickly on hands and feet in a narrow space. When we reached the mouth, we saw why. She’d shed the bulk of her armor and her helm and left them behind. Both a good and a bad idea, but at least she wouldn’t become hung-up by it if the passage got smaller farther in.

  Been there.

  Panagan cursed with her hands but stayed silent, then looked at me. *I’m not going in there. She’ll collapse the tunnel on us.*

  No doubt. Or there might be other traps. This tunnel was intentional—built, not natural—and that close space would be very hard to fight a psion. The same dexterity and speed that won the fight before would mean very little here.

  *We don’t know where she’ll exit,* Panagan continued.

  *So, she’s escaped?* I replied.

  She hesitated, not wanting to admit that outright, but did not have any ideas on what to do. I only had one idea that might off-set our disadvantage, but I could not do it with Panagan watching. I took a slow breath to decide.

  Kain.

  One of that troupe of seven had recognized his voice in my head. There was a good chance this female psion would as well.

  I took off my cloak and rolled it up. *Carry this?*

  She jerked her head no, so I wedged it between two rocks. Less obvious than the discarded, Dwarf-sized armor.

  My Sister signed, *What are you doing?*

  *Going in. I’ll flush her out. You stay up here, watch for her to pop up.*

  Her look of disbelief also held mocking laughter. *Go on, novice, walk into the trap!*

  I wasted no time, ducking down and slipping into the narrow crawlspace headfirst, just as I’d seen the Tragar do. I wouldn’t know if Panagan stayed up there until it was too late to stop the Tragar from rolling a rock over the exit. She might leave to go after Jael to kill her off after I’d broken the rules, to avoid the punishment of the Prime.

  My body flushed to think of these things going wrong outside this closed space, yet I could do nothing about them this moment. Not with the strong pull of the psionic Dwarf just ahead of me.

  I must catch her. I must have something, or D’Shea can’t defend me.

  I crawled on knees and elbows to get out of sight of Panagan and reached back to loosen the Feldeu from my belt. So many risks to be squirming with a ready erection after a short, female dwarf, but part of me hoped that, if I was in a Tragar-made place, the gamble might see true knowledge rise up.

  Anything useful.

  I loosened and tugged down my pants, squirming to get it over my hips with the bulbous end of the phallus crammed in my mouth. Pants down, I sucked off the dust and grit that had collected, spit it out, then slickened it up with as much spit as possi
ble. Winning the fight and seeing Jael run off in perfect health gave me some delight to warm my body, but I still needed the added moisture.

  I lay on my side and opened one leg until it touched the top of the passage, pressing the bulb into my sex without delay. It burned a little as I stretched, but soon I had it seated and I whispered the command word. The attachment and rush of pleasure was not much diminished for the lack of foreplay. Instead of lying there stroking it, as I wanted to, I hurriedly pulled up my leathers and secured them, repositioned my belt, and marveled what it felt like to have this live magic straining to be released. It pressed scalding hot against my belly and formed a visible ridge beneath my clothes.

  It made me want to crawl faster. Now. Go after this… this…

  I breathed raggedly for a few moments, and after recognizing the scent of the stone, I tried to think past the rising lust and watch the tunnel around me. My eyes adjusted, my vision seemed to shift a little, and I saw the scrapes left by pickaxes and chisels.

  ~Not fresh but not old, maybe a score of turns. There are several of these in caverns between here and Rothlech Deep. For emergencies like this one.~

  It would lead to an underground source of water and another chance to lose any pursuit. I gritted my teeth against the persistent distraction of a randy cock, kept moving. She didn’t have to cover more than a mark of crawlspace before she’d reach the water and vanish.

  I slithered along as quick and quiet as I could, my only goal to keep moving forward. Soon, I heard the Dwarf scrabbling up ahead, breathing heavily and not nearly as silent as I was. I could smell the heat coming from her ore-dusted skin.

  ~I will catch her, and I will grab her, hold her down. She’ll give me relief.~

  I wanted to snort. Oh, yes, indeed. She had large muscles in her arms and legs from working for the males in the forges every cycle of her life. Imagine a slender Elf wrestling with her in a small space and see if that turned out any better for me than it did the last time.

  I wondered exactly what I planned to do once I caught up.

  ~Just touch her, touch her skin.~

  Then what? There was no response. I didn’t know.

  I saw the trap hatch above my head immediately, as if I knew it should be there. It was a simple trap, but potentially nasty. I could hear as something slapped a bare tail against the enclosure. Something poisonous was in there and ready for when I snagged that impossibly thin metal wire that she’d set up as she passed by this spot.

  I reached into a pouch and pulled out a small metal wedge that I could either press into softer substances or hammer into stone using the pommel of my dagger. I didn’t want noise so I forced it in at an angle through the material that made up the hatch door itself and the filler they’d used to camouflage it. Somehow, I hit the sweet spot, and it sealed the hatch closed. Now I could remove that wire which I could neither crawl under nor over, and I continued past unmolested.

  ~Foolish Tugren. Just wait.~

  My quarry had paused up ahead to see what happened with the trap. It took her too long to determine that I’d somehow gotten past it without tripping it, and I could make out the smooth, bald line of her round head before she saw me and uttered a sound of surprise.

  My muscles seemed to explode at the noise, in a surge I would not have tried without the hard prick pulsing against my abdomen, but it surprised her as well. She got one good kick—a hard one—to my side before I grabbed her leg, hauled myself up and threw my relatively slight weight on top of her.

  Stupid!

  These were Tragar impulses guiding me. In the proper body, the male’s weight on its own would have prevented her from doing much. My mass was awkward for her but nowhere near dense enough to keep her from throwing me off and against the stone. She prepared to do just that when my real training kicked in, because I wanted to live. I had a blood-stained dagger out and in front of her face, very close to her blank, white eye, just before she could throw me off.

  “Shh,” I said aloud. “One scratch. All it shall take.”

  I was telling the truth, and she knew it. Something else shocked her into stillness, but only when she spoke did I realize what it was.

  “Wh-why have you not already, Davrin?” she hissed, as wary as she should have been with the poison dagger so close.

  I’d understood her so clearly, and she had understood me. It hadn’t been the trade language. I’d spoken in her tongue. Her expression changed as my weight shifted, settling on her so our joints didn’t grind together, to a look of dawning horror as she felt my erection.

  “Are you… man or woman?” she asked.

  I half-smiled and didn’t enlighten her, only pressed the Feldeu into her and rubbed against her. It felt good, and she didn’t smell so greasy as the male Tragar. She had no hairy beard; indeed, it looked as though she did not have any hair at all: not on her head, her cheeks or chin, not on her bare arms or the backs of her hands. She was smooth, dark-skinned but lighter than my own, with strong features—the heavy jaw, cheeks, and brow, plus the large nose and prominent lips common to the Tragar.

  She should be ugly to my eyes. She wasn’t.

  My favorite quality was the incredible plushness of her breasts—much larger than mine and soft enough on which to lay my head down and sleep, though I would never risk that. Almost everything about her was hard from many turns of physical labor, except for those breasts. Something told me she was a young but fully-grown Tragar, and comely for her race.

  In fact, Kain knew she had worked for thirty-three turns so far.

  “Unnatural creature!” she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, stiffening beneath my next dry hump. “Get off me—!”

  “Be still, Tugren,” I commanded in a tone unfamiliar to me, but she stopped her struggle immediately. I was surprised at her obedience, though I felt no discomfort or uncertainty weaponizing my cock so soon. I should have.

  ~Tugren.~

  The last time I heard that word, I was fucking Gaelan. Wearing this Feldeu. I remembered why Kain had been where we’d first met; I knew Jael was in danger.

  I tried again to reach for a meaning of the word.

  “Kill me or release me, but be done with it,” the Tragar interrupted. She seemed to recall that she wasn’t required to obey me. “I will fight to my last breath than endure your sick torture, Blood Elf!”

  That was one opinion where we differed quite strongly. Not that I felt the need to debate that with her. I was comfortable lying atop of her, my Feldeu pressing against her inner thigh and her breasts pleasantly overwhelming mine. I hadn’t yet touched her skin, I realized, though the heat of it was building between us in the small space. My gloves and uniform alone prevented contact because, out of her armor, she wore a short-sleeved leather work tunic. Her thick, muscled arms were exposed, as was her bald head.

  “Why did you run?” I asked, still speaking fluent as I watched her eyes and face.

  She trembled beneath me. I could smell her fear. Sensed her indecision.

  “You and six others chased a Sivaraus Elf,” I prodded. “I never saw you, so you ran before I arrived to stop them. Why?”

  The female shook her head defiantly.

  “You will answer every question I have, Tugren, or I numb you from the neck down.”

  I gestured with my tainted blade in front of her eyes. She was scared but did not focus on my question. Perhaps she required more detail to understand.

  “If this blade pricks you, you will have to watch every ‘unnatural’ thing I do to your body and not be able to lift one finger against me. It will only hurt after the poison wears off and you remain alive. Until then, you’ll feel nothing while seeing everything.”

  The threat hit her very deep; her broad face flinched, and her blank, white eyes watched my mouth moving. I felt the flash of heat flood her body, heard her heart rate double.

  “Y-you intend this either way, Elf,” she accused.

  “Maybe not,” I said, b
elieving I was telling the truth. “If you talk with me.”

  ~I can’t face you like this. No…~

  I tilted my head, hearing that inside, not out. “You are a mind-lifter, ya?”

  Her white eyes moistened, blinked. She nodded.

  “Why did you run, Tugren?” I asked again with force.

  Her muscles were rock hard, quivering with tension. She tried. She did try.

  “I-I thought I heard…” She swallowed, her throat locking up; it looked painful. “The kregburen saw a naked Elf. Insane, running toward us. They expected more and were right.”

  “That does not explain why you ran before the fun began, Tugren.”

  “Stop calling me this!” the Tragar cried, anger making her face bright in the blackness. “I am not your Tugren! I will not be again! I’ll fight you!”

  At last, a meaning found purchase in my mind. A Tugren was like a consort and a servant together but more strongly bound. Ritualized. Restricted. Entirely so a kregbur, a digging fighter, could know for certain that he was the sire of any children that came from her womb. Him, and no other male.

  It took a lot of work and a lot of paranoia to make certain of that. Most didn’t want to know how often they failed.

  Tugren. I shook my head; Gaelan was not that. She could not be a bound consort or servant who bore me children; this had confused Kain as she begged me to fuck her. Maybe it could also mean whoever submitted their body to another? The one intended to be used was the Tugren, whether for pleasure or breeding. Maybe either counted.

  I was quiet thinking about this, and the female Dwarf shuddered once. I heard her breath catch on a surge of emotion.

  “Why did you run?” I asked for the third and final time.

  “I sensed you,” she whispered. “It must have been you. I hear his voice in your mind.”

  “Who is ‘he’?” I asked, dreading this to be a mistake, but I still needed… something. Information. Some connection.

  I received that in plenty.

  “Kain,” she said, white eyes unblinking. “It is you, ya?”

  Her voice was soft. Submissive.