(A Chance encounter, awakenings,
and the vow)
K
|
alatel was awakened sometime later by several sensations. The lovely, intoxicating aroma of flowers floating in the breeze assailed his acute sense of smell, along with a heady, musky scent that he recognized immediately; a fragrance that he knew all too well. Also, he now became aware of strange sensations over his lower torso. The bunk he was laying on felt different, and looking down, he understood why as he fully awoke from his deep sleep.
A figure lay beside him, undeniably female, as the light from the moon illuminated certain parts of her well-sculpted anatomy. Her fingers traced intricate circles across his abdomen, sending tingling shock waves through his entire body. Almost against his will, he felt himself respond to the erotic impulses, and he turned to face her fully. Awake now, with just the lingering effects of sleep on the back of his mind, he began to repeat those same finger sketches on her that she had begun on him.
He started with her shoulders, and played over the small muscles of her arms. He lingered awhile on those spots, giving her a soft massage that went into the very shadows he found there. He continued down, drifting lazily through the tiny hairs on her arms, mesmerized, for his people had only the slightest traces of hair. Being partially human, Kalatel had just a little more follicles on his body than an elf, yet not a man by any means. He stroked, caressed, and eventually found her hands. Darting and weaving, making occasional contact with the skin of her fingers and palms, he teased to and fro, making the nerve clusters jump as if they were on fire. Burying her face in the crook of his neck she murmured softly, his "magical" effect on her apparent.
She responded in kind by tearing her hands away from his, and once again began to play with the small, light reddish hairs that covered his chest. As his breathing became more pronounced she began to kiss her way down his torso, with her wandering fingers as guides. Eventually, she found the object of her attentions and started to administrate fully when he sat up, grabbed her face quickly, and crushed his mouth to hers. Their tongues fought like lions as their arms were intertwined over each of their bodies, each trying to outdo the other.
Senses that had once been tame now became inflamed with extraordinary desire. He kissed his way down to the sensitive center of her chest, his hands cupping, caressing, and bringing new life to those buds. She threw her head back, her long hair flying wild, and as alive and drifting as seaweed in the current. The woman groaned aloud as her own hands caught his face. She kneaded his scalp, and teased his ears, tracing the bottoms all the way to the sensitive points, and back around.
Their passion grew as they suddenly became one, joined, and now inseparable. The flush of white-hot blood poured through them both as they wrestled as only lovers can, again, each trying to outdo the other. Kalatel sensed as only a lover can that something was different about his lady, but was too inflamed to care at the moment. And finally, just as the blood came to a frothing peak, they fell off the cliffs into the abyss together, and this time, they both moaned in ecstasy as explosions filled the very essence of what they were.
After what seemed a lifetime, consciousness returned to each of them as they slowly began to be aware of their surroundings. Neither seemed in a hurry to separate themselves, so they stayed together, enjoying the rush of feelings and emotions that still swam around them, but thankfully they were more subdued. Finally, the woman was the first to arise, thereby separating them. She walked over to the opened window, the light that flowed in the room from the moon and the stars identifying her.
"Sarah?" He questioned, unable to believe what his eyes were telling him.
Sarah turned back to face him, now nearly silhouetted. Only her outline was apparent as the rest was lovingly draped in midnight's shadow. She smiled then, and spoke for the first time. "Disappointed?"
He scoffed at the sarcasm in her voice, and sat up on the bedroll, swinging his feet down to the floor. "Hardly. How long has it been since we last saw each other, anyway?"
She smiled again, but this time, he saw no love in it at all. She turned back to the opened window, and stared at the moon. "Ten years, at least I think it was. You do seem... surprised."
"What did you expect? When I saw you last, you hadn't even entered womanhood yet, and now I find you, here, in joining." He stopped suddenly, arose, and walked over to her. He cupped his hand under her chin, and lifted it to where he could look into her eyes. "What are you doing here, and how did you enter my room? All the doors are magically locked..."
"It was my doing!"
Kalatel turned suddenly at the voice to see his master walking towards him, stepping out of the shadows, her eyes never wavering from his. As she approached, Sarah scampered to the bed to clothe herself. Kalatel, however, made no move to cover himself. In fact, he smiled, and rested his left arm on the opened windowsill.
Reia kept her stoic mask on, but inwardly admired the elf. She allowed herself a brief glance at her student's marvelous physique, aware of how intrigued she was. "Brash, aren't we?" she mocked, trying to get a response, hoping to embarrass him.
Kalatel shrugged his shoulders, and retorted back, "We are in my bedchambers, my lady."
Reia nodded back, and suddenly it became clear to her. Of course, she reasoned. I still continue to treat him like a human. But he's an elf, and the elves are completely free... No wonder he's not embarrassed. In fact, she was getting no real response from him other than amusement…
Then, her face flushed as she suddenly noticed a response from the young elfling. She broke out in a light sweat, her eyes widened slightly, and she felt suddenly giddy. He was becoming aroused again, but this time his eyes were only on her. Turning as not to let him see her reactions, she answered another of his questions. "As to what she is doing here, Sarah is on a mission, on behalf of the Knights of Tora.
"I sent her here because I thought you were only meditating or resting," she continued. "If you were sleeping, then she could wake you up... but I didn't think that was the way that she would wake you!"
The young newcomer muttered under her breath. "Can you blame me?"
Reia glanced with disdain at the younger woman. No words were said, but Sarah became suddenly uneasy. She looked down at the polished floor, her expression now very, very afraid. Kalatel turned to Sarah with a question on his face. When Sarah felt the motion, she walked towards him, this time more appropriately attired. "You are a Knight of Tora, the floating city's soldier elite?" he asked disbelievingly. He knew of the knights, and if this young woman were a member, he would eat every one of her birthday candles on her next celebration cake.
Smiling, she replied back. "That's not what your master said. She said that I’m on a mission for the Knights."
Curious, Kalatel took her by the shoulders. "Sarah. What mission?"
Reia answered for the younger woman. "The knights need a spell caster."
***************************************************
Muffled sound began to filter through to the man, slowly waking him. Without moving. he became aware of a few things as they slowly registered on his consciousness. Light was all but gone. He felt constricted, as in tied down. Noise in general appeared to be dampened, and as he kept still, bits and pieces of conversations gradually could be overheard. The military training in him sharpened, as the facts fell into place.
He had been injured, and even now was under a leech’s care. Another voice that seemed familiar resounded with a higher tenor note, and the patient finally identified the second voice as the royal Viser, Westurn Kreamble. Then, the man suddenly realized that he was wrapped in bandages, nearly head to toe. That knowledge came as a welcome thrust into the dimness of his sight, for from that point, Prince Aqrian Kradeem felt more in control of a situation that he had absolutely no control in.
“Amazing... considering the depths... burns,” said the as of yet unidentified voice.
Burns? Why did that one word nearly bring back a memory? Something of soaring in the wind, and sudden heat... screams, including his own... the sounds of ripping metal and flesh...
“Yes.” This was from the old advisor, whom Aqrian had grown up with.
It seemed the old man had always been near him, always been near... This felt right, somehow. It brought forth calmness in him that the prince found shocking. True, the old man had been more of a father than his own, who was more concerned with ruling a vast kingdom than in the rearing of a son, even if that son would one day inherit all that the king now owned. But Aqrian hadn’t known his feelings ran this deep for Western. As he lay there absorbing this new realization, the Viser continued talking. His voice, closer now, easily pierced the layers of bandages that covered the prince’s face.
“Very true, Brother Shanuret. Your prayers to Apollo have done wonders. Aqrian will recover... at least most of his body will. But I’m not sure about his spirit.”
That last comment made the cavalier squirm a little.
“He will live. The rest...”
The voice that apparently belonged to the Greek priest Shanuret died down, and the prince stilled his breathing, straining to hear the rest. But all he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears, and all he could feel was the maddening itch of parts of his body. Not to mention the unforgettable presence of the wraps that constricted his body that strove to block the majority of his senses. Finally, he could stand it no more. He tried to speak, but found he had no voice. It took several moments before a hoarse, scratchy moan could be issued forth from his trembling lips.
He waited for a moment, but they continued with their own conversation, the tones were still apparent to him, but the words were still muffled beyond his ability to hear clearly. Apparently the other two in the room didn’t hear the attempt from the wounded knight. He braced himself, and forced out the word he tried to utter a moment earlier.
“We- Westur-n.”
A scuffling sound was heard, and the knight felt the leathery touch of his mentor... his friend. Apparently the old sage was holding onto an area of his arm that was undamaged. Still the shock of the grasp sent daggers of pain through his torso, and the cavalier suppressed a shudder.
“Are you all right, lad?”
“My lord, how do you feel?” Brother Shanuret asked
“W- One at... at a time, please,” Aqrian stuttered back. He felt Westurn’s grip loosen and give his arm a reassuring pat. Setting everything aside, the prince took a deep breath. “What happened?’
“What do you remember, lad?”
The prince sighed. “Very little... I’m afraid.” His body wracked itself with pain, and the knight took a steadying breath. “What happened to me?”
Their silence told him nearly everything. But he had to know.
“Don’t make me command you, Westurn! Wh- what’s wrong with me?”
Aqrian could almost “see” the old advisor sigh. “My lord, you must try and remember. If you can’t do that, then what we have to tell you won’t matter much.”
The prince was suddenly afraid, a feeling he hadn’t felt since he was very young, and that loss of control startled the knight more than the pain that continued to flow through every pore of his body. He was dumbfounded, and didn’t know where to begin. Or how to even start thinking when all was blank before him.
The old sage seemed to understand this, and spoke first. “Do you remember you’re mount’s name?”
The question brought forth the vision of two animals: One his trusty horse that rode all over the kingdoms. But for some reason, he now thought of his other mount, his magical horse out of legend. A Pegasus. “Of course. Nightbeam. He’s eight or nine years old now.”
“And you’re wife’s name?”
Angry, the prince exploded. “What foolishness is this, old man? You know damn well I’m not married, or even thinking of it!”
“And what was the very last thing I said to you when you were in my tower?”
“Wh- why you said...” The prince hesitated as the fear grew and surrounded him like a smothering blanket. “You said, ‘It’s coming!’” he replied, a little too quickly. Panic surged fresh in his thoughts, although the cavalier couldn’t understand why. “No!” Aqrian strangled out as he thrashed around suddenly, bringing fresh amounts of agony the like he had never felt before. This only fueled his attempts to escape this house of despair. Suddenly, a vision, something impossibly huge swarmed before his eyes. He threw his hands before his head, trying to block the sight, only to be reminded where he was, and of his condition. “NO!” he screamed again, shamelessly feeling his bowels loosen as the real horror he had faced engulfed him completely.
Again he felt the experience all over. He remembered meeting his company, and their commanders. He remembered the battle plans... plans? What were they thinking? Nothing they had ever faced could possibly have prepared the soldiers for what was coming. He remembered the peace of climbing into his air-mount’s saddle, stroking her fine, unnatural mane as the Pegasus nickered in impatience, feeling the adrenaline that practically filled the air around the men and the other pegasi. This was the only time during this fit that the prince seemed to calm, but the moment faded too quickly. Suddenly, swooping steeply from the highest reaches of the sky... it thundered down, the noise unholy and deafening.
The knights were experienced in fighting hand-to-hand, in the air or on the ground, panicked, because in a single pass, the beast had slaughtered or maimed over a third of their complement. They thrashed about, desperately trying to find the monster as it again swept behind a cloud in the sky, only to come crashing through again with it’s claws bared. The pegasi, lost in their haze of fear, bucked, thrashed, and snorted about, completely ignoring their masters.
Aqrian, to his credit, was only one of a handful that recovered quickly. The prince, still in control of his steed, climbed at an angle, impossible if he had been on the ground, and viciously slashed upward as the red monster passed by. A horrid scream issued forth as part of it, webbing behind its ear, or possibly it’s very ear itself, lopped off. The brute rolled and howled about, dispersing a substance that could only have been blood from the torn aperture. That’s when it suddenly stopped, a move quite impossible according to all the known laws of science. The denial of these rules continued as the beast continued it’s hovering about in the air, with it’s gigantic wings beating effortlessly. And slowly, ever so slowly, it turned it’s head about to face the knight, who began to tremble beneath his armor.
Regarding the man coldly, it said, “Y’er dead!” And then the thing opened it’s mouth, inhaling deeply.
For the next few minutes the sage and the middle-aged cleric tried unsuccessfully to hold down the screaming cavalier as pain surged with the return of this last memory. Slowly, the shaking subsided, but the knight’s face was still contorted with remembered aches. Sometime during Aqrian’s fit, Shanuret began to murmur lightly, praying to his god for the power and ability to help his lord. A gentle luminescence crept from the cleric’s hands slowly enveloping Aqrian, and ever so gradually, the knight relaxed. Even his facial muscles appeared to slacken as the tension on the bandages eased.
Nodding his thanks to the priest, Westurn slowly released his grip on the warrior, not knowing if he had actually helped the prince by making him face his recent terror. But a pressing situation had forced his hand, and he needed Aqrian now more than ever. Just as he let go of the prince, he felt the knight’s hand close painfully upon his own aged one. He gasped with the force of the injured man’s grip.
Aqrian released his hold when he heard the old man’s intake of air. “Sorry,” he apologized, somewhat lamely. “I wasn’t sure if you were there or not.”
“No, my lord. It is I who should be begging your pardon. More disturbing issues have we to occupy our times now, I fear.” Saying that, he pressed something cold and metallic in the knight’s bandage-covered hand. Westurn could actually see the knight frown through the fabrics that were his dressings.
“Oh, by all the rulers before!” murmured King Aqrian, for he had come to understand the nature of the item he held. Though covered with debris, including black, sticky blood the knight couldn’t see, but could definitely feel, there was no mistaking the royal crown for what it was. “And my mother?” he questioned; knowing the answer before Westurn reluctantly gave it.
“You know your mother... she never left his side.”
With some effort, the new king sat up, feeling a few muscles in his abdomen pull, and tear. He didn’t care. Concern for his parents, and his duty became all encompassing. The knight began to remove his bandages, despite the squawk of protest from both men present. “How long ago?”
“Four days ago, my lord. Anticipating your desires, we have sent scouts to our allies, and those that can help us in this, our time of need.”
Aqrian grunted as he cleared a small path of the bandages that covered his eyes. Light, painful but pure, stabbed straight to his brain as a dull throb returned to the king’s consciousness, eliciting a memory of the same agony he endured these past days. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he sat up completely, and continued with the removal of the bandages. “Very well. And my parent’s last rites?”
Westurn glanced to the priest, who nodded back in response. But still the sage didn’t answer back right away. He had known the boy’s family far too long to be comfortable telling the knight the information that he so desperately wanted.
Clearing the last of the bandages away, Aqrian glanced about, but his vision swam in blurs of gray and white. He could recognize no distinct details, but he spotted the familiar shape of his old friend. “Dammit, man! Answer!”
“Yes, my king.”
Yet again, the old advisor paused. But now King Aqrian could determine that the old man seemed to be visibly upset, but about what, the cavalier couldn’t begin to fathom. He moved painfully over to stand next to his old mentor, and placed a comforting hand on the old man’s shoulder. At the visor’s startled glance, Aqrian nodded.
“Please.” There was no command, and the older man was comforted by the knowledge that Aqrian would be a just lord... just as he had been brought up to be. Compassion was a factor in the new king’s life that had always been there. But now, it would have to be apparent for those that he governed.
“My lord,” Westurn finally sputtered out. “There was nothing left to give rites over. The crown was dropped from the sky… by him. It took off with them... and others. Oh, so many other people were consumed...” The old advisor stopped, unable to continue.
“...By all that’s holy!” sighed Aqrian, and he visibly slumped back, the horror of what he had faced insignificant compared to the vision created by the old sage. He pressed his still bandaged hand to his eyes, trying to dispel the moment. Plus, an ache began to throb in his head, and the added irritation only served to infuriate the knight that much more. “I swear, by the blood of my family, that I will eradicate this… thing! Nevermore will it, or another of its kind harm innocents ever again!”
Aqrian’s voice had taken on a troubling tone, and it bothered Westurn and the priest a great deal, but neither spoke out against their king. But then, sighing softly when the old advisor looked down at his feet, troubled, the new king glanced back at Western.
“What is left of our defenses?”
The old sage slumped into a chair and waved in someone who had been standing in the shadows near the doorway. With a start, Aqrian recognized Shem, the sentinel who he had invited to be his personal guard for the defense of Tora. Shem appeared to be wounded as well, for it looked like his shield arm would never be usable again.
“My king,” the guard said stiffly. He bowed quickly, and moved his injured arm out of the cavalier’s site.
Embarrassed a little by his condition as well, the knight understood the other man’s actions. He was also acutely aware that there was a prevalent odor that was present due to his soiled bandages. He remembered his fit from a few minutes ago, but hoped that the other man had not seen what had happened. In order to command, sometimes you had to appear invulnerable to your men, even those you have known your entire life.
“Shem, old man, it’s good to see you, or rather, what I can see of you,” muttered Aqrian, trying to deal with his near-blindness. “How bad is it? That is, the situation? My lieutenants aren’t present, so I can only assume they didn’t survive... You’ll have to fill in for them.”
“M-My lord, No. I-I’m no officer. I couldn’t even save you from that damned beast. What makes you think that I will be any good to you?” Shem was so startled by what his king had proposed that he nervously took a step backwards, and involuntarily began to scratch at the wrappings over his ruined arm.
Despite the pain it caused, Aqrian smiled briefly at his friend’s discomfort. “It’s all right, Shem. You should have seen me during my first command. Despite being the king’s son,” here the knight shuddered slightly, but waved off the sentinel’s worried look, “I didn’t have such an easy time with commanding the troops. Don’t fret so, Shem, you’ll wear into this quite well.”
“I-If you say so, milord.”
“That I do, my faithful friend. What news have you of our defenses, and tell me what you know of what has happened these three days that I’m not aware of.” And as the sentinel began to fill in the details of what had transpired, Aqrian began to get a picture of what it was he faced, the amount of devastation that it caused, and what it might take to bring the damned thing down. And he vowed to bring it down... if it was the last thing he ever did. The blood of his parents would not rest until it was so.