Bloodraven (83 page)

The baths were indeed small, and housed in what seemed a natural stone chamber. It had been modified only marginally to please the eye and shape of man. The small chamber was lit by sconces around the rough wall, and though the floor was smooth, the edges of the pool itself were irregular. The water was perhaps ten feet in diameter and rippled slightly at the far end. The chamber was warm, and the redhead indicated a stone bench by the entrance where he might lay his clothing. He nodded his understanding and waited for her to leave before shedding his simple tunic and drawstring trousers.

He slid into the water with a sigh, his muscles responding to the soothing heat even before he’d fully submerged. There were ledges around the edge and he settled down, arms spread out along the sides, and let the water do its work.

His thoughts drifted. To the hot springs hidden in rocky glades in the great forests of home and many happy times spent there with lovers and friends. He wondered—would he ever see any of them again, and if he did, would the blossoming power he’d found within himself taint their view of him forever? Would his own family turn from him? Mother, Father, Grandfather? He thought it likely, for the ways of the people in their subservience to the Goddess was unspoken law. He wondered how it would feel to be shunned by those who’d always supported him the most, and shuddered.

Does it still matter to you, what they think
?

The question whispered in his mind and Yhalen’s eyes snapped open, fixing upon Elvardo standing at the lip of the pool. The dark lord was naked, his lean, hard body draped in shadow and the outlining flicker of flame. He stepped down into the pool and the water seemed to swell around him, welcoming his presence as Yhalen did not.

“You’re not welcome,” he said warningly.

In my own bath, in my own keep?

“Get out of my head.”

The mindspeech seemed too intimate for comfort. Elvardo canted his head, gliding across waist deep water towards him.

He stood before Yhalen, a faint curve to his lips. The ends of his bronzed hair were just beginning to cling together from the moisture. He was sinfully beautiful, drawing the eye where the mind didn’t wish it to go.

“What do you want?”

What do
you
want?

Yhalen glared up, wiping damp hair from his eyes.

260

Ah, yes, you dream of a cock the size of a child’s arm stretching your—
You stay out of my head!!

Yhalen struck out at him in embarrassment, drawing that ever-present source of earth energy and using it like a blunt fist. Only the energy glanced off something like a chunk of ricocheting rock and rebounded back into Yhalen.

His world went bright with pain, his body numb with shock that slowly began to blossom into bone deep pain. He couldn’t breathe from the blood filling his mouth and nose...only it wasn’t blood, but warm water, which he gagged and heaved out as Elvardo hauled him to the surface by a grip in his hair.

You need to know your limitations, Yhalen
. He shoved him back against the edge and leaned into Yhalen’s heaving chest.
You need to know whose patience it’s safe to try and whose most definitely is not!

Elvardo’s lower body rubbed against Yhalen’s, the hard flesh of his erection prodding Yhalen’s own.

Fingers bit into the soft flesh behind Yhalen’s knee and hauled the leg up, trapping it beneath Elvardo’s elbow. And if he’d had the strength to fight it, he wouldn’t have—the wants of the body overwhelming the indignities of a spell-shocked mind. The need for that flavor of home, of Ydregi scent, even diluted.

The need for Ydregi features and the subtle awareness of kinsman—even though Elvardo was outcast.

Elvardo’s cock found his entrance and pushed in, the warm water providing no easy lubrication. It hurt a little, but then again, not as much as Yhalen craved. Elvardo’s fingers grasped his buttocks, pressing him closer, dragging them both a few steps out into the pool. Yhalen sank back into the water, hair fanned out around him, legs wrapped around Elvardo’s waist as the dark lord stilled within him, a hard and tantalizing presence inside him. Hands drifted out across Yhalen’s slick chest, swirling in the pools of water caught in the depressions of muscles and bone. Ghosting across hard nipples until Yhalen moaned and tried to push himself further down upon the flesh impaling him.

Do you want him?
The question whispered in his mind.
Do you crave the ferocity of sex with a half
human giant?
Elvardo shifted his hips, withdrawing a little and jabbing up into a most sensitive spot.

Sensation blossomed and grew, spreading like pain up from the center of Yhalen’s body.

Movemovemove.
He wanted. He needed. Why was his body so weak? Why did his mind follow suit, resolves crumbling like brittle wood?

Please.

There was a glimmer of satisfaction and Elvardo began to move. Yhalen clung to his shoulders, using his body to drive his hips forward to meet the dark lord’s thrusts. Wanting deeper, harder, faster—wanting the reaches of his guts filled in a manner than Elvardo could not physically achieve.

Ah, Goddess, had Bloodraven ruined him for sex with normal men? Taught him to crave more than a human man could ever provide?

Elvardo might have picked up on that thought, or perhaps he’d just reached his stride, for he slammed up into Yhalen’s body with renewed vigor, digging sharp nails into his hips. It was that spark of pain that sent Yhalen over the edge.
Yes. Yesyesyes
.

Elvardo bent over him, his teeth fastening to the juncture of neck and shoulder and biting down hard. That bit of pain joined the rest in a bright blinding crescendo behind Yhalen’s eyes. Blood was drawn. He knew it, felt it flowing into Elvardo’s mouth, felt the satisfaction and a subtle dark need in Elvardo’s mind as he ate of Yhalen’s flesh.

You remind me of him.
The voice purred in his head as his blood and bits of his flesh were consumed by Elvardo’s lips.
Only so much prettier. Even in his youth, Yhalor never had your looks. I don’t hold it
against you, though. I’m not one to hold grudges over generations, though I doubt your grandfather would feel
the same. Self-righteous ass. I’d like to see his face when he finds out you turned out just like me.

Something snapped. Yhalen jerked out of the miasma of pleasure so quickly it was like a slap in the face. Whether Elvardo had meant to hurt him to the quick with that statement or not, it had happened—and this time when he struck out in indignation and anger the dark lord was too distracted to deflect the earth-fueled energy.

The impact of it broke them apart, bleeding a little into Yhalen from the initial contact, but absorbed mostly by Elvardo, who was flung backwards and into the wall at the back of the pool.

Elvardo sank down, the submerged ledge keeping him from going under. Blood leaked from his mouth and nose, and for a moment his eyes were large-pupiled and unfocused before he slowly shook his head and fixed Yhalen with a baleful glare.

261

Yhalen floundered backwards, feeling a terrible gathering of energy in the air and knowing very well that a focused and vengeful dark lord would be the death of him. But then Elvardo lifted a hand and wiped away a smear of blood from the side of his mouth, and his lips turned up a little in a grim smile.

“You prove my point. You’re like me and nothing like him, so I forgive you.”

Elvardo rose, moving from the pool. The erection he’d never relieved had softened a little, but not completely.

“I believe I shall find more agreeable company for the evening.”

He reached for his robe, lying across the stone bench with Yhalen’s clothing, and then left. Soft words flittered across Yhalen’s mind when he was gone.

Twice forgiven. The next time you and I will have conflict.

262

Days passed, and Yhalen’s strength returned to him. There was no avoiding Elvardo in Elvardo’s own home, even though Yhalen tried to evade encounters. Elvardo, he found, was supremely indulgent of Elvardo’s own wants and had very little care, for the most part, of the desires of others. Yhalen supposed that living for so long with nothing but the women he’d conjured and the old man—who Yhalen thought was entirely human, but difficult to read at the best of times—the dark lord had become more self-indulgent than he might have with normal human company to steer him away from narcissism.

Though Elvardo plagued him at will, the dark lord did not overtly pursue physical contact. Oh, suggestive things issued from his lips, as did innuendo and insult, but that was simply Elvardo amusing himself. And occasionally he would say something that was less for his own entertainment and of a more serious nature.

“Fire comes easiest to us all, because it wishes life of its own. But it doesn’t mean we hold the greatest affinity to it over the other elements. Some are slow to respond and difficult to control. I think for you, the earth itself might hold the closest connection. “

“I don’t think so.” Yhalen still had nightmarish memories of the earth quaking and crumbling, of tracers of energy flowing for miles, under the crust of the earth, agitated by his impulse.

“Just because you fear, doesn’t make it an untruth.”
And denial is worse than fear and far more
dangerous.

That last bit echoed in Yhalen’s mind long after Elvardo had wandered away. It was only truth. He had done a terrible thing in retaliation for a terrible thing and lives had been ended, the mountains altered.

He tried to shun it, but when his mind drifted he could often feel the slow pulse of the earth under him. The veins that ran through earth and stone like the veins of a man—the heat that beat far below, pulsing slow and steady like the telltale heartbeat of man. Perhaps that was why he felt it so strongly, because of his affinity for healing. Because there were similarities at the core of things, between the energies of the earth and the energies that filled a living body. Perhaps if he’d discovered this affinity beforehand, or listened more closely to the things Elvardo had tried to teach him before they had left this vale in search of halflings, the things that had happened at Bloodraven’s clan might have been avoided. Or, at the very least, been not so devastating.

Elvardo?
He sent the feeler out, uncertain of his own ability to initiate the mind speak. But the dark lord responded, from wherever he was.

Yes?

You said earth magic was difficult to control. How do I learn?

There was a pause, a hint of speculation from the other end of the mental connection, then.
You
begin with smaller things, before you try to move mountains.

There wasn’t an offer. Not like before. But then, Yhalen hadn’t been receptive to the learning of magicks when Elvardo had first attempted to impart knowledge, and Elvardo was nothing if not prideful.

Would you teach me?
Yhalen was not so stubborn, but it was still hard to ask. Hard to admit to himself that he wanted to learn the ways of magic, even though it trampled the beliefs of his people.

Even if it meant, that like Elvardo, he would truly be outcast.

Perhaps...if you’re nice.

If scowls could be felt through the mental connection that possessors of magic seemed to share, then Elvardo surely felt Yhalen’s. He didn’t feel any polite reply to that qualification might be uttered at the moment, so he said nothing. Still, he sensed the vague flitter of Elvardo’s amusement and assumed that the dark lord wouldn’t be averse to the undertaking.

The next morning, Yhalen attempted the long climb from the lower recesses of the keep to the upper floors. He found himself equal to the task, though it put him out of breath by the time he reached 263

sunlight, and his legs were shaky from the accomplishment. He found a balcony overlooking the vale and looked towards the far end. The morning was grey and fog clung to the sloping walls of the valley.

The distance was great enough that it was hard to see what—if any—activity took place at the other end. But he thought he saw a thin trickle of smoke and dark shapes that might have been boulders, but seemed too regular.

Closer to the keep, about half way down the valley, was a clearer encampment. A small collection of tents and pickets, with half a dozen thin trickles of smoke indicating campfires. He could just see the flash of color from a banner snapping in the wind. The king’s colors. Accompanied by the king’s men, no doubt, lingering here to oversee the terms of their agreement with Bloodraven. Yhalen wondered that Elvardo tolerated their presence. But then, Elvardo’s amusements were not always clear to an honest man.

He looked back to the distant hint of life at the far end, and wondered if Bloodraven were there.

Elvardo wouldn’t tell him for sure, but it was possible Elvardo might not actually know. It was doubtful that Bloodraven advertised his comings and goings. Especially if he were busy collecting halflings from the far reaches of ogre territories.

Yhalen was uncertain why he needed so strongly to know if Bloodraven were there, across the scant length of a mountain vale. Bloodraven had felt no such need to come for him—had he? Elvardo had not been entirely clear on that issue either. But perhaps that was just as well, for Yhalen wasn’t certain his own feelings on the subject were trustworthy. Was it reasonable to long after the ogr’ron who’d branded him and dragged him along like a dog on a leash for weeks? Perhaps he’d gone beyond reason, battered and used and subjugated, until he no longer knew what was right and what was wrong. Just like the magic, which he’d ceased to particularly fret over the practice of. Was that Bloodraven’s doing too, at the heart of things?