Cethe (66 page)

that cradled his battered body with great tenderness.

Dreaming. He was dreaming.

“I’l kil them! I’l kil them al !”

He heard the rage and moaned, expecting the pain to begin, but, “Easy, Stefn. Easy.”

Stefn was laid down onto the cold, damp stones. His eyelids fluttered. Above him appeared an angel haloed in light. He found

the strength to lift one hand, to try and reach the angel’s face. “You… you look… you look like Michael… ”

“I am Michael,” said the angel in a choked voice. “Hold on, Stefn.”

Michael? Of course it wasn’t Michael. Michael was far away in the west. Stefn closed his eyes. Any moment, the door would

open and one of the Dragons would be back. It would al begin again. He felt tears on his face and marveled that he could stil have

them after so much weeping.

Yet the pain didn’t come again. It faded swiftly, like water going down a drain. His thoughts steadied. His world came back into

focus. The angel, however, remained, hands moving over his naked body, gentle hands, healing everywhere they touched.

And it was the angel who was crying! How very odd.

Michael abandoned al caution escaping the Domicile. He used his power freely, mowing down guards and Dragons alike. It

was fortunate there were few of the latter to be found, for his indiscriminate use of k’na quickly sapped his strength. He never

hesitated, however, wanting only to get Stefn away from this hel ish place, to get him somewhere safe.

His precious burden said nothing at al . Stefn’s arms were wrapped tightly around his neck as he strode through the hal s.

Words howled around him. Men scattered, priest and Penitent alike. He heard wal s break and ceilings crash behind him. Screams

echoed in the holocaust he spun. Flames leapt greedily to his right and left. Nothing could stand in his path; his rage cut through

stone like butter.

Suddenly, there was only sky overhead. Where was he?

“Michael?”

“Shhh.”

They were at the front of the Domicile. Soldiers were running toward them from the fortress gate.

“Michael! I can walk. Let me down!”

Stefn’s voice was strong and annoyed. Michael released him.

“They have the Third Chronicle, Michael! The book written by Derek…”

Michael almost laughed. Trust Stefn to fix on that!

“Let them keep it,” he retorted. “I’d rather have you than…”

He broke off, seeing what he wanted. Horses! Michael took Stefn’s hand and they ran.

The horses were terrified, but Michael seized the wil of the nearest, jumping onto its back and pul ing Stefn up before him.

Weaving an arcane shield around them, he sent the terrified, ensorcel ed beast leaping forward, lending buoyancy to its hooves.

They thundered through the fortress gate, trampling the soldiers who tried to block their path, gal oping toward the next gate and the

way out.

Ahead, a line of horseman waited. Dragons! Their heads were bowed, their hands held together in prayer. The air shimmered

and power beat against his shield. Stefn whimpered and the horse stumbled, slowing.
NO!

Fury, fear, love and desperation, none of it was enough! A wal of force knocked Michael back, throwing them both from the

horse. He staggered to his feet, trying to draw a breath, but his strength ebbed further.

They moved toward him, a disciplined line of knightmages, lips moving in unison. Their Words sucked the air from Michael’s

lungs. He felt his knees buckling.

Suddenly, Stefn was there, right in front of him, arms around him, mouth pressed against his.

So be it. Let me die with him in my arms.

Michael opened his mouth, felt the soft caress of Stefn’s tongue. He closed his eyes against the vision of death moving toward

them.

But it wasn’t death; it was k’na, a dazzling, fiery stream of it pouring into him through Stefn’s eager mouth. It crackled along

Michael’s nerves, fil ing him with its thunderous power. From the maelstrom came a long-forgotten, primal memory. Perhaps it was

Loth, seeking to set things right. Perhaps it was some older, more ancient god. At that moment, it didn’t matter to Michael. He rose

from his knees, and holding Stefn close, sang out Words not heard for centuries.

The world vanished in a flash of blinding white light. The air hummed with unrestrained power. There was a smel of burning

flesh and brimstone. Half-blinded by the unworldly bril iance, Michael somehow found their horse, and got back on it, hauling Stefn

after him.

Then they were past, their horse jumping over heaps of ash where men had been. Together, they raced through the blasted

fortress gates, tearing down into the city while, al around them, Hel unleashed its ful fury.

Aramis Lothlain I, the first king of united Tanyrin, represented the best of governments, in the opinion of the author, by

allowing his subjects unprecedented freedom, not only of expression, but of religion. It was that very freedom that allowed the

so-called Golden Age of Tanyrin to flourish.

from Burkenrude, L.,The Government of Men,

Year of Loth’s Dominion 1502

They picked up Hunters outside the city wal s. Stefn looked over his shoulder and there they were, black dots silhouetted

against the blazing city, a line of riders too disciplined to be anyone but. When he tried to warn Michael, the naragi’s only response

was a low curse. Michael slumped forward in the saddle, arms going slack. Stefn just managed to grab the reins before they could

slip away.

“No!” he cried. “Michael! Stay with me!”

“M-make for the mountains. Auron… Auron wil find us…” Voice trailing away, Michael went limp, sliding sideways, forcing

Stefn to stop and grab hold of him lest he fal . Stefn untied the belt cinching Michael’s grey tunic and managed to bind the two of

them together. Then, awkwardly, he started forward again, veering away from the main road and across the fields, headed for the

distant, dark bulk of the Midders.

It was his vague hope to get far enough ahead of their pursuers to stop, to get Michael to the ground and perform his duty as

a cethe. Riding with an unconscious man before him in a land he didn’t know, however, soon convinced him that was a futile hope.

The riders at their back drew inexorably closer.

Dawn broke over the hil s, sunlight sifting down through conifers to dapple the path. Stefn barely noticed. He clung grimly to

the reins, Michael a dead weight in his arms, and concentrated on staying in the saddle. At least there were no knightmages among

the men who fol owed, or they would never have made it this far. Not that it mattered. Hunters were stil trained warriors and he was

a naked cethe with an unconscious naragi guiding their tired horse up the steep, wooded, and whol y unfamiliar mountain slopes.

The memory of their escape from Zelenov was burned into his brain: the explosions, the screams, the flames roaring against a

black, roiling sky. It was a blur of terror and awe. Little wonder Michael had col apsed. So much power!

What if he hadn’t stopped to heal Stefn in the dungeon? He might have had sufficient strength to throw off their pursuers.

Only his body could restore Michael’s strength, but there was no time. For one dangerous moment, he nearly gave up.

And yet… Michael had come for him! Against al odds, common sense, and self-preservation, Michael Arranz had come

straight at the heart of the enemy for him. Even with death on their trail, the realization had the power to warm Stefn and fil him with

incongruous, unreasonable joy. His throat tightened, determination rising anew. He would
not
let the bastards capture them! They

would
get away! That much he could do to repay Michael!

A bird flashed across the road before them,, a streak of blue and red startling the horse. It was quickly swal owed up in the

trees. The road bent, emerging briefly from the trees, climbing up over a rocky bluff. Stefn’s pul ed back on the reins and their horse

stumbled to a halt. He looked down and his heart jumped. The Hunters were closer now, the line of green and gold visible in flashes

beneath the trees.

A shout back along the path sent his heart into his mouth. He looked over his shoulder and saw a Hunter rounding the corner.

He drove his naked heel into the horse’s flank, shaking the reins. “Go!” he shouted hoarsely.

The brave beast shambled forward, breaking into an unsteady trot. It was near the end of its endurance. Stefn felt Michael’s

weight shift at the horse’s uneven gait. For one terrifying moment, he thought the animal would fal , but it caught itself and went on.

Stefn could not imagine what they would do to him if they caught him again. Even worse would be Michael’s fate. “Run!” he

whispered, pleading with his overtaxed mount. “Dear Loth! Run!”

The sound of pursuit was thunderous. He could make out their words now as they shouted at him to stop. Suddenly, ahead on

the path, more riders burst from the trees. Green and gold fil ed Stefn’s despairing vision. He saw swords raised, glinting in the

filtered sunlight. He stopped, looking wildly around as they gal oped toward him.

One of the newcomers pul ed ahead. “Stefn! Ride on! Hurry!”

In shock, Stefb recognized the face beneath the Hunter’s helmet! It was Forry!
Forry!

Behind him were other familiar faces: Erich and Jeremy! They raced past him, dozens of horsemen behind them, and the

forest rang with the clash of steel and shouts of soldiers.

Stefn didn’t stop to figure it out. He struggled to bring his panicked horse back onto the path, leaving the battle behind. Up the

slope they rode until they broke free of the woods. On a windy, open hil top, a man on horseback waited.

Auron!

The nobleman waved, grinning. “It’s about time, damn it!” Then, “Where are your clothes?”

Stefn started to laugh. He was stil laughing when Auron, with an oath, dismounted and ran to them, catching them as they

toppled from the saddle. He managed to get Michael untied, laying him out on the grass.

“Here,” Auron took a cloak from his saddlebag and put it over Stefn’s shoulders. “Sit down. You look done in, too.”

“We should keep going. They might overcome the others…”

“Not a chance!” Auron grinned confidently. Gently and firmly, he pushed Stefn down and thrust a canteen into his hands. “It’s

Severyn’s elite guard you’re talking about!”

Stefn discovered he was desperately thirsty and drank until Auron snatched it away.

“You’l make yourself sick,” he said.

Stefn sighed, stretching out the kinks in his shoulders. Beside him, Michael slept on, oblivious. Without thinking, Stefn reached

over and brushed long, bright tendrils of hair from the h’nar’s pale face. “I don’t understand,” he said, looking up at Auron. “Why are

Forry and the others here?”

“Severyn sent them.”

“The prince?”

“The king.” Auron shook an admonitory finger at him, eyes twinkling. “You didn’t think he was about to leave his best friend

twisting in the wind, did you?”

“I - I suppose not. How did you know where to find us?”

“Marshlanders. The duke sent some witches. Stil , we were lucky. If Locke had been there, things might have ended

differently.”

“He wasn’t?” Stefn’s heart gave a smal lurch of dismay.

Auron shook his head. “He left town with a smal army just before Michael unleashed the fury of the naragi over the city.”

Stefn looked away to the east.

“The Archbishop wil learn about Zelenov’s destruction soon enough,” Auron went on, “if he doesn’t know already. Stil , I wager

we’ve got some time before he can do anything about it. I just hope Mick wakes up soon, else we’l have to carry his dead weight

over the mountains.”

“No,” said Stefn. “We won’t.”

Auron opened his mouth, then closed it again. “That’s right, I forgot.” He reddened slightly. “Shal I give you some privacy?”

“If you please.”

Clearing his throat, Auron leapt to his feet, brushing off his breeches. “I suppose I could go help the others,” he said. Mounting

his horse, he winked and, whistling, cantered away, disappearing into the trees.

Michael slept on, oblivious, pale hair spread in disarray across the grass and weeds. He looked appealingly vulnerable in the

Penitent’s tunic, long limbs relaxed. Stefn shed the cloak. Cool mountain air washed over his skin. The lethet tingled.

A cethe could remove the lethet if his heart so chose. Stefn looked down at Michael and knew why his had not come off, why

it probably never would.

Leaning over, he covered Michael’s mouth with his own. Michael shifted slightly, but didn’t wake. He lay, unresisting, while

Stefn kissed him deeply, his lips parting under the gentle pressure of Stefn’s tongue.

How sweet he tasted. How beautiful he was. Stefn’s heart ached with tenderness, with the need to express the feelings he

hadn’t dared admit before, not even to himself.

When he’d taken his feel of Michael’s mouth, he tasted the soft skin of Michael’s throat, the swel of his chest and, brushing

aside the flimsy grey fabric of his tunic, seized a nipple and began to suck on it. Michael moaned, body shifting again. Heat flashed

through Stefn and he sucked harder, feeling the nub turn rock-hard under his tongue.

“Stefn,” Michael’s voice was a whisper. His eyes remained closed, but one hand lifted to cradle Stefn’s head, to guide it to his

other nipple and gasp when Stefn gently teased and nipped it to attention. “You don’t have to…”