Excerpt - The Vengeful God's Eye (chapter portion)

The Vengeful God’s Eye

The distant jangle of keys roused him from slumber. He rolled over in the damp straw and faced the wall. Flea bites itched his skin raw, fraying his nerves to the edge of sanity and mould snuffled his nose, a constant tickling feather that would not quit, no matter how many times he sniffed or snorted. Unable to resist the urge any longer he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, they burned and wept constantly. Beneath his administrations crusted pus rolled into balls back and forth across his cheeks. A chill ran up his spine.

He shuddered.

The cell stank of brackish decay, piss and shit. The dark walls were crusted with salt crystals that danced in the flicker of approaching torch light. He sniffed and gagged, cursing the narrow confines and how close it placed him to the small cesspit in the corner where the uneven floor dropped away. As far as dungeons went this was one of the most pleasant he’d spent time in.

He stretched and arched his back, loud pops and cracks rattled down his misshapen spine and bounced around in the gloom of his cell, his soft sigh of relief swallowed by the rumbling crash of waves below.

Foot falls approached and eyes fell on him. They always did in such places. Men with courage forged in the safety of rusted bars separating them from their captives. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about much anymore. Faustus’ ill laid plan had gone even further awry when they had been dragged into the cells of Ra-seer and seemingly forgotten. There was no telling how long he’d been there, judging time by the meals brought to him proved futile, such occurrences were rare and far between. The fare always consisted of a bowl of soup, scarcely a ladle of tepid seawater with a fish or chicken bone discarded from some soldier’s plate for flavour and a ball of black bread so hard and stale had it been thrown at him it would have cracked his skull. The last feeding had been days ago, or so his ravished belly told him.

In the beginning he had spoken with Faustus, the company more than enough to make light of the brevity of their situation. Talk of Lasttel’s Blade, the Dragon’s Claw, forged of a scale wrought from Lasttel Bray’s legendary beast. Faustus foolishly thought the weapon may have been of some aid, until Kultah pointed out, that other than being described as quite elegant the blade was little more than an heirloom. Haunts and dyra had an aversion to iron thus making the forging of enchanted weapons problematic, making in truth, little more than fancy. Both men had long fallen quiet, sullen. All plots and schemes of escape forgotten or discarded like the soup’s chicken bone in the ladle – hopes left to drift on the wind for the next hapless prisoners to pluck and suck upon the bitter juices of fancied freedom.

As many a cell as Kultah had graced, he’d never tarried long enough to find out how a lengthy stay affected one’s mind. How one’s resolve withered along with all hope. Neither of which he held to any longer. Of course he had used imprisonment as a means to break men whilst within Asan’s ranks, but he had never truly experienced it for himself. With the Dreji Gart robbed of him there was no escape other than by force alone. There was no side-stepping across the veil to slip through insubstantial doors that remained staunch and secure in the Lyrith Vahail. There was no dyra fed power flooding his veins drawn through the veil by the Dreji Irias. The runes glowed, but the light was soft, barely visible even in the darkest corner of his cell. If only he could get across and feel the cold currents of that world. A world of un-death that would recharge him, bring him back to the man he’d once been. If only...

He opened his eyes and stared at the stonework pressing on his nose. Orange light flickered above his shadow.

Still watching. Let them.

He reached within himself as he had done so many times before. Calling forth the Kehn Deir but as before the wall merely quivered before his white gaze. Shadows did not invert, no dyra lurked waiting for him. Not only had the door been shut, but the curtains drawn too.

“What do you see, Bairn Slayer?” the voice was a smooth baritone, liquid silk flowing through the bars to pour into his upturned ear. Kultah shuddered again, he knew that voice. It was time to turn away from the wall.

He rolled with a pained grunt and gasp of exertion. Lifting up onto his haunches, he leaned on shaking hands, dragging breath after breath into ravaged lungs. He released his hold on the Death Sight. A giant stood before his cell. A midnight queue banded in gold ringlets draped over one shoulder to dangle across a chiselled abdomen, bronzed tree trunk arms crossed a barrelled chest plucked as smooth as the man’s voice. Surely this could not be. It was like looking into a mirror of youth.

“Time has traded with us unequally,” the Viscount drawled. At either end of his lips a tuft of black moustache trailed down in twin plats, below his chin the coarse hairs entwined a trio of golden beads which bounced with every word. Shadows hid much of his face, but Kultah was familiar with the dark almond shaped eyes that regarded him and the cold cruelty that dwelled there.

“Sune,” Kultah croaked. “You’ve grown up.” A spasm of coughs racked him into a quivering heap on the floor.

“And you’ve grown old.”

The cell door screamed on rusted hinges. The thin gaoler jumped back to let the Viscount enter. He crouched down beside him with casual and disarming grace. A soft meticulously manicured hand ran over Kultah’s bald head, his fingers trailing almost seductively. “There was a time I could not resist the rawness of you, Kul. You were everything I dreamed of being. Everything each of us dreamed. The mighty Kultah Vultin, leader of Asan’s Horde, Conqueror of Chan a Dar, Forger of Empires.” His voice grew thick with contempt. “Look at you now. Traitor to those who laid their trust in you, murderer of your best friend’s brother and reviled by all whom once loved you.”

“Is that what this is about?” Kultah forced a chuckle, his forehead resting on the cold stone floor. “Little more than the tantrum of a jilted lover?”

“We were never such.” Sune Bak hissed and twisted his ear to turn his head so that he could see into Kultah’s eyes. The heat radiating from his body was intoxicating, it proclaimed strength and power, much more than Kultah had ever had without the aid of the Dreji Irias. “Spurning me for that camp following pony whore wasn’t enough, was it? You had to take Trevin from me too. You left me with nothing.”

Kultah forced a smile, a tarnished toothed grimace in the torch light. “I left you your life.”

“You left me with a reason to live.” Bak’s breath was sweet, fresh with mint. It made Kultah’s nose twitch and he sneezed. “Today is the day, Kul. The day my dreams are fulfilled.” He released the ear and stood over him. “An emissary has come from the Imperial Palace, a Bryion delegate with orders to return you to the Queen Imperial. When Asan returns from conquering the Ipithia he will torture you in the most beauteous ways imaginable. And I shall be there to savour ever drop of blood spilled, relishing every scream.”

“I’m to leave Rahn?”

“Is that hope I detect in your voice, Bairn Slayer? Do you think me foolish enough to let you beyond Lasttel’s Shroud, where your Death Runes can open doors to the world beyond? Where you can walk the paths of the dead, frolic with dyra and pass beyond our reach?”

Hope withering, Kultah starred at him. “How do you know such things?”

“You’d be surprised what I have learned since coming to this shit hole. What has come to light since word reached my ear of your presence here.” Sune Bak looked over his shoulder as Faustus was pressed to the bars by a pair of armoured Churyi.

Kultah’s eyes languished with his hope. His friend had been clean shaven, hair clipped short as per Toshii custom for nobility and dressed in a new ceremonial tunica under an ornate purple abolla. “I’m sorry old friend,” Faustus managed with his cheek pressed against the bars. “His Lordship came to me two days hence. He knew you were here and said if I could aid in your capture he would free my crew and return the Lady Hhorrunii to my family.”

Kultah said nothing. Words meant nothing now. There was no act or threat that would bear weight. He was a crippled old man. Weak and defenceless.

The Viscount waved a hand and the Toshii captain was dragged away.

“The dragon’s claw!!” Faustus cried. “K! The dragon’s claw!”

“You’re not releasing his crew.” Kultah pushed himself onto his rump and cast a disparaging glare at his captor.

“Your friend betrays you and you are concerned for his men? You’ve changed Kultah, you’re weak, pathetic.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But no, Varidious Sabinus has paid substantially for his son and ship to be returned.”

“Fautus’ father? What of the crew?”

“Alas,” Sune Bak sighed theatrically. “The ransom paid was not enough. Their fate has been taken out of my hands. As has his son’s, I doubt there will be enough left in the family coffers to hire a new crew to sail the Lady Hhorrunii home.”

“You bastard,” Kultah’s diminished voice lacked the conviction of his eyes. “Isander fuck you.”

“No my friend,” Bak kicked him and drove the breath from him. Three ribs broke. He felt each crack and splinter against his flesh. “The Imperial Delegate has arrived in Ru Sihn and rides here forth with. Joyous words have reached my ears. He’s a priest, so it seems the Isander clergy have finally swelled our ranks. No, Kul, you are the one The Beacon of Hope is about to fuck. But not before I have my own trophy.” He snapped his fingers at the Churyi standing outside the cell and stepped back. “Do it.” A file of guards entered the cell followed by a gruff, aged Hhorin. The local man wore meticulously cared for skins and smelled of stale blood. “Meet Rosk Half-guild, Ru Sihn’s premier tanner.”

“No,” Kultah tried to struggle as the men pinned him face down on the floor and stretched his arm out. “No, please!” His voice shook as never before. His heart hammered. For the first time in many years, Kultah Vultin felt mortal. For the first time since his family were captured by the bastard Asrin Raiders, he was afraid.

Progress Update

After meandering along for 2 and a half years and only managing to produce 20,000 words in that time, Deb and I have let loose these past 3 months and have smashed through the 120,000 word mark. Book one is pretty much writing itself now. We were aiming for 150k in the first draft, but Sunderer is proving to be a bit of a beast of its own making. Looks like we'll wrap up at about 180 - 190. First draft and edit finished by end of November and that's if the pace slackens off, which we don't intend to happen.

It will be an amazing and very satisfying accomplishment to punch out a strong character driven tale of such a magnitude in less than 9 months of dedicated writing.

With plot outline already sorted for Ash'rak (book 2 - the final scene of which is already drafted), here's hoping the narrative flows as readily and we can get into at the same pace. Best case scenario we'll be ready to start hunting for an agent for the trilogy by this time next year.

Sunderer excerpt

The Sacred Rose

“Yer wanted at the Sacred Rose. Mistress Lelys says yer’d better come right quick.” The boy scrubbed at his nose, peering up at Lin with wary blue eyes. His thin, dirty face brightened when Arin fished in the pocket of his coat and handed him a trin, filthy fingers closing fast around the copper coin.

“The Sacred Rose?” Arin said dryly. “I doubt there’s much sacred business takes place at that particular establishment.”

The boy blinked at him. “Yer to come now.”

Arin tamped down the sudden surge of anger. Who was this filthy urchin to order him to come now? Maybe something showed in his face because the boy took a step back.

“Yer friend. He’s sick.”

“My friend?”

“The priest…” The boy’s voice trailed off uncertainly and he took a further step back as Arin swore.

Seth. Damn him. He had been gone three days, long enough to make even Emella start to worry. With Kultah in Ra-Suk it had fallen to her to keep the rest of them focussed on the task at hand and they had all begun to chafe under her rule, Seth more than any of them. He swore again. “Wait here,” he ordered the boy, turning back into the house to scrawl a note for Emella and Taris, telling them where he had gone. Grabbing a few more trins from his purse he dropped them into his pocket. He stared at his sword for a moment before choosing instead to slide one knife inside his boot and to fasten another to his belt, hidden by the fall of his coat. Locking the door behind him he motioned for the boy to lead the way through the darkening streets.

It was nearly full dark by the time they reached The Sacred Rose, lurid red light spilling through the brothel’s open door to lend the uneven wooden steps that led up to it a bloody tinge. The Sacred Rose was one of the bigger establishments on the docks; three stories high with a pleasure garden on the roof. The boy mounted the steps and Arin followed him into the entry of the brothel where a huge man sat at an ornate desk, his bald head glistening with sweat as he bent over a sheathe of papers. He lifted his head as the boy came to a halt in front of the desk. Arin started as he caught sight of the man’s rouged face. Kohl lined his deep set dark eyes and his lips were painted scarlet.

“I done what you asked Mistress Lelys,” the boy said. “I brung the priest’s friend. This is him,” he jerked his head at Arin who was still staring in bemusement at the huge, painted man before him. Mistress Lelys? The man pushed himself to his feet.

“That is well done Bhen.” His voice was soft, with a faint lisp. “Go out back to the kitchens and tell Hana I said you could have something to eat.”

A smile flashed across Bhen’s face before he hurried away. The improbably named Mistress Lelys came around from behind his desk. He was nearly as big as Kultah; Arin had to tilt his head to meet his eyes. He wore a loose robe of pale blue silk, belted at the waist and heavy gold rings dangled from his ears and adorned the fingers of both hands. He studied Arin intently, long enough for him to begin to feel uncomfortable.

“Pretty,” he murmured.

Arin flushed. “Where’s Seth?” he asked bluntly. Mistress Lelys shook his head.

“Ah, Seth. Such a problem child.” Mistress Lelys shook his head, his expression hardening. “He has broken something of mine.” He turned and headed down the hallway, stopping to look back over his shoulder at Arin. “If you would be so good as to accompany me?”

Somehow Arin didn’t think it was a request.

He followed the big man to the end of the hall and up four flights of stairs to a carved wooden door. Mistress Lelys pushed it open, ducking his head to avoid bumping it on the lintel. The sharp, spicy scent of hotaflower filled the air but it couldn’t completely mask the smell of vomit.

And blood.

Arin’s stomach clenched. He stepped through the door. Beneath his feet was a path of crushed shell, shining beneath the pale moon that rode the sky. There was a fountain playing somewhere in the garden, screened by a row of red leaved kaliya’s in painted pots. The only other sound was the crunch of Mistress Lelys’ sandaled feet as he moved down the path. Arin followed.

As they rounded the line of pots and followed the path through an arch of hanging hotaflowers, the scent grew stronger. So did the sound of the fountain. Arin could see it at the end of the arch, pale gold Viselli marble forming the pool and a statue of Ledya holding aloft the severed head of her lover Jemic. Water flowed from Jemic’s open mouth to fall into the pool at Ledya’s feet.

There was a body lying beside the fountain.

Mistress Lelys came to a halt and waited as Arin reluctantly came up beside him. It was a girl. Her throat had been cut and the body lay in a pool of congealed blood. Her head was turned towards them but her eyes had been closed so that if you didn’t look too hard at what lay before you, you could almost imagine that she was sleeping.
Almost.

Mistress Lelys nudged the body with his foot.

“Seth did this?” asked Arin roughly.

Mistress Lelys arched a one finely plucked eyebrow. “This?”

“You said he broke something of yours. Is this it? Did Seth do this?” Arin’s voice had risen.

Mistress Lelys smiled and Arin felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. “Gaelle wasn’t a very good whore but she was my whore.” He looked down at the body then back up at Arin. “You can understand why I’m annoyed?”

Annoyed didn’t adequately describe the air of menace that emanated from the man beside him. Mistress Lelys’ smile widened and he shook his head.

“I did this,” he said poking the whore’s body with his foot once more. He reached into his robe and Arin stiffened, his hand falling to his knife. Mistress Lelys made a tsking sound and slowly withdrew his hand to reveal a chain of beaten gold with a square pendant attached. The chain was broken, the pendant looked as though it had been scorched, the gold dull and tarnished. Recognising it for what it was, Arin lifted his eyes to meet Mistress Lelys’ cold dark gaze.

“You have an azhag?”

“I had an azhag. Cost me one hundred sheaths. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get hold of something like this?”

“It is an abomination,” Arin said thickly.

“So Seth tells me. And yet, our mutual friend is a walking abomination, is he not?
Arin stared at him blankly wondering how this man could know what Seth carried inside him. Mistress Lelys smiled thinly. “I was not pleased that Sethen took it upon himself to release the soul bound within this pendant. Hence this rather messy little tableau.” Lifting his robe he stepped over the whore’s body.

He moved around the marble pool and onto another path. Arin swallowed as he left the girl’s body and followed. There was another row of potted kaliya’s and then a small grassed area, dotted with star daisies. The grass finished at an ivy covered wall that rose about shoulder high, running around the perimeter of the pleasure garden.

The man who sat hunched against the wall lifted his head as Mistress Lelys and Arin approached him. In the moonlight, Seth’s eyes were like dark holes in his pale face, especially the left one with its intricate red and black tattoo. The scent of sickness clung to him; his shirt was stained and filthy. He stared at Arin a moment before dropping his head back onto his up drawn knees.

Mistress Lelys made another tsk tsk sound. “Sethen,” he murmured. “My dear boy. You have made a mess of yourself, haven’t you? And all so unnecessarily.”

Seth lifted his head. “It was necessary,” he said flatly.

Mistress Lelys’ lips thinned. “That is a point on which we will have to differ.” He swung the broken chain between his fingers and Seth’s eyes tracked its movement. A thin smile creased Mistress Lelys’ lips before he dropped the chain into the pocket of his robe. He turned to Arin. “Take him downstairs and clean him up. Then we can discuss reparation.”

“Reparation?” Seth pushed himself to his feet. “Go fuck yourself Lelys.” He began to walk away towards the fountain, moving stiffly, like an old man. Arin went to follow but Mistress Lelys took hold of his arm, stopping him. Arin tried to shake off his grip but his fingers tightened around Arin’s arm, digging into his flesh.

“There is a bathhouse on the second floor,” Mistress Lelys said. “I suggest you get Master Deiyn washed and dried before you take him back out onto the streets. The Churyi guards will be patrolling by now. It may be hard to concoct an adequate explanation for his somewhat dishevelled appearance.”

“I don’t understand. All this….That girl…,” Arin pointed back towards the whore’s body.

“Don’t you?” said Mistress Lelys, releasing Arin’s arm. “I think you do.”

“Why did you kill the girl?”

“Killing someone should be a pleasurable experience,” said Mistress Lelys, his voice sending chills down Arin’s neck. “There’s no pleasure in killing someone who wants to die.”

“Who wants to die?”

“You know the answer to that question too.”

Seth hadn’t gotten very far. Arin caught up with him by the pleasure garden door. He had been sick again and was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He opened them as Arin approached with Mistress Lelys on his heels.

“You’ll find what you need in the bath house,” the big man said as he opened the door and walked back into the brothel. Arin saw Seth flinch as though he had been struck. He lifted a hand and rubbed the scar that slashed through his mouth before straightening up and following Lelys.

“Seth,” Arin placed a hand on Seth’s shoulder. Seth shook it off and began to make his way down the stairs, clinging to the balustrade as though he feared he might fall if he let go. Mistress Lelys had disappeared by the time they reached the second floor but a bare chested boy holding a bundle of towels, stood outside an open door from which wisps of steam where escaping.

“Mistress said he will send up some clean clothing for you sir,” the boy said, his eyes skimming over Seth’s filthy shirt before sliding back to gaze down at the floor.

Seth hesitated. He was trembling. Arin took his arm.

“I’ll take you home,” he said.

“Home?” Seth shook his head. “My home lies in ashes. No. I’ll clean myself up first. Emella will have a fit if she sees me like this. I don’t want her harping on at me again….” He entered the bathhouse. Arin took the towels that the boy thrust into his hands and followed him, his eyes widening as he took in the splendour of the Sacred Rose’s bathhouse.

A heated pool ran the length of the room with steps at either end. Two smaller pools sat on each side. The walls and floor were tiled in Jecari marble, pale gold shot through with streaks of red and black. Against one wall were set several massage tables and a marble bench ran along another. It was warm and damp and Arin’s shirt clung to his back beneath his heavy coat.

With a grimace Seth lifted his shirt over his head and let it fall to the ground. He sat on the bench to pull his boots off before padding barefoot towards the tables at the back of the room. A tray sat there, containing a dish with several cubes of Liethe on it. Arin standing there holding the towels, saw Seth hesitate before reaching out to pick up a small silver knife. He turned it idly in his fingers for a few moments before turning to give Arin a crooked smile. Without saying anything he drew the knife across his forearm, already crisscrossed with countless scars, and breaking off some of the drug, smeared it across the wound on his arm. He drew in a ragged breath and Arin saw the tension in his shoulders recede.

With an unsteady gait Seth crossed back to the pool shucking his breeches on the way. He made his way down the steps, sinking into the water with a sigh. There were shelves around the edges of the pool and Seth sat on one, leaning his head back. The water lapped at his waist; a tiny thread of scarlet from the cut on his arm floated on the surface.

Arin drew a ragged breath and put down the towels.

He moved to the edge of the pool and stood looking down at the man seated in the water. Seth’s eyes were closed but it seemed to Arin the God’s Eye tattooed around his left eye was looking at him far too knowingly. He could feel sweat trickling down his ribs.

“You should come in,” said Seth dreamily. “The water’s nice.”

Arin shook his head, clearing his throat. “No,” he muttered hoarsely, moving away to sit on the bench. He removed his coat, placing it on the bench beside him. His heart seemed to be beating way too fast; a pulse hammered in his throat. He linked his hands together and squeezed his fingers until they were bloodless and stared down at his booted feet.

“Seth, what happened up there?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Arin lifted his head to stare incredulously at the other man. “There’s a dead girl…”

“A dead whore,” said Seth flatly.

“You sound like you don’t care.”

“What have I been trying to teach you all these years Arin? You can’t allow yourself to care. If you do, it will only be used against you. Again and again.” Seth raked his fingers through his wet hair.

“You cared enough to destroy Lelys’ ahzag.”

“Only because it pissed the fat bastard off.”

“No,” Arin shook his head. “That’s not why you did it…”

Seth made a sound of disgust as he surged to his feet and strode out of the pool. Water ran in glistening streams down his pale, muscular body and Arin felt the pulse in his throat echoed low in his belly. He gripped his hands together now to stop their sudden trembling and stared at his feet once more.

Seth wrapped one of the towels around his waist and sat on the bench beside Arin. “Don’t invent motives for me boy. You know nothing about why I do what I do.”

Arin lifted his head, stung. “I know more than you think,” he retorted.

“Really?” drawled Seth.

“At least I know enough to realise that I won’t bury my demons by losing myself in drink and drugs. Or whores,” Arin said bitterly.

“Really?” said Seth again, his voice soft.

“You can’t outrun yourself Seth.”

“That sounds like some of Kultah’s homespun philosophy. Or Emella’s. They’ll be glad to know some of their lessons have actually stuck.”

The bathhouse door opened and the same boy who had brought the towels entered, carrying a pile of clothing. Ducking his head shyly, he deposited it on the bench next to Seth and backed out of the room again without speaking.

“If Kultah were here,” Arin began.

Seth swore and rose to his feet. “Kultah,” he spat, ripping the towel from his waist and swiping it roughly over his body. “I’ve had enough of him interfering in my life. After that debacle at Ma Merlo’s….”

“He…” Arin swallowed, his eyes tracking the towel as it moved over Seth’s body. The ache in his belly intensified, moving lower and he felt his cock harden. He was staring at Seth’s groin and he flushed and lifted his eyes. Seth was staring at him, his face expressionless. His God’s Eye glowed black, the pupil fully expanded to completely obscure the dark grey iris. Arin shivered.

“Seth…” His tongue seemed too big for his mouth and he swallowed again. Seth said nothing. He dragged on the breeches the boy had left and pulled the shirt over his head. “Seth,” Arin tried again. Seth shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said. Barefoot, he crossed the room and opened the door. Mistress Lelys stood outside. He took one look at Seth’s face and moved aside.

“I can see our discussion will have to wait until later.”

“We have nothing to discuss.”

“That is a point on which we differ, Sethen. As always.”

Seth opened his mouth to speak and then stilled, as though listening to some inner voice. His God’s eye raked over Lelys and for the first time that night Arin saw fear in the big man’s eyes.

“We have nothing to discuss,” Seth said again and this time his eyes met Arin’s. For a moment something lost and frightened looked out at Arin before Seth’s expression hardened once more.

“Seth…” To Arin’s ears his voice sounded like that of a child, pleading for something…

Turning his back, Seth walked away and despite the steamy warmth of the bath house, Arin found himself shivering. He felt as though he had lost his hold on some precious object whose pieces now lay shattered on the tiles at his feet. His stomach lurched and for a moment he feared he would be sick. Dropping back down onto the marble bench he lowered his head between his knees, fighting the nausea that filled his mouth.

He heard the sound of Lelys’ feet as he crossed the floor to stand in front of him. Warm, dry fingers settled against his jaw, forcing his head up. Lelys’ face swam before his eyes and he gave a moan, closing his eyes and jerking his head free of the other man’s grip. Lelys made a sound of exasperation and Arin heard his footsteps again as he moved back to the door and the low mutter of conversation. He kept his eyes closed as the nausea receded to be replaced with humiliation. The look on Seth’s face…Would he say anything to the others? To Kultah?

To Taris? How would she react?

Arin swore and opened his eyes.

A slender, dark haired youth, Arin’s age or perhaps a little younger, had entered the bathhouse. He carried a glass of some dark, honey coloured liquid in his hands and with a quick glance sideways at Mistress Lelys, he came and knelt before Arin and offered it to him.

“Saryian brandy,” said Lelys. “Drink it.”

When Arin hesitated, Lelys made a gesture towards the youth who lifted the glass to his lips and took a deep swallow. He proffered the glass to Arin once more, and Arin took it, tipping back his head and draining the contents. It slid down his throat and settled in his stomach where it simmered gently, infusing warmth throughout his body.

“So,” said Lelys softly. “You want to fuck Seth, do you? Tell me boy. Have you ever fucked anything? Apart from your hand that is.”

Arin stared at him speechlessly. He felt himself flushing.

Lelys chuckled. “Grot covered farmer’s spawn no doubt. A few brief moments of pleasure against a pig sty?” He nodded towards the youth kneeling at Arin’s feet. “This is Pirello. Not quite in Master Deiyn’s league but I think you’ll find him far more amenable.” His voice hardened. “Consider him payment for services rendered.”

Pirello’s hand stroked Arin’s thigh and the muscles jumped beneath his fingers. His hand quested higher and the breath hissed between Arin’s teeth as fingers brushed against his groin.

“What services,” he rasped, pushing Pirello’s hand away.

“I’ll think of something,” said Lelys. He reached into his robe and withdrew the broken ahzag, swinging it gently between his fingers. Arin tracked its movements whilst Pirello’s hand crept back and began to stroke him once more. Arin looked into the youth’s dark eyes and a shy smile touched his mouth.

“Let me please you master,” he whispered. He lifted his hands to Arin’s shirt and began to unfasten the buttons, his warm fingers grazing the skin beneath. Arin’s head felt thick and cloudy and he shook it, trying to clear it.

“Stop,” he rasped and Pirello’s hands stilled an instant before continuing. Arin’s shirt fell open and Pirello bent his head and stroked his tongue across Arin’s nipple. A shudder ran through him. “Stop,” he said again but there was no force to the word. The warm, damp tongue slid lower and now Pirello’s hands were at the fastening of his breeches. Arin heard himself moan as he sprang free and was enfolded in the heat of Pirello’s mouth.

Trembling, Arin closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall. One hand fisted in Pirello’s long hair, pressing against the youth’s skull, holding him down as his mouth moved relentlessly against Arin’s aching flesh. The other gripped the edge of the marble bench.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

The dark thing which lay hidden within him flexed its claws, sending his emmotions into a broiling mesh of lust, rage and hatred. He tightened his grip on Pirello’s hair, grinding the youth’s face against his groin. Pirello grabbed frantically at his hands, struggling for breath against Arin’s aggressive lust. The boy gagged and coughed, but Arin refused to let up, the dark thing would not permit it. It bore down on him like a dyra beast of the Dowager, ravenous for his soul. He barely heard the snick of the bathhouse door closing over the sawing of his breath and the pulse thundering in his ears.


Stop, he thought weakly one last time before his release tore through him and he cried out….

Seth!

A sullen sun was struggling above the horizon when Arin reached the house; the dull grey light suited his mood. Both head and body ached, his head dully, his body throbbed with remembered pleasure. Anger still simmered in his belly. He climbed the steps and opened the door, feeling the wards Emella had set tingle against his skin. The hallway was dark but light gleamed beneath the kitchen door. Arin hesitated but the sound of raised voices drew him down the hallway to stand before the closed door. Seth’s voice, ragged, exhausted. And Emella, calm as always. He couldn’t hear Taris.

Arin opened the door and the voices fell silent.

Emella sat at on end of the scrubbed pine table whilst Seth paced restlessly around her. He stopped abruptly as Arin entered the kitchen.

“Good morning,” said Arin nastily as he crossed to the stove and poured himself a cup of koffe from the pot that sat there. He swallowed a mouthful of the bitter brew, welcoming the koffe’s sharp bite. His fingers trembled a little against the cup and he willed them to stillness. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Are you hale?” Emella’s voice was still calm. Her eyes studied him intently as he slid into a chair beside her.

“Wonderful,” said Arin. He took another sip of koffe. “What were you talking about?”

“The fucking weather,” said Seth.

“Looks like it might rain later,” said Arin coolly, raising his eyes to Seth’s. His God’s eye was grey once more. Violet shadows limned the hollows beneath his eyes, lines bracketed his mouth. His scarred lip curled.

Seth sneered. “Really?"