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ElvenSword -- 04 -- Choices
songs and tales uphold romantic, heartfelt, blind love as the only worthwhile
kind. All others are supposed to be
inferior. Yet is it not true that it is
the supposedly inferior loves that keep the world working? Consider the love between husband and wife,
after the initial flush of romance is worn off, or the love between friends,
whether it has a sexual component or not, or the love felt by parents towards
is our affection for our friends that colours our everyday lives, not the grand
passion that perhaps comes but once in the lives of most mortals. Friendship has truly been called by the wise
‘the greatest benison’. When a man who
has been alone finds someone whose soul talks to him, the resulting friendship
may be much deeper and stronger than ordinary friendly companionship, in the
same way that a lyubon bond is closer and more intense than the tie with
a casual lust-partner. Such was the case
with the Emperor.
ys Jarain – History of the Emperor Vordath I
Fluin had immediately noticed Steppan when he first came into the
public room. He had an air of power and
mystery. He was different and
interesting. His good manners and
sophistication barely concealed a tough, feral strength. Perfectly polite, he nevertheless managed to
be daunting and thrilling, in a way the village toughs weren’t.
All evening, as he worked, Fluin kept on stealing surreptitious
glances at him, trying to place him. He
didn’t seem like a trader – more like a warrior. Yet why would a warrior be travelling alone,
so far from the capital? And he was
clearly a rich man, the sort of rich that in a merchant would have led to
flamboyant finery, gleaming silks, ostentatious gold and jewels. Yet his clothes were plain. And though there was a hardness about Lolita Nymphet Pics his
eyes, he’d also looked at Fluin as if he noticed him, and his face had Lolita Nymphet Pics softened
a little, even though he’d said nothing.
He appeared to be in his late twenties, yet he had the cynical air and
world-weariness of an older man. He had
an aura of power, the look of a man who is used to giving orders and having
them immediately obeyed.
The most disturbing aspect of his appearance was his eyes – dark, glinting
topaz when the light caught them, with slitted cat-like Lolita Nymphet Pics
Fluin wished that he could be like Steppan, strong and confident and
tough. He wasn’t aware that to many, he
already gave that impression. He had
learnt to defend himself in the village streets, against bullies and later on,
unwelcome suitors. His fists and feet
protected him. The hard carapace he
developed to hide the hurt made it easier to keep his distance. He had never been accepted into the village
community. He was too strange, too
clever, too different. At first, he had
wanted desperately to belong. Later he
realised that he never would. By then he
no longer wanted it.
Fluin hated his life in the village.
He wondered what it would be like to live this man’s life, to be a
sophisticated denizen of the capital. He
briefly considered begging Steppan to take him as his servant, and go away with
him, to any place that was more interesting than where he was.
Yet now that he had fallen into this warrior’s orbit, Fluin was
afraid of the man he was meekly following up to his room. He did not know why he had been
helped, and he had suffered enough to learn to fear and suspect others’
He went anyway, his heart pounding.
They climbed the stairs in silence.
Once inside the room, Steppan closed, locked and bolted the door. “Sit down,” he ordered, and Fluin squatted on
the floor. There was nowhere else.
Steppan fetched some salve, and crouched down. He infused his voice with the calm confidence
and warm affection he used with his horses, his dogs and his familiar. The youth studied him, his grey eyes shadowed
with mistrust and wonder.
a split on the side of the boy’s head and another on his cheek, and put the
salve on them. Fluin winced only
slightly, though Steppan knew from personal experience how much it hurt.
“Your nose is
unbroken, but you will have some scars.
You’ll survive. Are you in pain
anywhere else?” He spoke bluntly, but
with a slight smile, reinforcing his demeanour with a far-thought
Fluin shook his
head. He found Lolita Nymphet Pics it hard to believe that
this man radiating concern and kindness had given every appearance of being a
lethal killer only a few minutes earlier, terrifying him as much as he had
frightened his attackers. He did not
allow himself to relax into Steppan’s smile, but remained silent, his face
grim, anger, defiance, and despite himself, fear, still shadowed in his eyes. He could feel Steppan’s appraisal, his
thoughtful inspection, and it made him squirm.
guess, the youngster no more than eighteen, thin, but with the beginnings of
the broadening shoulders and Lolita Nymphet Pics firming muscles of manhood. The grey eyes, and the angular bones gave his
face distinction and beauty, despite his youth.
His mouth Lolita Nymphet Pics was set in the same line that it had been in the public room
when he faced down the rowdies. There
was a desperate bravery there, the heart-breaking courage of a defender of a
lost cause, strength and fortitude in his expression and intelligence in his
The power! Untrained, unaware, ignorant, yet this boy
had more raw magical ability than Steppan himself, even though he was a fifth
level initiate. Even before tonight, it
would not have been long before he was found out, and punished for being
different. With a corpse in the
stable-yard, and a noisy, well-remembered quarrel in the inn, suspicion would
soon fall upon this outsider, this ‘witch’s spawn’. He would be hanged or crucified as a
murderer. Inconvenient to Steppan though
it was, the boy couldn’t stay here, in this village. Steppan sighed at the realisation that he
would have to take Fluin away with him.
The youngster looked back at him without hope or belief in the
likelihood of fairness or justice, but also with a desperate, defiant courage.
He seems harmless, now, thought Fluin, though
he reeks of authority. But he could
not forget Steppan’s face as he had faced the bullies, the utter ruthlessness
and determination, the hard line of his mouth and chin, the cold ferocious
glare of his eyes. Steppan was different
to anybody else he had ever met. He
trailed danger and ferment like a scent.
The fine lines of laughter and resolution, etched around his mouth and
eyes, showed that he could also have fun, too.
Life would never be dull with this man.
He wondered whether Steppan would help him, and how. Most of all, he wondered why.
“Do you have any idea of exactly what happened, down there in the
stable-yard?” Steppan inquired.
“Yes, I know what happened,” Fluin replied, defiance overlaying
despair. “I killed someone.”
“It was a mistake. You were
afraid. There were five of them and one
of you. Your powers just evened the odds
a little.” Steppan paused for a moment
or two. “I meant the magic. Has something like it happened before?” Steppan tried not to put too much pressure
into his voice. Better if the boy worked
out these things for himself.
Fluin was silent for so long that Steppan was going to repeat the
question, when he muttered, “Yes.” He
paused, kneading the knuckle of one hand into the other. “I know.
I’m a witch, and I’ll be burnt.”
All too likely, thought Steppan, angry
at the stupidity and ignorance and cruelty of the many, afraid of what they
didn’t know, and assuaging their fear with the suffering of others. These days, throughout the duchies and
counties of the empire, more and more ‘witches’ and ‘wizards’ were being burned
or stoned to death. Naturally, there
were those who made it their business to ferret out these miscreants, as there
always are, spiteful busybodies who fill their inner emptiness with gossip and
tittle-tattle and malice, who buttress their own worthlessness by trying to
take down others. He loathed them with
every particle of his being, and not just because he himself was also
endangered by their folly.
“Not if I can help it!” he said out loud, anger making his voice
harsh, his eyes cold. Fluin
involuntarily recoiled. Steppan gave him
a small crooked smile. “You will be safe
with me!” he said more gently. He hoped that was true. “Have you felt that power before?”
Fluin thought for a bit.
“Magda used to say I was lucky.
Things I wanted often seemed to happen.
It was never obvious, but . . . .”
“The woman who brought me up.
My true mother, in everything but birth.
She died. Just a tennight
ago.” He looked away, and brushed his
sleeve angrily across his eyes.
Steppan waited patiently.
“The day she died, some people came and broke into our cottage and
tried to steal our stuff, and pushed me around and spat on me. They wanted her money. For some reason they thought she had piles of
gold pounds hidden away.” After a
moment, he shrugged. “If she did, I
never found them. They said she was a
witch. Just because she could read, and
knew about herbs and sicknesses. And
they said I was a witch’s brat. ‘Witch
spawn’. And a few said that I was a
witch too, and should be killed.” There
was incredulity and a bitter, piercing fury in his voice. “The . . . magic that happened tonight
almost happened then. I could feel
the power, and I was afraid of what I could do.
Afraid of summoning demons. I hit
them with the club we kept for bandits, and chased them away.” The fury and the pain were deep, and again
Steppan felt a muted echo of the previous vigorous waves of sorcerous ability.
“Go on,” he said, impassively.
Expressing any sympathy might bring on tears, which would humiliate the
youngster. Better to keep it
Fluin looked away, ashamed to admit to weakness, and angry because
of it. “They were so afraid of her –
they hated her, even though she helped them and healed them. She was always giving them herbs and extracts
for their sores and illnesses. Those phanastha”
– he jerked his head sideways – “have been working themselves up to this since
then.” He put his finger to the split
next to his ear. “They were there at our
home. But I don’t know why he went
flying. I don’t know how I did
it.” He was silent again, for so long
Steppan thought he had finished. “I
didn’t mean to kill him,” he said at last, softly.
“I know that,” said Steppan briskly, waving it off. “Did you feel the magical flux when you did
Fluin nodded gloomily, though he hadn’t known that that was what it
was called. Again there was a silence.
Steppan felt an unexpected compassion. Patrika always said that his heart was too
soft, for one of her operatives. She was
much more ruthless, Lolita Nymphet Pics yet she had a soft spot for him and his many scruples. Steppan imagined (and it was easy to draw on
his own experiences) this lonely child, alone except for an old woman, who
didn’t even talk with the same accent or use the same words as the
villagers. Weavers knew how many
children there were across the empire suffering this mage-touched
loneliness! How many had ended up dead,
stoned or burnt as witches by the credulous and fearful, because of their
Steppan remembered the first stoning he’d witnessed. He’d been travelling with Nefta and Harith in
the countryside, two days’ ride from Cappor. Lolita Nymphet Pics
They were in an inn, in one of the upstairs rooms, which overlooked the
square. The town had been strangely
excited, he could sense, though they could see no obvious reason for it. A crowd had assembled in the square, and
there were strong undercurrents of anticipation and pleasure and a dark,
sadistic satisfaction. A woman, dressed
only in a torn shift, was dragged out and tied to a post in the middle of the
square. A space opened about her, then
in an eerie, almost total silence, the stones began to fly. Steppan wanted to go down at once to
Nefta warned him not to.
“They will just stone you, too” she’d said.
They watched from the window as the woman started to bleed from the
head, and slumped against the bonds that held her upright on the post. Then Nefta said, “Now, ease the pain in her
mind, and push her gently into the arms of the Great Spirit Mother.” So they did.
Steppan had Lolita Nymphet Pics been so angry and disgusted with humankind, that he’d pushed
a touch of shame and self-disgust into the minds of everyone who Lolita Nymphet Pics
had seen and
rejoiced in this hideous spectacle.
Nefta Lolita Nymphet Pics had rebuked him for that, but mildly, her heart not really in it.
“She was one of us,” Steppan had said, heatedly.
“Yes,” sighed Nefta, “and they are doing this all over the empire.”
“How come Panthra Aliya doesn’t stop it?”
“The laws are there – and they are flouted. This is far from Cappor. Other rulers hold sway here.” Nefta, kind, warm-hearted Nefta, shrugged. Steppan had been horrified.
Now he was faced with a similar situation, and the need for his own
decision. The fate of the world and Lolita Nymphet Pics its
peoples, and the civilised values he and others like him espoused, rested on
finding the Bearer and his Sword, and taking up this boy might prevent or
nullify the search. On the other hand,
he knew, from Patrika’s vision, how much Fluin’s power would be needed for the
ordeal ahead. He knew, too, that leaving
Fluin here was a certain death sentence.
It was in his hands – would he shrug like she had, and walk away,
too? Lolita Nymphet Pics Take this child away from this town
and risk his mission, or to leave him to his fate?
Despite all the high-minded reasons for and against taking Fluin
with him, Steppan knew in his heart that he was going to take him for very
personal motivations, some of which wouldn’t bear too close a scrutiny.
In truth, he had already made up his mind. By taking up Fluin’s cause in the stable
yard, he had made himself responsible for him.
No longer some anonymous misfit, he had become an individual, he had a
name, he had been entrusted into Steppan’s hands. He was plucky and intelligent and a fighter,
and Steppan admired that. Steppan didn’t
consider that a more ruthless man than he, wouldn’t have cared about the boy’s
fate. He knew in his heart that what he
was going to do felt right.
He was within a day or two’s ride of his goal. He would take Fluin with him, and start
training him as soon as he had discussed Lolita Nymphet Pics the matter with Nefta. He had no real doubts that both Patrika and
Nefta would approve, eventually, but whether they did or not, he had made up
his mind. In the end, they might even
thank him, when they also felt the power he had sensed. But if they didn’t, his shoulders were broad
enough to bear that burden.
“Fluin.” He stopped for a
moment, while he made his final calculations, before they both stepped through
the door of fate from which there can be no return. To his surprise, he could feel the subtle,
nerve-tingling buzz of future-change. He
could sense the many possible futures lying in limbo, ready for one to align
and crystallize out of the void, turning from possibility to probability to
truth. The threads in the Tapestry woven
by the Weavers were being moved and cut, and new threads inserted. Why?
It could only be because what he was about to do was going to change the
future drastically. He tried to feel
gently along the paths, to sense what was right, but the forces and the
uncertainties were too strong.
Clenching his fists and jaws, which were shivering with the
future-flux, he said, “Your power is dangerous.
We saw what could happen, tonight.
You must learn to control it. You
need to be taught how to channel that strength and ability safely, before you
kill yourself or someone else. You’re
wizard-touched. You have the gift, the
talent for magic – you’re a natural.
Yet, it’s unfocussed and because of that, very perilous. I offer myself as your teacher. Would you like to come back to Cappor with
me, as my student and assistant?”
Fluin knew that he was taking a chance. He knew nothing about this stranger. But he guessed that he had no realistic
alternative. Perhaps if he had known
more of the world, of the predators who enjoy defiling innocence, of the dark
sorcerer-priests of the death-god, of the necromancers and their need for
flesh, he would have been more mistrusting, and perhaps, all that happened
afterwards might never have been.
Whatever the Lolita Nymphet Pics reason, he took that first step across the void, and the
world changed. Yet he had enough caution
not to want to seem too eager.
He looked at Steppan, then said, “Thank you for your offer, my lord,
but I don’t know who you are, or why you are here, or anything. And I don’t know why.” This opposition was unexpected.
Steppan looked at Fluin in silence, then said, “Why I am helping
you? I understand your reticence. I could be anything – a slaver, a
necromancer, a boy-lover.” He took the
dagger from his boot, and nicked his wrist.
He held the trickling cut out to Fluin, and gave him the blade. “I, Steppan ys Jorac, swear by the Great
Spirit and the Weavers, to always be true to you, Fluin ys Byon, and not to
harm you. I swear this with a
blood-oath, and offer you blood-bond, in Mara’s name.” Mara, the warrior Weaver, the goddess of war
Fluin studied Steppan’s face for what seemed like ages, before
nodding. His intelligent eyes looked
into Steppan’s, assessing him, with an awareness and insight that were beyond
his years. He took the dagger, and
nicked his own wrist, and they pressed the cuts together. “I, Fluin ys Byon, swear to be true to you,
Steppan ys Jorac, and never to harm you.
I accept your offer of blood-bond.
I swear this in Mara’s name.” He
looked deep into Steppan’s eyes.
This was well done, thought Steppan,
suddenly, though he had no idea what had prompted him to do something so
old-fashioned, like a story from a melodramatic boy’s book.
“Now,” said Fluin, “You had better explain who you are.”
At this moment, Steppan found it hard to believe that Fluin was just
“I can’t tell you everything.
It’s enough to know, for the time being, that I’m a wizard,” Steppan replied. “It is our duty to train anyone with ability
we find. It was done for me, and in turn
I will do this for you.” He paused for a
minute while he debated how much he could say.
“I would not conceal from you that your power will be desperately needed
to fight threats against the empire and its peoples. Your life will be at risk, from attack by our
“You are more than just a wizard,” Fluin stated flatly, his eyes
glimmering with excitement.
“Yes. When you are ready to
know how much more, I will tell you.
Until then, can I ask you to trust me?”
Fluin knew his life was in this man’s hands. He was afraid to trust him. Yet he knew he had no alternative. He decided for his own piece of mind that he
would find out more. He hadn’t promised
not to do that.
Steppan interrupted his thoughts.
“We should leave immediately, just in case they come back. But we’d have to get my horse from the
ostler, and pass through the gate in the stockade. So, on balance, it will be best if we leave
tomorrow, just before sunup. No-one will
find the body for many hours, maybe days.
We’re safe in this room from those fools,” Steppan continued. “I suspect Lolita Nymphet Pics they’ve gone home. But we must leave early on the morrow, before
the body is discovered. But if they
should be so stupid as to try anything . . . .”
He stroked his dagger “ . . . this should keep them away.” His
grim smile was terrifying.
Steppan moved to the door and checked that it was firmly bolted. He repeated this at the window. “These should keep out any intruders.” He thought of the many terrifyingly powerful
necromancers of the enemy and with a repressed shudder, wondered how much of
Fluin’s magic had already been detected.
It would not take long for a trained death-magic adept to find Fluin, if
the ripples he had created had been sensed.
How they would slaver over his innocence and beauty! How strong the power they would create by
“Against others we will have to trust to luck and the protection of
the Weavers and the Great Spirit, and to our weapons,” he explained. “Now – we will leave early tomorrow morning,
while your friends are still in bed nursing their sore heads. You had better sleep here tonight. It’ll be safer, I think.”
There was just the one bed, not very wide, and with an uncomfortable
sag in the middle. Steppan decided
they’d be better off on the floor, and pulled the straw-filled mattress off the
bed. Some beetles, and worse, skittered
off into the shadows in the corners. He
spread the inn’s filthy blankets on the floor, making a thin and uncomfortable
pallet, and took his own covers, fur over-blanket and thick woollen cloak, and
spread them on top.
“Come,” he said. He hadn’t
ever shared a bed with someone he wasn’t having sex with. It was common to share beds among the poor,
and when travelling, but Steppan was rich, and could afford not just his own
bed, but his own room, his own keep, where he was the only occupant except for
the servants. So this was a generous
offer, designed to help put Fluin at ease.
Fluin grinned sardonically.
“I thought you weren’t a boy lover!”
“I’m not!” Steppan snapped irritably.
Fluin was amused at his discomfort.
“We’ll be warmer if we share,” he agreed, with an ironic smile. They slipped underneath the layers.
They lay side by side looking at each other, then Fluin surprised
Steppan greatly by saying, very softly, “Thank you for saving my life.” This youngster had seemed too tough to think
of thanks. “They would have killed me, I
think. I’ll never forget what you did
His intensity embarrassed Steppan.
“You saved my life too. Think
nothing of it. Weavers keep you,” he
“Sleep well,” said Fluin. He
turned over, and in a few moments he was asleep.
Steppan envied his equanimity.
He took longer to sleep, his mind troubled by all that had happened, by
his responsibilities, now increased, and by the way events no longer seemed
In the middle of the night, he awoke ice-cold and scratching. His body was covered with raised bumps that
itched intolerably. Groaning, he levered
himself up and reached into his pack.
Fluin started awake with a ripple of power, which set Steppan’s teeth on
“What is it?” hissed Fluin.
Aloud he said, “I’m being bitten alive – I’m
looking for Lolita Nymphet Pics
some salve – relax.” He
found the jar and rubbed it on his bites, with immediate relief. “Want some?”
Fluin shook his head. “I don’t Lolita Nymphet Pics get bitten”. Steppan was astonished. To repel fleas and bed bugs just by magic,
while you were sleeping, was extraordinary.
He couldn’t do it. Yet
this untrained boy did it without even being aware of what he did. This was power indeed!
“That’s handy! Sleep
well. Weavers keep you!” he said,
already drifting off before Fluin’s soft reply.
They slept peacefully, free of dreams, cupped in the hands of the
Inside the room, their breathing was regular and their sleep
undisturbed. Outside, the sky cleared and frost coated every surface with a
silver film, ghostly gleams in the Lolita Nymphet Pics bleached moonlight. The piles of Lolita Nymphet Pics manure and straw and horse-piss
in the stables steamed, and the horses dozed.
Owls hunted hapless mice in the frozen fields. Ordinary people slept and dreamed, unaware of
what had begun.
The ripples of the new future-path that Steppan had chosen moved
inexorably away from that vile inn in that inconsequential hamlet, out across
the empire and the world.
The Weavers had begun to weave a new pattern into the Tapestry of
Patrika smiled coldly across her dinner-table at the panthraska. The Panthron’s sister, Makala, was an
odious mixture of ambition, hypocrisy, and stupidity. Her body was tinctured with the odours of
necromancy, faint but unmistakable. She
was stupid enough to think that Patrika wouldn’t know. She had been passed over for the succession
for excellent reasons. Her mother the Panthra
had thought her relatively harmless.
Patrika knew better, but it had been hard to tell the mother that her
daughter was rotten. Now it had become
essential to know what she was planning.
Much depended on it.
Varda, her smile glimmering seductively,
her luscious green eyes warm with passion, sat at Patrika’s side, eying the
princess. Even Patrika could feel her
allure, the soft scents of a woman’s body, gentle with lust, liquid, warm,
tender. The subtle drug slipped into the
princess’s drink had reinforced the princess’s desire. Yearning glowed in Makala’s cold, hard eyes,
without softening them. Varda was primed
to draw the princess into her coils, to discover Lolita Nymphet Pics the truth, to find the
Instead, the princess seemed to have taken
to her, Patrika. Patrika was
disgusted. A wizard could feel and taste
the perversions of death-magic, like bitter, nauseating cinders in her
soul. To be polite to the princess was
difficult enough. To touch her was
Varda might despise those she took Lolita Nymphet Pics to her bed, but she was no wizard
– the taints would not nauseate her. And
why had the princess such poor taste, to prefer an middle-aged woman to someone
as sweetly curved and roughly dangerous as Varda? She met Varda’s sardonic, amused gaze, her
own eyes conveying distaste and dismay.
She had no intention of bedding the princess, no matter how
necessary. She cast an obscuring spell
on herself, that made her uglier, subtly enhancing her warts and wrinkles,
lengthening her nose, thinning her lips, adding blemishes to her skin, and a
smell of graveyards to her breath. She
was relieved and amused to see the princess’s eyes drift over to Varda.
From his place next to the panthraska,
Tilthon watched this exchange through slitted eyes, an ironic curl taking life
on his lips. He ran his elegant warm
hand gently down the princess’s cheek.
“Perhaps,” he suggested softly, “you would like Varda and me to . . . .
play?” The panthraska’s eyes
glittered with suppressed passion.
Patrika, stood up, bowed, and left the three of them at it, her self
disgust rank in her throat, her distaste for her necessary but repugnant
activities stronger than usual.
Nigel Puerasch. All rights reserved.
Romantic m2m fiction at Lolita Nymphet Pics
and at http://groups.google.com.au/group/Nigel_Puerasch
me at nigelpueraschgmail.com
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