Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 18

Author's Notes:

Hey there! If this is your first time checking out the series, you shouldn't have any problem figuring out where things stand with this chapter/volume, but if you like what you read, please consider taking a look at the first chapter (also on this site and my account).

This chapter was brought to you by the very generous donations and patronage of fans of the series who help me buy food and warm socks so I can write smut for you!

These wonderful people are the reason you're reading this, so please give them a thanks!

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*****

Volume 3 Chapter 2

2- Service and Servitude 2

The forested regions around Beson were a thick mess of tangled brambles and vines that waged a constant battle with the road crews to subsume the narrow lanes that crisscrossed the dense brush, allowing a glimmer of hope for the trade hub. The roads were wide enough to support the Duke's proud stallion and his cadre of mounted soldiers alongside their equipment, but there was always that feeling that someone was watching. There wasn't anything immediately dangerous in the thick brush, but as the wind rustled through the dense canopy of leaves far above, one couldn't help but feel the eyes of some unseen entity following them.

Amaranth and Markus strode forward of the caravan on foot with their horses trailing at a body's length. They hadn't said anything since leaving the city and, in typical fashion, Markus wasn't going to be the one to break the heavy silence between them. Amaranth wasn't in a hurry, either, but some things needed to be said. . .

She opened her mouth but Markus pre-empted her, "this is bullshit."

"Hm?"

"You said it yourself, even if we did get there in time, how're we going to arm and prepare a force big enough to help the knife eared-"

Amaranth cleared her throat loudly.

"You know what I mean," he didn't even blink at the casual racial slur. "They're the ones that won't bury the hatchet, why're we expected to stand in front of the arrow for them? Richard's father would roll over in his grave if he knew."

"Markus. . ."

"Oh come on, Ammy," he spared her a glance. "The elves can't be trusted with humans, you know that. Hell, your parents abandoned you, don't tell me you're going to defend them-"

"I'm-" She stopped herself. I'm pregnant is what she wanted to say. She knew better, though, and so Amaranth bit deep into her tongue until she tasted copper. Not now, don't be rash. She glanced to the underbrush for a second as though she heard a sound. Markus followed her gaze until they passed the spot, by which time Amaranth had collected her thoughts. "They were of two worlds, they knew it couldn't possibly work out." She cast a glance his way. "The elven mind is a slippery thing when you look at it from the perspective of a human lifetime."

"What's that say about us?"

Us, she mused. "Tch." She shook her head. "We have a good thing, why worry ourselves with what could happen between us?"

"Who said I'm worried for us? I was talking about our troops." Before she could muster a reply, he shrugged. "You keep focusing on 'us' and-" he glanced back as though Richard might hear them- he probably could- "and we both know you're too selfish to commit to anything."

"Hmph."

"Truth hurt?"

Amaranth's ear twitched as a familiar heat flushed her cheeks. "That's not fair."

"Doesn't mean it's not true."

"Markus. . ."

"I get it, I do. It's the fey blood, no one's blaming you-"

"This is hardly the place for such a discussion. Not only that, my blood has nothing to do with-"

"How selfish you are?"

"How selfish I am-" she caught herself a tad late. "Dammit!"

He laughed.

"That's not funny, Markus."

"Oh, I don't know, I thought it was."

The half-elven knight shot him a dirty look she didn't believe in and, for no real reason at all, she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Promises, promises." He grinned. "Seriously, though. You know this isn't going to work out."

For a moment she thought he may have been talking about their relationship, but with his attention lingering on the forest, she pieced together his meaning. At least she thought so. She took a shot in the dark, non-committal even in her glance. "I know."

"Then why didn't you stop him?"

It verified her concerns, at least there was that. "How am I supposed to do that? I've known him since he was a boy, once he gets it in his head to do something it's going to get done come hell or low ground."

"High water," Markus corrected.

"Only if you're in the low ground does high water become an issue," she shot back. "Don't correct your elders."

"Hmph."

It was her turn to grin. "We have bigger things to worry about than who's right or wrong, hm? We've a duty to perform and a lot of work to do if we're going to get the allies he needs to carry this out."

"Spoken like a true paladin."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I wonder, sometimes. . ."

"You aren't the only one," she said softly. The half-elf fell silent as they continued down the path. All the while, that quiet voice in the back of her mind whispered the concern she'd been harboring for the last three months; what kind of chance would she have at balancing motherhood with her duties. It was something that had kept her up more than a few nights over the last months, but now the question wasn't a concern so much as a demand. She needed to figure out her next move and she needed to do it quickly, before the choice was made for her.

"What's on your mind, Ammy?"

Her gaze lingered on Markus for a long moment. Was he ready for this any more than she was? "Hm?"

"You're staring."

"You're just impatient. . . I was- ah- admiring."

"You're so full of shit."

She sighed faintly. "I'm being selfish. . ."

Markus didn't comment right away, letting the statement hang in the air between them like an axe as they continued down the packed dirt trail. It was maddening to someone without the patience to deal with long stretches of silence, but wholly understandable given the topic; the two of them were just like her parents. At least the ones her mind had imagined for her. He might have made a good father, but their life was an uncomplicated one and their passions were fueled by that simplicity. That had changed for Amaranth with her pregnancy and the now even arm's length distance between them felt like a canyon.

Three months. Three months and he didn't know yet. . . She swallowed. This couldn't go on. She had built this chasm with her silence, withdrawing into herself while she wrestled with the weakness in herself. She wasn't even sure their child was strictly his, but as the days wore on to weeks and from those weeks months eroded their once proud, frivolous life.

It had been her fault, yet she couldn't bring herself to bear the blame alone; they were knights, and she a paladin. There were appearances to keep up, and if the other possibility- that the child wasn't his- then the implications for all involved could be severe indeed.

"Well, since you're not going to say it," Markus's strong voice cut through her reprieve. "I will. What happened?"

"Hm? Nothing, I. . ." She glanced to the woods. "I thought I heard something."

"Ammy. . ."

"Nothing- it's nothing. . ."

"Two months of 'nothing'? What happened to the happy-go-lucky pain in my ass?"

"Maybe she got old," Amaranth shot him a look out of the corner of her slightly wide set eyes. "We do age, you know."

He scoffed, "You remember that first patrol we went on? When I was your squire?"

She furrowed her brow thoughtfully. Then it hit her and she laughed. "You went tumbling down the hill in that barrel of chainmail sand-"

"Only because you told me to scrape the bottom."

Despite herself, the shame she should have felt, the image her mind conjured still lightened her spirits. "To be fair, you were a lot smaller then. We needed to toughen you up."

"Instead y'tenderized me," Markus chided in his more natural southern drawl. "Roun' an' roun' goes the kid, ay?"

"To be fair." Amaranth spared him a glance, this time not letting her mind dwell on more unpleasant things. "I didn't know there was armor in it."

"Sure, sure. Like I didn't know those Fresha leaves were ground into your bathing oils."

"Now that. . ."

"Was hilarious."

"I was going to say uncouth, mean spirited and hot as coals." When she heard him change his stride a little, probably to keep from mirroring hers, she glanced his way. "Okay, maybe a little funny. . ."

"Nothing says welcome to knighthood like giving your mentor a bath in pepper oil, ay?"

"I can think of other ways to warm one's body. . ."

"Can you now? Gonna be honest, I've been wondering about that for a while now."

Amaranth feigned an interest in the woods and trooped along in silence for several seconds. A light sigh parted her lips. "I'm sorry."

"As you should be," his voice held no real venom. "I miss seeing you. . ."

"I-"

"Do you remember that night? When I finally managed to walk again?"

"Vaguely? I remember you muttering under your breath a fair bit."

"Can't imagine why." He laughed, more for his own sake than anything. "I said what I meant, Ammy. I always will."

Amaranth furrowed her brow, puzzling over those words for a moment. When they'd crossed another twenty feet or so and she was still for want of meaning, she looked to him. "Refresh my memory?"

"Nah," the man shrugged. "You'll figure it out. . . "

"Come hell or low land?"

"High water."

"Tch."

#

That night, the entourage set up camp off the path, nearly a hundred paces into the brush so as not to draw attention of any passing travelers or undesirables. To the untrained eye, they probably looked like a traveling mercenary company; Well armed and equipped, trained and disciplined, telling anyone that watched them that trying to steal their gear would require besting the people to which it belonged.

Once they'd finished burning the thicket down to bare ground and cast a rune circle to protect them from the perpetual growth of the woods- and their inhabitants- the sergeant at arms brought the horses to the corners of their encampment while the men set up the Duke's tent and their own, smaller, shelters. Inside of a couple hours they'd terraformed the dense patch of wood and brambles into an oasis among the greenery, likely the only 'safe' place in the entire forest.

If rune casting had been any less expensive, the main paths could have been protected, but as it was, they would have to ration their runes and their casting for the trip. It was at that point that Amaranth wondered if they had brought too many people. They'd need the men if they ran into lycans, but there wasn't much that could be done with their mundane weapons. The most they could hope to do would be to drive off the threat and escape. If fate was feeling particularly merciful.

The sergeant at arms went through the ranks assigning patrols and the like while men set up a cooking pit and broke out the first meal of the day; deer for the humans and hay for the horses. They'd eat during the night so they didn't need to stop during the day. It was a strange custom that Amaranth had never really figured out, or bothered to adhere to. What was even stranger was Richard's form milling about with the men dressed in simple cotton clothes the color of mud, helping set up right along side them. He'd break down camp with them, too.

Both Amaranth and his father had taught him well. The men fussed and made way for him, but he integrated himself well, neither being a burden or using the considerable strength she knew hid in those sinewy muscles to show off. She found herself smiling a little as she watched his- relatively- young body move.

He had a gentle strength about him, the kind of power that could have been built up with the life of a carpenter without the thick calluses to match. He wasn't tall and broad like Markus, but he had the same kind of presence; he drew from his natural leadership and the subtle gifts his more secret heritage had given him. He used that physical strength to earn respect, like he used his soothing voice and strong hands, with great care. Had things been different, had she not been his supplicant. . .

There were so many things wrong with the ideas swirling between her pointed ears, but she couldn't help herself. It wasn't wrong for her to dream- but by the gods, he would have made a good father. Kind, generous, humble and still firm enough to carry his station in a world gone completely insane. If anyone knew what he truly was, they would have hunted him. Yet he chose to stand in bold faced defiance of that and help the very people who had the most hatred for his kind. No human would have done that. None of them were that strong.

Amaranth nibbled her lower lip as he watched him heft the axe and start towards one of the trees at the edge of camp. She smiled privately at the men who parted for him. If they had any idea.

"Fine boy he turned out to be," Markus's throaty voice startled her. "Shame his father isn't around."

Amaranth pushed off from the half sunk post of her own tent. "I think his mother would be more proud, she always wanted him to be industrious."

Without so much as a look, he picked up one of her tent posts and started pounding it in the ground with a mallet. They were both creatures of habit; her not in a hurry to block her view of the stars and he in a hurry to protect her from the chill encroaching on their camp. "Hey, Ammy?"

"Hm?"

"That 'nothing' we talked about earlier. . . You want to talk about it now?"

"I don't, no."

He sighed. "It's hard to like you sometimes."

"Try being me." She managed to tear her gaze from her Duke, picking up a tent peg. "It's nothing, Markus. . . Female problems, hm?"

"Heh. Thought you didn't-"

"It's nothing that need be discussed."

"Can't fight your body, Ammy. . . Human enough, ay?"

"It's complicated." Amaranth said with finality, falling into silence as the steady pounding rhythm of the pegs, rustling canvas and clatter of arms and armor filled the camp. When all was said and done. The horses and men fed, Amaranth took first watch with a hand full of the younger soldiers.

She would stand watch for half the night while Markus took the other half, they were expected to set the standard and serve as Richard's personal guard, should something go wrong. The soldiers would rotate out every two hours to ensure everyone was rested and fed. It was a familiar, though seldom practiced security ritual. As the half-elf grabbed her canvas folding chair, a thought struck her.

She had no books.

In her rush to leave, she'd forgotten to pack any books or even scrolls to read! She had paper and charcoal, but her attention was needed to keep watch and she couldn't split her focus. A curse nearly spilled from her lips before she plonked down heavily on the chair. No books, no reading. Just stillness and the croon of the insects of the night.

No, it wasn't a lost cause, she could still clean and maintain her gear. A far cry from a good story, but at least it was something. Yes, she promised herself. Leathers would need to be oiled, blades sharpened and armor polished. She had her activities for the rest of her watch, then. But no books? She had remembered to pack her favorite dress but somehow forgot the works of Blakewell and Crouse? "Hmph."

She settled down, gaze flicking about the camp and briefly settling on the ornate three room tent that occupied the center left of the camp. The sergeant at arms and his personal contingent would be staying with Richard in one of the rooms and he would be in one, too. Briefly she wondered how likely it would be for her to get in there during the night, but quickly dismissed it. Two months had filled her mind with things that didn't belong there. . . That distraction was going to become a problem.

Amaranth drew her ornate broadsword and began polishing its basket hilt. It was a light thing, lighter than many of the steel swords worn by the soldiers, but its craftsmanship and balance made wielding it as much an extension of her body as the fingers she wrapped around its leather grip.

Eastern sword styles were much different than what she had practiced growing up, relying more on heavy slashing and turning the opponent to ground than the graceful, fluid movements of the elven Letechan, literally 'Sword Play' style that cast combatants as leading roles in a three act play that would only end with the death of one of actors.

Amaranth smiled wanly in the dying light of the cooking fire as she cleaned her blade. There had only been two plays she participated in, yet she'd been quick to study, quick to script new moves that she quietly wanted to put to use. To please and impress both Richard and Markus. A half-blood had a lot to prove as it was, a half-elf woman had mountains to move before they could expect to be accepted as equals. Years of service were easily forgotten among the quickly changing nature of humans and their cities, making displays all that more important.

Her hand glided down the girth of the blade, reveling in its hum under the whetstone. From the swept basket hilt to the thick, penetrating tip that would give nothing. The blade would keep pushing, deeper and deeper, piercing through armor, through soft flesh, into the damp pink of a quivering, sweaty. . .

Amaranth chewed her lower lip as the image in her mind melted from combat to something far, far more enjoyable. She'd spent so much time hiding from what she was becoming, afraid that the men around her would think less of her, that they'd suddenly become disinterested or worse yet, scared. She did this, all the while knowing that, deep down, she was the one who was scared. There was no coming out on top of this situation, no matter who's child it was, she was going to destroy friendships and more with what she carried in her womb.

A sigh parted her lips while she slumped forward and ran her fingers through her luxurious hair. When she spoke, her voice was a haggard whisper, "Elisandra, I never ask for anything, but I could really use your help. . ." She sat there in silence for nearly a minute before she sighed again. Asking for help from the Goddess of Guides made as much sense as trying to pray to Isira to protect virgins from lust.

The irony was that Isira was also a goddess of virginity- of the perpetual variety. Maybe that meant there would be some hope for Amaranth. Priests and paladins of Elisandra were expected to have all the answers, to guide mortals in their daily lives and tackle the future confidently. Her dogma expressly forbade her faithful from asking Her for help and learning by doing. But what happened when doing would possibly cause more harm than good? The gods did seem to enjoy irony.

Something rustled behind her. Amaranth jumped to her feet and spun into a defensive stance, sword at the ready. Someone, a man, was peeking around the edge of her tent. Cloaked in shadow, it was hard to make out distinct features but when he spoke, the recognition was instantaneous; it was Richard. Her Duke. "Hardly the time for self loathing, don't you think?" A flicker of light caught his eyes, reflecting it as a glimmer of bright green.

She almost bowed, but he was just that bit quicker; he cleared the distance between them and took her hand, leading her into the shade of her the stand up tent. She was so caught off guard by his advance that she couldn't stop him to ask what he was doing.