The Warrior Ch. 04

"Valerian root?" She murmured in tones of surprise, glancing at her former apprentice. "Has something happened?"

Allorah didn't look up, but spoke curtly. "He's gone to rout the invaders in the Sacred Wood."

"Oh." She said.

The kettle started to hiss and Dannonae took it off the flame, pouring the steaming water into a cup. She sprinkled in a careful dose of the herb then set the mixture in front of Allorah, seating herself at the corner next to her and folding her hands on the tabletop. Allorah didn't touch the cup, and Dannonae didn't say anything, merely watched the younger woman absorbed in her thoughts. Abruptly she spoke.

"I am a fool."

Dannonae raised an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"

Allorah's mouth twisted in a self-mocking smile. "He is a dragon. I know that. Of course he's capable of taking care of himself. And the whole reason why I brought him here was to help us fight those horrible people. Yet... Now that he's out there..." She caught a glimpse of a knowing smile on Dannonae's face and looked over at her sharply. "What?"

"Perhaps you are being a little irrational, Allorah, but you have never been a fool. Even when you were a child you possessed a wisdom beyond your years." Her eyes held a parent's warmth as she gently removed the mangled cloth from Allorah's fingers. For a moment, she looked as though she were about to say something more, then she sighed and looked away.

She rose from her seat, using her hands to lever her to standing. Allorah noticed sadly that this past year had not been kind to her mentor; she seemed to age visibly every day. Dannonae gave her another smile and affectionately brushed a hand over her hair. "Drink your tea."

Allorah smiled weakly back and picked up the cup. Satisfied, Dannonae turned and went into her room, shutting the door quietly.

Allorah watched the closed door for a minute then stood as well. Taking small sips of the hot liquid so as not to scald her tongue, she went to her own room. She turned down the covers on her bed while she waited for the brew to cool, then combed the silken tumble of hair that fell to the middle of her back. She washed her face and used the remaining water and a cleansing paste to scrub her teeth with a small, stiff brush. Once her ablutions were completed, she gulped down the remaining tea, blew out the candles and climbed into bed.

Curled in the comfort of her familiar blankets, and with the sedative now in her system, she should have been able to fall asleep. The barely perceptible swaying of the great tree had always been lulling to her before, and the soft rustle of the leaves had for many years accompanied her to slumber. Yet she twisted uncomfortably in her bed, unable to quiet her thoughts long enough for unconsciousness to overtake her.

Finally she threw aside the blankets in disgust and sat on the edge of the bed. Her night-adjusted eyes wandered restlessly around the little room until they alighted upon the fur lying on the chest at the foot of her bed. It was the cat pelt that she'd used for the ritual. The one that Varyn had worn.

She didn't know what made her do it, but she reached over and picked it up, bringing it close to her and inhaling. Mostly she smelled the slightly musty smell common to furs, but there... very faintly, was something else. The trace of a strange, masculine scent lingering on the pelt. Allorah breathed in again then climbed back under the covers, spreading the fur out on top. She rustled around a little, but stilled after a minute.

There, with the hint of him near her, she at last drifted off to sleep.

***

Allorah Dreamed. She knew instinctively that this was no mere fantasy, but something more. It had happened to her frequently when she was younger, these strange dreams that were not dreams, sometimes even when she was awake. Dannonae called them visions. Sometimes they felt like memories, though not hers. At other times they had the ephemeral quality that led her to believe they were events yet to occur.

This time, she saw it as it was happening.

The coiled figure stalked his prey in deadly silence, gliding along the darkened forest with all the substance of a moon-cast shadow. He carried no weapons, nor did he need any. The two men he hunted, their pale eyes wide with fear, kept close to one another. Moonlight glinted off the swords they held in trembling hands and off their fair hair; they twitched and tensed at the small nighttime sounds around them. The figure grinned in feral delight.

In a flicker of movement he was behind the one to the left. He gripped his victim's head between his hands and twisted. With a quiet "pop" the man dropped like a stone, his neck broken. The figure disappeared again before the second man finished turning toward the sound. He let out a sort of strangled gasp and whipped around again, brandishing his sword around him in wild terror.

From the shadows off to the side, the figure watched his flailing prey. He contemplated finishing him now, putting him out of his misery, then decided against it. Better to discretely herd him to one of the other, larger pockets of men, where his wild-eyed tale about the annihilation of his unit would plant the seed of fright in the others. It would expedite the process of spooking them out of their conditioning, their meticulous organization, leaving them in the vulnerable mentality of the hunted. Making them that much easier to kill.

As the figure began luring his prey to his decided destination, using little sounds to spur the panicked man in the right direction, a small part of the Dreaming Allorah registered this most unusual ability to hear the hunter's thoughts. In all her visions up until now, she had only served as an outside observer, never actually privy to what any of the participants were thinking. The abnormality was quickly tucked away for later, and her full attention returned to the scene.

For hours the figure continued his deadly game. Even after slowly picking-off all the members of the group he'd led the unfortunate soldier to, he moved to the next and began again. Sometimes he killed them all, other times he spared a few to stumble upon his next targets, where they were usually included in the ensuing slaughter anyway. But the overall strategy was always in his mind, so he carefully let one from every third group or so flee back to the rest of their army. The combination of their separate testimonies should have the effect of dissuading their commanders from attacking through these woods again.

He mostly used his hands to do the work, fingernails extended and hardened to wicked claws. It was as much Shifting as he would allow himself. To go any further would remove all challenge from the encounters. And there was a sort of pleasure to be found in excelling within these self-imposed limitations.

The slightest lightening in the patches of sky visible through the trees told him it was time to finish up. There was one more group he wanted to deal with before he did, though. Slipping through undergrowth, a little smile curved his lips when he saw all the soldiers, crouched and intently looking in the direction of the village. His smile widened when he saw the ornamentation on the sword of a soldier in the middle of the group. An officer...

Without warning he leaped from his cover and attacked. His claws ripped through one man's throat, a kick sent splinters of bone into another's brain. He moved so quickly that three more died before the rest realized what was happening. They sluggishly attempted a counter-attack and the figure relished the variation in the routine. Subtlety had its place and purpose, but a direct approach was much more satisfying. Easily dodging their weapons, he picked up one of the swords from the ground and began wielding it to deadly effect. The officer made a swing at him, screaming in rage, and the figure knocked the blow aside, continuing the motion to run one of the other soldiers through.

Moments later, only the officer was left. He breathed heavily, either in fear or fury, though the figure was not winded. A flurry of action and the officer's ornamented sword was in the other man's hand. It was time to go back to the village, and the officer would be coming with him. Turning him around by sword-point, he prodded him in the back and they began walking.

Allorah flew to consciousness with a start.

The images from her vision tumbled and tangled in her mind as she threw off the covers and fumbled in the pre-dawn gloom for her shawl, but one thought dominated all the others: Varyn was back. She delayed running out the door only long enough to pull on and hastily lace her mid-calf boots. Her ebon curls streamed unbound as she raced down the spiraling ramp to the main level of the village and the cold air chilled her face, bringing a pink flush to her cheeks.

Nearly all the torches had been extinguished, and the moon had long since set. But it didn't matter to her. She knew where she was going as surely as if a string tied around her heart was tugging her in the right direction. She flew along the wooden paths, one hand barely keeping the shawl from blowing away in her haste. Aside from the light, rapid cadence of her footfalls, the still-dark morning was completely silent until a piercing whistle shrilled from the distance. It was a sentry's warning of someone's approach.

She skidded to a stop at the very edge of the treetop pathways. She braced her hands on the railing, leaning forward over the edge to peer into the shrinking darkness below. There was nothing. Behind her, armed men were rushing from their homes in response to the sentry's call. She heard confused murmurs as they saw her standing there, then she saw it. A small patch of silver, moving towards them on the forest floor.

Her breath caught in her throat and she sped over to the nearest lift. Two men stepped inside as well before she could close the gate to go down, and she clenched her jaw impatiently as one of them kept their descent to a safely slow pace. By the time they reached the ground, it was clear that there were two figures approaching, one in front of the other.

An image of the officer in her dream flashed through her head, making her blink and pause, momentarily disoriented. Regaining her senses, she saw the men who'd come down with her raising their bows to aim at the figures who walked towards them.

"No!" She cried. She darted forward to place her body between them and the oncoming men. "Do not shoot!"

They exchanged a startled glance and looked back to her as if to say something. A sudden thought occurred to her and she ran far enough out from under the treetop walkways that by squinting she could barely make out the drawn bows of the defenders above. Fear gave her voice strength as she screamed desperately up to them, "DO NOT SHOOT!"

Miraculously, they heard and she saw one man raise his hand to signal that all should wait. Allorah let her anxious breath leave her and turned back to the forest. She could see Varyn's face now, and that of the bearded officer he had captured. She was looking him over for injury when the two men from the lift, two new ones, and Geldan all appeared at her elbow. They waited with her silently as Varyn closed the remaining distance and forced the officer to his knees before them.

After a moment, Geldan said, almost as if he couldn't believe it, "You're alive."

"I am," Varyn agreed, adding smugly, "And I've brought you all a gift." He poked the kneeling officer in the shoulder with one sword and the man flinched, lowering his head. Geldan and the others looked at him in bewilderment.

"What are we supposed to do with him?" He asked, only confusion in his voice.

Varyn shrugged. "Whatever you like. Though if you decide to kill him, I would advise questioning him first."

Geldan nodded slowly. With a graceful movement, Varyn flipped the sword in his left hand around so that he held it by the blade, and offered it hilt-first to the shorter man while he kept the officer in place by pressing the ornamented sword's point into the back of his neck. Geldan took the sword gingerly, but gave a respectful nod before motioning for two of the others to hoist the officer to his feet and bear him away. After another glance at Varyn, he and the other two turned to follow, leaving Allorah alone with him.

She could only look at him for a minute. His hands and arms were stained crimson, and blood spotted his torso, but she felt no alarm. She asked anyway. "Are you injured?"

One side of his mouth curled up in a crooked smile. "No."

"Then all that blood—?"

"Is not mine." He finished for her. She nodded in affirmation of her own thoughts.

"Come." She told him, turning away. "We will get you cleaned up."

As she led him back up the lift and along the walkways, eyes and whispers of the emerging townsfolk following them, she felt a fluttering in her stomach that was mingled relief and something else. She didn't dwell on it.

Her tower-home was too far for practicality, so they went into the first of the communal kitchen buildings they came across. At this time in of the morning there was no one inside, so they were alone as she went to one of the rain barrels and filled a bowl for him to wash with. When she turned back, he had already removed his scarlet-soaked shirt and deposited his similarly drenched sword on the table. As she silently handed him the bowl and a rag to scrub with, she took a moment to marvel again at the masculine beauty of his body. The blood streaking his chest and arms even seemed to heighten it, adding a primal roughness to his sculpted perfection. Unconsciously, she wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue.

He washed quickly while she waited. She felt herself filling with a strange sort of calm in just watching him, hale and whole and preoccupied. And that moment, she allowed her mind to touch on the true depth of her feeling for him, even if only for a heartbeat. She loved him. No matter how suddenly it had happened, no matter that she hardly knew him. She loved him...

Allorah stepped forward, close enough that she was sure he could feel her breath warming the water on his chest. She reached up with one hand and gently turned his face towards her. The surprise she found there made her smile. She'd caught him off-balance. Then she stood on tip-toe and pulled his mouth down to hers.

The kiss didn't start out passionate, but it soon became so. The banked fire within both their bodies flared brightly, burning for completion. She pulled her lips away and opened her eyes to look at him dazedly. "I'm glad you're back."

He kissed her again, hard. "I told you I would be."

"Yes, you did..." And any other words were lost as he brought her close, and resumed where they had left off. She felt him swelling against her abdomen with an answering slickness gathering between her legs. Suddenly she pulled away again, murmuring, "No..."

He stopped immediately, but frowned down at her in confusion. "No?"

A wicked gleam lit her violet eyes as she grabbed his hands from around her waist and began tugging him after her. "Not here." She walked backwards, leading him to the door of a storage room for the kitchen's supplies. Catching on to her intention, he kicked the door closed behind them and followed her until her back bumped into the far wall. Then it was a frenzy of activity as they rushed to bare themselves enough to be joined. Her shawl dropped to the floor, discarded, and she quickly wriggled out of her lower undergarments, not having worn anything up top to bed. His dexterous fingers quickly unlaced his trousers and as his impressive length sprang free, he sighed gratefully.

"I have a newfound respect for human males..." He muttered, then gripped her around the waist once again, this time lifting her effortlessly into the air. Realizing his aim, Allorah hiked up her shift enough to allow her to encircle his waist with her legs, and she wrapped her arms about his neck. He used his grasp on her hips to line himself up with her entrance, coating the tip with his juices in the process. Then he dropped her.

She gave a muffled cry as she sank all the way down, sheathing him fully. Her inner walls rippled at the welcome intrusion; so much sudden stimulation all at once. His hands shifted from their position on her hips to grab her bottom, slowly lifting her again. As she moaned at the sensation of his flesh dragging out of hers, she relished the possessive power of his hands squeezing through the thin material. Then he let her sink back down again and they started all over.

He soon got into a rhythm, and she discovered she could add enormous pleasure by circling her hips while he was buried deep inside her. She did this on every other down stroke until her head was reeling and she could only moan while he bounced her up and down on his cock. Her nipples were like little pebbles, constantly rubbed by the weave of her shift as she pressed her chest to his. His mouth found her neck and he licked and bit along the ivory skin. The scrape of his teeth and his fingers digging into her cheeks as he ravished her vigorously sent her over the edge. She smothered her yell against his shoulder and bucked hard against him, wanting to feel him let go as well. At the very end of her climax, she squeezed him with her pussy muscles as hard as she could, clenching him to a halt. He gasped, and with the tiny jerk of her hips she felt him swell and explode, coating her walls with sticky warmth and sending tingling aftershocks throughout her system. He threw back his head and groaned and Allorah watched the pleasure on his face with satisfaction. He was magnificent.

After a moment, he began calming his breaths, and he tilted his head forward again and grinned lopsidedly at her. She smiled back and leaned in to press her lips to his briefly, then stared contentedly at the gold swirling through the green of his irises. He brought her out of her study by returning the kiss just as quickly before carefully lifting her off his softening length and letting her slide down to the floor. Allorah sighed resignedly at the loss but looked around for where she'd dropped her undergarment while he tucked himself back in and began lacing up.

A minute later and they were both decent again, though Allorah was conscious of the lingering flush of exertion in her cheeks and Varyn still wore a self-satisfied smile. Leading the way back out into the kitchen, Allorah cleaned up the washing tools and the table, and Varyn picked up his bloodied shirt by a part of it that was mostly clean. He used it to wipe the hilt of the sword clean, before picking that up too. The sight of the blood sobered her a little, a reminder that he had spent the night killing.

But she didn't let it bother her too much and she turned her thoughts to other things that she had more influence over. Such as his diet. He didn't look tired, but she thought by now he surely must be hungry. The kitchen was still empty save for the two of them, so no hot meals would be coming out of here for a while, but there was food at her home and while he ate, maybe they could try doing something about either washing that shirt or getting him a new one...

Voices and footsteps came from the walkway outside. She realized now that he'd proved his authenticity, the Hunters and the other fighters would all be wanting to speak with him about the war, making plans and learning what he had to teach. She'd only just discovered that she wanted him to herself and now everyone else would want some of his time too. The irony made her sigh again.

Varyn looked at her inquisitively but she merely shrugged and smiled to indicate it was nothing. The footsteps stopped outside the kitchen door, as if they hesitated to interrupt. Allorah ignored them. "Are you hungry?" She asked.