A Paladin's Journey Ch. 14

She drew herself up defiantly, raising her chin. Erik knew that pose well; her mother adopted it from time to time. "I was worried about you," she countered. "Besides, I can see better in here than you can." As if that settled the matter, she slipped past him into the room and looked around. "Where do you think he went?" She asked when she turned back to Erik.

He shrugged. "Impossible to say unless we find some sort of clue. Even if we do, however, I think it might be best to leave him be. He had the look of a haunted man, to me. One that does not like to be found when he wishes solitude."

Sylvia sighed and put one hand on a slim hip while she studied the fingernails of the other. "You men," she murmured. "Are very strange creatures, at times."

Erik growled and took a playfully threatening step towards the pretty half-Elf. Boldly, she watched him approach without moving. Erik crushed her in a hug, and she melted into him willingly. "Please do as I say, next time," he chided gently. "You are not the only one that can worry, you know."

Sylvia pushed back a little and eyed him. Her emerald eyes seemed to catch what little light there was in the room. "I cannot promise it," she replied firmly. "Sometimes you need someone to watch your back."

Erik met her level stare for a moment before admitting defeat. She had a point. Perhaps he was just being overprotective. "Come on," he said, taking her hand. "Let's go and show these people their new home."

He went to leave the room, but Sylvia pulled him back. There was a glint in her eye that hadn't been there before. "Kiss me first," she demanded. Erik needed no further encouragement. In a heartbeat he had his arms around her again and his lips found hers hungrily. She moaned into the passionate clashing of their mouths and began attacking the buttons of his coat.

Somehow, without breaking the kiss, she removed his coat and shirt while he relieved her of her tunic and blouse. He cupped her petite breasts in his palms, and she groaned hotly when he lightly pinched a stiff, pink nipple. She raked her fingers through the hair on his chest as her hands dropped lower to undo his belt.

Erik breathed a sigh of relief when his aching member finally leaped free of his breeches, then he grunted in pleasure as her soft hand encircled his hard, hot flesh and tugged on it insistently. Eager to move things along, he dropped to his knees and unlaced her almost skin-tight pants, pushing them down her slender thighs and further, until she stepped out of them daintily.

Erik's need rose to a new height as his eyes and hands roamed over her nudity. Remaining on his knees, he planted kisses over her belly while he squeezed her pert bottom possessively. Sylvia sighed happily when his tongue slipped into the smooth folds of her sex, then she jerked spasmodically when he raked over the hard nub hidden inside.

Hands seized the sides of his head as he made love to her with his mouth, and soon the empty house was filled with the cries of Sylvia's pleasure. All too soon, she was pulling Erik's head away and pushing him down so he was resting on his ankles. She lowered herself down to straddle him, and he gathered her up tightly in his arms as she rested her hot pussy against his cock, ready to take him in.

Her eyes captured his as she descended, and Erik moaned involuntarily as he felt himself sliding into her slick, velvet depths. She stopped moving once he was fully seated inside her, only to plant kisses and gentle bites on the sides of his neck and along his jaw.

"You need to shave," she whispered. "But I do enjoy the roughness."

With a growl, Erik seized her buttocks and began to thrust. They really should be riding back to the refugees, but a few more minutes' delay would not hurt.

***

---------------------

CHAPTER 14.2: Repercussions

----------------------

Eames stared dispassionately at the city around him as he rode through the streets of Maralon. Surrounded by an escort of one hundred mounted Heralds, he made quite the impression. The escort held lances ready - not thrust forward, in a threatening manner - but angled so that they could be used to effect with minimal movement. One never knew when a knife or arrow might find its way into one's unwary back, especially among peasants.

A bannerman rode out front, the square pennant of the Dawn - a crimson sun radiating stiff, pointed sunbeams on a field of golden yellow - rippling gently where he held it aloft on a six-foot pole. "Make way! Make way!" He called grandly. "The Lord Commander of the Heralds of Dawn comes!"

This far into the Common Quarter, tall buildings of red or grey brick lined the cobbled streets, packed in densely with only the narrowest of alleyways between. An assassin with a crossbow could be hiding in any one of the many high windows overlooking the street, but Eames forced himself to keep his eyes focused ahead. Now was not the time to appear uncertain. Now was the time to display strength, confidence. Power.

People stopped and stared as the procession passed, many of them hailing the Dawn or saluting with respect, but every so often one turned away, or just stood and watched expressionless until they passed out of Eames' sight. It didn't happen a lot - one person in fifty, maybe - but it was enough that Eames noticed.

Too many, Eames thought to himself bitterly. Too many are still not convinced the Heralds are good for this city. Well, that will be addressed, in time. Most of the citizens unlucky enough to catch his eye flinched back at his gaze. He did not attempt to soften it; people did not respect a soft leader, especially not in these times.

A contributing factor to the dissonance in the city was the fact that the other four members of the Council of Maralon - the city's governing body in which Eames had recently acquired a seat - had been involved in a terrible accident when taking tea together. The recent tremors had weakened some of the stone in the ceiling of the Council Hall. Only Eames had survived.

Only two others knew the real truth behind the accident: Latham, and the man whom had been handsomely paid for the job.

The midday sun burned brightly above, but not yet warmly enough to be called hot; summer was still more than a month away, and it had not been a particularly warm spring. This far north, summers could be almost as oppressing as they were in Beringarde - the northernmost city in Ekistair - and if Eames were a betting man, he would wager his cloak that this summer would be no different, cool spring or no.

Eames resisted the urge to roll his shoulders uncomfortably. They itched in between, as if sensing something about to penetrate him. He settled for adjusting his red-trimmed yellow cloak instead. If these jaunts through the city were not necessary to inspire goodwill and certainty in the people, Eames would be back in the Citadel, happily going over his research.

What I would not give for another arohim to study, he thought to himself. Capturing those twins a few months back had been a glorious boon, indeed. So unfortunate that they'd been taken from him so quickly. How had the other arohim known where to come to save them? It was a question that burned in Eames' mind often.

There were many questions written in Eames' secret book, the one he kept securely on his person at all times. Some of those questions he had even managed to answer. Rodric Eames would be the first Herald of Dawn to ever have such an intimate understanding of the arohim, and how to defeat them.

"How goes the searches?" he asked softly of Latham, his second in command. The younger man rode on Eames' left on a tall chestnut stallion, his hard, dark-eyed stare raking over the commoners as if he could spot an arohim on sight.

"Surprisingly well, my Lord Commander," Latham replied, reaching into the pocket of his coat and producing a small scroll. He unfurled it and scanned it quickly before handing it to Eames. "I did not want to hand this to you until I had something more definitive, Lord Commander, but I do truly think this is a suitable lead."

Eames snatched the scroll from Latham's hand. A grunt escaped his lips as he read its contents. "You truly have two names already?" He asked, disbelieving. "After less than a week?" When he looked to Latham, the dark-haired man nodded evenly.

"Yes, Lord Commander. I admit, I was surprised, myself. The arondur are infamous for their ability to hide in plain sight and leave no trace of their heritage, but these were found. And in the Noble Quarter, no less."

"Any connections to the Kargen half-breed?" Eames inquired quietly. "Or the girl?" The former was the half-Orc that had slipped through his fingers some time ago. The latter was the girl that had accompanied her. A girl that Eames was quite sure was an arohim. Their escape could most likely be laid at the hands of the same arohim that had taken the twins away from Eames and killed Brend and Lora in the process.

Arohim led by the same man whom had sent Captain Tevin scuttling back to Maralon with a message. The man whom had recently ended Berrigan Stallen's life and put the future of the Heralds' influence in Ironshire at risk. Not to mention killing one of Eames' Nameless. Nameless were not so common they could be thrown away like regular soldiers.

Yes, this Aran Sunblade had much to answer for.

Latham's mouth twisted at the aforementioned as he shook his head. "Not yet, my Lord. Kargen's house was completely dismantled and studied, but no secret passages or nooks were found. The girl we still have no knowledge of, though some of the beggars believe that a woman of her description lived on the streets, but they are obviously mistaken."

"Perhaps," Eames mused. He had learned one thing regarding the arohim above all else: Never assume anything. "Continue your efforts. I want the city combed. Put bulletins up at every corner with the names on it. Offer a reward for any information. One hundred crowns should do it."

"As you wish, my Lord," Latham replied smoothly. "And what of the other matter at hand?"

Latham was referring to the recent requests from the Northguard for more men to be sent. Apparently ulunn attacks were on the rise. It wasn't surprising, really; darkspawn seemed to be appearing everywhere, these days. Both arohim and darkspawn on the rise again was certainly no coincidence.

"Triple the scope of your search," Eames told Latham. "I want the city scoured clean within the next ten days. Those whom you find even remotely suspicious, deliver them to the cells. I want full reports on my desk of their family history, occupation, everything. Once every stone is turned in Maralon, then we will think about the Northguard."

Latham nodded stiffly, his lips slightly pursed. Eames had just set the man a daunting task, but Latham was capable. He would handle it, and if not, Eames would find someone who could.

***

--------------------

14.3: Eryn'elda

--------------------

Maloth stood at the waist-high stone balustrade ringing the wide balcony that attached to his quarters. He was shirtless and clad only in tight leather breeches and boots, all in unrelieved black. The chill in the air did not affect his exposed skin. Such things were negligible to him, now.

As elaborately carved as everything else in the palace, the stone railing flowed and curled as if it were fluid. Idly, his fingers traced the undulating scrollwork beneath his hands as he leaned forward to look below. From this high up - one of the highest towers in the palace - all of Laefandell was laid out before him. The soldiers moving back and forth in the avenues surrounding the palace looked no larger than ants marching around in formation.

The sky was a roiling black maelstrom, as it always was, now, and lightning flickered with ominous regularity, striking just outside the city walls with sharp cracks that resounded off the buildings of Laefandell. Maloth absently wondered just what the connection was between himself and the weather, and whether there was anything he could do to control it more directly. No matter how bad the storm became, however, it never touched him or his forces.

Down on the ground, Peldin, Torvin and Barrog were preparing the soldiers to march for Amindaer, Maloth's next goal, and final conquest before sailing for Ekistair.

There had been little resistance to Maloth's occupation of this city. Caeledrin had of course given a speech announcing the new alliance with Maloth's burgeoning nation, with Ellerion's help. The return of the queen had buoyed the spirits of the Elves, especially those dubious of Caeledrin's rule.

Apart from one uprising from a group of rebelling Tar'elda, the news had been accepted peacefully. The way Maloth had dealt with the uprising had not been kind, and word had quickly spread of what becomes of insurgents.

No few Elven nobles had approached him in recent days, all of them throwing their loyalty and support at his feet - most of them after the quelled rebellion, Maloth had not failed to note - and Maloth had accepted their pledges readily.

Absently, he rubbed his wrist where a sharp pain had suddenly struck him a week or so ago. It had only lasted a second or two, but every now and then it stung afresh. Maloth got the sense it was connected to that force that had blazed in the south recently. The vision of that man at its centre flashed into his mind again, bringing with it a disconcerting feeling.

Was it fear? No, Maloth was beyond fear, surely. A distinct sense of wariness was perhaps a better assessment. It's not fear. I surpassed fear long ago. It is I who is feared.

Shenla sidled up next to him, then, placing her own elegant, black-nailed fingers on the railing as she looked up at him and smiled. Her jet hair was loose today, and silky strands shifted in the breeze. As Maloth's eyes dropped lower, he noticed she had adopted something of the Tar'elda fashion in a flowing, pale green gown that left her arms, one shoulder and most of her right breast bare. The contrast of the light green against her rose skin was startling, yet alluring, in typical Shenla style.

She had, of course, modified the garment to suit her daring tastes, and while it covered most of her skin, it was so sheer that the lush body beneath was totally visible.

"Do you like it?" she purred, twirling in a slow circle. "I had it made for your eyes."

Maloth said nothing as he studied her. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate what he was seeing, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Who was that man? Did Maloth possess power enough to defeat him?

"My Lord!" Shenla's voice penetrated his internal dialogue, and Maloth returned to the present moment to see her standing with hands on ample hips and a sour look on her face. "It's like you don't even see me, sometimes!"

"I'm thinking," he grated, turning back to the view of the city. "My mind is occupied with more than you know, sister."

She stepped closer, almost haughty in her manner. "You've been ignoring me recently, brother! You haven't fucked me in days! I'm beginning to wonder if you love me at all!"

Maloth's fingers tightened on the stone railing until he thought it might crack beneath the pressure. Shenla had become increasingly demanding since taking a fourth ahk'sheth. Perhaps it was time Maloth took her in hand. It would be one less annoyance on his plate.

"Why do you bother me so, little sister?" He growled, refusing to look at her. "Do you not have enough from me? Have I not given you everything? Shared everything I have with you?"

"Because I'm afraid!" She yelled back. "I felt that power just as you did! It scared me to my toes, Maloth! Before that terrible light, I felt like a kitten before a wolf!"

Something in her words struck a chord inside him, and he snarled wordlessly. "I am the most powerful being this land has ever seen! And I have not yet reached my potential! It is he who should fear me!"

Without looking, he snatched Shenla by the arm and pulled her in front of him, so she was between him and the balustrade, facing out toward the city. She struggled, but was no match for his strength. In one swift swipe, he tore her dress free and tossed it over the edge, where the wind snatched it away in a flurry of silk.

With one hand he grabbed a handful of her hair and pushed her forward, bending her until her tits were pressed into the railing. With the other he tore at his breeches until his cock sprang free. "You want attention?" He roared, dark fury erupting inside him as he pushed his crown between the cleft of her plump buttocks. "I'll give you attention!" With a savage thrust, he penetrated her rear hole, revelling in the tight heat of her tunnel.

Shenla screamed at the top of her lungs, though not in pain; her body was built for sex, and Maloth had seen her take much larger cocks than even his. Hot anger pumped through his veins, his frustration boiling up to the surface. That face floated through his vision again, even as he watched his crimson cock sawing into Shenla's body.

"I AM NOT AFRAID!" He roared at the storm above as he pummelled Shenla with his thrusts. Shenla was yelling something at him, but his hearing had dimmed, muted by fury. His fingers were clutching her hips in a death grip, and if it were anyone but Shenla, the skin would have long since torn away and the bones beneath shattered.

The wind began to howl across the tower, whipping at the two demons as they rutted, but Maloth was consumed only by his rage. Suddenly there was a loud crack, and the balustrade gave way beneath the force of their fucking, pitching them both forward into empty air.

Twisting, Maloth caught the edge of the balcony floor with one hand, while the other remained tangled in Shenla's hair, stopping her fall. She seized his wrist and pulled herself up, climbing his body until her face was level with his. Her eyes were so beautiful. Dark, stormy, misted at the corners. Had she been crying?

He used to think he loved her, but love was a weakness he could not afford. He felt something for her, more than anyone else he could think of, but he knew now it was not love. She gazed into him, searching for what he could not give her.

One push, and it would all be done. She would fall, and he would be free of her distraction. But he would lose her ahk'sheth, and in turn, a significant military advantage. Almost effortlessly, he hoisted himself up, bringing her with him to safety.

"Leave me," he told her as he got to his feet, pulling the ruined scraps of his breeches free of his body. "I still have much to think on."

Wordlessly, she nodded and hurried inside.

***

Shenla stalked through the palace corridors, fuming. How dare he? I have given him all of myself and he treats me this way? I would die a thousand times over for his love, yet he shuns me like some common slattern!

The idea that she may not be good enough for her brother wormed its ugly way into her heart, but she squashed it ruthlessly. Since binding Caeledrin, she knew she had changed. She felt more herself, more capable, more confident. The Tar'elda king was a powerful being, and Shenla had grown much with the acquisition of him.

Yet, looking into Maloth's eyes just now, hanging there, hundreds of feet in the air, she could have sworn he considered dropping her. The thought made her equal parts sorrowful and furious. A handsome Elf servant approached her, boldly eyeing her up and down, unclothed as she was. Any other time, she would have welcomed the attention, but she found her hand darting out to tear a chunk of flesh from his throat as he passed.

Blood sprayed onto the pristine marble floors as the Elf collapsed in a gurgling heap, and Shenla continued on without looking back, never missing a step. If her own brother was intending to spurn her, then Shenla would wreak her rage and pain on the world in a way Maloth never could.