Athaniel's Libation Ch. 05

The river's meander. 

The sun's slow climb. 

The rising cloud.

The steadfast mountain.

Like rain falling...

"Is it a dance?" Mala's clear voice came from behind me. She and Freya were watching me. How long they had been there, I did not know. I searched Mala's face for anger at our last harsh words, but found it as devoid of emotion as ever.

"Some call it dance... or a poem. I see its flow as life's truest reflection."

Mala approached, hands clasped. "Much of your world confounds me. But it all seems centered on beauty." 

"We have little else to concern us, my lady." I didn't move when she stepped closer.

"I wish to learn." Her gaze swept along the towering stone walls. "Together, we might bring beauty to this world."

Indeed, I thought privately, by convincing me to breed your sister, who is entirely unaware of your desire to overthrow her husband.

In the bright sun, her eyes shone amber and were flecked with green. Her pupils were unnaturally wide as she searched my face, extracting every morsel of information I gave away.

"I am but here as an emissary, my lady."

"Yes, you are." She stepped back to join Freya. "Please accept my apologies, lord Athaniel. My proposal was ill-considered. I knew not what I asked. I merely wished to give you a chance to be more than just a hostage. To create something."

I nodded along in silence, searching her face for any sign of a lie. There was none. Nor any other.

"Freya begs to see you again," she continued. "Your effect on her is remarkable, Lord Athaniel."

Barter? Was she offering Freya in return for cooperation? Her face revealed little.

Freya stood stiffly, hands behind her back, chin high, but the parting of her lips was tell-tale. Her eyes followed my every move.

"I would meet her too and see how she fares." Freya relaxed visibly. Actually, she eye-fucked me. Involuntarily, I responded by doing the same.

"I'm sure." Mala went on. "You seem intent on sharing your 'gifts' widely among the women here."

Damnation. I wrenched my gaze from Freya, though my breeches stirred at her open appraisal.

"I've no intention of doing any such thing."

Mala smiled. "Your actions last night suggest otherwise, as does your eager cock." She eyed the front of my straining breeches.

I swallowed hard. Her gaze, and her words, stung. 

"What is it you want from me, Princess?" I asked, keeping my tone even.

She eyed the ramparts. "You know what I want. Change." Then her eyes met mine. "I won't keep you. You've your manliness to prove, for which I apologize on behalf of my kind." 

"Apology accepted." I bowed.

"I'll see Freya attends you after the bout, if you live." Freya started--as surprised as I.

"You have my gratitude." Another bow.

A half-smile. "Good luck, Lord Athaniel." She turned, dragging the startled Freya away by the hand. I watched them go. Another convincing reason to win this fight. I just needed to take care it didn't become the reason I lost it.

I breathed deep and resumed my stances.

Rain falls. 

The river winds...

-

The sun was high on its journey when Forna came to collect me. I stopped flowing through my stances and caught my breath while I waited for him to approach. His eyes slid along my bare chest before they settled on mine.

"Does none of your kin want to talk to me?" I asked when he was close enough. "It's always you."

He shrugged. "And so it will be if you keep raising your hackles every time they try."

I thought of that for a moment. Did I? I guess I had my pride, but... It was hard to act differently when all they wanted to do was to turn me into the butt end of yet another joke.

"They don't make it easy." I just said. 

"Believe me, I know," he sighed. "Are you ready for your fight?"

"Nope." I said as I slid Azael back into her scabbard. 

He snorted. "Well, if it's worth anything to you, I hope you don't get killed." 

"I appreciate your concern, Forna. You are a staunch friend to me. Other than you, I'm not sure if I'd be missed. What is my purpose here exactly? To be an emissary I'd have to actually speak to people."

He shrugged. "I'm sure you can find people in the keep that are more... amenable."

Cold washed down my spine. Did he know about my dalliance with Kaelfred's wife? And if he knew, who else knew?

But I saw no judgment in his gaze. Only a shy glance of a different kind. Right...

I picked up my tunic and slipped it on as we were walking out of the orchard. "What about a sword?" I asked him.

He shrugged again. It seemed to be all he did today. "Presumably they will have one for you."

"Would have been nice if I could have at least held it before the fight."

Forno just, well... shrugged. "Yup."

"Since I am supposed to dazzle the crowd and all... How am I meant to do that with a sword I've never even seen before?"

"I'm sure you'll manage," he said. "You could always take that top off."

He guided me back out of the keep towards the practice fields, where a right crowd had gathered while I worked on my stances alone in the orchard.

As we approached, Forna guided me straight to Waentsin, who was presiding. Presumably, while the king enjoyed his afternoon nap. The other princess. Innifer, was there as well. The top of her dress was customarily low, the cleft that was visible above it so deep I felt a moment of vertigo. It was obscene. No, there was nothing wrong with it. It was my reaction that was obscene. Already, I was reconsidering Mala's proposal.

"My lady," I bowed to her. Tiny veins meandered the skin of her chest, stretched so much that I feared it could tear at any moment. But stretched or not, I noticed goosebumps spread when I came closer.

"My lord Athaniel," she stammered and did a careful curtsy of her own. "I hope the gods grant you victory on this day." Her eyes were dark, like Mala's, yet so much larger and shining with benevolence. And something else, a sadness.

A powerful urge overtook me. I wanted to gather her up in my arms and hold her, to cuddle her until she was no longer sad. Then, and only then, did I want her to smother my face and drown me with her blessings.

This was good. According to the books, it was best to be strung tight like an ash bow before a fight. Legend had it that the warriors of old would abstain for weeks, so they were brimming with sexual energy. They must have had special underpants with sturdy straps. I'd have wood swinging loose and in danger of being chopped off if I went without for that long. Also, I doubted that the object of their desire was present to watch them fight.

"Are you ready, Lord Athaniel?" Waentsin interrupted my reverie. I realized my eyes were still gazing into his wife's. I blinked and turned to him.

"Are you ready to settle this dispute under the wide sky, and the all-seeing eye of the old god?"

They have an old god? How old can this imaginary being be? I cast about. The people gathered had now formed a closed circle around us. Mala was not far. Freya... nowhere in sight. Other than the two princesses and Hinde, the circle consisted only of men. Each was holding a shield, and together they formed a barrier of sorts.

On the opposite side, I saw Kaelfred, waiting, sword in hand. He was topless, and in his own hairy way, quite formidable, if not a tad heavy with padding. Next to him stood his wife, looking comparatively steady and clear faced compared to the last time I saw her. My gaze shot down involuntarily and I remembered how my cock had been buried inside her mere hours ago. My bow was definitely tightening. Kaelfred followed my gaze, looking aside briefly at his entranced wife. He growled angrily. I could see how perving on his wife probably wasn't the way to show my opponent the proper respect before this duel under the old gods eyes and the wide sky. But on the other hand, staring at her lustfully was by far the most respectful thing I had done with her since we'd left Kaelfred snoring, face down in a plate of boar grease.

I turned back around to Waentsin. "He has a sword and I don't. Other than that I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

I could feel Kaelfred's eyes boring anger into my back. And whatever it was in me that angered him so, it now stood up and stretched its shoulders. I would not be beaten. Swine like him had overrun my people by sheer force of numbers. But today, here, I would show him who was the better man. As I had shown his wife the night before.

Waentsin gestured at the man next to him, a bear sized warrior whose beard and mustache covered most of his face. Across his barrel chest, he clutched an ancient scabbard, which he now held out to his liege.

Waentsin took the scabbard and pointed it, hilt first, toward me. "The king has done you a great honor, lord Athaniel. He sends his own blade for you to borrow. May the gods steel your grip."

I had to yank the hilt to unlodge the sword. Then sliding it out felt gritty, and when the blade appeared it was rust stained and dirty. Behind me, I heard a snicker, quickly stifled. Waentsin looked at me with the grin of someone who believes himself untouchable. "Good luck, lord Athaniel."

I weighed the sword in my hand. The monstrous piece of steel seemed more suited to chopping firewood than the grace needed for combat. The reality of my situation settled in. Waentsin knew, of course, exactly what was going through my mind and clearly took great joy in it. I realized then that I was not here as an emissary, or even a hostage, at all. He had brought me here to humiliate me, and by doing so, gain standing in the eyes of his men. If I believed he would keep me safe here, I was mistaken. I was a symbol, and my death would only be a confirmation of his power. I was surprised the man hadn't challenged me himself.

Around us, the men started banging their sword hilts on their shields. The chaotic noise became a rising tide that gathered in rhythm. Over the ruckus, I could just about make out a roar, approaching rapidly. I turned around just in time to see Kaelfred charging towards me in all his hair flying and spittle spraying glory. Stepping sideways, I narrowly avoided him and decided at the last moment that I might as well lift my foot and hook his. The roaring man went flying, arms stretched out like a flying squirrel, before he barreled into Waentsin and his wife. With a pang of jealousy, I saw how Kaelfred's wild grasping for purchase ended with him grabbing a magnificent handful of Innifer's tit. The shield banging stopped.

The princess looked offended, but only until Kaelfred snatched his hand away, after which she pretended none of it had ever happened.

While Waentsin, Kaelfred and tit untangled themselves, I slammed the decaying king's sword into the ground. With a theatrical flair that would have brought Sarlai's ridicule down on me for days to come, I peeled off my top and threw it on the ground behind me, coincidentally at Mala's feet. Bemusement, one of the few emotions the small princess shared sparingly, was writ plainly on her face when I pulled the rusty blade back out of the ground, and pointed it at my hairy challenger.

"Now I'm ready."

There was a moment of hesitation dawning in Kaelfred's eyes. When he roared again, it sounded a subdued and there was less spittle.

Yet, not one to learn from his mistakes, he broke into another trot to charge at me like we were on a battlefield. All around me, the men resumed their banging and roaring. Only to shut up when I sent Kaelfred flying, again, in much the same way I had done during his last charge.

"This is getting repetitive, lord Kaelfred." I poked him with my foot. "Your moves seem quite limited."

My jibe garnered no laughter, save for Hinde's husky chuckle. She knew better than any how limited his moves really were.

It was an opportune moment to dispatch the prone warrior in front of me with my bar of rusty steel. I considered it. Making his wife a widow would have its perks. But I wanted to make a show of him. Tackling him a couple times... I doubted it would make much of an impression. So I took a step back and let him hoist his rotund body back onto his feet.

A silence settled over the circle, and it was a silence heavy with resolve. Kaelfred stood his ground and glared at me over the pommel of his sword. For now, he had decided against making another one of his flailing attacks.

I tried to circle around him to get the sun behind me, but he stepped into the gap. I circled the other way, also to no avail. Now I was unsure what else to do. Making an attack with this piece of steel they called a sword would be nothing short of suicide. I would need the kind of brute strength I had no hope of mustering. The needed precision would require weeks of dedicated practice with the rusty piece of farm equipment I could barely lift.

I didn't fancy getting skewered like a pig at a harvest feast and, clearly Kaelfred did not fancy another nosedive in the turf. So here I was, circling some sweaty human with a sword I could barely lift, let alone swing with any skill. The man was built like a bear and just as hairy. His chest jiggled with every labored step and his vapid eyes followed my every move with a menacing glower.

At least his wife seemed to enjoy the show. "Stab him!" she called out to us. Kaelfred smirked, strengthened by her assumed support.

Someone started banging their shield again in a slow, halting rhythm. The circle joined, a dirge-like tempo more reminiscent of a funeral than a fight. Well, a funeral would come soon enough, I suspected.

Kaelfred chanced an overhead swing, putting his considerable bulk behind it. I parried, but at least we were fighting. We traded strikes, hacking and parrying in a graceless dance. I struggled to recall Xanael's lessons. Flow... use the strength of your opponent. Let the weight of your blade work for you. It was all useless. What I managed, and only barely, was to swing the leaden blade with all my might. Blow after blow rang out until boredom set in and my thoughts wandered to Hinde's ample bosom. And how my cock fit just right, in the soft valley of her chest. A near miss brought my focus crashing back.

I hoisted up my blade to meet another strike, then another. His strategy now seemed to be to pound me into the ground as if I was a fencepost. Each blow drove me lower until I was left kneeling, my rusty blade a shield against his artless onslaught. There was nowhere to go but down. I was losing ground with every strike, hiding beneath my sword while Kaelfred hacked away.

As he hauled back for another mighty swing, I seized the moment to snap a quick fist into his groin. His squeal of pain was cut short as he swallowed it back, but the blow gave me the reprieve I needed to regain my feet and dance away.

But it was then that it hit me. We were evenly matched in reach and skill, or lack thereof, but Kaelfred had his greater strength and weight to gain the advantage. If he continued to exercise restraint, he would grind me down the way a river carves its course through the bedrock. Defeat was inevitable. And while I mused about the magnificent breasts on my opponent's wife, he kept busy wearing me down. Had not my kind fallen under the bootheels of these dolts through just such passivity and ennui?

Kaelfred's next swing came perilously close to cutting me in two. Though parried, each blow sapped more of my waning strength. My breath came in labored gasps, my heart pounded as I lifted my sword just in time to have another hack send a jolt of pain from my fingers through to my spine. Kaelfred's grin told me he sensed victory was close at hand. For humans, death was a constant companion, feared and revered in equal measure. I harbored no such fear, not even now. The thought that I might die had not occurred to me. What then drove my kind, if not fear?

Beauty. Desire.

But today it should be anger.

The ring of blade on blade sang out as Kaelfred bore down upon me once more. I gazed past his ugly sneer to meet Mala's obsidian eyes, watching me lose myself as surely as I was losing this fight. The thought was unbearable. I would not die here, thrashing around in the dirt with a piece of steel only fit for plowing one of their fields. While they all watched. And laughed.

I drove my sword, point-first, into the grass and left it there. Before Kaelfred could grasp my intent, I'd slipped inside his guard, landing two quick blows to his ribs. Freed of my cumbersome weapon, my body felt light and supple. Each movement flowed into the next as I dropped into a crouch, sweeping around with a kick that connected solidly with the side of his knee.

He roared in pain and outrage, lashing out with a clumsy swing that bit only into the turf where I had stood. I circled and struck his other knee, buckling his stance. Kaelfred lifted his sword in an ultimate challenge. "Take up your sword and fight like a man!" he roared.

"No."

He gawked at me as if I'd just told him I had diddled his wife. When he came up with his answer, it was another spittle flinging roar. He took a two-handed horizontal slash at me that I could have seen coming with my face buried between his wife's bountiful thighs.

With a simple duck, I slipped inside his guard and plowed my fist into his sword hand. Precision was key with his metal armor, but I struck true and his blade went flying as his hand crunched under my blow.

"You fucking--" His outraged snarl cut off as he doubled over to clutch at his hand.

I stepped back and considered finishing him. But to his credit, he rallied with a last-ditch grunt and swung at me with his good hand. It was a mighty swing that would have broken my jaw and dropped me to the ground like a wet dress if I had not raised my arm to block with my elbow. When it met unyielding bone, his hand twisted unnaturally with a sickening crunch. I winced at the sound. He howled in pain and frustration, a guttural sound that ended only when my fist collided with his jaw, dropping him senseless.

I gazed down at his prone form, catching my breath. My anger had burned so hot it felt cold. Now it released itself into my bloodstream, dissipating into raging heat.

Wheezing through my nose, I cast about the circle of men, challenging any of them to step forward and receive the same treatment. If I'd had Xanael in my hand, I would have cut them all down, one by one. I craved release, murderous reprisal. But it would have to wait.

The silence was chilling. No cheers sounded for my victory. Then Waentsin began a slow clap, striding forward. "Unorthodox, yet effective. No lives lost, at least." He turned around and shouted to his men with out-flung arms, "The old god has spoken! Life is war. War is life. There are only winners and losers!" He raised my hand in victory. The men cheered, the banging on their shields producing an earsplitting din, though none would meet my eyes.

Some saw to Kaelfred, rousing him as he stared, dazed, at the dirt in front of him. They crowded him, more to hide his humiliation than to help him, I suspected. Hinde clapped for me, at least, not sparing her husband a glance.

Her lusty gaze told me enough. She'd happily congratulate me on my victory. But I had another appointment.

Just as I heard a retching sound coming from amid the human huddle, Mala stepped forward to offer congratulations.

"You've proven a formidable fighter, Lord Athaniel. You battle like a tiger. The ladies will whisper of their new hero." She extended her hand. Her jest I did not miss. I took her hand, studying her. She did not pull away.

"No hero, my lady, merely a dreadful romantic, as my kind are." I bent to brush my lips over her knuckles. Her skin was cool as silk. A rush of intensity shot down my spine at the touch. I touched a hand to the ground to steady myself. Looking up, I found her lashes fluttering shut. I felt an overpowering longing to continue, to explore her skin with the touch of my lips alone. Her eyes opened. I saw a wild cast, but it was quickly veiled with her usual bemusement. I released her, rising. What had just passed between us was already locked away, hidden behind her impassive gaze. She smiled with only a slight tattered edge to her politeness. "You could teach our men a thing or two, it seems."