DarkFyre Ch. 04

Rael still wasn't sure he was making the right choice.

He was torn between feeling he was abandoning his duty and honor, and the certainty that remaining here at the war camp meant it was only a matter of time before another assassination attempt came. He was no coward, to run from death. Yet at the same time, neither was he a fool. The unusual methods taken against him left him certain that he was dealing with no ordinary assassins, and that his chances of surviving another attempt were grim at best. It also left him with a strange blend of anger and curiosity, and he intended to satisfy both.

After his meeting with StoneFingers the young Knight Captain spent all night and the better part of the following day puzzling over what he would do. There was no question he must leave, but how could he leave the war camp without rousing too much suspicion? He felt sure his killers would end up pursuing him, but if he could arrange to leave without his absence raising an alarm in camp, it would probably delay pursuit. Better yet, if he could offer some reason, some story for why he was leaving, his assassins might not suspect he'd discovered their presence. That could be a vital edge, the difference between surviving their next attempt and being cut down. So, how was he to do it?

After wracking his brain to fabricate a plan, he at last saw a chance, a ruse that might hold up to scrutiny, at least long enough for him to be long gone before anyone, friend or foe, became suspicious. It was a risky plan with several key players who were outside his control. The first of which were the unpredictable and unreliable Haruke themselves.

Who, as luck or fate would have it, came through for him just two short days later. Four days after their last incursion, the Barbarians raided the camp again, giving him just the chance he needed. Though it was a small raiding party, even smaller than the last, Rael was right in the midst of the fighting. Though the skirmish was brief, the Haruke fought with as much ferocity as ever. Rael cut down several warriors, and received a wound to his leg in the process.

Word spread through the camp lightning quick. It was on every tongue, from the ranking Knights to the common foot soldiers to the serving folk that kept the camp running. Their Lord Captain had been injured, and what had seemed like a minor wound had become infected alarmingly fast, festering and worsening until it was feared he would lose the leg, if not die outright of blood poisoning. StoneFingers tended the Nobleman, spending days treating him and putting every shred of his medical talents to work keeping Rael alive. He would let none disturb the Captain while he struggled, and the Knight's supporting officers made do contending with running the war camp in the meantime.

Finally, StoneFingers reported that the Nobleman would live. The camp breathed a collective sigh of relief. Spirits lifted and tensions eased, for Rael was much loved by his men and they'd feared the worst.

He was not wholly safe yet, it turned out. Though StoneFingers saved the leg, the damage had left it weak and feeble. The infection that had taken it was a rare and strange one, and though Rael was alive, he was not in truth rid of it. The nature of the infection was such that the healing could relapse and the infection overtake him at any time. There was nothing further that StoneFingers could do for the Knight Captain. He did not have the medicines he needed to treat the infection, and he could not properly strengthen and rehabilitate the wasted leg here.

Rael was up from his bed, the once proud warrior hobbling here and there about the camp on a heavy oak walking stick. He bore himself as well as he could, his jaw set stubbornly, grimacing through the pain and humiliation. His men were at once proud of their Lord and afraid; afraid for him and for themselves. What were they to do without their powerful Captain to lead them?

In his report to the Lord Knight Commander, StoneFingers had asserted that Rael was stable enough for some light and cautious travel, done slowly, but unless he were able to find time to rest and recover and, more importantly, receive the medicine he needed to clear the lingering infection, the Nobleman's leg would never recover soundly enough for him to see battle again. It was the Doctors recommendation that the Captain be sent away from the stress and danger of the field to recover someplace where he could rest undisturbed, have plentiful nourishing food, and access to the medical supplies and doctors who could make his leg hale again.

"And this...this...thrice damned mess of gods blessed elk droppings is what you're calling a sodding plan?" Galin shouted at him, his whiskered jaw gawping open like a fool, showing the gap in his teeth.

"Will you be quiet you ass?" Rael hissed at the older knight, glaring at him darkly. "You sound like a fisher's wife sharing the newest gossip. Gods, it'll be a wonder the whole camp doesn't think something's going on now."

Galin was too busy swearing to be quiet. Rael reached up and grabbed a handful of the old Knight's scraggly beard and yanked his head down. Which, of course, made Galin curse again.

"I need you to be quiet now," Rael told him, his earlier emotion gone, replaced by a steady, serious calm that caught Galin's attention and actually shut him up.

"You can't be serious with all this," Galin grumbled, but quietly this time.

"What else was I to do? I saw no other way. And I can't stay here," Rael said, and released his hold on his friend's beard.

"Don't see as why not," Galin snorted. He crossed his arms over his sinewy, still strong chest, and glowered at his commanding officer. "So some half-assed assassin tries to put you in the dirt again. So what? You could put any man alive down your own self, not to mention the bloody army around you!"

"And we both know it won't play out like that," Rael said, keeping himself calm and steady. Galin was ever the sort who fed off someone arguing with him, even his leaders. Playing the level headed and cool Captain would annoy him, but he would come around to the calmness of his tone, too.

"If these assassins make for me again, and I know they will, it'll be from the shadows where none of us can get at them, and it'll be in a way none of us expects. Blind luck and a good lad in the wrong place at the right time was all that kept me alive last time. I won't have the same luck twice. And who's to tell who may end up getting caught in the way next time? No. I'll not risk it. I have to be away from here. And, I have to find out who is responsible for this. Arthas won't have died for nothing. His murderer, and whoever hired him, will pay."

Galin gave a wordless 'harrumph'. The old Knight didn't want to relent, but Rael knew the warrior understood vengeance and the need for honor well enough to stop arguing.

"Well, then, let's have a look at it," Galin said at last. He made to spit on the ground, realized he was in his Captain's tent, and stopped himself just in time.

It took a moment for Rael to realize Galin meant his leg. He climbed to his feet and pulled the loose fitting leg of his trouser up on the left leg to show Galin the scar just above his knee, small and pink and healing well. In a few months it would probably be hardly a mark at all.

"Pah! It's a good thing none of the men are brazen enough to ask to see, or your story would fall apart on the spot!" Galin chortled. "I took worse scars than that from my Dah's boot strap, and that was with my Ma swingin' it!"

"Your Ma's swinging arm is the stuff of legends," Rael said dryly as he let his pant leg fall. "I told you it wasn't as bad as StoneFingers said. The good Doctor has been very cooperative and made certain...exaggerations in his reports to the Lord Commander. Word got around camp about it even faster than I thought it would."

"Exaggerations? You call tellin' everybody you're gonna die or be hoppin' around on a peg the rest of your life a bloody exaggeration?" Galin scoffed.

"Yes," Rael replied.

"You're daft, the both of you," Galin asserted.

"I'm not daft, Galin. I've explained why this is necessary."

"Did you even think about what kind of trouble you were putting StoneFingers in?" Galin needled him, and though he kept his voice hushed, it was no less reproachful "For the love of every god old and new, he lied to the Lord Knight Commander in an official report! About the health of a Knight Captain, one commanding a front line garrison no-less! He could be court marshalled! Hell, you could be..."

"Galin." He was fighting for patience now, his words sharp and clipped; he knew the Knight meant well, but he didn't have time to convince the stubborn old fighter right now. "StoneFingers knew the risk. He took it because he trusts me. Do you? Or did I make a mistake bringing you in on this?"

That gave the warrior pause. Galin's much creased brow furrowed deep in thought. He leaned back on his heels as he ran his hand in a repetitive nervous habit through his beard and snagging it even further. "No. I mean yes. I mean...Yes, I trust you. And no, you didn't make a mistake. But...Rael, why? Why did you bring me in on this? You're not even telling the Lord Commander about all this. So why me? And, hell, why not him?"

Rael turned away. He took his pack from where it sat beside his cot and placed it on the table that was usually spread with reports and maps and strategies. Now instead, supplies for his journey were arrayed upon it. Rations and dried goods, mostly salted and cured beef and pork, dried oats, and other food supplies that would keep for the days ahead. He had a change of clothes, his heavy winter cloak, and several blankets. His hunting bow and a quiver of arrows, his skinning knife, two daggers, his flint and tinder box, and a number of flasks filled with water. He had two lengths of wood wrapped in oiled cloth should he need them for torches, and a map of the passes and major roads in the Dale, though he knew the way about in his lands well enough that he probably wouldn't need it. He still had more he needed to pack, but this was the bulk of it.

As he took stock of his supplies, he at last replied. "I'm telling you because I need someone I can trust looking after things here. The Lord Commander will send someone to take over command in my absence, since you're too stubborn and old and crotchety to accept rank and do it yourself."

"I'm not old," Galin protested.

Rael held up a hand to forestall further comment. "You know I don't leave this place lightly. I love these men, and I am proud of the service we've done. Were I able, I would make this war camp withstand the Haruke till the end, and in time, I would take the fight to them from here. I need someone I trust here, being my eyes and ears, so that if something changes...if the assassins should somehow reveal themselves here, or if the camp falls into jeopardy, I can be informed so I may act accordingly. I know that knowing what is at stake for me, you would never call me back lightly. And I also know that, knowing what is at stake for us all, you wouldn't hesitate to call me back if you must. True?"

"True," Galin nodded reluctantly.

Rael turned then, facing his old friend and menor. He clasped the older Knight on the shoulder and gripped tight, meeting his dark eyes. "I need you in this, my friend. I trust StoneFingers, true enough, but he's no Knight and no warrior. I need someone who understands what to keep eyes open and ears up for."

"You never answered my other question," Galin said, evading. "Why don't you tell the Lord Commander all this?"

"Because I don't know who the Lord Commander will tell in turn," Rael explained, his gaze serious and never wavering. "It's not the Lord Commander I worry for, but the ears around him. I don't think him a fool, but neither can I promise he will be as cautious as I am. Nor those he tells as cautious as those I tell."

"Pah!" Galin growled, tossing his hands up. "Fine! Fine. Have your way, I'll be part of your blasted conspiracy. But by Elard's balls, I swear if we all hang for this, I'll haunt you sure!"

"I don't know if the dead can be haunted," Rael said, smirking despite the gravity of the situation, just because he could never help but find amusement in one of Galin's huffs.

"Shut your trap," Galin grumbled, thoroughly stewing at this point. "I can hear your Father cursing me all the way from his grave. There's a shiver gone up my spine..."

"Galin," Rael said, his tone gone serious again though a small, sincere smile played at his lips as he held a hand out in offering. "Thank you. You're a true friend."

"Aye, a true friend. A true bloody idiot, too. Ah, well, I suppose that means I fit this plan perfect," Galin returned. He spat into his palm, and shook Rael's hand.

***

The straw was scratchy where it was stuck in the thick, tussled locks of her black hair, tickling along the back of one of her sensitive pointed ears. It was cold, her breath a steaming cloud coming out in shaky, rushing puffs as she panted and let out ragged breaths The stables smelled exactly how a stable ought to smell, which was not at all pleasant, and she couldn't care less.

Silmaria was on her back, her firm, shapely thighs spread wide and quivering as Jerol the stable hand roughly pounded his big cock into her sticky, dripping pussy. She writhed beneath him, grunting and gasping and moaning and doing her best not to scream lest someone hear them. It was a distant worry at best; She'd come down to the stables for a romp with Jerol enough times without being caught that she was pretty sure Nort the old StableMaster was either looking the other way, uninterested what his lads got up to, or deaf.

Either way, Silmaria didn't care. She was entirely focused and preoccupied with the sensations of the fuck. Fully in the grasp of the Stirring, it felt as if every nerve in her body were hotwired to her cunt, every sensory receptor finely focused on the sensation of the less-than-gentle stable hand driving the thick length of his bulging cock in and out of her clinging, pulsing pussy. Her back arched and she bit her full lip hard to choke back another orgasm.

A burst of searing fire shot through her body, wracking her form with waves of hot licking flames of pleasure, throbbing and flaring in sweet release, each pulse building on the next. Her heavy, ripe breasts quivered and bounced, and Jerol used one work roughened hand to squeeze and grip her lush tits, pinching and pulling at her nipples. The twinges of pain from his rough fingers only served to spike her release even higher.

Silmaria collapsed back down to the straw strewn ground, and her hips continued to undulate and thrust with the man above her, desperately seeking more. Her pelt was slick with sweat, hers and his, and her cunt was dribbling out her nectar steady and thick and sticky, running down her thighs and the crack of her firm, bunching ass and covering the man's plunging, thrusting cock, soaking the heavy length of it.

The small enclosed space smelled of stables and sex, the smell of her arousal strong and demanding. Silmaria looked up at Jerol, and he was focused solely on his own pleasure, pounding her welcoming slit frantically and roughly, his cock filling her and stretching her deliciously open around him as his hips crushed down into hers.

She watched his face and saw no affection or tenderness there, only desire and lust and crude, base satisfaction. It made her shiver with self-loathing and shame and arousal, and then she was cumming again, gods, again already, and she didn't care, she just wanted more, more to fill this emptiness constantly gaping inside her...

His hand tangled in her hair, gripping and yanking at her scalp as he rutted into her hard and deep, his cock pounding its generous length into her clutching, flat belly. Silmaria let out a quiet hiss, the pain as always edging and complementing the pleasure so perfectly, accentuating it just so to give it an explosive quality that bled distinctly through the fog of her desperate hunger, lending clarity and delicious focus to how wickedly he used her.

He gave no word of warning or comment as he suddenly picked up speed, hammering into her for a few moments before his body went tense and rigid. A few quiet grunts, and he was cumming, spending himself inside her. Silmaria squirmed and moaned, grinding her cunt down onto the throbbing, jerking length of the stable lad as his thick Human seed spurted and splashed wet and warm in her feline belly. Silmaria clamped down tight on him, milking his cock for every drop, cooing as the warmth spread liquid and pleasant in her puffy, gripping tunnel.

All too soon, he pulled free, his fat cock popping wetly from her pink slit. Silmaria groaned in disappointed, left aching and open with the man's cum running in a sticky, thick river from her gaping fuckhole.

"More," she whimpered softly as she sat up. She felt pathetic and wretched, but the Stirring was still surging through her blood, and she was desperate, and she didn't want to go find another man to sate herself with. She'd had those nights before, and she hated them.

"I have work in the morning," Jerol complained. "Nort says we got's to muck out all the stable and check the horses for worms. Says the stable's fallen behind while we been helpin' with the harvest. Don't rightly see what stable folk like us got to do with harvests anyway. Don't they got you lot in the house for all that mess?"

Silmaria didn't bother explaining to him. Jerol was stupid. Not a simpleton, just stupid and dumb as dumb could be. Silmaria didn't care; she figured all the blood that most people got to go to their brains must have been occupied pumping to his generously endowed cock, and she was quite okay with that.

Instead of arguing with him, Silmaria simply slunk forward along the stable floor, ignoring the way the straw and dirt pressed into her palms and knees, until she was at Jerol's feet. She then, without a single word, took the stupid stable hand's half wilted cock and popped the sticky head into her mouth, slurping softly and slowly. She knew he would be sensitive, or she would have gorged herself on his prick right then and there. Instead she slowly, firmly ran her wet pink tongue along his flesh, licking him clean of their mingled fluids, the taste of his cum and her cunt strong and wicked and delicious.

By the time Jorel's cock was back to full throbbing hardness, not so very long really, Silmaria's head was bobbing up and down his bulging length, taking his flesh into her warm, tight throat. Jorel wasn't thinking about his early morning anymore. The Gnari woman slurped and suckled for all she was worth, her tongue working enthusiastically along the heavy bottom of the man's shaft. Her throat constricted, squeezing heavenly, and she gagged softly, even as she showed no hesitation and continued to take the man deeply down her talented, graceful throat. Jorel's hands were soon in her hair, nearly gripping her cat-like ears, and his hips thrust to fuck Silmaria's beautiful face, making her lips puffy as they stretched around his girth.

Almost reluctantly, Silmaria broke off, pulling back to gasp and pant for breath as she wiped the hanging rope of saliva that formed a bridge between her quivering lips and the man's twitching dick. She was quite enjoying sucking that impressive prick, but she had other plans, other needs that needed tending.

In moments Silmaria was face down in the straw, her juicy, firm ass raised high and bouncing rapidly as Jerol plunged into her cunt from behind. She was crying out now, unable to silence herself as the stable hand stabbed and pounded and rutted into her drooling twat. Silmaria gripped handfuls of straw and grit her teeth as the man fucked her so hard and wantonly that it made her slit ache and throb with a heady mix of pleasure-pain, a perfect feeling that made her belly clench.