Hammer and Feather Ch. 33-40

Notes: 1) If you see this story anywhere but Literotica it isn't supposed to be there. 2) Because of shorter chapters, this is being posted in chunks.

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*Thirty-three*

His treasure was alone with Syvezar, he could feel it. A low growl escaped him. She preferred the more human half as he feared she would. The elves were trying to steal her and his other half would be easily seduced by them. He would be alone and she would have Syvezar in her elven nest...

"Lord Vedhethrah?" The voice startled him out of his morose thoughts as he paced at the edge of the woods.

Vedhethrah glowered at the human mage standing nearby, its name escaped him.

"Forgive my intrusion. We couldn't help but overhear the argument with Lady Rook."

The snarl that curled his lips and rumbled from his chest made the mage take a step back.

"I wish to be in your good graces and hers, my Lord. If you will allow me to ingratiate myself -"

"What could you do to make my treasure prefer me to my other half?"

The man swallowed and his words came out hurriedly, "The elves have become very fond of Lord Syvezar, but Lady Rook is known to prefer dwarves. When they arrive she'll choose to spend more time with them will she not? If-"

"If I offer the dwarves aid and earn a place with them she will love me more." The dragon eyed him curiously. "I loathe dwarves, but for her, I would defend them."

"There was a more focused offensive being prepared. I don't know all of the details of it but the mines will be under heavier attack soon. I know there have been forays..."

He broke into a wide vicious smile. "Soldiers focusing their attention on the ground? They may not be prepared for a dragon to fall upon them and I would enjoy having an entire field of those who deserve punishment before me."

"I'm pleased I could-"

"You will come with me, mage." Vedhethrah chuckled. "What is your name?"

"Likras, my Lord."

"Likras, dress warmly. The air is cool and the wind is strong. Return to me by nightfall."

The mage bowed and took off at a trot.

Removing his mail shirt, Vedhethrah let his form change, feeling relief as he resumed his preferred shape. The mage could carry the steel clothing, and he would need to be rewarded. Peering into Syreilla's threads he tried to find the way she stole power for them.

Her amusement washed over him and she shared with him the memories of how she did it. Siphon away the power, or destroy the object holding power so that it would be released into the air and gather it that way, then lay it on the mage's feather mark. He felt her trying to peek at the reason he wanted to know and grinned as he hid it from her. Let her come to him if she wished to ask.

Vedhethrah stroked the threads of desire as her annoyance simmered.

When the mage finally returned, he came with an elvish rope and clothes far too warm for their current weather. His expression was vaguely nervous.

"You wish to tie yourself to me?"

"Yes, Lord Vedhethrah. I... you said the wind is strong."

"Do not make the rope too tight, and my chain shirt needs to be brought."

"As you say, my Lord." Likras looked relieved and took up the steel garment.

Once his passenger was in place, Vedhethrah pushed off from the ground and circled before making his way toward the dwarven freeholds. The night was dark and heavily clouded. He stayed well beneath the heavy rain clouds, not feeling the need to hide among them. It took mere hours to reach the rear flank and he took a moment circling above, for the moment unnoticed, in the night.

As with the encampment Syreilla had emptied, this also held a cage in the center. The shapes inside were huddled together. Outside of the camp was a small force of dwarves making their way toward the waiting line.

No doubt they hoped to take the humans by surprise. Vedhethrah grinned to himself, waiting patiently for the dwarves to get close enough to take advantage of the chaos he was going to cause.

When they were in position, he came in from the side, not roaring as he had when Syreilla was taken, but laughing quietly.

The screams and the reek of fear that rose from below thrilled him. Their eyes were on the black sky as the dwarves rushed them. Vedhethrah landed on the cage and felt it give a bit beneath him.

"Likras, free them. I will seek out the mages and priests."

The man nearly fell from his back. "Yes, Lord Vedhethrah."

He pushed off of the cage and what had been beneath his feet crumpled.

"Hevtos' balls!" Likras hissed as he dropped to the ground. "It's alright, you're all safe now." The mage spoke reassuringly before the dragon was fully out of earshot.

Vedhethrah sought out the banners of Isca's priests. He began to laugh as spells were cast, breaking harmlessly against his hide. Landing on top of the one that seemed to be commanding the others and ripping him in half sent a ripple of power into the air. The exhilaration of shredding these men and the ripples of power released as he did were headier than any wine he could remember. He barely remembered to capture it and send it to Likras.

The sound of dwarves calling out to fall back dampened his enjoyment of the moment. Vedhethrah pushed off of the ground and into the air, resuming his attack on the human soldiers.

"Do not fall back! Crush them! I will aid you!" He bellowed out as the humans broke their formation and began to flee. "I am Vedhethrah! The god of punishment and pain. Lady Rook has deemed these human soldiers worthy of my attentions." He began to laugh again as the remaining soldiers threw down their arms and tried to surrender to the dwarves.

They gave him a wide berth as they entered the shattered encampment. Vedhethrah followed the dwarf-led captives to the cage. Likras was standing in front of the still-closed door. He bowed as Vedhethrah came closer.

"I tried to free them as you commanded Lord Vedhethrah but the door..."

"You bent the cage." A dwarf woman inside it whose beard had been cropped scolded with a disapproving frown.

The dragon began to laugh, resuming his more human shape and coming to the cage himself. He bent the steel and ripped the door from its hinges before putting on the mail shirt that the mage was offering him.

"It's just as well." One of the armored dwarves bowed to him respectfully. "They might have run into the battle or been caught up with the deserters. But we can't keep these men in that cage now."

"You can." Vedhethrah gave the dwarf a wide grin. "I can bend it back on so that it won't come off. They can rot in it."

"What would Lady Rook say about that?" The dwarf's bearded chin came up.

"She prefers to give them the choice." Likras spoke up quickly, "Lady Rook gave the soldiers attacking the elves the choice to release the captives and disperse, go home and not rejoin the battle, or they'd burn. She took dragon's fire to quite a few and laid wards like I've never seen to welcome back the rest."

The choice was relayed and the men being held ran into the night without their weapons.

"I doubt they'll stay gone." One of the other dwarves muttered. "You should have let the dragon seal them in."

"I will accompany you as you take these people to a safe place." Vedhethrah shrugged. "If they return, I will make them wish they had met my wife in a foul mood."

"If you find any," Likras spoke quietly to the dwarf woman, "put a feather in your pocket for luck. In a day, she turned the war around for the elves."

"She took the field herself?" Another armored dwarf asked with surprise.

"Not exactly. She sent messengers across to speak to the False Rook and deliver her offer to allow the humans to withdraw if they released their captives."

Several dwarves chuckled.

"That was how the soldiers reacted as well. The False Rook chose not to respect the traditions of the field and forced them at weapon point-"

"What did Lady Rook do?"

"She flew across the field as a giant bird of magnificent flame. The volley of arrows couldn't harm her, neither could spells. Lady Rook went into the False Rook's tent and in a thunderous voice took her to task, "'You dare take my name and harm children? I am Syreilla the Rook! I am the Golden Rook, the goddess of righteous vengeance and protector of gentle souls! You have imitated my sigil and harmed those I protect! I bring to you and yours fire and vengeance! On behalf of those who are mine, BURN.' After that the screams..."

"She has a temper like the Nightforged..." The dwarf snorted and shook his head stepping away. "We don't want to stay the night. Make sure those they took can walk and bring them."

"There are a few that can't." Another nearly beardless dwarf stepped forward, "And some elves."

"We'll take them in. Groups of five, find a cart or two."

"Likras, help them. If they encounter any soldiers I would have you protect them and call for me." Vedhethrah picked up a flat stone and closed his fingers around it. When they opened, there was no longer a lump of rock but a dragon's scale, iridescent black like a raven's feather, with a sigil of a two-headed dragon holding a feather and a crown etched and gilded on the underside. "Need I instruct you on its appropriate use?"

The mage cleared his throat. "No, my Lord. Only in direst need."

Several dwarves looked at him uncomfortably as Likras went with one of the parties hunting for a cart.

"If you wish, I can return to the skies and keep watch."

"I don't want to seem ungrateful," the dwarf who'd been issuing commands frowned, "but what is your aid going to cost us?"

"All I ask is that if my wife is given a home among your gods, as the elves have given her, I will be permitted to join her in it. She said once that Orsas Fellforger was considering giving her a place with the ravens they keep."

The dwarf barked a laugh and then inclined his head. "That's a matter for priests and gods, but I'd welcome a dragon's protection as much as Lady Rook's if all it costs is a place to nest. We'll look after your mage and your coat, my Lord."

Vedhethrah made a pleased sound and then grinned at the dwarf, "The mage belongs to my wife. I... borrowed him as she prefers to borrow things, without asking."

The dwarf broke into laughter and took the chain shirt as Vedhethrah pulled it off.

*Thirty-four*

Curled against Syv, Syreilla peeked at Vedhethrah, not through the threads he could feel but through the armor that she'd blessed for him, trying to see what he'd been up to. She could hear voices like a murmur of conversation just outside the tent.

"How long have you been serving Lady Rook, Magus Likras?"

"Days only, Master Hammersworn. You said you've met her?"

"The dwarf carrying Lord Vedhethrah's armor is her nephew."

"Oduil? Why are they out of the mine?"

"My treasure?" Syvezar stirred and kissed her.

"Something is happening with the dwarves." Frowning, she considered some of the thoughts she'd had alone in the lake. "Priests... you send out your will and they see things done?"

"That is how it's meant to work." He smiled down at her. "We aren't meant to be so direct."

"There's a balance... I came to that when I was thinking in the lake. We all need to strike our own." Closing her eyes she cleared her mind as she had learned to in the lake and sent out her will.

"Syreilla?" Syv was over her, looking concerned as she opened her eyes.

"My dragon?"

"You stopped breathing."

"Ah." She grinned up at him, "I was clearing my mind and focusing. It's something I learned to do in the lake, breathing is a distraction."

Her laughter bubbled up as he kissed her face in relief.

"What brought this on, my treasure? Someone prayed to you?"

"No, I tried to peek at Vedhethrah using the armor I gave him. I didn't want him to know I was peeking."

He grinned at her, "And?"

"And he isn't wearing it. Oduil is carrying it and Bhirren Hammersworn is speaking to Likras, one of my mages. He called him Magus."

"An old title. Mage was derived from it." Syv sat up and let her come to sit in his lap. "There used to be a divide between priests who could use magic and those who couldn't. A Magus was-"

"And I've managed to make mages associate with at least one god again." Syr rubbed her face and nodded. "Magus. Not a bad title."

"I still don't understand how they'll benefit from worshipping me." He rubbed her back and side. "But I'll give them a chance."

"I suspect they'll worship Vedhethrah and come to you and I to intercede. They may also try to persuade you into renewing them because lich cannot be permitted."

"I'll consider it and speak to Grandfather."

She smiled as he pressed his face to hers and caressed his soft, smooth cheek. He looked nearly human but his skin was still as soft as the underbelly of a snake.

"Why don't you want him to know you're peeking?"

"I wanted to find out what kind of mood he's in without inviting him in yet."

Syvezar chuckled. "Vedhethrah has been enjoying himself." He paused, "He's certain that he's found a way to keep you content and that you'll wish to remain by his side instead of mine."

"His jealousy is going to drive me insane." Tilting her face, she kissed him sweetly, inviting him to deepen the kiss as she caressed his neck and shoulders.

The flap opened and then closed quickly and a throat cleared loudly.

"Vedhethrah wanted to put doors on my balconies and I refused but the longer I stay in these tents the more I start to appreciate-"

He broke into laughter and stole a kiss before calling to the tent flap, "Give us a moment."

"The enemy wishes to speak to Lady Rook on the field."

With a nod to a now more serious Syv, she slipped from his lap and began to dress. He helped her with her talons.

As they stepped out, Fainor frowned and asked, "Should we fetch Lord Cyran?"

"It may be wise." Syvezar glanced at her and she gave him a nod.

The moment he left, however, she gestured for the elves to lead the way to meet the group waiting impatiently on the field.

"Should we wait-"

"No. They'll know what they're meant to do." Syreilla could feel it as if it were a ball she held in her hand as she sent the event spinning with intention in the direction she wished.

As she approached the group in the center of the field, she could tell that most of them were Isca's priests. Out of caution, she laid a net of flame beneath her feet and that of the elves with her as they walked.

"You asked for Lady Rook?" Syr gave them a wide mirthless grin.

One of them sneered, "I suppose the rudeness of making us wait is balanced by-"

With a lift of her hand, the man caught flame. She didn't let her smile slip as he took a few steps away and collapsed.

"I don't tolerate rudeness and the huntress has broken enough rules that I don't feel a burning need to follow them. I thought my reputation would have made it clear that you should at least pretend respect but an object lesson is always a good place to start. The False Rook took people off the field to her tent at sword point..." With another lift of her hand, at which the remaining priests flinched, Syreilla opened a flame-lined doorway that would take them to the doorstep of what was once Hevtos' domain. "Would any of you like to go somewhere less comfortable? Your friend passed through the veil to this place a moment ago..."

"N-no, Lady Rook." One of the men bowed. "Voric was never very clever. The False Rook as you call her was respectful to us as Isca's highest priests."

"The huntress was her mother. I would expect nothing less. I'm a daughter of Odos." She widened her smile and watched the man swallow. "But I take after my grandfather a little more. The huntress knows. She's stepped out of my way before. Why were you sent?"

"You are to free the goddess Rielle-" The lone elf with them began firmly.

Syreilla broke into laughter and the priestess looked offended. She waved her hand, closing the door. "Rielle isn't held captive, she's dead."

They all blinked, glancing at each other in bafflement.

"I severed the goddess of desire and deception's connections to her worshipers, to power, and to life. Then I set her alight and kicked her screaming through the door to Bone White, the elven god of death, so that he could take her mortal carcass and deal with it."

The priests stood with a look of horror on their faces and the elf looked as if she might faint.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself? I am the Golden Rook, the Lady of smoke and flame. I am the goddess of righteous vengeance and protector of gentle souls. The huntress wants to spread pain and spill blood and she's right, I'm not strong enough to stop her. But what I can do is bring vengeance for every deed she does. She wants blood and pain? I'll give it to her and all who cleave to her. The agony of your friends and family dying and you can do nothing? I'll let her and all of hers have it. She wants people to see their gods as impotent and forsake them? That is how she will end. I bring to you and yours fire and vengeance for the horrors you have visited on the innocent."

She offered a theatrical bow and there was a moment of stunned silence.

"Out of curiosity, was she going to offer me something or threaten me?"

"I was going to trade your grandmother for her." Isca stepped forward and the priests bowed, stepping to the sides.

"Ah. I never could stand that elf whore. Leaving us alone was a bad idea if you wanted her to stay alive."

The goddess smiled wryly. "It would be so easy to like you, Syreilla. You returned the stones to their masters?"

*Thirty-five*

Cyran was laying the tray of bread and fruit on a small table as Ninnien woke.

"I can do that, my Lord!"

"So can I." He laughed with a smile. "You needed your rest, you didn't stir when they came to ask what we wanted for breakfast."

She flushed. "I apologize-"

"There's nothing to apologize for." Cyran gave her a warm smile.

The tent flap was shoved open and Syvezar stuck his head in, "Cyran, I need you. Syreilla has been asked for at the middle of the field."

He gave his cousin a curt nod. "I will be back shortly, Ninnien. Please, eat."

Syvezar grabbed him by the arm and hurried with him toward the edge of the encampment. They stopped as they saw Syreilla already speaking to those gathered on the field.

"Why would she tell me to fetch you and then go without us?"

"How close does he need to be to do what he does?" Kwes' hushed voice came from nearby and he beckoned them to join him in a tent.

There were flaps carefully cut to grant a glimpse of the correct place on the field and a strange metal device with a flower-like bowl aimed at those speaking. It terminated in another flower aimed downward at those in the tent. Quietly, Cyran heard Syreilla's laughter.

"Rielle isn't held captive, she's dead." Her voice was amused.

He opened his mouth to speak but she was continuing and the elves gestured for him to be silent. Syvezar stepped out with him.

"Cousin?"

"We're close enough to hear them. Perhaps I can offer her some help from here."

"Try. She said that she can see events in motion, her focus must remain at the point they all come together but she sees them, it's like when she juggles."

Cyran felt an electric sensation of understanding. "She needs me to be as I'm meant to be for things to go well. I will listen and lend her whatever support I can."

"And I will give you whatever support I can." Syvezar smiled, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder and Cyran felt more confident.

They slipped back inside.

"Out of curiosity, was she going to offer me something or threaten me?" Syreilla's quiet voice was nonetheless clear.

"I was going to trade your grandmother for her."