Shadow of the Sun Ch. 07

Eshe's journey from the Order's camp to Niol had taken three days; three days of nonstop travel, muddy roads, little sleep, and even less food. Three days where they'd been absolutely confident in their mission and determined to achieve it. And once their message was delivered and the rumors of Queen Helena's sorceries were confirmed, they knew they had to make the return journey swiftly.

After spending a night in the palace, of course. They needed the food and rest—traveling without would do them no good. A full recovery was so important, in fact, that their one night at the palace stretched out into three. Eshe built their strength back, indulging in luxury perhaps a tad more than was necessary and taking great care to thoroughly please their gorgeous lovers in the baths. At the dawn of the fourth day, though, they had to face reality. It was time to leave Niol and travel non-stop to the Order's camp.

Except for rests in taverns and villages, of course. Gruch was a fine steed, but long uninterrupted rides were hard on him. Stopping briefly from time to time was a good way to both keep him happy and to keep Eshe's head clear. In fact, frequent rests were so important that they stopped at nearly every town they came across for a meal and, in most cases, company. After all, nobody would be worse off if they just so happened to fuck the barmaid who was making eyes at them all night. Or the rugged trapper they found bathing in the woods. Or the farmer's daughter running errands right outside her village.

"Like that. There you are. Let it in. Does this feel comfortable for you?" Two of Eshe's slick fingers worked their way into the young woman's ass, pausing whenever her muscles tensed.

"Yes..." Her reply was more sigh than speech, as she finally eased into the knight's probing. No more than a second later, Eshe felt their fingers get sucked deeper into her. She moaned, the long and warbling sound of overcoming trepidation and finding pleasure on the other side. "Aaaaah!"

Eshe grinned. "Ready?"

The farmer's daughter—they couldn't quite remember her name...Gina? Jenny? Jane?—nodded excitedly, her round flush cheeks bouncing up and down. "Mhm!"

The knight's fingers curled upward and deeper into her ass, tapping against a spot that made her squeal and shudder. Eshe was sure to move slowly; while Jenna was certainly enjoying it, they didn't want to overwhelm her. They knew the sense of fullness she was experiencing, and knew how daunting and overstimulating it could be for one as tight as her. "Keep taking deep breaths for me, okay?" They stroked Julie's long dirty blonde hair with their free hand and looked into her gray eyes. "You're absolutely gorgeous, you know that?"

Genevieve squirmed, her bucking hips signaling Eshe to tap the sweet spot inside her more frequently. "Y-you're so sweet! I...I don't—mmm—I don't know what to say!"

"Your moans say plenty, pretty girl." Eshe leaned forward to maximize physical contact, and Jeanine eagerly pressed her large, pillowy breasts up against them. The tempo of their fingering only increased, their fingers pushing and pressing more insistently against the front wall of her ass. "You know what I love about shy girls like you? I get to see the exact moment when you let go." Eshe added a third finger, and the woman's moans doubled in volume while dropping an octave or two. Her back arched and her toes curled in preparation for climax, and Eshe was happy to provide, slipping their free hand between the pair's warm bodies to rapidly stroke Jasmine's cute little sex. A few seconds of that proved more than enough, and small droplets of cum leaked onto their hand as the young woman grabbed their back and squealed in release.

The barn was quiet for several minutes afterward. Whatsername stared at the knight in her arms with disbelief, while Eshe patiently waited until she recovered.

"I've never...not since..." she stammered out eventually as if it was all she'd come up with in the minutes of silence. "Not since the change."

Eshe nodded. "How long?"

"Three months." She looked away bashfully.

"My compliments to the sorcerer. They do excellent work," Eshe mumbled between kisses along her collarbone. Whatsername giggled.

"You're sure you don't mind?"

Eshe pulled away, offering a soothing smile upon witnessing fear in the girl's eyes. She was far too cute to have to carry such burdensome doubts. "Before Sol's light, we are naught but flesh and potential. When the two met in you, they created something spectacularly beautiful."

Jennifer—they were pretty sure it was Jennifer—burst into tears and pulled them in tighter for a hug.

Similar intimate confessions proved common over the course of Eshe's journey; apparently, Arlunn's citizens had few positive erotic experiences and found themselves opening up to the knight after their first. It was part of the fiction Eshe used to justify their continued delays. They weren't stopping constantly to satisfy their own urges—they were performing acts of service, providing those in need with uplifting sexual encounters. Sol's light shone where they walked, proving to the Arlunni that under the right circumstances, sex could be a divine act.

It was a bad excuse at best. At worst, it felt like cover for something darker. Eshe had a habit of using sex to relieve stress—they weren't unique in that regard—but they also tended to become more attentive and passionate in their lovemaking as the weight of their burdens grew. In times of turmoil, when the tides of history seemed to move regardless of what they did, uplifting another through intimacy allowed them to point to a positive change they'd impacted. Sex was a tiny little corner of the world under their control, and one better off for it. A noble goal, perhaps, but when they were under great strain every tavern and town square became a coital obligation, every bedroom a temple. Rather than offering relief, passion became yet another weight on their shoulders, one which paradoxically pushed them to seek more lovers still.

And their trip to Niol had put them under a great strain indeed. Despite their proper manners and carefully practiced speech, they'd been completely snubbed by the Queen. In response to the Order's pleas for aid, all she'd offered was a single phrase: 'I'm sure you'll figure something out.' No elaboration, no further detail. In fact, if it weren't for Veronica, their meeting probably would have lasted only a minute. Afterward there were no further attempts at communicating with them, no discussions with emissaries or ambassadors, and not even any formal introductions to important politicians. It had felt like a joke Eshe wasn't in on, and it drove them to...well, to the sheets.

Eventually, though, Eshe either rediscovered their willpower or ran out of taverns—they weren't sure which—and made it back to the woods where they knew the Order was waiting. The journey back took seven days. Seven days of plush beds, plusher women, good food, and light travel. Seven days of feeling they had failed and dreading what would happen once they delivered the Queen's response.

Eshe creeps along the edge of the forest, scanning the tree line for movement. Despite their careful approach, they found few Arlunni soldiers on the roads—a far cry from the near-siege they'd escaped two weeks ago. It doesn't take them long to find what they're looking for: Ahead, a figure clad in maroon slips between the birches and pines. Eshe dismounts, shuffling through their pack for a sun mirror to send a signal.

"Hey!" the scout calls out, ignoring the far subtler system of light-based signals in favor of yelling. Eshe sighs and closes their bag, then walks Gruch past bushes and ferns over to the voice. At least there aren't any Arlunni around to hear. "That you, Lieutenant? Ah, good to see you! We were worried you might have found trouble on the road."

"A few minor delays, nothing more," Eshe mumbles.

The scout—a young man with a dark complexion and shaved head whom Eshe doesn't recognize—nods and falls in step with the sun-knight, guiding them back toward the camp. "All's been quiet, Ser. The soldiers eased off a day or two after you left, and we've finally had breathing room to hunt and forage."

Eshe frowns, carefully stepping over a gnarled root. "What do you mean, 'eased off'?"

"No patrols, no raids, no nothing. They're even tearing down their eastern position, believe it or not. Whatever happened between you and the Queen must have got them real afeard."

Drops of molten dread pool in their stomach, sizzling away at their insides. Whatever made them back off, it certainly wasn't Eshe's public embarrassment in the palace. Something else was clearly afoot. Their earlier suspicions seem to be coming true, as larger forces and grander schemes loom overhead and threaten to sweep them away. Eshe squeezes their hand into a fist, focusing on the feel of the chain glove pressing into their palm.

It's not long before the hazy outline of the Order's camp appears in the distance, the blurry shapes slowly solidifying into tents, beasts of burden, and piles of equipment as they grow closer. The smell of waste is thankfully obscured by that of charred meat and the steady breeze running through the forest, and the occasional clatter of metal or hurried shout cuts into the quiet sounds of nature. It almost feels like home to Eshe—while this specific locale is a recent development, the swaths of maroon tents and temporary structures are all they've known for the past fifteen years. They turn to the scout.

"You mind taking Gruch to the stables for me?"

"Yes Ser Lieutenant Ser!" He grabs the steed's reins and walks them off to the western half of the camp while Eshe jogs across the clearing to the closest group of tents.

"Lieutenant! Yer back!"

"Ey, Ser Eshe! You're late!"

"Off gettin tail, no doubt!"

The shouts of their siblings-in-arms echo around them as they approach. Boorish yelling isn't the only indication the Order's troops are doing better—they see elaborate sun mirrors cooking freshly hunted roasts, and the camp watchmen playing a card game rather than staring out into the woods with sunken eyes. Above all, the tension permeating the air is gone, as if it was only a passing storm.

"Marsh, Brevoy, Ina. Glad to see your senses of decorum are still intact." Eshe grins at their fellows as they pass, working through the narrow aisles between tents and racks of equipment. The three are soldiers of the Order—more proven than the squires, but still lacking the religious and sorcerous training of the sun-knights proper. Said training also tended to...refine one's sensibilities somewhat. The Order had once only consisted of sun-knights, but over the years restrictions on membership had eased and rank and file soldiers had gone from a supplementary force to a majority.

"Decorum? Us? Sun, Lieutenant, we're not the ones off shagging nobility."

"I'd never be caught dead in a Lady, that's for certain."

"S'why Laviny sent Eshe and not you, moron! What'd ya think diplomacy meant?" The soldiers cackle.

As their superior, Eshe probably should check the wayward behavior. As a fellow member of the Order, though, one who'd endured most of the blockade right alongside their fellows, Eshe recognizes the importance of their newfound morale and has no interest in dampening it. They can always make an example of someone later to get the point across. Probably Ina, horny wench that she is. And so they leave the soldiers to their laughter, steadily worming their way through the rest of the camp and offering brief greetings to those welcoming them back. They've no more time to stall—the command tent is before them, a great rectangle marked with the Order's Solar crest. Ser Eshe waits outside, the specter of nausea looming as they watch a guard enter to inform Knight-Captain Laviny of their presence. A minute passes, maybe two. The flap opens again, and the guard nods. They step inside.

"Ser Eshe!" Laviny sits at a large rectangular table covered in regional maps. The rest of the command tent almost appears as a comfortable parlor; rugs cover the ground, a cabinet houses liquor and crystal, and an assortment of pleasant enough chairs and end tables are occupied by stacks of requisition orders and other logistical paperwork. "Please, sit."

They do. Laviny signs the document before him, then places it to the side and looks up. Unlike Queen Helena, he most certainly hasn't hidden his age beneath sorcery. Crows feet grace his golden brown eyes, and his chin-length hair and neat beard are more salt than pepper. But his wits are still about him, and his expression insistently demands answers while offering none of its own.

"I expected you back yesterday at the latest." Laviny raises an eyebrow, and the world seems to rise with it. Eshe is being ridiculous—he's only a man, and one they know and trust well—but Laviny always made them more nervous than he should have. The sheer presence of a man who can comfort homesick squires in one moment, proselytize in the next, and cut down scores of opponents after that is breathtaking. Especially for one who has personally watched him do all three.

"My apologies, Knight-Captain. There were additional...complications during my stay at the palace." Eshe takes a deep breath, willing themself to maintain a steady posture and not squirm.

"And did these complications happen to raise doubts?"

Their eyes widen. "No, Sir!" Doubt leads to Reflection, and after the week they had Reflection sounds miserable.

"Mm. There's no shame in doubt, Eshe. Sol needs not demand strict faith when Its presence is so easily observed." Laviny gestures to the sunlight filtering in through the cracks around the tent flap. "And I know doubts often translate into delays for you, as you take time to...reflect."

He knows. Of course he knows; Eshe was a fool to think he wouldn't. Their...appetites are somewhat infamous about the camp, and while that sort of petty gossip might not travel up the chain of command, they've worked with Laviny long enough for him to know their habits. Withholding the truth would do them no good, and so they tell him everything. They tell him of the lack of guards or patrols outside of the south, of the automata and Veronica—leaving out the passionate kiss they shared, as it clearly wasn't important to the story—and of their brief, unsuccessful meeting with the Queen and their far longer journey home. Laviny listens diligently throughout, interrupting only with short clarifying questions.

"...and I did take more time than I should have in my return. To reflect. But know I doubted not the mission, but rather my role in it."

Laviny nods. "Explain."

"I...at first, I felt like I'd failed spectacularly, that my own errors had soured the mission. But the more I reflected, the more I realized I never really had a chance." Eshe's posture is long gone by now, and they lean forward to hurriedly rush out the rest of their words. "Why else would She dismiss me so soon after my arrival? Why else wasn't I able to speak with Her emissaries or diplomats? And why else would a wayward noblewoman immediately try to defect to the Order with me? Why indeed, unless...unless I was misinformed, and the purpose of my journey was not a genuine attempt at diplomacy." Their jaw clenches the moment they finish speaking, teeth grinding as they wait for the inevitable. They know the Knight-Captain doesn't shy away from such confrontations, but they also know he also never makes them easy.

"I understand your confusion, and I appreciate your honesty." Laviny turns his attention to the papers before him, stacking and straightening them with great precision as he speaks. "So here's the truth: I had little hope you would succeed. From the information I've gathered, Queen Helena is notoriously fickle and prone to acting on Her various moods."

His description doesn't fit the cool, collected monarch they met in Niol. "I'm not sure where you got that information, Sir, but I believe She knew exactly what she was doing. This was an intentional message—I'm just not sure why She sent it." Eshe runs a hand through their hair, psyching themself up to push a little further. "But I think you might."

"Watch yourself, Eshe." For a moment, Laviny's voice shifts from that of their superior to that of their mentor, of the man who pulled them from nothing and placed them on Sol's Path. "While I didn't expect you to succeed in your negotiations, you did blunder in wasting time and coin on your extended return. I haven't forgotten."

Eshe sinks lower in their chair subconsciously, feeling like a chastised child. "Yes, Sir," they mutter softly.

"Besides, you should know why the Queen sent you away. She was hoping you wouldn't discover the extent of her sorcery." Laviny's fingers drum against the table in a steady rhythm. "And now that we have, I fear intervention is necessary."

His words crash into them with the force of a resounding shock. Eshe even recoils slightly. "Intervention? Knight-Captain, we only just arrived! The Queen's sorcery is potent, but from what I can tell She only uses it on a small scale. That doesn't justify—"

"It is our solemn duty to fight sorcerer-tyrants, Lieutenant. What they do matters less than what they are capable of doing, especially for one as temperamental as the Queen."

Eshe shakes their head emphatically. "I saw in my ride that the status quo of the kingdom, while by no means in accord with the Path, is at least stable. Is warfare truly preferable? And if so, what exactly is the Order committing itself to?"

Laviny finishes sorting a stack of documents and drops them to the floor with a resounding thud. "The Order will march north within the month."

Eshe squints at a knot in the wooden table, willing the information they have to make sense. "You've already decided? When?"

"Recently, when I reentered negotiations with Duke Berinni."

"You want to intervene on behalf of Berinni, even after he besieged us?"

"He's the lesser of two evils, I'm afraid. Better to have a greedy oaf on the throne than an immortal hedonistic sorceress. Besides, we're the Order. We're above grudges."

An image begins to form in Eshe's head, one that gets uglier with each new piece they add. "You never wanted the Queen's aid, did you? She knew, and that's why She turned me away. What was I doing in Niol then, making a token effort at diplomacy? Baiting Her into an act of aggression? Looking for an excuse to intervene? Because from what I can tell, Laviny, that's how you view Her sorcery. As an excuse to do what you already intended."

Laviny stands, his voice booming throughout the tent. "What I intend, Eshe, is to follow the path. From your position, you cannot possibly understand the difficult decisions I must make."

This isn't right. They've found themself back among the waves, pulled and pushed without a way to exercise control over what's around them. The tide of history dries their throat and pulls breath from their lungs. Laviny doesn't rush in or make foolish blunders, and he's normally not so aggressive. Which means there's only one explanation for his irrational behavior; one explanation for why he sabotaged his own peace mission and chose war blindly. One explanation that makes Eshe want to rip their hair out.

They speak in the quiet feminine lilt of their youth, the tone an old habit they return to when distressed. "What did Berinni pay you?"

Laviny growls his reply out from between gritted teeth. "I recommend you Reflect on your duty to Sol in regards to your doubts, Lieutenant. The excess of your travels seems to have skewed your course. Otherwise, you are dismissed."