The Sunblade Chronicles Ch. 02

"Now that," he said to himself quietly. "Was good." He actually wanted a little more, but he made himself clean his plate and cutlery, not sure how much more his stomach could hold. He was about as stuffed as a New Year goose, as it was.

Done with eating, he shuffled through the library and up the stairs to his room, where he promptly fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

*

Aran lurched upright in bed, breathing hard as cold sweat trickled down his temples. His dreams had been... muddled, confusing, changing rapidly. That last one had been dreadful, and had brought him awake, but it was already fading from memory. Something about his mother, screaming in agony. Even as he tried to grasp the dark sensations to examine them, they vanished like a puff of smoke.

He remembered the earlier dreams, though. Elaina, coming to him in his bed, standing over him in just her exquisite skin, asking him what he'd like her to do... Looking down at himself, he shook his head when he saw the tent in the sheet below his waist. His cock once again ached for attention, even after he'd relieved himself in the bath.

'From the looks of it, you're going to have to get used to being hard all the time,' he told himself wryly. A look out the arched window next to his bed showed the training yard still bathed in silvery moonlight.

How long had he slept? Not more than a couple of hours, surely, yet he felt wide awake. A low growl rumbled in his middle as his body announced it was hungry again. Well, Elaina did say I would be eating more.

Swinging his feet around, he got up and pulled on his breeches, not bothering with a shirt. It was still early spring, but he felt warm enough. Besides, Elaina was unlikely to complain about him walking around shirtless when she'd been parading around naked or next to it all day.

Quietly, he crept from the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. Some of his muscles ached a little, but he felt far better than he had before going to sleep. The sunstones were still lit from Elaina's presence earlier, making it easy for him to find half a loaf of bread in the pantry and some good butter.

Now where had Elaina gotten access to butter, this deep in the forest? Did she have cows somewhere on the grounds? More hungry than inquisitive, Aran pulled a knife from the big wooden block on the bench and began slicing off thick portions of bread.

A sound made him pause with the blade halfway into a slice. Either he was imagining things, or a woman had moaned somewhere nearby. He listened intently for a minute, but no further noises came. Shrugging, he resumed his assault on the bread, stopping when he had four generous slices, crusty and brown.

Slathering them with butter, he felt his mouth water. How could he be this ravenous already? He'd gone from wanting like a late-night snack to feeling as if he hadn't eaten in three days! It was like his dinner had just vanished inside his body.

He eagerly bit into the soft, fresh bread and chewed vigorously, but his jaw froze when that sound came again. If he wasn't mistaken, it was coming from outside, near the training yard. 'It's probably Elaina,' he thought. 'Enjoying some private time.'

Dismissing the alluring thought, he gathered his remaining three pieces of bread and left the kitchen, only to be stopped by yet another cry, this time more of a wail. He was sure it was Elaina, and she was either having a very good time, or she was in some kind of trouble.

Aran had difficulty imagining her in any trouble she couldn't get herself out of, yet still he thought he'd better investigate. He didn't notice his continuous chewing as he crept from the kitchen and down the long hall that led out to the training yard.

He listened at the door for a moment, but heard no more sounds, so he pulled it open carefully and stepped barefoot onto the stone path to the training yard that also forked off left toward the stables. Now that he was outside, he could clearly hear the distinct sound of flesh slapping rhythmically, and the accompanying grunts and moans that left little to the imagination.

Was Elaina fucking someone?

Unable to stop himself, Aran snuck quietly along the path and went left. The path curved left a little, bending around the Chapel, which kept Aran out of sight of anyone who might be in the stables. There was enough moonlight from the fat moon hanging low in the western sky that he could see his way clearly enough.

The stable was a low, squat stone structure with the horse stalls facing out to the training yard. Strangely, a canvas-covered wagon was parked out front, blocking the view of some of the stalls. Frowning, Aran raised his hand to his mouth to take another bite of bread, but found only his fingers. He looked down in surprise to see his hands empty.

'Should've brought more,' he thought ruefully as he crept forward as quietly as possible. Using the wagon to shield his approach, he dashed across the grass and pressed himself against the spoked wooden wheel. The shaggy mare hitched to the wagon snorted, but otherwise remained calm.

The slapping sounds were clearer, now, and Aran could make out words between the grunts. "Fuck, you're wonderful, woman! This is bloody magic!" A man's voice said tightly.

"I love your big cock, Hamlin!" Came a woman's reply. "Fuck me harder!"

If that wasn't Elaina's voice, Aran would eat this wagon. Carefully circling round with all the stealth he could muster, he peeked into the stable, but saw nothing. Where were they? Sneaking a little further forward, he saw light spilling from a doorway in the back.

But how to get in there without being seen? An idea came to him, and he hurried round the back of the building, grinning when he saw the light emanating from a rear window. It wasn't until he was underneath said window that rational thought reared its head.

'What in the Hells are you doing, man!?' A voice inside him demanded. 'Not only are you invading someone's privacy, but you're risking a beating at the least! What if she casts you out for being a pervert?'

The noises were loudest yet, beneath the window. Loud enough to drown out the voice of reason. Aran couldn't help it. Slowly, he stood and peeked in, squinting against the sudden harsh light of a lantern hanging on the opposite wall. What he saw made his mouth go dry, and his cock hard enough to cut diamond.

Inside was a spacious tack room, though it was mostly empty save for a long blackwood table, a few chairs and some odds and ends. Elaina was naked and bent over the table, her hands flat on the polished blackwood surface. A man stood behind her, tall and fit and just as naked. His broad, tanned hands had a firm grip on her hips as he fucked her ruthlessly.

The view could not have been better if Aran had positioned them himself. Elaina and her lover were faced to Aran's right, and were no more than eight feet from the window. He had a perfect profile view of the most beautiful woman he'd ever dreamed of being fucked.

Aran's eyes widened as he watched Elaina's lush, pale ass bounce as it collided with the man's hips. Her tits were swaying wildly beneath her, and every now and then she lifted a hand to maul one of the huge orbs.

"I've wanted your big cock all week," she groaned, looking back over her shoulder at the thrusting fellow. A sheen of sweat glistened on his skin from the exertion.

They looked to be in a steady rhythm, and Aran was glued to the spot, incapable of moving. Almost involuntarily, he unlaced his pants and pushed them down, exposing his cock to the cool night air. He took it in his hand and began to stroke, watching the man's thick shaft disappear into Elaina, wondering what it would be like to be in his position, to hold her hips, to feel her ass against his skin.

Aran's balls quickly began to lift and tighten; this scene was far too erotic for him to handle for very long. Just as he reached boiling point, Elaina's head turned toward him, and her emerald eyes rooted him to the ground.

Too far gone, Aran bit off a cry of pleasure as he began to spray his seed onto the stone wall. Spurt after spurt flew forth, much more than he'd ever produced before. Elaina's eyes remained on his for the entire time he was coming, her expression unreadable.

She threw her head back suddenly, and her scream echoed across the grounds. The man's hips began to buck sporadically, his face twisted as he emptied himself into her depths. Aran watched Elaina come, enraptured. Alarmingly, his cock began to spasm again, and fresh come was ejected onto the stone wall only moments after the last lot.

A wave of heat crashed over him, and he sank to the ground, no longer able to stand. His whole body hummed, vibrated, melted. His vision darkened, and blackness took him.

*

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CHAPTER 2.7: Awake

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Fitful dreams plagued his long sleep. An endless nightmare of pain and suffering tearing through his mind like razors. Again and again they came, unstoppable. He had long forgotten who he was, what he was. All that existed was the dreams. They always came in a sequence, one after the other, clouded like a distant memory.

How long had he been sleeping? Eons? Millenna? Years, days, hours? It was impossible to tell.

He braced himself, for the dreams were coming again.

A beautiful woman looked down at him fondly. A strange mist fogged all else, but he could see her clear as day. Her hair was black as midnight, her face perfect, with high cheekbones and a sleek jawline. Big, dark eyes sparkled as they regarded him. Her skin was the shade of deep rose, her lips and fingernails as black as her hair. She wore an elegant black dress that molded her lush form, and it sparkled under a light, the source of which he could not distinguish.

He was a child in this dream, he knew that much.

Bending, the woman touched his cheek. She spoke to him with a caressing, sultry voice, but the words were muffled, unintelligible. A man appeared beside her, giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek and putting his arm around her waist.

He was tall and strong, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted. He was shirtless, displaying a hard, fit body. Fiery red hair fell to his shoulders, and the same hair covered his upper lip, but the rest of his face was bare. Brilliant blue eyes regarded the dreamer, glinting as he smiled.

A big hand touched the dreamer's head, and more words were said, delivered by a strong, bass voice, though again, the words were lost.

Looking down, the dreamer held his hands up. They were crimson, with nails of deepest black. He knew his skin was the same colour all over, like the woman, but darker. He also knew what came next. He'd dreamed this a million times.

A girl arrived in the dream, small, like he was. She was pretty, with wavy black hair and a skin tone alike to the woman's. The girl looked up adoringly at the adults, and they beamed down at her affectionately.

The dream carried emotion; a warm, safe feeling, as if nothing could harm him while these people were around.

Mother. Father. Sister.

Family.

The dream faded, and a sense of dread fell on the dreamer. His brow furrowed as he slept, though he could not feel it. The next dream was never so pleasant as the first.

He was not in this dream like the previous one. He was watching an event unfold. Something important, momentous. And it filled him with rage and hate.

His mother and father together, back to back, surrounded by men and women with weapons ready. They bore golden sunbursts on their white cloaks, and the dreamer knew he detested them.

His father had his blade upright and steady despite the blood soaking through his white shirt from several cuts. Bodies littered the floor already, and more would before the end, the dreamer knew.

There was shouting, and steel clashed once again. The attackers bearing the sunburst moved as one, but the red-haired man fought like a devil, spinning and whirling, his blade finding its mark time after time.

The dreamer's mother also fought bravely, but with no weapon. Wearing naught but a shroud of death, she twisted like a snake around stabs and thrusts, her nails tearing at eyes, throats, stomachs and leaving bloody messes behind. No blade marked her flawless rose skin.

The next part always hurt, but the dreamer knew not how to stop it. The fog of the dream parted somewhat as a man and a woman appeared. He was tall and proud, with piercing blue eyes and golden hair to his shoulders. A long, straight blade was clutched in his fist, its length gleaming like silver.

She was stunningly beautiful, with a heart-shaped face and long tresses of purest gold. Almost as tall as the man, she carried herself regally, radiating command. She held a long, slightly curved sword by her side, its point aimed at the ground.

Both of them wore the golden sunburst at their breast, and on their backs. The dreamer hated them on sight. He had hated them since the very first dream, and would hate them until he died.

There was more shouting, and the other attackers parted, making way for the new arrivals as the golden-haired man and woman began to glow like the sun, searing the dreamer's eyes, burning them from his skull. But even without eyes, he could see what was transpiring.

His was father on his knees now, screaming and clutching his head as the glowing couple walked forward. His mother rushed to protect his father, but the awful light scorched her, and she could not come close enough to defend her lover. She stayed back, glaring hate at the intruders, her hands clenched into fists at her side, her beautiful face a mask of fearful fury.

The shining pair placed a hand each on the head of his father as they spoke something that sounded like an incantation, or a prayer, and the screaming stopped abruptly.

Deathly silence settled over the scene. His father's eyes went dull, blank, as if his spirit had been removed from him.

And then the dreamer's mother began to howl as if her body were being torn apart. She fled, running at an incomprehensible speed through the mist and fog of the dream until she was standing over the dreamer once again. Tears streaked her smooth cheeks as she knelt before him, her sometimes black, sometimes dark purple eyes somber and full of pain.

The girl -- his sister -- was there, too, and she was included in the mother's loving embrace. The beautiful creature held them for a time, and then she murmured something before standing and turning, putting herself between her children and the glowing man and woman, whom had followed her here.

Now directly in the presence of this brilliant light, the dreamer hissed and covered his face. He fell to the ground and writhed in agony as his skin sizzled and smoked. Through the gaps between his fingers and the triangle formed by his mother's legs he saw the shining couple raise their swords as one.

That was when his mother began to change. She grew taller by a foot or more, and black wings sprouted from her shoulder blades, tipped by wicked hooks. A tail emerged from her back, just above the cleft of her now even more pronounced buttocks. It became a cruel-looking blade at its end, narrow and barbed. Her fingernails grew longer, sharper, until they were like claws on the ends of her fingers.

This wonderful creature opened her arms wide, offering no resistance. She was majestic. She was irreverent. She was beautiful.

The dreamer screamed wildly as the man and woman plunged their blades into his mother's chest, the steel tips protruding from the skin of her back, cutting through her wings like paper. The dreamer heard an echoing scream from his sister nearby.

Why didn't she fight them? Surely, she possessed power untold? But it happened the same way every time. She willingly accepted their swords into her heart, and as soon as the blades pierced her skin, the dreamer and his sister vanished into darkness. His last image of the dream was their mother dropping to the ground, her flawless form becoming a smoking ruin.

*

For the first time since the dreams began, words became clear, whispered to him by his mother across space and time, words that gave him purpose. He listened intently, grasping at each one as they floated to him, like a starving creature after food. At first, they jumbled together nonsensically, but he pieced them together slowly.

War. Hate. Rage. Power.

Those were his strengths. He knew that, now.

Dominion. Despair. Control.

Those were his goals. His purpose.

Love is pain. Love is death.

His mother had loved, and it had brought her to ruin. The lesson was clear.

Yes! This feels... right.

Morgeth.

His mother's name. And what a glorious name it was! He would carve it into the hearts of her enemies, one by one.

Shenla.

His sister's name. Was she still alive? Or had she been taken from him also?

Maloth.

He sat bolt upright in darkness, his eyes coming open for the first time in countless years. He remembered, now.

His name was Maloth, and he remembered. One more name came ripping into his mind, engraving itself into his skull.

Sunblade. Sunblade. Sunblade.

Yes. He remembered everything.

***

END OF CHAPTER TWO

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