Mud and Magic Ch. 12

"I realize this is the first time I've actually visited your quarters," Rhys said, looking around in wonder. "It feels like a real clearing, straight from the elven woods."

Elara shrugged out of her coat and draped it over a low-hanging bough. "Thurguz' idea of making me feel more at home." She pointed at a hollow behind the tree stump. "If you'd like something to drink, I have a bottle of Dream Wine over there. No need to save it any more." Elara undid the simple clasp holding her egg-blue gown together. It rustled to the floor, leaving her naked. She slid into the nest and sat up.

Rhys fetched the bottle. It was a small piece of art, green glass ornately wrought in precious wires which formed a leaf-and-petal pattern. The liquid within seemed almost sinister in its dark hue.

"No glasses," Rhys remarked on his way to the nest. "What did you save it for?" He handed Elara the bottle.

With deft movements, the elf uncorked it. She looked at it wistfully. "I wanted to share this with you and Hilgrun, once you finally managed to beat her. And as for glasses..." Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "You were supposed to sip it from our navels. Or other parts." Elara cast down her gaze. "You don't have to strip if you don't want to. I'm not really in the mood." She took a swig from the bottle. Quietly she added: "At least we're drinking the wine like she used to."

Rhys disrobed down to his loincloth and joined Elara in the nest. He offered her an arm and Elara slid into his half-hug, resting her head against his shoulder. She passed the bottle to Rhys and he took a careful sip. The wine tasted unlike any he'd ever had before. He wasn't even sure it was made from grapes at all. The taste evoked memories though -- the smoke of a large bonfire during the Summer festival, the heat, the wildly dancing bodies when for at least one day, everyone tried to forget Carver's yoke hanging over them. Rhys shook his head. The memories dissolved, leaving a bitter aftertaste behind.

Elara chuckled softly, her eyes very wide. "You look like you've seen a ghost," she murmured.

"What is this stuff?" Rhys asked, suspiciously looking at the bottle. "Am I that weak that it makes me hallucinate?"

"That is a side effect of some of the fruit used in its concoction," Elara explained. "Dream Wine used to be a holy drink, before the Fall of the Fateweaver. It helps stimulate memories and with proper guidance, you can relive specific moments over and over again." She plucked the bottle from his hand and took another long sip with closed eyes.

"I guess the stuff they sell in pubs and inns is Dream Wine in name only."

Elara sighed, her nipples hardening noticeably. A wave of sadness washed over her face before she opened her eyes and sat up a bit straighter. "Heavily diluted usually. With so many elven settlements destroyed, getting a mint bottle is becoming pretty difficult."

"You want to use it to remember Hilgrun?"

"I want to use it to forget the last few days," Elara admitted, a fresh tear rolling down her cheek. "Rhys, it was... so wrong. We never argued before, especially not about other people. Even when I suggested I invite you for a night amidst the both of us, she simply shrugged and said 'Not until he's proven himself to me.' It took Celeste less than a week to drive us apart." She slung her arms around Rhys' neck and sobbed against his shoulder. "Why did she have to be so damn stubborn! Stupid honor bullshit! If Hilgrun just had ignored that bitch, she might still be alive!" Hot tears ran down her cheeks. "And then I... I had to make her swear to leave Celeste alone... and... and..." Whatever she wanted to say next turned into a soul-rending howl. At a loss for words, Rhys wrapped his arms around her sobbing frame and held her as best he could.

Eventually the sobs stopped and Elara loosened her death-grip on his shoulders. "How... how did she go from barely able to walk to throwing people around like they weigh nothing?" the elven druid quietly asked. "In less than two weeks?"

"What happened between the two of you?" Rhys quietly asked. I have a pretty good idea how that could have happened but is this the right time to tell you?

"She wasn't overly fond of my counsel," Elara said. "You remember when I told her about her not having sex with me around?"

"Absolutely. Naughty elf, you."

"To me -- and most of our kind -- there is a very distinct difference between the expression of love and the simple act of sex. I am not ashamed to admit that I love the sensations of hands and mouths and -- in small doses -- even cocks all over me. These shows of affection have helped me recover over the years. Every gentle kiss, every careful, considerate lick are affirmations that there is more to life than Faedal's brutality." She caressed down Rhys' back, frowning as her fingers moved over the ugly welts permanently tanned onto his skin. "I wouldn't have minded helping her find the same relief, with me or others of her choosing. I also thought sleeping in the same bed would comfort her but it seemed to have the opposite effect." She sighed. "One night, while I pleasured myself, she came awake with a start. Maybe a nightmare. I should probably have stopped and talked it over but instead I pulled her close and tried to chase her demons away with my hands and tongue."

"Not the brightest idea, considering how she had lost her lover recently. Instead of helping her you probably tore open barely healed wounds," Rhys said, caressing Elara's hair.

"That dawned on me as well once the heat of the moment was gone," Elara admitted. "I've never claimed to be all-knowing or always able to speak the right words. Things didn't exactly improve and Hilgrun eventually decided to defend my honor. 'Why are you taking that abuse?' she snarled, halfway to her weapons rack. 'Because I deserve it, somewhat,' I replied. But then she was already gone to 'have a word with her.' So I jumped up and grabbed Hilgrun's wrist and made her promise not to hurt Celeste. And that's where it all fell apart," Elara said, forcing the words past a lump in her throat. "I... I should have done... something!" Fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

"Please, stop castigating yourself," Rhys said, caressing her cheek.

Elara looked at him in wonder. "Where is the wide-eyed farm boy I so happily fell for?" she wondered aloud. "I hardly recognize you."

"Faedal battered that out of me back at the supply camp," Rhys said, grinning weakly. "He shattered my knee and made me eat a Disjunction Stone."

"Bastard," Elara hissed, her hand moving down his thigh. "This one? Oh, I can feel your knee cap. It's all warped and weird."

Rhys nodded. "That one. Other things happened too. Lishaka. Borna."

"And you call me 'naughty?'" Elara shot him an incredulous look. "Borna? Really? And what about that beautiful Moon Maiden cleric?" She nudged his ribs.

"If Astra'il had her way, Borna and I would be doing her right now," Rhys admitted. "I thought making sure you were alright was more important."

"Thank you." She melted against him, her arm around his waist. "I don't know how this night might have ended without you."

They fell silent. Elara had closed her eyes, at peace for the moment. Rhys though couldn't relax. The weight of his knowledge, of his possible involvement in Hilgrun's death, rested heavy on his conscience.

"Why are you squirming like that?" Elara murmured. "With all the notches on your belt, a bit of naked skin shouldn't make you this nervous."

"It's not that," Rhys began. "I enjoy your company very much." He breathed a kiss onto her hair. "But..."

"If you have to say something, do it. It can't be worse than my lover's death now, can it?"

"I- I'm not so sure..." Rhys stammered. "Maybe..."

Elara sat up straight and placed her hands on both of his cheeks. "Rhys. We're friends. Whatever you may say, I won't hate you for it. Promise."

I'm not so sure about this. I may not have swung that sword but I'm probably more to blame for Hilgrun's death than you are, Rhys thought. "Are you sure about that?" he asked her.

Elara chuckled wearily. "The thing I dread most right now is facing this night alone. I can't imagine anything you might confess is worth tossing you out."

"If you say so." Rhys took a deep breath. "If it hadn't been for an idol of Desire... which happened to be in my room... Celeste probably would not have found her way to that power of hers."

He braced himself for the coming rage, the accusations, the screams. But none came. Elara suddenly slid onto his lap and wrapped him into a crushing hug. "Oh Rhys."

"If Celeste hadn't found it, Hilgrun probably would still be with us," Rhys muttered, his own voice choked off by a renewed lump. He fumbled for the wine bottle.

Elara looked up at him, her eyes alight with sympathy. "Now you shut up and stop blaming yourself. Once deities are involved, the best-laid plans are useless. Curse that wish-granting harlot!"

Didn't Haloryth say something similar? Rhys thought. Even so, I'm not sure if I can dismiss the nagging feeling of guilt anytime soon. He tried to wash down the ugly taste of helplessness with a long pull from the bottle but it only brought back more memories, this time of Dara's hot, naked body against his, the smell of her hair, the wood of the bed. He felt himself get hard underneath Elara's curves.

"I think we... should try and find some sleep," he lamely suggested.

"No need to be embarrassed," Elara said with a weak grin. "I would be more concerned if you didn't get hard when a naked elven beauty writhed atop your manhood. Come, hold me. Occupy my mind with tales of your adventures. And how the hell did you end up in bed with Borna?"

* * * *

The last thing Faedal needed right now was Marissa's smug grin as she swept along in his wake. He could feel the raven-haired sorceress' glare like a gloating caress between his shoulder blades. He stopped outside the portal room and turned on her. "Don't you have a few halflings to deflower?" he snapped at her.

Marissa gently shook her head, her blood-red lips puckered into a pout. "I wouldn't want to miss what's coming next for anything in the world," she purred. Her nipples poked hard against the sheer fabric of what constituted for her robes today. "I'll gladly skip whatever naked bodies wait in my chambers for your humiliation, dearest Faedal." Her hand traveled down her front, quickly caressing her mound before wandering sideways. She pulled a slender silver phallus from a sheath at her hip and brought it up to face level. "While Carver deals with you, I'll be watching. And enjoying every single moment."

"When he's done with me, I'll come for you," Faedal promised, his void-like eyes boring into hers. "And then you wish you'd fucked yourself with your fingers." He turned away from the purring sorceress in disgust and resumed his trek. A few minutes later, he abruptly pushed a door inwards and entered Carver's office. As always, his mentor sat behind his desk, garbed in austere white robes. Unlike always, he wasn't alone. A dark elven woman was beside him, wearing a hooded robe, a clashing symphony in purple and toxic green. An obisidan spider symbol twitched between her ample tits. Faedal recognized Matron Dree'vex in an instant and his bluster evaporated somewhat. Behind him, Marissa closed the door.

"Put that thing away, Marissa," Carver said. "No need to make this any more awkward than it has to be."

"Ah, yes. Of course." There was the soft creaking of leather behind him as Marissa tucked away her toy. I don't like her that compliant, Faedal thought with a twang of annoyance. Something is very wrong here.

Faedal didn't take his eyes off Carver. "Well, I came as soon as I received your summons."

"And you come empty-handed," Carver said quietly. "Where is the boy?"

All this pomp and circumstance because of that mongrel mageling? Faedal snarled softly. "He eluded me. No idea how he managed to cast a spell with a belly full of Disjunction Stone but he did." The fallen paladin bared his teeth. "Considering how pathetic his spells were before, teleporting himself and his sluts away will probably have torn them apart. Problem solved."

"If killing him had been my plan, I would have told you so," Carver said, not even a twitch of the mouth betraying his true emotions. "I wanted to speak with him, find out how - as you rightfully observed -- such a pathetic excuse for a sorcerer was able to even put a dent into our operation."

"Now what?" Faedal asked. "You didn't call me here to admonish me for my failure, have you?"

"No. We both know I could do that in several different ways." Carver leaned forward, rested his elbows on his tabletop and slowly steepled his fingers. "I'm afraid I have to punish you for your inability to deliver results."

"You what?" Faedal's hand went for his sword, the icy cold hilt a reassuring presence in his grip. "Was driving a glass shard into my hand not enough?"

"If it were only the two of us, that would have been the end of it," Carver admitted. "Sadly, I need to be a strong and unwavering ruler in front of my allies and tolerating incompetence is not an option. I am sorry, my friend."

"What are you going to do? Lash me to a cross and whip me for... her entertainment?" Faedal spat, his glare lancing through Matron Dree'vex. The Dark Elf observed the proceedings with barely concealed glee. "Shove a spiked prong up my ass?"

"We both know your fascination with pain," Carver said. "No. This has progressed past simple amusement, for either of us." He tugged at a slender silver chain which went around his neck and fished an emblem with Desire's holy symbol from the neck of his robes.

"You're going to kill me?" Faedal hissed, drawing his sword.

Carver shook his head. "Worse." The pale, blond man barked a quick syllable. Before Faedal even had time to react, his body was frozen in place.

Impossible! I'm immune to all magic!

"Not quite, Faedal. Remember Desire's proclamation when I baptised you in hot elven blood? 'You shall not fear any mortal's magic' and all that? As a cleric, I channel Desire's divine will. The magic I use is hers." Carver stood up, went around the desk and plucked the sword from Faedal's grasp, effortlessly bending the digits out of the way. "Believe me, this does not bring me any joy."

Behind him, he heard Marissa gasp. The smell of her cunt was heavy in the room.

Carver placed Faedal's sword on his desk before turning to face the fallen paladin again. "I hereby sever my ties with you. From now on, you shall exist on your own power alone." He touched Faedal's forehead with the emblem. As he withdrew it, a rainbow of magical energy spanned between his head and the emblem. And he could feel his strength diminish at the same time, leaving him as he had been before, merely a mortal man. With a sickening crackle, the rainbow collapsed and with it the magical shackles holding him upright.

Faedal crumpled into an undignified heap. His head missed the edge of the desk by a hair. By sheer luck, his gauntleted hand caught the desk and stopped him from kissing the floor.

"Now... what?" Faedal snarled, fighting to get to his feet. Without the divine strength he had taken for granted suffusing his body, he felt sluggish, weak and uncoordinated.

"The decision is yours. You could of course stay and remain a part of my army. You are a shrewd battlefield tactician and capable fighter, even without my gifts. I won't begrudge you leaving for this betrayal either," Carver said. "I harbor you no ill will."

Faedal spat onto the table. "But you had to do it to appease your spider-fucking cunt over here?" He snatched the sword off the table and pointed it at Matron Dree'vex.

"Mind your tone," the Dark Elf said, almost casually. "With his protection withdrawn, I could very well rip out your tongue and feed it to my Rememberances. After they fucked your ass with their talons."

"You know our grand scheme, Faedal," Carver patiently explained. "We will bring unity and strength back to the Old Kingdom. And to be able to achieve that goal, sacrifices have to be made. House Dree'vex holds the key to the Dragon Stones and I will do whatever it takes to get them. I am sorry."

There was no fanaticism in his voice, only the unshakable belief that Carver actually meant what he said. And just like that, I've gone from rook to pawn in his grand game of chess, Faedal thought bitterly. Without another word, he turned on his heels and stomped from the room, roughly shoving a beaming and panting Marissa out of the way. With her hand between her thighs, she nearly fell over as he yanked the door open.

No one dared to approach him on the way back to the portal room. One of Marissa's disciples already waited in the octagonal chamber. She was young, beautiful and probably just intelligent enough to follow orders, just how Marissa liked her subordinates. Faedal reached into his belt pouch and produced a small, eight-sided orichalcum token and flicked it her way. "Get me home before I forget myself."

* * * *

Celeste woke with a scream. She sat up straight, her hands flailing in a vain attempt to defend herself.

Slowly, reality trickled in. No one was assaulting her. No pain. Gingerly, she touched her shoulder. No clothes either. With mounting concern, she looked around. She wasn't in the tower, that was for certain. There was a narrow window, more an arrow slit than anything else, just big enough to let in some cool air and a sliver of sunlight. The tower has no windows apart from Thurguz' study. One more reason for me to despise that place. It's more like a tomb than anything. She froze. Her hand had unconsciously wandered across her front and her fingertips had found something.

Whatever nightmare had haunted her before was replaced with fleeting memories -- a headlong flight through the night, a confrontation with Faedal's men and... and...

He didn't even twitch. Not a singed hair on his body. She glanced downwards. As if to mock her, the cupped hands of Desire sat above her breasts. She could trace the intricate lines with her fingertips, slightly raised and firm under her probing digits. She sat atop a wide bed, cool white linen under her butt. More images flooded her mind. Faedal's sword had gently touched her forehead, cutting off her access to all those power sources around herself for an instant -- more than enough time for her body to succumb to the ravages of Sorcerer's Burn.

I nearly killed myself, Celeste realized. Or is this the afterlife? She clamped her left nipple between thumb and forefinger and curled her nails inwards. The pain was razor-sharp, almost refreshing in its purity.

She tried to find a power source to tap for a quick heal spell. But there were none.

"Where are you when I need you?" Celeste snarled. Now that she has what she wanted -- whatever it is -- I'm not worth talking to anymore. That's what you get for tossing in your lot with gods.

She slid out of bed and inspected her surroundings. The room she was in was spacious enough for a wide bed and other furniture, a few empty cabinets, a bookshelf, some chairs, a small, round table, a wash basin and mirror-

She froze as she beheld her reflection. That's not mine. Her fingers gently touched the black velvet collar she wore as her only article of "clothing." The clasp was in the back -- and when her fingers honed in on it, she noticed movement. The sensation of something very thin and sharp brushed against her fingertips. Celeste withdrew her hand. Her fingers bled profusely from a myriad of cuts. Cursing, she doused her hand in the washing bowl and used one of the towels as a makeshift bandage then she turned her back to the mirror, craned her neck and repeated the gesture. The back of the collar seemed to unfold into untold razor-sharp black splinters, much longer than she had anticipated. Her hand would have been shredded before she even got close to the clasp.