Elf-Boy and Friends

Elf Boy and Friends

Part 3 of 10

by George Gauthier

Chapter 10. Quiet Time

At the port city of Asheron the good ship Isobel reached the terminus of her run down the upper river. There the travelers had to transfer to a larger riverboat to navigate the lower river. Balan booked passage on a vessel sailing in three days' time. The layover gave them all a chance stretch their legs on dry land and to visit the picturesque town.

For the unicorn and his elf-boy the first thing on their agenda was a long overdue run in the countryside. The pair ran in the open country beyond the boundary stones that marked the limits of the urban area. Town law kept left the countryside open and unbuilt over, reserving it for truck farms, dairy operations, feedlots, horse farms, woodlots, and the like. Well-maintained farm-to-market roads crisscrossed the rural lands, many stretches lined with shade trees.

Equines and humans alike are natural runners, each admirably adapted to run long distances, whether on four legs or two. The elongated limbs of equines leverage the power of their shoulder muscles and haunches. In humans and related races, the S curve of the spine allows for a fully upright posture, placing the trunk and center of gravity directly over the hips and legs. Unlike in quadrupeds, the shoulders of bipeds are wider than their hips so that the swinging or pumping of the arms counterbalances the torque that the legs apply to the torso, keeping the body moving forward in a straight line.

Also both species perspire freely to cope with the heat produced by prolonged exertion. In addition, Dahl had reached such a level of fitness that his body could shed heat by vasodilation, the expansion of the blood vessels under the skin, which transferred heat directly to the air flowing past him, lessening his need to sweat, and protecting him from dehydration.

Since both their species had evolved for running, it was no surprise how much both the elf-boy and the unicorn loved a good long run, each in its own way. Equines traditionally run to escape predators. Running meant survival and freedom from fear. That was true for early humans and elves too, but only up to a point. Humans are hunters and predators much more than they were ever prey, so for them running evokes the thrill of the hunt. Elves shared the evolutionary history of humans before wizards intervened to create that race.

Running gave Dahl the chance to test his limits, to exult in his youthful strength and stamina, and to assert his masculinity and physicality. Anyway he loved running for its own sake, His strides would take up the hypnotic rhythm of the long distance runner, scissoring metronomically as they carried him along, accompanied by the steady beat of his feet as they slapped the earth, eventually inducing that state of day dreaming and euphoria that moderns call the runners' high. Very therapeutic for one's mental equilibrium.

He also ran for the sheer physical pleasure of it, taking in great lungfuls of air with the expansion and contraction of his rib cage, pumping his arms to maintain balance, pushing off with the rear leg hard enough that he actually flew through the air very briefly before his front foot touched the ground. Dahl was light on his feet. He could run with his soles making only a light slapping sound as they virtually kissed the ground. That was certainly not true of Merry. When the unicorn ran, there was no mistaking the drumbeat of his hooves or the clop of a slow walk.

The elf-boy loved the way the wind whipped his mane about, framing his face and brushing his shoulders. It made him feel wild and wanton like a filly in heat out for a mating run with her stallion. Then there was the heat of the sun on his back and bare bum, which reminded him how very naked he was, a nude boy totally on display for anyone to see and to admire and hopefully lust after, like those cute farm lads who had waved to him as he ran past. Dahl was honest enough with himself to recognize his own vanity and exhibitionism. He liked any excuse to show off his trim athletic body with its lines flowing cleanly from shoulder to hip to ankle without the visual interruption of garments.

Their mind speech allowed the two runners to carry on a conversation without wasting breath. Given their different physical capabilities the elf-boy didn't even try to keep up the stallion. Instead Merry looped the boy, racing ahead a ways only to stop, turn around then run back completely past him only to spin around once more and catch the boy up. Merry loved to watch the boy running all out. His trim little body was never so alive, except during sex, with his arms pumping away, shoulder blades sliding back and forth, slender legs scissoring, not to mention the twitching and dimpling of his adorable butt cheeks. Merry claimed that running behind Dahl let him draft the front runner. Dahl just snorted at the notion that his own small body could create much of a draft for his much larger companion. Still it was better when Merry ran behind or to the side, sparing him from eating the unicorn's dust.

Two days later, after their final run, their stay ashore over, Merry and Dahl made their way up the gangway aboard the riverboat Myrrh, a vessel more than twice the size of the Isabel. When Dahl rejoined his friends on the promenade he found the giant Balan patiently answering yet another of an endless series of questions from those twin chatterboxes Jemsen and Karel. Not that the giant minded. Nothing gave Balan more pleasure than an excuse to launch into professorial mode. One of the chief delights of the twins was their intelligence. They were not just a pair of pretty faces.

"Balan, you seem to know everything." Jemsen asked. "Why are all the cities on the river sited just north of a swamp? Every single one. That cannot be accidental."

"It is not. Those swamps are artificial wetlands, built as part of their sanitary systems. Sewers in cities and towns never drain directly into the river, lest, in time, the river itself become one big sewer itself. Only storm drains carrying clean runoff feed into the river directly. To deal with sewerage each city selects a low lying area to its south or constructs one if necessary, then plants suitable grasses and sedges. Once the greenery is well along engineers flood the tract to create a self-sustaining wetland to which the city pipes its sanitary effluent. The wetland acts as a natural waste treatment facility. Dirty water flows almost imperceptibly down the gentle grade southwards, threading the reeds and grasses. Along the way natural processes purify and sweeten it. Collection canals then shunt the cleaned water back into the river. All done by gravity without pumps and with minimal human intervention."

"Ingenious!"

"And all of it accomplished not with magic but with the knowledge and skills of the natural philosophers and engineers who devised the system in the first place, centuries ago. That and good governance that saw to the maintenance of the system over time."

His lecture finished, Balan left in search of a cool lager.

Aodh picked up the news sheet that the giant had left behind on his seat and caught up with events in the two weeks since the last issue. The latest innovation, these news sheets were woodblock texts printed on a single sheet of the cheapest paper, using the same technique employed to print playing cards and wallpaper. Drawing on two inventions, block printing and cheap paper made from wood pulp, news sheets had met with immediate public acceptance. No more having to stand in a crowd in the town square to crane a look at the single handwritten newsletter posted for public consumption or listen to someone reciting the text aloud, not necessarily that of a story you were interested in. News sheets had a circulation much larger than the number of copies sold. Each copy was passed from hand to hand till it fell apart. Already there was talk of expanding them to four pages in a folio format, with advertisements for extra revenue.

From what Aodh read, it seems the eastern barbarians were troublesome once again, raiding, killing, stealing livestock and carrying off every kind of portable wealth including captives destined for slavery. Speculation had it that the Commonwealth army would soon send out a punitive expedition, a reminder to the truculent tribes to keep to their side of the border.

"Bastards." the wir-boy couldn't help saying aloud.

"Who you talking about?" Jemsen asked.

"The eastern barbarians. More raids over the border to seize farm animals, harvests, and valuables from honest folk. They kill the men and rape the women, and leave their children to starve. It is a rite of passage for them, taking a head is a proof of manhood. Some farmer goes out to the fields in the morning; his wife or his kid later finds him dead, minus his head. Ghastly."

Just then Luxor. the ship's cat, clambered onto Aodh's lap then settled herself around his shoulders while he continued to read the next article about the latest political scandal. A svelte shorthair three years old, Luxor seldom paid attention to any of the passengers she encountered on her voyages, but here was one worth seeking out. Though the young wir never transformed while aboard ship, Luxor knew him for a kindred soul and sought his company, even sleeping in his bed at night, her light body draped across his ankles or snuggled up on his pillow. Ignoring ship's rules, the young minstrel smuggled choice bits from the dinner table to set out for his whiskered friend before retiring.

Meanwhile, the blond twins slid their deck chairs under a gauze canopy which gave just enough shade to blunt the fierce blaze of the sun. That and the steady head wind made the oppressive tropical heat bearable, though not enough to stop their sweating. Jemsen chatted desultorily with his brother till he realized that Karel had nodded off, making for a very one-sided conversation. After unsuccessfully trying to doze himself, he settled for watching the ever changing shapes of the puffy white clouds above, all the while stealing glances at the beautiful body lying next to him.

And such a lovely human body it was, the twin of his own: tanned, toned, taut -- all sculpted musculature: strong shoulders, well defined abdominal muscles, and narrow hips. No hair interrupted the flow of its faultless lines.

Jemsen was gratified that Karel's genitals (and his own) didn't have that shriveled look so many guys had. His cock was smooth not all gnarly with twisting veins. His genital organs were reasonably sized though he wouldn't be scaring the horses. It took both of his small hands to cover an erection, but only one when it was soft. That was just fine for a boy given to running across the countryside bare ass naked with his dangly bits jouncing about.

From his chair beside Karel Jemsen watched droplets of sweat form on the smooth tanned skin, each drop glistening in the sunlight like a tiny diamond. Growing larger, the droplets broke the surface tension that had held them in place and slid downhill, merging and collecting in rivulets in the channel between the pectorals and at the bottom of the hollow between his rib cage and hips.

The older twin sat up and swung himself around to face his sibling, reaching out to play with the sweat pooling in his twin's navel, tracing a circle with his index finger on that flat belly, finally bringing a taste of the salty fluid to his tongue. Next he pressed a spot on one side of Karel's belly to let the pool of sweat drain down his hip, only to watch the hollow slowly fill up again. This time he did not spill any of the salty fluid but lapped it up from his brother-lover's navel then kissed away beads of sweat on forehead, cheeks, and the tip of the nose, ending with a light kiss to each of Karel's nipples.

Dahl's cock tingled as he watched the languorous foreplay. He resisted the urge to reach down and stroke himself. He wished the other twin would wake up, but Karel dozed on oblivious of his brother's homage to his sex appeal. Dahl looked fondly at the twins. Is there anything more beautiful than a seventeen year old boy in the bloom of youth? And here there were two of them, identical twins. Jemsen and Karel were not only brothers, but also lovers, comrades in arms, and each other's best friend. He only hoped they both survived the dangers that undoubtedly lay ahead. They were so close, he didn't see how either twin could live on after the loss of the other.

That got the elf-boy thinking about mortality. He cast his unspoken thoughts to Merry. Dahl could now initiate contact, though as yet only with the unicorn.

<Listen, Merry, I was thinking. What a shame it is about the other boys. Magical creatures likes us: elves, unicorns, and giants, we have such long lives. Or will, assuming we win our fight against the Darkness. The twins don't have that to look forward to. Here they are, so very young, just starting out in life really, youthful and vital. Yet all too soon Aodh and the twins will age, lose their physical beauty, as they decline into old age and death. Surely they deserve better than that, considering the risks they all have undertaken to save the world.>

<Don't be concerned for Aodh, Dahl. He too is a magical creature and is effectively immortal and eternally youthful. In his case it works this way. When a being with a dual nature morphs from one shape to another his innate magic heals all wounds and cures any sickness, using the wir's own mental template of his physical state and health at a particular point in his life. Each transformation brings him back to that point, that particular age and state of well-being. So his transformations restore his youth, health, and beauty. Aodh will live indefinitely, staying forever young, until something drastic happens to him.>

<All right, I get it. Aodh and I will look sixteen indefinitely, but the twins will age from boys a few months short of eighteen, as they are now, to arthritic grey beards.>

<Perhaps not. When you come into your full powers as a druid, you may be able to extend their youth and their lives. Don't mention that to them though and raise false hopes. Also do not speak of it to the senior druids till you have proven yourself. Time then to call in favors.>

Their silent colloquy was interrupted by a rain shower. This time the downpour was cool rather than cold and fell without hail. The four twinks got to their feet, smiling at the welcome interruption. They raised their faces and their arms to nature's cleansing and cooling rains, letting the rain drum on their heads and chests. The refreshing waters flowing down their sides and their bellies, dividing around the prows of their proud cocks, sluicing down their cleavages. The youths joined hands and circled clockwise as if in a dance, all the while looked up at the rain clouds, blinking away the drops that fell onto their faces and plastered the hair to their heads.

For that moment they were just four happy youngsters without a care in the world or even the sense to come in out of the rain, like naughty boys taking perverse delight in deliberately stomping their way through a puddle rather than going around it, much to their mothers' consternation and dismay. Well mothers may grumble but isn't a certain degree of obstreperousness a boy's birthright?

Demure is for girls.

Chapter 11. Soldiers

Also aboard the riverboat Myrrh was a contingent of soldiers on their way to postings along the southeastern frontier. Trained as signalmen, they would join units scattered over the frontier to bolster communications between legionary fortresses, patrol bases and far flung observation posts. Along the way they kept in practice using their flags and solar telegraphs to signal naval vessels on the river and military installations along the banks.

The newly minted soldiers mostly kept to themselves, not much interested in mixing with the other passengers. Their standoffishness didn't mean that the soldiers did not have their eye on a certain lovely elf-boy as he ran around the ship stark naked, stirring the blood of anyone who fancies young males, these soldiers included. Unseasoned by combat, poorly supervised, and under lax discipline, they soon turned to mischief.

The third evening out Merry made his way to the lower deck to visit Merry. As he walked past the cargo compartment where the soldiers were quartered the door slid open and strong arms grabbed him and dragged him inside, shoving him into the middle of a crowd of a dozen soldiers. Their commander was a sergeant, a man of only middle height but powerfully built, with close-cropped dark hair and and grey eyes. He sized up his captive, a hungry look in his eyes and a predatory smile on his face.

"Well, well, well. Is this a young demigod I see before me, incarnate in the guise of a beguiling and bewitchingly beautiful teenage boy?"

"Actually, sir. I am an elf-boy and certainly no demigod."

"Alas, Corporal Saxburn," the sergeant said with mock regret to the soldier standing next to him. "This vision of youthful male pulchritude is merely a mortal boy after all, albeit an exceedingly comely one."

"I agree, Llando, I peg him for a rich man's catamite, or maybe a professional joy boy. And one who likes his work, the way he wiggles his arse all the time on deck."

Dahl shook his head. He got that reaction a lot. Gracile and delicate looking and comelier than is seemly in a young male, he was no one's idea of masculinity. One glance at his slight build and impossibly pretty features and macho males like these soldiers marked him down as the worst sort of bum boy. Not just a servant or slave constrained to pleasure a master but a natural submissive who preferred the role of catamite or boy toy.

"Sirs, I will have you know that I am a free boy and serve no master. All right, I might have worked as a pleasure boy in the past, but always as a free agent. Anyway, those days are behind me."

"Oh Ho!" Corporal Saxburn chortled. "This lad is fair game after all. Let's have at him!"

Sergeant Llando look at Dahl almost apologetically, explaining.

"He is right, youngling. You candor does you credit, but now Saxburn and my men will have their way with you, after all. I am afraid I must let my men take their pleasure of you. The fact is that we have no reason to exercise restraint in your case. You are one of the lowly and powerless in this world -- just a small nude boy who has fallen into our clutches.

"Ironically it would be different if you weren't a public boy, meaning everyone's boy. If you were a man's private property, a slave with a master or a kept boy or a catamite, then we would be violating another man's property rights. In this world of ours, the privilege of fucking public boys who cross our path is one of the unofficial perquisites of soldiers on active duty."

"All of which is to say that your virtue is not at stake. There is no reason then why we should not all mount you. It is just that simple."

"Besides, this situation is in no small part your own doing, shameless boy that you are. As a free boy it was your choice to run around stark naked. What are assertive males like us to think when we find a public boy like you at loose ends, your entire body on display for our delectation. Here you are so terribly cute and sexy with that impossibly pretty face and tight body and a pert rump that twitches fetchingly as you move about. And yet you pretend to shrink from the natural use that men make of boys of your sort. Well we know how to deal with cock teaser tactics like that."

"Soldiers of the Commonwealth, this wayward youth needs instruction in good manners. And you are the men to give it to him. So take him as you will, but remember, no rough stuff. The elf-boy here is just a little guy, so don't all pile on at once. Instead take turns, no more than two at a time."

"Two at a time?" Dahl squeaked.

"One at each orifice, of course. We don't have all evening."

Dahl's temper kicked in just then. The hell with that kind of thinking. If he couldn't talk his way of this jam pretty damned soon, he was going to send for the cavalry. No way he was going to put up with another rape, and a gang bang at that. One telepathic shout to Merry would bring his friends running.

Dahl resented the outrageous assertion that this situation was largely his own fault, a fate that he had brought upon myself by his perpetual public nudity and enticing physical beauty. The charge amounted to nothing more than a tissue of rationalization for what they really wanted with him.

He had not deliberately teased the soldiers, no more than anyone else aboard. As for being cute and sexy, that was as nature had made him. Nothing was the result of artifice or primping or posturing -- no cosmetics, no jewelry, no suggestive clothing -- just good clean boy -- and the pheromones that healthy elf-boys exude quite naturally.

"This is so wrong!" the elf-boy declared emphatically. "Rape is rape, whatever the excuse, and I won't put up with it. Get outta my way."

But the soldiers blocked his attempted exit. Dahl back pedaled far enough to give himself room and dropped into a fighting stance, looking to somehow force his way into the clear.

Shaking his head the sergeant continued his discourse in a calm and even tone.

"You have grit, kid. I'll give you that, but no way one small naked youth can overcome a dozen professional soldiers. If we have to, we will bind you, but things will go easier if you submit to your fate. Anyway, a brothel boy like you should realize the futility of resistance. We are not going to do to you anything more than so many others have done in the past."

"Go to hell," Dahl shot back. Why couldn't they just leave him alone. He didn't want this.

The scowl on his face did nothing to discourage his suitors. If anything, it encouraged them.

"My oh my, he looks so pretty when he gets mad, standing there stiff legged, fists clenched, eyes flashing. Yum yum."

"Aye and trembling, but is it from fear, from anger, or from lust?"

"Heh, heh. I don't care which. Anyway, I like my boys with a bit of fight in them. So be reasonable, little elf-boy, and give it us or do we really have to do this the hard way?"

Dahl shook his head, wanting to fight but realizing that resistance was useless against so many. He lowered his fists

All right, he had tried to handle this himself, to talk himself out of trouble. Time to call Merry for help. So he did. The unicorn relayed his mayday to their friends. Meanwhile Dahl played along, to stall for time. He stood meekly, head hung, arms loose and at his sides as the sergeant felt him up with the sure touch of an expert in gauging boy flesh. The sergeant twirled his finger, the signal for Dahl to turn around slowly to give the men a good look to his back and his bum.

"Yes, little one. You are exactly what I fancy best. Yours is very much the hard body of the young male, not the soft round voluptuous body of the female. Hmm, such a slender boy too, yet your musculature is well-defined, with a corrugated belly and good shoulders. Yours is one of those tight builds that is more about quality than quantity. Like an acrobat or a maybe a dancer."

The sergeant then turned his attention to Dahl's face, cupping the chin in his strong right hand, rubbing the jaw line with his thumb and inserting his thumb into his mouth, the boy's cue to suck on the digit much as he would suck on a cock.

The frank sex talk and foreplay had its effect on Dahl. His pulse raced as blood rushed to his groin. With his ball sac pulled tight to the fork of his legs, his engorged cock jutted straight out, the purpled glans like an arrowhead fixed at the end of the shaft, drawing approving murmurs from the soldiers. They knew a well trained fuck toy when they saw one.

"Here now, little one, I want you to turn and present your ass to me, spread your legs, bend over, and grab your ankles."

Dahl scowled but did as he was commanded, presenting his ass for their use. Sergeant Llando started off with a chuckle and a smart slap to his rump then reached between his legs and tugged on the ball sac, using his other hand to stroke the turgid cock like a farmer milks the teat of a cow. Willy-nilly Dahl's body responded to the stimulation. After a bit, the sergeant hooked his thumbs into the anal ring and pulled it open, letting his men get a look at Dahl's secret delights.

"Ah, what an ass we have here: sun-bronzed on the outside, but pink and moist inside. I can't wait to plumb its depths."

Dahl blushed. Was there no end to the personal indignities the men would visit upon him?

Just then Balan and the others burst through the door, eyes blazing and weapons in hand, ready for mayhem.

"Release that boy!" the giant thundered, punctuating his command with a loud whack with his staff to the deck. The twins flanked him, their kukris held crosswise across their bodies. The minstrel in panther form leaped atop a table, unsheathed his claws, laid his ears back, and snarled menacingly at the soldiers.

With his men unarmed and in various stages of undress, the sergeant motioned for his men to release the elf-boy.

"All right, all right. No reason to spill blood. There's your precious elf-boy, safe and sound and none the worse for wear. Though I really don't know what you need him for when you already have those stunning blond twins. And keep that nasty cat off us, will you? We're not looking for a fight, though as soldiers we might give you good one."

"Not hardly." the giant answered coldly.

"Oh don't get so high and mighty with us. We are within our rights diddling any bum boy we find who is at loose ends. You have no authority over us. We answer only to our own officers."

Holding his right hand up and triggering a small magic, Balan let them seem the outline of a hand glowing in his palm."

"Soldier, everyone answers to a Hand of the Commonwealth."

The sergeant blanched, suddenly afraid. The Hands were the chief trouble-shooters for the Commonwealth. As plenipotentiary agents of the state, their authority could override that of any civil official or military officer. The Hands were accountable for the actions only to the Chief Hand and the Ruling Council. They were reputed to be incorruptible, deadly, and decisive in removing any threat to the well-being of the state, whether it be a spy, a corrupt governor or a crime lord. No one cared to cross a Hand.

"You are a sorry excuse for a sergeant in the Commonwealth Army as I will be reporting to your commanding officer." Balan told the sergeant as he turned to escort the angry and shaken elf-boy to their quarters on the upper deck.

Dahl stayed angry for the longest time.

"Why couldn't they just take no for an answer? This is my body; it belongs to me. I'll decide who gets to play with it. Instead they treated me like a slave boy, a chattel rather than a person, a boy without any rights, without any claim to my own body. To them, all of us elf-boys are insatiable sluts, bum boys just panting for some man to use us, or better several men at once. They saw me as their rightful prey: small and powerless, naked and unarmed. Damn them!"

"I would have fought my way into the clear but there were too many of them. Two or three I might handle thanks to the skills Balan and Aodh have taught me, but not a dozen. Nothing for it but to submit."

Balan nodded.

"Fighting is easy. In time a man learns something much harder -- when not to fight, when to ignore his hot blood and to listen to his head. An important step toward manhood. More power to you Dahl."

Merry took a try at comforting the distraught boy.

<When you come into your druid powers, no man will be able to rape you, not when, with a thought, you can render him impotent, temporarily or even permanently.>

<Really!>

<The magic of Druids comes from the energy in all living things including, indeed especially, the generative faculties. And that is only one example. You will be able to kill a man just by stopping his heart, though that will exact a toll, using life magic for death. Most Druids avoid killing directly with magic, setting plants and animals against their foes or the elements like wind or rain or ice. If necessary druids use weapons that do not draw blood like the quarter staff you have trained with. Remember Druids, even small ones, have strength three or four times their size would indicate. The life magic also gives Druids control over animals. For instance, a druid might compel a herd of brontotheres to charge his foes, goring and trampling them to death.>

Dahl looked to the young minstrel for support. You must know how I feel, Aodh. It's probably happened to you too. We are much the same aren't we, Aodh: slight of build and much too pretty for our own good."

The minstrel said nothing, keeping his own counsel though he did not agree at all with the elf-boy. True, superficially they were much alike, but Dahl was an elf. Feisty though he might be, he was still a pretty boy with a gentle soul and next thing to a vegetarian. Little wonder that a drunken gambler or randy soldiers would ignore his rights.

It was different for Aodh. As a wir-panther, Aodh was a human boy with the heart of a predator. More than once he had simply stared down men who thought to force him to serve. Often all it took was one look into his strange cat-eyes, slightly aslant above high cheekbones, to turn aside unwanted advances. The men might not quite realize why, but suddenly rape didn't seem like such a good idea. Put simply, Aodh was not and did not look like a victim. Dahl did.

Even without druidic powers Aodh had ways to discourage rapists. If he couldn't talk his way out of trouble or intimidate them with his eerie looks, then he could count on his skills in the martial arts to discourage overly aggressive suitors. Failing that, anyone who tried to force him would find that Aodh's claws could render a man impotent pretty damn quickly and pretty damn permanently.

<So, Balandur,> Merry sent, <You are a Hand of the Commonwealth, are you? You never said so, though I always suspected it. I take it then that your joining us when you did was not entirely fortuitous?>

"No. Did you unicorns really think the Commonwealth wouldn't notice your unusual activity. Our Watchers in divers lands reported that elf-boys and males of other races in company with unicorns and wizards were on the march from all points of the compass, traveling toward the Great Southern Forest. What could that be but an effort by the Druids there to bring in recruits to replenish their diminished numbers. When my Chief realized what was afoot he sent me to lend a hand, pun intended. And similarly with the other pairs."

"So, the Commonwealth has spies in foreign lands." Jemsen asked.

"Watchers not spies. Our Watchers are not into cloak and dagger. Their job is surveillance. They are men and not a few women who keep their eyes and ears open for the unusual and report what they see along with any loose talk they chance to overhear. They operate quite separately from us Hands."

"You Hands cannot all be giants." Karel ventured.

"Correct. Most of us are human. Understand we number only a score or so. No, we Hands pose as merchants and soldiers of fortune, itinerant priests and pilgrims, tinkers and circus folk, just about anyone with an excuse to travel about inconspicuously. Some occasionally pose as minstrels."

<We were lucky they sent you to us, old friend.>

Everyone nodded. The giant had been a pillar of strength and a good friend.

Chapter 12. Aodh's Tryst

After a march of ten days across the flat country of the Long River Plain the road they were on reached the foothills of the mountains that bordered the eastern side of the great rift valley. The weary travelers took lodgings in the town of Bled. The site of an army garrison, Bled was the last settlement of any real size within the Commonwealth proper.

A town of some ten thousand, it sat at the terminus of the east-west road they had taken, having crossed two similarly constructed wide roads running north and south, spaced one-third and two-thirds of the way from the river to the mountains. Together with lateral roads along both sides of the river, these routes form a grid of roadways that served both commerce and the needs of the government including the military and the postal service.

Each right-of-way was really two roadways in one. One was a carriage-way paved with flat stones which served horses shod in iron, whether mounts and draft animals. The heavy infantry of the regular army also marched on the pavement in their sturdy hob-nailed sandals. Travelers who went barefoot or in soft foot gear took the other walkway, its firm but resilient surface was designed for them and for the unshod feet of oxen, aurochs, and camels. The top level of that roadway was a composite made of sawdust and bitumen. compressed and heated, then laid in squares over the same substrate as the stone paved roadway alongside.

In Bled, Aodh took temporary leave of his friends. They would follow the narrow mountain road as it wound its way eastward. The minstrel would go by a direct route cross country, traveling in his panther form. It had been quite a while since he had spent more than a short time as a beast. So it was time his soul answered the call of the wild.

He left his scant belongings with his friends. They would care for his mandolin and purse while he set out unencumbered. The guards at the town gate thought that it was foolish for a small youth to set out all alone across the mountains, unclothed, unshod, unarmed, and un-provisioned.

"A bare ass run thru the countryside for exercise is one thing, son, but setting off across the mountains on a journey of many days is quite another. A pretty little thing like you, striking off on his own, nothing to hand in the way of supplies or weapons and starkers to boot? Are you daft?

"Thank you for your concern, sirs, but as hard as it might be to believe, I really do know what I am doing."

The guards sincerely hoped so. It would be a shame for something to happen to such a nice looking kid. The lad had such an air of innocence he didn't look like he could take care of himself. More like the kind of boy who ought to be under the protection of a rich patron, a man who would appreciate what a mouthwatering morsel he was.

As for the mountains, though they lay within the boundaries of the Commonwealth and were exploited commercially, the eastern range was rugged and wild territory, with steep slopes blanketed by tangled forests, prime habitat for wolves and bears and occasionally outlaws and slavers. Just recently several youths had disappeared, vanishing without a trace. Though the Constabulary patrolled the mountains, the lawmen mostly kept to the trails linking the various outposts of civilization to the outside world: logging camps, mines, water mills, and summer resorts.

So Aodh set off alone, morphing into panther form as soon as he was beyond the belt of farms that fed the town. He was eager to make his first kill but careful to spare the farmers. Soon enough he chanced upon an unwary antelope, no one's livestock then. The hunt was rather perfunctory, he merely crept up from downwind and pounced. Not much fight in a creature that weak, though for a predator the size of Aodh, the animal made a satisfying meal, especially since he ate all of it except bones and horns and head. Most folks think cats eat just the flesh of their prey, but they also savor organ meats, and the half-digested contents of the stomachs of ruminants are a kind of salad course.

The mountains were rugged and steeply sloped to the west but easy to descend traveling east. Aodh kept out of sight during the crossing, avoiding contact with humans. True he could easily assume human form, but then he would have had to explain his presence. Besides, the whole point of the journey was to live wild for a time, to prowl the forest like the predator he was, to get back in touch with his killer instincts as he stalked, pounced, and dispatched prey. Aodh was in his element, once again the hunter at the top of the food chain.

Afters days of such travel, just after crossing the divide, Aodh stumbled across a secluded valley, a lovely green bowl about eight miles across, ringed by mountains and closed off by vertiginous cliffs on the east. The dark green of the forested slopes was broken here and there by lighter areas of clear cut areas. Sheep meadows and vineyards on the lower slopes gave way to flatlands with pastures, orchards, grain fields, kitchen gardens, and other works of man.

The valley held a single settlement in the center, a sizable village, one large enough to call a town, with a manor house hard by. With dark falling, Aodh realized he would not reach the settlement till after nightfall, definitely not a propitious time for strangers to come calling. He would have to spend one more night roughing it. So he found a comfy spot, made a grassy bed, and lay down, changing into human form to sleep. It was cooler that way, sleeping in bare skin instead of fur.

Which was how the owner of the manor, a youthful nobleman named Klarendes found him the next morning. Klarendes was checking out reports from loggers that a black panther had been spotted prowling the mountains. His three giant Molossian mastiffs had found upon the scent trail the boy had left while in his feline form. Expecting a wild cat, the nobleman carried a boar spear held at the ready. To his astonishment he found a youth of surpassing beauty fast asleep on a bed of grass.

Lying on his right side with his head pillowed on his arms and his legs drawn up, his nude body resembled nothing so much as that of a cat curled in slumber. Then the boy turned in his sleep, rolling onto his back, arms outstretched, legs splayed, giving an unobstructed view of his front: from his angelic face to a glabrous chest and belly down to a shapely cock painfully erect with morning wood. It cantilevered from a hairless groin over a flat belly, the engorged shaft rising and falling ever so slightly with the beat of his heart. His ball sac was equally hairless and pulled tight into his groin, allowing a view of a shadowed cleavage.

Klarendes nearly swooned at the revelation of such sensual beauty, a combination of the innocent and the wanton, the epitome of a boy in the full bloom of his youth, vitality, and virility. Small in stature, skinny, and smooth muscled, comely as an angel, with a skin like porcelain, and looking utterly fragile and vulnerable, the impossibly pretty youth aroused both the lust and the protective instincts of the lean-bodied nobleman.

Here was a boy so beautiful he took your breath away. In an instant Klarendes found himself praying to his gods that this would be the boy he had been hoping to meet for most of his adult life, a lover and a companion who would ease his loneliness. Since the untimely death of his beloved wife in a fall from her horse, he had been bereft. Their arranged marriage had blossomed into a real love match and produced two sons to carry on the bloodline.

After her death, Klarendes had indulged himself with dalliances with local youth. Yet he had never found any of the local lads more than a temporary diversion. Cute, yes; fun in bed, definitely, but immature and rather empty upstairs. Klarendes yearned for a boy who would be as much a friend and companion as a lover.

He wondered what this vision of youthful male pulchritude was doing in his hunting grounds. Only one road led into the hidden valley and that road came from the east through the cliffs, not the west. And why had the boy set up such a primitive camp, if you could call it that, no shelter, no fire, no tools or weapons, and no provisions. Just the boy himself.

As for his nudity, nothing remarkable there except he was a long distance traveler. On their home ground many a village youth never bothered with clothing, not even a thong or a genital pouch much less a loincloth. Those were regarded as no more than sissified affectations for up-tight city slickers. For rural folk, neither anatomy nor sex held any mysteries. Going naked was eminently practical in the oppressive heat. Besides it let assertive young fellows show off the trim taut bodies they had so recently grown into, whether to rivals or potential lovers of both genders. Nor were these youths ashamed to present to the world the manly parts which brought them so much pleasure.

Demure was for girls.

Klarendes noticed movement under the boy's closed eyelids, a sign that he was dreaming, what Klarendes hoped was an erotic dream of a boy consorting with a handsome and virile man. He himself would very much like to be the man of this boy's dreams.

While Klarendes hesitated, reluctant to awaken the youthful beauty lying before him, his mastiffs, more direct in such matters than thunderstruck human males, started licking the boy's genitals by way of greeting. At his nether regions, one tongue licked his shaft, rubbing and and arousing. Another slipped into his crevice, probing the cleft, reaching toward the subtlety scented rosebud in its depths.

The oral stimulation had an effect, bringing him to orgasm just as a third tongue licking at his face brought him to awareness. The boy's cock shot a rope of gism out of the slit, ejaculating in a graceful arc that intercepted his face and belly. Taken by surprise, the dogs took a step back.

As for Aodh, he suddenly found himself awake, supine, his limbs splayed out, surrounded by three gigantic mastiffs, his engorged cock shooting his seed again and again, while a handsome stranger in a sleeveless tunic with a boar spear in hand watched with interest. Caught out in the throes of passion, the boy could manage were incoherent utterances:

"Uuh, ugh, ugh."

Klarendes grinned, unable to resist the urge to tease this lovely boy a bit.

"Good morning, young master. Rest easy about my mastiffs, they mean you no harm. Go ahead and finish what you started, though once you have, er, collected yourself, I will thank you to tell me, as the lord of this domain, why you are trespassing on my lands."

Poor Aodh was mortified, caught out during an orgasm, his limbs splayed out, face and chest and belly splashed by his ejaculate. His whole body colored, turning his skin from porcelain-white to blush pink, which only added to his intense embarrassment. While the boy gathered his befuddled wits, Klarendes went to one knee at his side and wiped a taste of the boy's gism off his belly, bringing it to his tongue.

"Ah! salty and sweet with a soupcon of male musk. Here taste some for yourself," he said, proffering a gob to the boy.

It seemed only natural for Aodh to lick the finger. He had always liked the taste of cum, his own as much as anyone else's. Klarendes followed this up by slipping the finger between the boy's lips, inviting him to suck it. In the warm afterglow of his orgasm, the boy readily complied with the unspoken order. Nor did he offer any objection as the man's other hand grasped his softening cock and milked it gently, thumb rubbing the sweet spot under the head, making Aodh shudder and moan with a delicious pain radiating from his groin.

"Pardon me if I seem forward, youngling, a stranger touching you so intimately, but I simply cannot resist your charms. You are the prettiest and the sexiest boy I have ever laid eyes on."

With a smile he added:

"That wouldn't be the first time you heard those words?"

"No. You are right, sir. Actually, false modesty aside, I get that rather a lot from handsome men such as yourself."

"And you like hearing it, don't you?"

Aodh colored even more. He simply nodded, unable to speak, as the man's hands continued to roam. The friendly dogs surged forward, tails wagging, yipping excitedly. Aodh fell back, laughing at the absurd situation he had awakened to.

"So who gets my bum first, you or this frisky fellow here" he said, patting the lead dog's head.

"That's the attitude, youngling. My name is Taitos Klarendes, and these are my canine friends Cantor, Laegul, and Fardel. As for your question, rest easy. No one's bum is in play unless freely offered. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough! I am called Aodh, by the way. It's spelled A-O-D-H."

"Is it? Really? How strange!"

Right then and there Aodh learned one thing about him, that Klarendes had something in common with his friend Karel: an exaggerated regard for phonetic orthography. The two new-met males laughed when Aodh explained why he had chuckled to hear Klarendes utter the same complaint Karel had proffered so often. It helped break the ice between them.

The older male extended his hand to pull the boy to his feet, pleased with the strong and manly grip of the diminutive youngster. The kid might be on the tiny side, but he was no weakling, with a toned musculature moving under a taut skin.

Aodh turned down the noble's offer to ride double explaining that no equine could tolerate the touch of a cat, even in human form. His revelation about his status as a wir-creature did answer Klarendes questions about the scent trail and why the boy had spent the night on a bed of grass. Well tonight he would sink into a feather bed with clean sheets. Hopefully that would be Klarendes' own bed.

The duo arrived at the manor at midday, just in time for dinner, always the most substantial meal of the day among country folk. (Supper was typically a light meal of cold meats, cheese, sliced bread, and dried fruits for dessert.) Much as he liked his deer meat raw when in panther form, Aodh had to admit that, in human form at least, there was a lot to be said for venison simmered as a savory stew with all the right vegetables and spices. Bread hot out of the oven slathered with butter and a tangy salad, all washed down with chilled ale, completed the simple but filling bill of fare.

Partly it was the fascinating company, partly simple hunger, but it had been a long time since Aodh had eaten so well or enjoyed a meal more. The two talked that day for hours. Klarendes was a charmer, an engaging conversationalist, well read and widely traveled as a younger man. He didn't have to work very hard to charm the boy into his bed that night and those that followed.

The pair were a study in contrasts, the boy small, skinny, hairless, and impossibly pretty, a sloe-eyed beauty with delicate features, the man much taller, lean and muscular, manly with masculine good looks without facial hair. Though actually in his early thirties Klarendes had not aged since his mid-twenties, thanks to the strong strain of elf-blood in his ancestry. Klarendes stood a head taller than the diminutive were-boy, but that still put him at only middling height for humans.

In bed the nobleman found himself with a real wildcat on his hands. As a lover the boy was exciting, energetic, athletic, physical, and vocal. Good thing for the thick walls. Klarendes relished the way his wiry minstrel boy squirmed in his arms, twisting and straining that tight body of his. Slick as he was with sweat, it made it hard to maintain a grip on Aodh as he threw the boy onto his belly or flipped him over onto his back. Grabbing the boy's ankles, the man opened the slender legs like a wishbone to ready him for an assault on his boy hole. Driven by Klarendes' powerful hip muscles, the man's cock thrust into the welcoming orifice which grasped his member with its moist velvet walls. The count relished the sensation as he slid his cock in and out, sometimes nearly withdrawing entirely only to thrust back up to the hilt.

From long experience Klarendes knew just how to arouse sexually submissive boys like Aodh. You didn't want him to just lie there and let you fuck him. You wanted your boy to put up a bit of fight and make the dominant partner work at it to maintain control. And you wanted to make him laugh and cry, moan and whimper, beg and resist, all the while the boy knew in his heart that he desperately wanted the man to work his will, to make him do all manner of naughty things, sexual things.

Fortunately the boy's stiff prick made a good control handle, and the shaggy thatch atop his head afforded a good grip too when it was time for the boy to provide oral service. Gosh he looked so cute down there, kneeling between the nobleman's legs, pouty lips closed over his shaft, sucking and slurping, circling the glans with the tip of his tongue, doing everything in his power to drive the man wild with his buccal ministrations.

The youth readily submitted to the nobleman whose commanding presence had electrified him from the start. At one point Aodh shifted his attentions to the man's balls, kissing and licking and sucking them, finally managing to get both of them into his mouth at the same time, cheeks packed, eyes bulging. The sight set Klarendes laughing, which drew a puzzled frown to the boy's pretty face. The man hastened to explain his amusement.

"Forgive me for laughing, young Aodh, but kneeling down there, cheeks bulging and eyes crossed, you look like nothing so much as a demented chipmunk!"

Aodh released him and joined in the laughter. Aodh just hoped the folks back home never learned that a powerful wir-panther like himself had ever been tagged with the name of a creature so low on the food chain as a chipmunk. At least the tiny critters were omnivores -- opportunistic predators in their own small way, so junior colleagues of a sort.

Chapter 13. Elysian Fields

The next day Klarendes gave the boy the grand tour of his domain, sketching the history of Elysion by way of explanation for the obvious harmony and prosperity he saw all around in the happy faces of children off to school, the cleanliness, vigor and robust good health of the yeoman, and the respect the locals had for the nobleman. No one shot the man a resentful look behind his back. They genuinely liked and respected him.

Aodh learned that Klarendes ranked as a count, the latest scion in a second of two dynasties ruling these lands going back eight centuries. The first count in his own line had succeeded to the title after the last of the former dynasty were killed during the Formation Wars. His ancestors had managed to sire enough sons or daughters to keep it going, despite low fertility from the large admixture of elf-blood in their ancestry. Happily, Klarendes himself had two teenage sons, currently fostered with his late wife's family in a nearby town to acquire some cultural polish.

Everything within the mountain ring was his property save the village itself and the arable lands immediately around it: fields, orchards, pastures, and hay fields. Every farmer was a yeoman freeholder with his own acres. The other villagers were free men working in shop or smithy or tavern or were in the direct employ of the domain itself at fair wages. It had been that way for generations. The counts no longer exacted feudal dues. Their income came from exploiting the lands they personally owned which lay beyond the farms and included the timberlands and sheepfolds in the mountains, the well-tended vineyards on the hilly slopes, a small silver mine, and the scenic waterfall, site of a popular resort. The count also drew an income from his considerable real estate interests in nearby towns.

Like everyone else the counts paid local taxes levied by a council of elders for the upkeep of roads and bridges, for the provision of public services, and the maintenance of the fortifications at the head of the gorge that lead to the outside world. The village could boast a grammar school cum lending library, an infirmary with a diplomate healer, an herbalist, and two midwives on staff, and a chapel which served those who desired to worship their gods in public or collectively rather than at household shrines. Klarendes second steward managed their day to day affairs. (His chief steward managed the count's personal domain.)

"Not that we are self-sufficient here, Aodh, though we do raise practically all our own food. We still must import manufactures of all sorts, spices, exotic woods, and books, though we pay for all that not from the proceeds of the sale of crops but from ventures like the honeymoon resort at our scenic waterfall, a lucrative trade in amber, aromatic gums, and medicinal plants collected from the forests, and especially the silver work we turn out in the shape of buckles, buttons, broaches, bracelets, rings, and the like. High value, low weight, so much easier to ship than bulk cargoes like grain or fruit or ore."

They walked past a grassy area where a group of maybe forty youths and younger men practiced martial arts. Most of them trained naked though a few wore thongs or pouches. Whether tall or short, slight of build or heavy boned, the young males all had lean muscular bodies, tanned bronze by the tropic sun. One of the bolder lads glanced from the count to the minstrel and threw the latter a wink. A big fellow in back stared at Aodh's unclothed body with naked hunger.

Aodh watched their practice critically for a while then commented that their moves were much too staged, more like the boys were rehearsing dance steps than practicing moves to defeat a foe. One of the older youths, a brawny sandy haired fellow, bristled at that and asked sarcastically:

"All right, kid. Why don't you show us what you would do?"

Aodh shrugged off the resulting rumble of assent. He knew he was being tested and was sure he would have the last laugh.

"OK, big fella. Let's square off, just you and me."

"The name's Arik. How about we make it interesting? If I beat you, I get to spank that cute ass of yours right in front of everyone, then drag you into the bushes for a proper shag."

"And if I win, we shake hands and become fast friends."

After a moment's hesitation over this unorthodox forfeit, the older boy nodded then took up his stance. When they grappled he confidently went on the offensive, but Aodh countered his every move, twisting out of his grip then, with a sudden effort, sent the bigger boy flying. Scrambling to his feet, Arik approached his opponent with greater caution. Their second grapple had them both trying for joint locks. It looked like Arik might succeed but Aodh broke his concentration by kissing Arik full on the lips. As the astonished boy loosened his hold, Aodh turned the tables. Arik was well and truly pinned and had to conceded the match.

"I can't believe I lost. I never for a moment thought that a little slip of a kid like you could ever..."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Arik. Actually your moves were pretty good. You almost had me there till I tricked you with that kiss. What I said earlier wasn't a personal criticism of anyone's abilities, just that your training practice was too staged, your moves too choreographed. Everyone was leaning into the throws that put them on the ground to make their falls gentler. And another thing, you guys pair off with others the same size and weight. You gotta mix it up. Opponents come in all shapes and sizes.

"Always keep in mind that in a friendly fight, say against a romantic rival or in a taproom brawl, you want to prevail but not hurt the other guy bad. He's your friend and neighbor. In combat against soldiers, highwaymen, robbers and street thugs, restraint would be misplaced. When you fight for your life, that is no time for halfway measures."

"Finally, while I think you all look great running around naked, your opponents will be wearing clothes and maybe armor. Learn how to cope with that. Grab their tunics and straps and belts and baldrics for handholds and control the fight. And learn how to counter close-in weapons like the knife or hatchet just long enough to get away."

Arik frowned for a moment then said:

"What about swords, spears, or quarterstaffs?"

"If you are talking about a fight, one on one, then forget about it. Against a long weapon, a bare handed fighter has next to no chance. Best you can do then is to run or hide. If you are already caught up in a melee, with those from both sides all mixed up, then some of these techniques might help you long enough to grab a proper weapon and lay about."

Arik nodded and smiled wryly at the candid and eminently practical advice, then offered his hand in friendship to the newcomer, drawing approving smiles all around for his sportsmanship. Afterwards, the minstrel and nobleman resumed their walk.

"Did Arik actually do as well as you said?"

"Not really, but he wasn't bad either. Like all you bigger guys, he overcommits and gets off balance without quite realizing it. I could have made Arik look really bad, but to what purpose? I don't want to make enemies of him or his friends. And he does have potential. Maybe with the right teachers, like those I had, and a few years.."

"How long have you been at it?"

"Ten years. No eleven. I started when I was six. I turn seventeen next tendi. Martial arts are part of our heritage, my people I mean, like the high percentage of wirs among us.

"So you are nearly full grown now? And yet so petite."

"For me this is it. I am all that I will ever be. Wir-humans mature faster than pure humans. I reached full height at fifteen then filled out a bit the following year. I am never going to get any bigger or any older. I will always be sweet sixteen. That's part of my template. Anyway, to change the subject, why do your people call you captain instead of lord?"

"That is a courtesy title from my youth when I served in the armed forces. Also I am the elected captain of both the militia and the volunteer fire brigade. In these more egalitarian times, it has a better ring to it. Captain is a title I earned for myself, not simply an accident of birth. Though I do employ my full titles on formal occasions such as when I don my sash of office and take the bench in court to sit in judgment. There I am in my persona as, ahem, 'The Honorable Taitos Klarendes, Chief District Magistrate, Dispenser of the Middle Justice and the Low, Lord-Zamindar of Elysion, and Count of the Eastern March.'"

"That's a real mouthful!" Aodh laughed.

"Isn't it though?" Klarendes agreed chuckling. "Titles and offices are deliberately grandiose. As a prominent legal scholar once put it: 'The dispensation of justice requires an imposing solemnity of setting and procedure and a commensurate orotundity of speech and of prose.'"

"Another mouthful!" the minstrel giggled, looking up at his lover with a big smile.

Klarendes hugged the boy, whose cheery personality warmed his heart. He realized how quickly he had grown attached to young Aodh. But how to persuade him to stay?

Even a clueless youth would have sensed this good man's loneliness and his obvious hope to have Aodh stay with him permanently as his lover. The minstrel was strongly attracted to the handsome nobleman. And Elysion looked like a fine place to live. Still, he really did have places to go and friends to meet and things to do.

No one more than Klarendes understood the call of duty, but he could not hide his intense disappointment. Nothing for it then but to make what they could of the next few days. Aodh was well ahead of schedule. His friends had walked the long way around, following the easy grades of the military road that threaded its way through the mountains. The couple could look forward to four more days together at Elysion plus two more on the road to Aodh's intended rendezvous. Klarendes would escort his young guest to that rendezvous in the very town where his sons were fostered.

For both of them it was the happiest week of their lives, a honeymoon in all but name.

Chapter 14. Parting of the Ways

"Come on in, the water's fine! Oh, sorry Aodh, I forgot. Kitty cats don't like to get wet!" Klarendes teased the boy while he sculled along easily in the cool waters of the lake.

"The hell they don't!" Aodh replied, executing a shallow dive that left barely a ripple on the surface. Popping up just once to orient himself, he ducked back below the surface and approached his naked prey under water. Klarendes was taken by surprise as his lover dragged him down briefly before letting him back up for air. As the boy floated on his back the nobleman remarked:

"I had no idea you could swim so well."

"There is a lot you don't know about cats." Aodh answered, then told him what he had told Karel about how panthers and jaguars hunt and play in the water.

The secluded inlet they had chosen for their swim was one of many such inlets and coves along the convoluted shore of the small lake. Fed by the waterfall, the lake emptied into the white water creek that flowed down the gorge past the fortified checkpoint grandly called the "Stone Castle" and so out to the wider world.

The lovers had stopped by the honeymoon resort one morning, not to stay but simply to visit the scenic wonder of the region. With the pride of proprietorship Klarendes boasted that the waterfall drew newly married couples from far and wide. Little wonder, for the cascade shot from a slot atop a vertical cliff then descended in a stepped cataract to fill a deep pool at the bottom. The spray and mist of the falling waters formed what was called the Bridal Veil.

But it was its rainbows that made the site a meteorological wonderland. On sunny days the mist formed a double spray rainbow arching over the pool plus a third rainbow reflected from the lake surface. At night the spray formed a single white moon-bow. And under the right conditions, large fogbows would appear, a ghostly backdrop for the nearby henge of standing stones left by some vanished civilization.

The nobleman's travel lecture was just winding down, when young Aodh's stomach growled loudly. Before the hungry boy could even ask, the nobleman pointed to one of the resort staff hustling to their location carrying a large picnic basket and blanket. A cute red-head wearing only a white kilt wrapped around his hips, the youngling greeted the naked lovers, spread the ground sheet next to where Klarendes had left his tunic, and set out a scrumptious picnic lunch, explaining that it was with the compliments of the management. Then he left them alone.

The hungry duo chowed down as they let the warm sun dry them off. The nobleman explained that at the resort, city customs prevailed for meals. The big meal of the day was served late in the evening. Somewhat confusingly it was called dinner rather than supper. The midday meal was a light repast called luncheon or just lunch. To span the long gap between sit-down meals, beverages and finger foods were set out in late afternoon.

"I asked the boy to return here with a canoe. We can paddle our way to the end of the lake and tour the Stone Castle".

When it came time to embark, the nobleman motioned the boy to clamber in first, expecting he would upset the tricky craft and dunk himself into the lake. A harmless trick; Aodh was naked anyway and knew how to swim. The young minstrel smiled slyly, knowing what game was afoot. Putting a hand on either gunwale he set a foot in the exact center and settled in smartly. As Klarendes joined him, Aodh mentioned, ever so casually, that canoeing was one of his favorite past times back home as well as his usual means of traversing the Lake Lands.

At first sight the Stone Castle was a disappointment, a stone-built barrier twenty feet high with and archway through it barred by three gates. Actually it was far stronger than it looked at first glance. An attacker would have to force the three gates one after the other, his men bunched up under murder holes the whole time.

Even as they tried to force the gates, their follow-on forces would be subject to merciless missile fire from in front and from both sides. The fortification extended over the river. Downstream it was flanked by galleries cut into the living rock from which slingers and crossbowmen could rain down lead bullets and quarrels, turning the last stretch of road before the gate into a killing ground. The small garrison would hold long enough for the village militia to form up and dispatch reinforcements.

"It looks pretty formidable, sir." Aodh ventured.

"Yes but only up to a point. Fortifications can be taken by storm, by siege, by stealth, or by treachery. A fortification might fall to stealthy warriors who took out the night watch. Or raiders might pose as traders or a wedding party and seize the gates before they could be closed. No, the Stone Castle is useful enough but hardly impregnable."

"And if it falls?"

"We either meet the enemy in open battle in the fields or fort up in the village. As you may have noticed, the village is situated atop a knoll where a streams splits in twain and flows entirely around, then rejoins below."

"So the village is a fortress on a hill on an island behind a moat."

"Not really a fortress, but the houses are sturdy enough, all stone or timber and stone construction with tile roofs, hence very hard to set on fire. Behind barred doors and shuttered windows, both men and women would be armed with repeating crossbows and shoot through loopholes and embrasures. Or we could march out to give battle, the grown men armed with war axes and shields. Boys down to thirteen are armed with slings and long knives."

"Axes? Why not swords?"

"Why not swords? Not really practical. Too costly for one thing. Swords are made entirely from steel, which is expensive. Too hard to replace too. Sword making is a highly specialized task, beyond the skill of your average blacksmith. And it can take many days to forge a single sword blade, with the smith continually heating, folding, and hammering the bar stock into a blade. No, swords are for regular soldiers. We are just a rural militia."

"Why then the axe? An axehead is mostly iron. Only the edge is steel and the handle is a wooden stick, so it is cheap and quick and easy to make. Besides the men of the valley practically grow up with an axe in one hand and a hatchet in the other, used for timbering, chopping fire wood, building houses and barns, constructing fences, and even making rude furniture. The learning curve for a war axe is very short, since it relies on the same muscle memory. The same reasoning applies to arming our young males with the sling and long knife. Boys use their slings to keep the rabbit population down. As for crossbows, anyone can master the crossbow with minimal training whereas an archer armed with a long bow must train all his years to stay proficient."

"I am impressed by your knowledge of military matters, Taitos."

"Well I did serve in the forces during the last big push by barbarian raiders fifteen years ago, when I was about your age. I eventually rose to the rank of captain."

"Is that when you got that burn scar on your hip and leg?"

The man hesitated before answering. Deciding he would not keep secrets from this boy he loved, he continued.

"Yes, my own fault really. It happened when I lost control. You see, my magical gift is casting fire, either as a flaming stream or as great balls of fire. Normally I'd just set fire to tents or wagons or supplies, that sort of thing. Sometimes I created barriers to movement on the battlefield, firing a section of prairie or torching a stretch of forest. I did not target the enemy directly, not wishing to use magic expressly to kill."

"Then came my third battle, which we were losing badly. All of us were bone-weary from days of marching and two earlier fights. I myself was bleeding from a nasty cut to my shield arm which made it hard for me to protect my left side. Then the enemy attacked in overwhelming numbers. Friends and neighbors fell all around me, butchered and mutilated by a merciless foe. It seemed we must all soon be slaughtered. What then would become of our families in the valley?

Guarding my injured side was my best friend at the time, the blacksmith's son. Ahndray was my first love and one of the sweetest boys you would ever meet. All right, maybe what we had was puppy love, young as we were, but it burned fiercely. That all ended when a hairy barbarian with a two-handed sword shattered his skull, spraying brains and blood and bone chips all over me, my armor, my face.

That final horror set off the eruption of emotion that had been building for days, a psychic storm made up of pain and fear, grief and rage, numbing fatigue and loss of hope, but it was the death and desecration of my lover that finally drove me into a killing frenzy. Screaming my anguish I unleashed my will on the barbarian horde itself, setting on fire the tall grass they stood in, igniting their clothes, their greased hair, and the leather coverings of their wooden shields. Their own armor trapped the flames against the skin. I stalked back and forth like a fire demon, casting great balls of fire or burning streams of flame, laughing and cackling and hooting, utterly deranged, as the flames consumed the barbarians amid horrid screams and cries for mercy. But I had no mercy in my heart that day. I still don't, not for them, though I do have regrets, especially about the pleasure I felt in killing them."

"The psychic backlash nearly killed me. I swooned and fell, oblivious to the advancing conflagration. Someone on our side dragged me from the flames to safety. When I came to, my madness had passed. I lay there and looked back at what I had wrought. So many dead bodies but hardly recognizable as human. You see, cloth and hair act like wicks for the body fat that melts from flesh. I had turned living men into human candlesticks. All that was left were piles of disarticulated bones burned black."

"The worst part of all this was the cost to my soul. I had taken an almost orgasmic pleasure in burning the barbarians. In recollection, I felt unclean, unworthy of having survived. At first I despised myself for going all kill crazy like that, but later I came to realize that it was really their fault. From then on I hated them not only for their own crimes but also for making me do what I had done. I still offer incense yearly to the memory of my fallen comrades and beg the forgiveness of the gods, if they exist, for my own failings."

If the man expected the boy to recoil from him in horror, he was wrong. Aodh's face was filled with compassion and respect for the sacrifice Taitos had made to save his people. Here was yet another reason to love this good man. Aodh embraced his lover and held him for the longest time as the nobleman wept for a lost love and fallen friends as well as from shame and loss of innocence.

The next day saw the lovers set out on a hunt for a pack of wolves seen recently near the sheep meadows. Aodh was nervous about whether the mastiffs, so friendly to him in his human form, would accept him as a panther. He was encouraged by the fact that the dogs had no trouble with the count's ginger cat Esmeralda who was forever clambering over them, licking their faces, and snuggling against them for a snooze. So the dogs were locked in their kennel as the boy transformed before them. He need not have worried. The mastiffs recognized their friend even in his new form and greeted him with friendly yips. So they all set off together to hunt wolves.

As luck would have it, the wolves saw them coming and escaped over the mountains. The hounds marked tree trunks at the limits of the count's domain, a boundary the wolves were likely not to cross. Which was fine by the count. His only concern was their potential threat to his lambs and other stock. The wolves were welcome to hunt the forests on the other side of the boundary line. So Klarendes called off the hunt, explaining that there was no need to pursue the wolves beyond the boundaries of his domain

Klarendes had made an exception a month before to track down a pair of dire wolves that were the terror of the region. Never one to underestimate a foe, Klarendes had set off with all five of his Molossian mastiffs. The bones later found strewn around their lair showed they were responsible for the recent disappearances of youths who had unwarily gone into the forest on their own. The mastiffs drove the dire wolves into their den and kept them penned up till Klarendes rode up and cast fire into the den, killing the mating pair and their half-grown cubs.

"We got them just in time, before the cubs joined their parents in the hunt. A full pack of dire wolves would have been more than my mastiffs could handle. To corner them I would have had to raise the militia."

In the evening, they relaxed in front of the fieldstone hearth where a hardwood fire burned merrily, one set not for its heat, which was definitely not needed in that climate, but for the beauty of the flames themselves. Not for nothing was the count a fire caster. Many an evening he sat for an hour or so, a snifter of fine brandy to hand, staring into the flames, and sometimes making them dance to his will and form a portrait of his wife or fantastic shapes of wolves and warriors and slender boys.

Nestled in Klarendes lap the young minstrel sang love songs while strumming a left-handed mandolin borrowed from Klarendes; it had belonged to his wife. As the boy played, the nobleman petted him, stroking his hair, kissing a bare shoulder, or nuzzling the nape of his neck, taking in the heady scent of a healthy boy. One thing led to another, and they left off making music to make love right there in Klarendes den, sprawled atop a bearskin rug in front of the fieldstone hearth.

Aodh laid back spreadeagled and vulnerable, an offering to the gods. Klarendes held him down by the wrists and leaned forward for a deep kiss. The boy arched his back and spread his legs to give the man access to every orifice and crevice of his body. Klarendes bent forward to tongue and nibble at the minstrel's sensitive nipples. Kneeling between the boy's slender limbs, he rubbed his hands on the glabrous skin, appreciating that a boy's flesh feels so much better without body hair. By now the column of the boy's penis was fully swollen and erect. Klarendes had to be careful not to set him off prematurely.

Aodh drew his knees up and apart to give his lover better access to his butt and hole. Soon Klarendes was applying oil to the anal whorl and to the sphincter beyond. Aodh was the kind of sex partner Klarendes craved: complaisant and submissive in foreplay, wild and out of control as the hormones raged through his teenage body. He propped the boy's legs up on his shoulders and put the head of his cock at the hole. The minstrel boy looked up at him imploringly, eager to be taken. Here was the sort of man he craved: powerful, forceful, and commanding yet gentle too. As for Aodh, young as he was and only two years past the loss of his virginity, he knew that he was the sort of boy who was born to be fucked hard and often and by men who knew how. And how much better it was with a man he loved.

All the while the dancing flames of a low fire painted their bare skins yellow and red and gold while creating interesting effects of light and shadow on their entwined limbs. Afterwards they lay together in sleepy post-orgasmic lassitude, watching the flickering flames, and murmuring sweet nothings.

Just then Klarendes' ginger cat Esmeralda padded into the den to check out the newcomer to the household. She was a bit cross that the count had neglected her of late, even barring her from his bed chamber, while he carried on behind closed doors with this new friend of his. Esmeralda felt that, at four years old, she had a prior claim on the count's affections, and it was high time she reasserted it and got him to pay proper attention to her and her needs. Besides, she was curious about the interloper.

The cat clambered up onto Aodh's chest and sniffed him. The boy grinned and stroked her head lightly then held up his hand, which she licked attentively, almost like grooming one of her own paws. Then the feline's cold wet nose touched his own followed by her pink raspy tongue licking his face. Finding him a strange but not unpleasant combination of human and feline, she deemed him worthy of her company and began kneading his chest. She purred loudly, head lowered, looking intent, claws sliding in and out of their sheaths as she worked her front paws back and forth just as she had done as a kitten when she wanted her mother to let her nurse. Now mama cats have thick fur on their bellies. Naked boys have only thin skin, which is easily scratched. Grimacing gamely, Aodh tolerated the minor pain her claws inflicted, knowing that she would soon desist and settle down.

Which she did. Looking ever so content and pleased with herself, Esmeralda lay down on the boy's breast and tucked her front paws under her chest. Her tail curled around her body and across her front. With her eyes closed to slits she continued to purr, though more softly. The man and boy looked over at each other and smiled.

It was a tender moment they would long remember.

From then on, Esmeralda considered Aodh to be one of her regular attendant humans, with all the obligations attached to that role. She required this select few among the two legs, her real human friends, to attend to her needs for attention, affection, entertainment, and sustenance. For instance, when she was in a playful mood, she expected her humans to pull on a string and drag a cloth mouse across the floor for her to pounce on and ravage with fangs and claws, or to provide her with catnip for a genuine feline high.

Nor could they neglect her twice daily feedings. It was not enough to simply fill her bowl and walk away and let her eat. No, no, no. Meal times were social occasions and just about the most important times in her day. As she hunkered down on all fours and nibbled her chow, she expected whoever fed her to kneel down next to her and stroke her gently all the while, much like her mama had licked her fur when she nursed. In turn, Esmeralda would purr away during her meals, knowing how much that softened the hearts of the two legs. From time to time, she would look up for reassurance. Those feeding her soon learned that she expected both tactile and verbal encouragement, so they started murmuring phrases like: "Eat your chow, little one" or "That tastes good doesn't it, girl?" or "Nothing is too good for our Esmeralda."

Two days later they set out for Aodh's rendezvous with his friends, the boy still totally nude even for this visit to town. He set a good walking pace, explaining that his human form was better when he wanted to cover distance. Felines were stalk and pounce predators; they did not chase and run down their prey like canines. The nobleman wore a silk tunic and mostly rode, though he dismounted and walked beside his lover from time to time.

Their route lead them past the Stone Castle, through the gorge, and out onto the plains. Unlike the domain of the nomads to the west, the locals there were a settled folk, ranchers and farmers and townsmen. The pair followed a well maintained dirt road to the town of Dalnot, the garrison town appointed for the rendezvous. It was much like the other towns of the plains except for the sprawling army base on its outskirts. Largely unfortified, its security was ensured by wide flung picket lines and observation towers equipped with solar telegraphs, plus the sheer size of the garrison, five thousand at least, and that was being reinforced, mostly with cavalry.

Not just a march-land or buffer zone, the entire stretch of prairie, which ran parallel to the mountains with an average width of about nine days' walk, was considered an integral part of the Commonwealth. The writ of the Commonwealth ran right up the foot of the dissected plateau to the east from which the barbarians emerged periodically to lay waste to civilized lands. It was only the grass, hay, and grain produced by the plains dwellers that let the Commonwealth maintain such a large garrison beyond the great rift valley and its parallel mountain ranges.

At the inn where they were quartered, the minstrel embraced Dahl and the blond twins in a group hug telling them he had so much he wanted to share with them. Aodh introduced all three boys to Klarendes who noted that the young minstrel had told him much about their adventures crossing the continent. Now he could put faces to their names. And see for himself how very cute and sexy the other boys were. The twins preened under the praise. Dahl noticed, caught Aodh's gaze, and rolled his eyes.

No need to introduce Balan. Back at the manor, when Aodh had mentioned his name, Klarendes had told the minstrel that he and the giant were old friends.

Aodh's interlocutors listened as the excited boy told them of his adventures crossing the mountains, the scenic wonders of the hidden valley, the Stone Castle, their aborted hunt for wolves, and of Klarendes' recent success against the dire wolves. They chuckled when he related the embarrassing circumstances of his first meeting Klarendes. The young minstrel's friends smiled indulgently, knowing they were listening to a boy in love. Well he could have done much worse than Klarendes. The nobleman was youthful, good looking, and rich.

Balan then explained that their plans had to change. The unrest among the barbarians made the route they had planned to take unsafe. Any small party traveling that road, which skirted the plateau, might be overwhelmed. Instead, and under his authority as a Hand, the army would escort them to the safety of the Great Forest, two weeks' march away. The local commander was sending a whole battalion, making it both a reconnaissance in force and a demonstration of the power and the long reach of the Army of the Commonwealth. Until they reached the Great Forest the battalion would focus on its mission to protect their charges.

On its way back, the force might launch a spoiling attack or preemptive strike to disrupt the enemy's mobilizations. Or, if their depredations continued, it might turn into a punitive expedition. The colonel was confident that he had the numbers, the weapons, and the trained soldiers to handle just about anything. Fierce as they were, the barbarians were merely disorganized bands of warriors, not a disciplined force of professional soldiers.

Just then more visitors arrived; these were Klarendes' sons, Artor and Eborn, one fifteen and the other thirteen. The older son took after his father, the younger evidently after their mother, but both were fine looking lads dressed relatively modestly in loincloths and sandals. They greeted their father enthusiastically not having seen him for some months.

When introduced by their father as simply "my sons Artor and his younger brother Eborn", the boys winked at the minstrel waved cheerily and quipped in tandem:

"I am the heir."

"And I am the spare."

Aodh grinned at what was obviously a very old joke and a regular part of their shtick.

When the father asked what was new with them, the younger boy confided, much to the older boy's chagrin, that his brother was sweet on the daughter of a family friend. The younger brother made up for that breach of confidence when he praised the senior sibling for tutoring him in geography, enabling him to pass that final section of his school leaving examinations.

Last to arrive was the officer in charge of the battalion, Colonel Urqaart, a bluff man in full uniform, though unarmed except for a long knife. They sat down to get acquainted over a hearty meal and a fine brew. Klarendes had met Urqaart before professionally. That worthy turned to the others and lauded the nobleman, saying:

"My friend Lord Klarendes is too modest to mention it, but he is a real hero in these parts for his role in the last war against the barbarians, when he almost single handedly turned back the invasion. The barbarians lost heart after that third battle turned into a slaughter and retreated. We hit them a couple more times to reinforce the lesson. In later years I watched young Klarendes rise to captain."

"Before he left active duty with the forces, he persuaded the High Command that his militia company should not march out with the field army as before but should hold the valley as a potential redoubt for us regulars in case we had to retreat before overwhelming force. With our army behind their fortifications, the valley would be impregnable. I understand the quartermasters have stocked a depot there with a mountain of rations."

"Yes, enough to feed 10,000 men for 100 days."

"Let us hope it won't come to that. Anyway, with these reinforcements we can go on the offensive. Which is why my commander, the general, did not complain too much when Balandur suggested he provide a battalion as an escort."

"Suggested?" Karel teased, drawing chuckles all around even from Colonel Urqaart.

Balan cleared his throat theatrically, clearly having something important to say.

"Friends, I must now exercise my authority as a Hand of the Commonwealth to give you new assignments. The unicorn concurs fully in this.

<I do, much as I will miss all of you.>

Regrettably we now take separate paths. The elf-boy, the unicorn, and I will travel with a military escort to the Great Southern Forest for Dahl's training as a druid. You twins would have little to do there except get bored and into mischief. Best thing for you is to sign up with the army here as civilian scouts. As hunters and archers and explorers of new lands, you are just what the forces need to find their way in unmapped country. Having some military experience will prepare you for what is to come."

"And no, as civilians, they won't make you wear a uniform. You can enroll in the scouts and even keep running around stark naked as proper elf-friends should."

The twins nodded, seeing the wisdom in Balan's idea.

"I will send word as to where and when we will form up again as a company. It could be as much as two years though likely less."

"I was unsure about Aodh and reluctant to lose him and his unique abilities after the way he fought so well against the dark riders, helped us face down those unruly soldiers, and even replenished our purse. But now Fate has stepped in. Young minstrel, your place is with Lord Klarendes. Your next contribution to the cause will be to train his militia in unarmed combat until we get together again. And perhaps Lord Klarendes will join us at that time. We could use someone who is both an veteran soldier and a powerful fire caster."

A nod from the nobleman conceded that he was open to the suggestion, but only time would tell. Then Aodh spoke up.

"I'd like that very much, Balan. As for my own mission, with the assistance of Lord Klarendes, I will send a report via the Great Northern Road to my people telling them that the danger, while growing, is not imminent, and that the Commonwealth and the Druids are mobilizing to meet the threat."

"And another thing Taitos, you really need a better maths teacher at the village school. Granther Brandez knows the material all right, but he has no feel for the subject. He bores his students to tears. He should stick to teaching history and geography and composition, which he is good at. Now it so happens that I am very good at maths, especially practical stuff like arithmetic, geometry, trigonometry, and converting weights and measures. And wouldn't you know it, I am between jobs at the moment."

Klarendes grinned, like a drowning man who suddenly finds a floating spar to hang on to.

"You're hired!" he announced grandly.

Everyone laughed.

Klarendes two sons seconded the motion, telling Aodh simply:

"Welcome to the family."

[Continued in Part 4]

Author's Note

If you have enjoyed this story and others like it, consider making a donation to the Nifty Archive. It is so easy. They take credit cards.

This is my first pure fantasy tale for the Nifty Archive. It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead.

Readers who like these stories might want to try my two series 'Daphne Boy' and 'Naked Prey' in the Gay/Historical section of the Archive. My 'Jungle Boy' series of Hollywood tales is posted in the Gay/Authoritarian section. The new series 'Andrew Jackson High relates the trials and tribulations of five of its gay students. For links to these and other stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive.

Comments and feedback welcome.